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Presented  to  the 
LIBRARY  0/f/ze 
UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
by 

Sidney  Fisher 


OH 

Thomson 

Isne 


SHAKESPEARE 
AS    A    DRAMATIC    ARTIST 

MOVLTON 


HENRY    KROWDE,    M.A. 

PUBLISHER   TO  THE  UNIVERSITY   OF  OXFORD 


LONDON,    EDINBURGH,   AM)    NKW    YORK 


SHAKESPEARE 


AS 


A     DRAMATIC    ARTIST 

A   POPULAR  ILLUSTRATION  OF 
THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  SCIENTIFIC  CRITICISM 

BY 

RICHARD    G.   MOULTON 
A.M.  (CANTAB.),  PH.  D.  (PENS.) 

PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH    LITERATURE   IN   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   CHICAGO,    LATK 

LECTURER   TO  CAMBRIDGE   UNIVERSITY   (EXTENSION),    TO   THE    LONDON 

AND  TO  THE  AMERICAN   SOCIETIES   FOR   THE   EXTENSION 

OF    UNIVFKSITY    TEACHING 


THIRD  EDITION:    REVISED  AND   ENLARGED 


AT  THE  CLARENDON  PRESS 
1897 


Ojcforb 

PRINTED  AT   THE    CLARENDON    PRESS 

BY  HORACE  HART 
PRINTER  TO  THE  UNIVERSITY 


PREFACE    TO    THE    THIRD 
EDITION 


THE  present  edition  is  distinguished  by  two  features. 
In  the  first  place,  the  list  of  plays  treated  in  Part  First 
has  been  enlarged  by  three, — Othello,  Love's  Labour's 
Lost,  and  As  You  Like  It.  The  Study  of  Othello  has 
been  made  No.  XI,  to  associate  it  with  previous  Studies 
of  Julius  Cccsar  and  Lear,  since  it  connects  Character 
and  Plot  as  these  had  connected  Passion  and  Movement. 
The  Studies  of  Love's  Labour's  Lost  and  As  You  Like 
It  (Nos.  XIV,  XV)  are  placed  after  those  on  The 
Tempest,  and  carry  further  the  topics  of  Central  Ideas 
and  Dramatic  Colouring.  The  new  matter  is  the  sub- 
stance of  papers  read  at  various  times  before  the  New 
Shakspere  Society  of  London. 

Such  additions  to  Part  First  involve,  according  to  the 
plan  of  the  whole  work,  additions  of  detail  and  restate- 
ments of  various  points  in  Part  Second.  But  besides 
these  there  is  a  change  of  a  more  general  character  in 
Part  Second,  which  makes  the  other  main  feature  of 
this  edition.  It  has  always  been  my  contention  that 
the  Science  of  Dramatic  Criticism  admits  at  present  of 
no  systematisation  other  than  a  digest  of  critical  topics, 


vi  PREFACE. 

and  such  a  digest  must  always  be  provisional.  One  of 
the  most  difficult  problems  in  this  science  is  the  proper 
treatment  of  Dramatic  Movement,  to  determine  whether 
its  relations  with  Passion  or  with  Plot  are  the  closer,  or 
whether  indeed  it  does  not  constitute  a  fundamental 
division  of  Drama  by  itself.  In  previous  editions  I 
have  treated  this  problem  by  making  a  compromise, 
which  separated  Motive  Force  from  Motive  Form, 
associating  the  former  with  Passion  and  the  latter  with 
Plot.  Further  experience  has  led  me  to  think  that  it  is 
more  accurate — as  it  is  certainly  simpler — to  treat  the 
whole  of  Movement  as  a  division  of  Plot,  leaving 
Passion-Movement  to  be  represented  by  successions  of 
Tone.  A  glance  at  the  Table  of  Topics  on  page  398 
will  make  the  new  scheme  clear. 

December,  1892. 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND 
EDITION 

IN  this  edition  two  new  Studies,  Nos.  XI  and  XII, 
have  been  added  to  Part  First,  dealing  with  TJie  Tem- 
pest, and  bringing  the  treatment  in  that  portion  of  the 
book,  which  has  for  its  purpose  to  illustrate  master- 
pieces of  dramatic  art  in  particular  plays  of  Shakespeare, 
to  a  natural  climax  in  the  discussion  of  Central  Ideas. 
The  new  Studies  are  the  substance  of  a  paper  read 
before  the  New  Shakspere  Society  of  London  in 


PREFACE.  vii 

January,  1887.  Such  addition  to  Part  First  carries  with 
it,  according  to  the  plan  of  the  whole  work,  additions  of 
detail  and  restatement  of  various  points  in  Part  Second. 
A  few  verbal  corrections  and  alterations  have  been 
made  in  other  parts  of  the  book. 

July,  1888. 


PREFACE    TO    THE    FIRST 
EDITION 

I  HAVE  had  three  objects  before  me  in  writing  this 
book.  The  first  concerns  the  general  reader.  No  one 
needs  assistance  in  order  to  perceive  Shakespeare's 
greatness ;  but  an  impression  is  not  uncommonly  to 
be  found,  especially  amongst  English  readers,  that 
Shakespeare's  greatness  lies  mainly  in  his  deep  know- 
ledge of  human  nature,  while,  as  to  the  technicalities 
of  Dramatic  Art,  he  is  at  once  careless  of  them 
and  too  great  to  need  them.  I  have  endeavoured 
to  combat  this  impression  by  a  series  of  Studies  of 
Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist.  They  are  chiefly 
occupied  with  a  few  master-strokes  of  art,  sufficient  to 
illustrate  the  revolution  Shakespeare  created  in  the 
Drama  of  the  world — a  revolution  not  at  once  per- 
ceived simply  because  it  had  carried  the  Drama  at  a 
bound  so  far  beyond  Dramatic  Criticism  that  the 
appreciation  of  Shakespeare's  plays  was  left  to  the 


viii  PREFACE. 

uninstructed  public,  while  the  trained  criticism  that  ought 
to  have  recognised  the  new  departure  was  engaged 
in  clamouring  for  other  views  of  dramatic  treatment, 
which  it  failed  to  perceive  that  Shakespeare  had 
rendered  obsolete. 

While  the  earlier  chapters  are  taken  up  with  these 
Studies,  the  rest  of  the  work  is  an  attempt,  in  very 
brief  form,  to  present  Dramatic  Criticism  as  a  regular 
Inductive  Science.  If  I  speak  of  this  as  a  new  branch 
of  Science  I  am  not  ignoring  the  great  works  on 
Shakespeare-Criticism  which  already  exist,  the  later 
of  which  have  treated  their  subject  in  an  inductive 
spirit.  What  these  still  leave  wanting  is  a  recognition 
of  method  in  application  to  the  study  of  the  Drama : 
my  purpose  is  to  claim  for  Criticism  a  position  amongst 
the  Inductive  Sciences,  and  to  sketch  in  outline  a  plan 
for  the  Dramatic  side  of  such  a  Critical  Science. 

A  third  purpose  has  been  to  make  the  work  of  use 
as  an  educational  manual.  Shakespeare  now  enters 
into  every  scheme  of  liberal  education  ;  but  the  an- 
notated editions  of  his  works  give  the  student  little 
assistance  except  in  the  explanation  of  language  and 
allusions ;  and  the  idea,  I  believe,  prevails  that  any- 
thing like  the  discussion  of  literary  characteristics  or 
dramatic  effect  is  out  of  place  in  an  educational  work- 
is,  Indeed,  too  '  indefinite  '  to  be  '  examined  on.'  Ten 
years'  experience  in  connection  with  the  Cambridge 
University  Extension,  during  which  my  work  has  been 
to  teach  literature  apart  from  philology,  has  confirmed 
my  impression  that  the  subject-matter  of  literature,  its 


PREFACE.  ix 

exposition  and  analysis  from  the  sides  of  science,  his- 
tory, and  art,  is  as  good  an  educational  discipline  as 
it  is  intrinsically  valuable  in  quickening  literary  ap- 
preciation. 

There  are  two  special  features  of  the  book  to  which 
I  may  here  draw  attention.  Where  practicable,  I  have 
appended  in  the  margin  references  to  the  passages  of 
Shakespeare  on  which  my  discussion  is  based.  (These 
references  are  to  the  Globe  Edition.)  I  have  thus 
hoped  to  reduce  to  a  minimum  the  element  of  personal 
opinion,  and  to  give  to  my  treatment  at  least  that 
degree  of  definiteness  which  arises  when  a  position 
stands  side  by  side  with  the  evidence  supporting  it. 
I  have  also  endeavoured  to  meet  a  practical  difficulty 
in  the  use  of  Shakespeare-Criticism  as  an  educational 
subject.  It  is  usual  in  educational  schemes  to  name 
single  plays  of  Shakespeare  for  study.  Experience 
has  convinced  me  that  methodical  study  of  the  subject- 
matter  is  not  possible  within  the  compass  of  a  single 
play.  On  the  other  hand,  few  persons  in  the  educa- 
tional stage  of  life  can  have  the  detailed  knowledge  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  as  a  whole  which  is  required  for 
a  full  treatment  of  the  subject.  The  present  work  is 
so  arranged  that  it  assumes  knowledge  of  only  five  ! 
plays — The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Richard  III,  Macbeth, 
Julius  Cccsar,  and  King  Lear.  Not  only  in  the  Studies, 
but  also  in  the  final  review,  the  matter  introduced  is 

1  A  sixth  play,  7Vie  Tempest,  is  added  in  the  Second  Edition,  and 
three  more  in  the  third  Edition,  viz. — Othello,  Love's  Labour's  Lost, 
and  As  You  Like  It. 


x  PREFACE. 

confined  to  what  can  be  illustrated  out  of  these  five 
plays.  These  are  amongst  the  most  familiar  of  the 
Shakespearean  Dramas,  or  they  can  be  easily  read 
before  commencing  the  book ;  and  if  the  arrangement 
is  a  limitation  involving  a  certain  amount  of  repetition, 
yet  I  believe  the  gain  will  be  greater  than  the  loss. 
For  the  young  student,  at  all  events,  it  affords  an  op- 
portunity of  getting  what  will  be  the  best  of  all  intro- 
ductions to  the  whole  subject — a  thorough  knowledge 
of  five  plays. 

In  passing  the  book  through  the  press  I  have  re- 
ceived material  assistance  from  my  brother,  Dr. 
Moulton,  Master  of  the  Leys  School,  and  from  my 
College  friend,  Mr.  Joseph  Jacobs.  With  the  latter, 
indeed,  I  have  discussed  the  work  in  all  its  stages,  and 
have  been  under  continual  obligation  to  his  stores  of 
knowledge  and  critical  grasp  in  all  departments  of 
literary  study.  I  cannot  even  attempt  to  name  the 
many  friends — chiefly  fellow-workers  in  the  University 
Extension  Movement— through  whose  active  interest 
in  my  Shakespeare  teaching  I  have  been  encouraged 
to  seek  for  it  publication. 


RICHARD  G.  MOULTON. 


April,  1885. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION. 

PLEA  FOR  AN  INDUCTIVE  SCIENCE  OF  LITERARY 
CRITICISM. 


PART   FIRST. 

SHAKESPEARE  CONSIDERED  AS  A  DRAMATIC  ARTIST, 
IN  FIFTEEN  STUDIES. 

I. 

THE    Two    STORIES    SHAKESPEARE    BORROWS    FOR    HIS 
'MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.' 

PACE 

A  Study  in  the  Raw  Material  of  the  Romantic  Drama         43 

II. 

How  SHAKESPEARE  MANIPULATES  THE  STORIES  IN  DRAMA- 
TISING THEM. 

A  Study  in  Dramatic  Workmanship    ....         58 

III. 

How  SHAKESPEARE   MAKES  HIS  PLOT  MORE  COMPLEX  IN 

ORDER  TO  MAKE  IT  MORE  SIMPLE. 

A  Study  in  Underplot  .......        74 


xii  CONTENTS. 

IV. 

A  PICTURE  OF  IDEAL  VILLAINY  IN  'RICHARD  III.' 

FACE 

A  Study  in  Character- Interpretation    ....         90 

V. 

' RICHARD  III':  How  SHAKESPEARE  WEAVES  NEMESIS  INTO 
HISTORY. 

A  Study  in  Plot 107 

VI. 

How  NEMESIS  AND  DESTINY  ARE  INTERWOVEN  IN  'MAC- 
BETH.' 

A  further  Study  in  Plot 125 

VII. 
MACBETH,  LORD  AND  LADY. 

A  Study  in  Character-  Contrast 1 44 

VIII. 
JULIUS  CESAR  BESIDE  HIS  MURDKRF.RS  AND  HIS  AVENGER. 

A  Study  in  Character-Grouping 168 

IX. 
How  THE  PLAY  OF  '  JULIUS  CESAR'  WORKS  UP  TO  A  CLIMAX 

AT  THE   CENTRE. 

A  Study  in  Passion  and  Movement        .         .         .  1 85 

X. 
How  CLIMAX  MEETS  CLIMAX  IN  THE  CENTRE  OF  *LEAR.' 

A  Study  in  more  complex  Passion  and  Movement  .       202 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

XI. 

'OTHELLO'  AS  A  PICTURE  OF  JEALOUSY  AND  INTRIGUE. 

PAGE 

A  Study  in  Character  and  Plot    .        .        .        .         .225 

XII. 
How  'THE  TEMPEST'  is  A  DRAMA  OF  ENCHANTMENT. 

A  Study  in  Dramatic  Colouring  .....       246 

XIII. 

How  THE   ENCHANTMENT   OF   'THE  TEMPEST*  PRESENTS 
PERSONAL  PROVIDENCE. 

A  Study  in  Central  Ideas 264 

XIV. 
How  'LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST'  PRESENTS  SIMPLE  HUMOUR 

IN    CONFLICT   WITH   VARIOUS    AFFECTATIONS    AND    CON- 
VENTIONALITIES. 

A  further  Stttdy  in  Central  Ideas         .         .        .         .284 

XV. 
How '  As  You  LIKE  IT  '  PRESENTS  VARIED  FORMS  OF  HUMOUR 

IN   CONFLICT  WITH   A  SINGLE  CONVENTIONALITY. 

A  Stttdy  of  more  Complex  Dramatic  Colouring     .         .      300 


PART    SECOND. 

SURVEY  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM  AS  AN  INDUCTIVE 
SCIENCE. 

XVI. 
TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM 317 

XVII. 

INTEREST  OF  CHARACTER 330 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

XVIII. 

FACE 

INTEREST  OF  PASSION 338 

XIX. 
INTEREST  OF  PLOT  :  STATICS 356 

XX. 

INTEREST  OF  PLOT  :  DYNAMICS 37° 


APPENDIX  :  TECHNICAL  ANALYSIS  OF  PLOTS  ....      399 
INDEXES 4!7 


INTRODUCTION 


PLEA  FOR  AN  INDUCTIVE  SCIENCE 
OF  LITERARY  CRITICISM 


I 


INTRODUCTION. 


N  the  treatment  of  literature  the  proposition  which  seems  Proposi- 

to  stand  most  in  need  of  assertion  at  the  present tton' 
moment  is,  that  there  is  an  inductive  science  of  literary  criticism. 
As  botany  deals  inductively  with  the  phenomena  of  vegetable 
life  and  traces  the  laws  underlying  them,  as  economy  re- 
views and  systematises  on  inductive  principles  the  facts  of 
commerce,  so  there  is  a  criticism  not  less  inductive  in  cha- 
racter which  has  for  its  subject-matter  literature. 

The  presumption  is  clearly  that  literary  criticism  should  Prtsump- 
follow  other  branches  of  thought  in  becoming  inductive.  /£^J"  cf 
Ultimately,  science  means  no  more  than  organised  thought;  inductive 
and  amongst  the  methods  of  organisation  induction  is  the 
most  practical.  To  begin  with  the  observation  of  facts  ;  to 
advance  from  this  through  the  arrangement  of  observed 
facts;  to  use  a  priori  ideas,  instinctive  notions  of  the  fitness 
of  things,  insight  into  far  probabilities,  only  as  side-lights  for 
suggesting  convenient  arrangements,  the  value  of  which  is 
tested  only  by  the  actual  convenience  in  arranging  they 
afford ;  to  be  content  with  the  sure  results  so  obtained  as 
'theory'  in  the  interval  of  waiting  for  still  surer  results  based 
on  a  yet  wider  accumulation  of  facts :  this  is  a  regimen  for 
healthy  science  so  widely  established  in  different  tracts  of 
thought  as  almost  to  rise  to  that  universal  acceptance  which 
we  call  common  sense.  Indeed  the  whole  progress  of 
science  consists  in  winning  fresh  fields  of  thought  to  the 
inductive  methods. 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

Current          Yet  the  great   mass  of  literary  criticism  at  the  present 
'offntifism  moment  is  of  a  nature  widely  removed  from  induction.     The 
coloured  by  prevailing  notions  of  criticism  are  dominated  by  the  idea  of 
*otkerlhan  assayinS>  as  ^  *ts  function  were  to  test  the  soundness  and 
inductive,    estimate   the   comparative   value   of  literary   work.       Lord 
Macaulay,  than  whom  no  one  has  a  better  right  to  be  heard 
on  this  subject,  compares  his  office  of  reviewer  to  that  of  a 
king-at-arms,  versed  in  the  laws  of  literary  precedence,  mar- 
shalling authors  to  the  exact  seats  to  which  they  are  entitled. 
And,  as   a   matter   of  fact,  the   bulk   of  literary  criticism, 
whether  in  popular  conversation  or  in  discussions  by  pro- 
fessed critics,  occupies  itself  with  the  merits  of  authors  and 
works ;  founding  its  estimates  and  arguments  on  canons  of 
taste,  which  are  either  assumed  as  having  met  with  general 
acceptance,  or  deduced  from  speculations  as  to  fundamental 
conceptions  of  literary  beauty. 

Criticism  It  becomes  necessary  then  to  recognise  two  different  kinds 
Jandinduc-  °^  Kterarv  criticism,  as  distinct  as  any  two  things  that  can  be 
live.  The  called  by  the  same  name.  The  difference  between  the  two 
may  ^e  summec^  UP  as  tne  difference  between  the  work  of 
a  judge  and  of  an  investigator.  The  one  is  the  enquiry  into 
what  ought  to  be,  the  other  the  enquiry  into  what  is. 
Judicial  criticism  compares  a  new  production  with  those 
already  existing  in  order  to  determine  whether  it  is  inferior 
to  them  or  surpasses  them  ;  criticism  of  investigation  makes 
the  same  comparison  for  the  purpose  of  identifying  the  new 
product  with  some  type  in  the  past,  or  differentiating  it  and 
registering  a  new  type.  Judicial  criticism  has  a  mission  to 
watch  against  variations  from  received  canons ;  criticism  of 
investigation  watches  for  new  forms  to  increase  its  stock  of 
species.  The  criticism  of  taste  analyses  literary  works  for 
grounds  of  preference  or  evidence  on  which  to  found  judg- 
ments; inductive  criticism  analyses  them  to  get  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  their  phenomena. 

Let  the  question  be  of  Ben  Jonson.     Judicial   criticism 


CRITICISM  JUDICIAL  AND  INDUCTIVE.  3 

starts  by  holding  Ben  Jonson  responsible  for  the  decay  of  the 
English  Drama. 

Inductive  criticism  takes  objection  to  the  word  'decay'  as 
suggesting  condemnation,  but  recognises  Ben  Jonson  as  the 
beginner  of  a  new  tendency  in  our  dramatic  history. 

But,  judicial  criticism  insists,  the  object  of  the  Drama  is 
to  pourtray  human  nature,  whereas  Ben  Jonson  has  painted 
not  men  but  caricatures. 

Induction  sees  that  this  formula  cannot  be  a  sufficient 
definition  of  the  Drama,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  does 
not  take  in  Ben  Jonson ;  its  own  mode  of  putting  the  matter 
is  that  Ben  Jonson  has  founded  a  school  of  treatment  of 
which  the  law  is  caricature. 

But  Ben  Jonson's  caricatures  are  palpably  impossible. 

Induction  soon  satisfies  itself  that  their  point  lies  in  their 
impossibility ;  they  constitute  a  new  mode  of  pourtraying 
qualities  of  character,  not  by  resemblance,  but  by  analysing 
and  intensifying  contrasts  to  make  them  clearer. 

Judicial  criticism  can  see  how  the  poet  was  led  astray;  the 
bent  of  his  disposition  induced  him  to  sacrifice  dramatic 
propriety  to  his  satiric  purpose. 

Induction  has  another  way  of  putting  the  matter :  that  the 
poet  has  utilised  dramatic  form  for  satiric  purpose ;  thus  by 
the  'cross-fertilisation'  of  two  existing  literary  species  he  has 
added  to  literature  a  third  including  features  of  both. 

At  all  events,  judicial  criticism  will  maintain,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  the  Shakespearean  mode  of  pourtraying  is 
infinitely  the  higher :  a  sign-painter,  as  Macaulay  points  out, 
can  imitate  a  deformity  of  feature,  while  it  takes  a  great 
artist  to  bring  out  delicate  shades  of  expression. 

Inductive  treatment  knows  nothing  about  higher  or  lower, 
which  lie  outside  the  domain  of  science.  Its  point  is  that 
science  is  indebted  to  Ben  Jonson  for  a  new  species ;  if  the 
new  species  be  an  easier  form  of  art  it  does  not  on  that 
account  lose  its  claim  to  be  analysed. 

B  2 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  two 

criticisms 

confused: 


conception 
of  critical 
method 
limited  to 
judicial 
method. 


Partly  a 
survival  of 
Renais- 
sance in- 
fluence : 


The  critic  of  merit  can  always  fall  back  upon  taste  :  who 
would  not  prefer  Shakespeare  to  Ben  Jonson  ? 

But  even  from  this  point  of  view  scientific  treatment  can 
plead  its  own  advantages.  The  inductive  critic  reaps  to  the 
full  the  interest  of  Ben  Jonson,  to  which  the  other  has  been 
forcibly  closing  his  eyes ;  while,  so  far  from  liking  Shake- 
speare the  less,  he  appreciates  all  the  more  keenly  Shake- 
speare's method  of  treatment  from  his  familiarity  with  that 
which  is  its  antithesis. 

It  must  be  conceded  at  once  that  both  these  kinds  of 
criticism  have  justified  their  existence.  Judicial  criticism  has 
long  been  established  as  a  favourite  pursuit  of  highly  culti- 
vated minds;  while  the  criticism  of  induction  can  shelter 
itself  under  the  authority  of  science  in  general,  seeing  that  it 
has  for  its  object  to  bring  the  treatment  of  literature  into  the 
circle  of  the  inductive  sciences.  It  is  unfortunate,  however, 
that  the  spheres  of  the  two  have  not  been  kept  distinct.  In 
the  actual  practice  of  criticism  the  judicial  method  has  obtained 
an  illegitimate  supremacy  which  has  thrown  the  other  into  the 
shade;  it  has  even  invaded  the  domain  of  the  criticism  that 
claims  to  be  scientific,  until  the  word  criticism  itself  has  suf- 
fered, and  the  methodical  treatment  of  literature  has  by  tacit 
assumption  become  limited  in  idea  to  the  judicial  method. 

Explanation  for  this  limited  conception  of  criticism  is  not 
far  to  seek.  Modern  criticism  took  its  rise  before  the 
importance  of  induction  was  recognised :  it  lags  behind 
other  branches  of  thought  in  adapting  itself  to  inductive 
treatment  chiefly  through  two  influences.  The  first  of  these 
is  connected  with  the  revival  of  literature  after  the  darkness 
of  the  middle  ages.  The  birth  of  thought  and  taste  in 
modern  Europe  was  the  Renaissance  of  classical  thought 
and  taste ;  by  Roman  and  Greek  philosophy  and  poetry  the 
native  powers  of  our  ancestors  were  trained  till  they  became 
strong  enough  to  originate  for  themselves.  It  was  natural 
for  their  earliest  criticism  to  take  the  form  of  applying  the 


CRITICISM  JUDICIAL  AND  INDUCTIVE.  5 

classical  standards  to  their  own  imitations :    now  we  have  and  its 
advanced  so  far  that   no  one  would   propose   to   test  ex-  '/^^/^ 
clusively  by  classical  models,  but  nevertheless  the  idea  of  models, 
testing  still  lingers  as  the  root  idea  in  the  treatment  of  litera- 
ture.    Other  branches  of  thought  have  completely  shaken  off 
this  attitude   of  submission  to  the  past:    literary  criticism 
differs  from  the  rest  only  in  being  later  to  move.     This  is 
powerfully  suggested  by  the   fact   that   so   recent  a  writer 
as  Addison   couples   science  in   general  with   criticism   in 
his  estimate  of  probable  progress ;  laying  down  the  startling 
proposition  that  'it  is  impossible  for  us  who  live  in  the  later 
ages   of  the  world   to   make   observations   in   criticism,  in 
morality,  or  in  any  art  or  science,  which   have   not   been 
touched  upon  by  others ' ! 

And  even  for  this  lateness  a  second  influence  goes  far  to  Partly  that 
account.  The  grand  literary  phenomenon  of  modern  times  is  ''"urnalism 
journalism,  the  huge  apparatus  of  floating  literature  of  which  have  in- 
one  leading  object  is  to  review  literature  itself.     The  vast  in-  *£%£/**' 
crease  of  production  consequent  upon  the  progress  of  printing  criticism. 
has  made  production  itself  a  phenomenon  worthy  of  study,  and 
elevated  the  sifiing  of  production  into  a  prominent  literary 
occupation ;    by   the    aid   of    book -tasters    alone   can    the 
ordinary  reader  keep  pace  with  production.     It  is  natural 
enough  that  the  influence  of  journalism  should  pass  beyond 
its  natural  sphere,  and  that  the  review  should  tend  to  usurp 
the  position  of  the  literature  for  which  reviewing  exists.    Now 
in  journalism  testing  and  valuation  of  literary  work  have  a 
real  and  important  place.     It  has  thus  come  about  that  in 
the   great    preponderance    of    ephemeral    over    permanent 
literature  the  machinery  adapted  to  the  former  has  become 
applied  to  the  latter:  methods  proper  to  journalism  have 
settled  the  popular  conception  of  systematic  treatment ;  and 
the  bias  already  given  to  criticism  by  the  Renaissance  has 
been   strengihened  to  resist   the   tendency  of  all  kinds  of 
thought  towards  inductive  methods. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

cL-      History  will  thus  account  for  the  way  in  which  the  criticism 
°f taste  anc*  valuati°n  tends  to  be  identified  with  criticism  in 
theory  of     general :  but  attempts  are  not  wanting  to  give  the  identifica- 
^ensctt™*'  ^on  a  scient^c  basis.     Literary  appreciation,  it  is  said,  is  a 
pcricnce.      thing  of  culture.      A  critic  in  the  reviewer's  sense  is  one  who 
has  the  literary  faculty  both  originally  acute  and  developed 
by  practice  :  he  thus  arrives  quickly  and  with  certainty  at 
results  which  others  would  reach  laboriously  and  after  tem- 
porary misjudgments.     Taste,  however  arbitrary  in  appear- 
ance, is  in  reality  condensed  experience ;  judicial  criticism  is 
a  wise  economy  of  appreciation,  the  purpose  of  which  is  to 
anticipate  natural  selection  and  universal  experience.     He  is 
a  good  critic  who,  by  his  keen  and  practised  judgment,  can 
tell  you  at  once  the  view  of  authors  and  works  which  you 
would   yourself    come   to    hold  with   sufficient   study   and 
experience. 
The  theory      Now  in  the  first  place  there  is  a  flaw  in  this  reasoning  :  it 

€T™jtuli-  omits  to  take  into  account  tnat  tne  judicial  attitude  of  mind 
dal  spirit  a  v&  itself  a  barrier  to  appreciation,  as  being  opposed  to  that 
pretiationl  Delicacy  °f  receptiveness  which  is  a  first  condition  of  sensi- 
bility to  impressions  of  literature  and  art.  It  is  a  matter 
of  commonest  experience  that  appreciation  may  be  inter- 
fered with  by  prejudice,  by  a  passing  unfavourable  mood,  or 
even  by  uncomfortable  external  surroundings.  But  it  is  by 
no  means  sufficient  that  the  reader  of  literature  should  divest 
himself  ol  these  passive  hindrances  to  appreciation  :  poets 
are  pioneers  in  beauty,  and  considerable  activity  of  effort 
is  required  to  keep  pace  with  them.  Repetition  may  be 
necessary  to  catch  effects — passages  to  be  read  over  and 
over  again,  more  than  one  author  of  the  same  school  to 
be  studied,  effect  to  be  compared  with  kindred  effect  each 
helping  the  other.  Or  an  explanation  from  one  who  has 
already  caught  the  idea  may  turn  the  mind  into  a  receptive 
attitude.  Training  again  is  universally  recognised  as  a  ne- 
cessity for  appreciation,  and  to  train  is  to  make  receptive. 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY. 

Beyond  all  these  conditions  of  perception,  and  including  On  the 
them,  is  yet  another.  It  is  a  foundation  principle  in  art-  ° 
culture,  as  well  as  in  human  intercourse,  that  sympathy  is  the  the  great 
grand  interpreter :  secrets  of  beauty  will  unfold  themselves  to  interPr&tcr- 
the  sunshine  of  sympathy,  while  they  will  wrap  themselves 
all  the  closer  against  the  tempest  of  sceptical  questionings. 
Now  a  judicial  attitude  of  mind  is  highly  unreceptive,  for  it 
necessarily  implies  a  restraint  of  sympathy:  every  one, 
remarks  Hogarth,  is  a  judge  of  painting  except  the  con- 
noisseur. The  judicial  mind  has  an  appearance  of  receptive- 
ness,  because  it  seeks  to  shut  out  prejudice :  but  what  if  the 
idea  of  judging  be  itself  a  prejudice  ?  On  this  view  the  very 
consciousness  of  fairness,  involving  as  it  does  limitation  of 
sympathy,  will  be  itself  unfair.  In  practical  life,  where 
we  have  to  act,  the  formation  of  judgments  is  a  necessity. 
In  art  we  can  escape  the  obligation,  and  here  the  judicial 
spirit  becomes  a  wanton  addition  to  difficulties  of  appre- 
ciation already  sufficiently  great;  the  mere  notion  of  con- 
demning may  be  enough  to  check  our  receptivity  to  qualities 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  it  may  need  our  utmost  effort  to 
catch.  So  that  the  judicial  attitude  of  mind  comes  to  defeat 
its  own  purpose,  and  disturbs  unconsciously  the  impression 
it  seeks  to  judge ;  until,  as  Emerson  puts  it,  '  if  you  criticise 
a  fine  genius  the  odds  are  that  you  are  out  of  your  reckon- 
ing, and  instead  of  the  poet  are  censuring  your  caricature 
of  him/ 

But  the  appeal  made  is  to  experience :  to  experience  let  The  theory 
it  go.     It  will  be  found  that,  speaking  broadly,  the  whole  ^l^fe^e . 
history  of  criticism  has  been  a  triumph  of  authors  over  critics :  the  history 
so  long  as  criticism  has  meant  the  gauging  of  literature,  so  ^ /^'ww^T 
long  its   progress  has  consisted   in   the  reversal  of  critical  of  authors 
judgments  by  further  experience.     I  hesitate  to  enlarge  upon  over  critlcs- 
this  part  of  my  subject  lest  I  be  inflicting  upon  the  reader 
the  tedium  of  a  thrice-told  tale.     But  I  believe  that  the 
ordinary  reader,  however  familiar  with  notable  blunders  of 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

criticism,  has  little  idea  of  that  which  is  the  essence  of  my 
argument — the  degree  of  regularity,  amounting  to  absolute 
law,  with  which  criticism,  where  it  has  set  itself  in  opposition 
to  freedom  of  authorship,  has  been  found  in  time  to  have 
pronounced  upon  the  wrong  side,  and  has,  after  infinite  waste 
of  obstructive  energy,  been  compelled  at  last  to  accept 
innovations  it  had  pronounced  impossible  under  penalty  of 
itself  becoming  obsolete. 

Case  of  Shakespeare-criticism  affords  the  most  striking  illustration. 

tspearean~  *ts  historv  *s  made  up  of  wave  after  wave  of  critical  opposi- 
Drama:  tion,  each  retiring  further  before  the  steady  advance  of 
waves'^/  Shakespeare's  fame.  They  may  almost  be  traced  in  the 
critical  op-  varying  apologetic  tones  of  the  successive  Variorum  editors, 
position.  unt-j  £ee(^  jn  tke  e(jjtion  Of  1803,  is  content  to  leave  the 

poet's  renown  as  established  on  a  basis  which  will  'bid 
defiance  to  the  caprices  of  fashion  and  the  canker  of  time.' 
i.  Un-  The  first  wave  was  one  of  unmeasured  virulent  attack. 
Rymer»  accepted  in  his  own  day  as  the  champion  of 
'regular'  criticism,  and  pronounced  by  Pope  one  of  the 
best  critics  England  ever  had,  says  that  in  Tragedy  Shake- 
speare appears  quite  out  of  his  element : 

His  brains  are  turned ;  h?  raves  and  rambles  without  any  coherence, 
any  spark  of  reason,  or  any  rule  to  control  him  or  set  bounds  to  his 
phrensy. 

The  shouting  and  battles  of  his  scenes  are  necessary  to  keep 
the  audience  awake,  '  otherwise  no  sermon  would  be  so 
strong  an  opiate.'  Again: 

In  the  neighing  of  an  horse,  or  in  the  growling  of  a  mastiff,  there 
is  a  meaning,  there  is  as  lively  an  expression,  and,  may  I  say,  more 
humanity,  than  many  times  in  the  tragical  flights  of  Shakespeare. 

The  famous  Suggestion  Scene  in  Othello  has,  in  Rymer's  view, 
no  point  but  '  the  mops,  the  mows,  the  grimace,  the  grins,  the 
gesticulation.'  On  Desdemona's 

O  good  lago, 
What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again? 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  9 

he  remarks  that  no  woman  bred  out  of  a  pig-stye  would  talk 
so  meanly.  Speaking  of  Portia  he  says,  '  she  is  scarce  one 
remove  from  a  natural,  she  is  own  cousin-german,  of  one 
piece,  the  very  same  impertinent  flesh  and  blood  with 
Desdemona.'  And  Rymer's  general  verdict  of  Othello — 
which  he  considers  the  best  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies — 
is  thus  summed  up : 

There  is  in  this  play  some  burlesque,  some  humour  and  ramble  of 
comical  wit,  some  show  and  some  mimicry  to  divert  the  spectators  :  but 
the  tragical  part  is  plainly  none  other  than  a  bloody  farce,  without  salt 
or  savour. 

In    the   eighteenth    century   Lord    Lansdowne,  writing    on 
'  Unnatural  Flights  in  Poetry/  could  refuse  to  go  into  the 
question  of  Shakespeare's  soliloquies,  as  being  assured  that 
'not  one  in  all  his  works  could  be  excused  by  reason  or 
nature/     The  same  tone  was  still  later  kept  up  by  Voltaire, 
who  calls  Shakespeare  a  writer  of  monstrous  farces  called 
tragedies;  says  that  nature  had  blended  in  him  all  that  is 
most  great  and  elevating  with  all  the  basest  qualities  that 
belong  to  barbarousness  without  genius ;  and  finally  proceeds 
to  call  his  poetry  the  fruit  of  the  imagination  of  an  intoxicated 
savage. — Meanwhile  a  second  wave  of  opinion  had  arisen,  2.  TJie 
not  conceiving  a  doubt  as  to  the  total  inadmissibility  of  the  f^f£~aft 
Shakespearean   Drama,  yet  feeling  its  attraction.     This  is  Drama 
perhaps    most    exactly   illustrated    in    the    forgotten    criiic  ^^y'/^~ 
Edwards,  who  ruled  that  '  poor  Shakespeare ' — the  expression  yet  attrac- 
is  his  own — must  be  excluded  from  the  number  of  good  tve' 
tragedians,  yet  '  as  Homer  from  the  Republic  of  Plato,  with 
marks  of  distinction  and  veneration/     But  before  this  the 
more  celebrated  dramatists  of  the  Restoration  had  shown  the 
double  feeling  in  the  way  they  reconstructed  Shakespeare's 
plays,  and  turned  them  into  '  correct '  dramas.     Thus  Otway 
made  the  mediaeval  Capulets  and  Montagus  presentable  by 
giving  them  a  classical  dress  as  followers  of  Marius  and 
Sulla;   and  even  Dryden  joined  in  a  polite  version  of  The 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

Tempest,  with  an  original  touch  for  symmetry's  sake  in  the 
addition  to  the  heroine  Miranda,  a  maid  who  had  never 
seen  a  man,  of  a  suitable  hero,  a  man  who  had  never  seen  a 

3.  The        maid. — Against   loud  abuse  and  patronising  reconstruction 
sjxarean      tne  s^ent  power  of  Shakespeare's  works  made  itself  more 
Drama  ad-  and  more  felt,  and  we  reach  a  third  stage  when  the  Shake- 
"excuscs"11'1  sPearean  Drama  is  accepted  as  it  stands,  but  with  excuses. 

Excuse  is  made  for  the  poet's  age,  in  which  the  English 
nation  was  supposed  to  be  struggling  to  emerge  from  bar- 
barism. Heywood's  apology  for  uniting  light  and  serious 
matter  is  allowed,  that  '  they  who  write  to  all  must  strive 
to  please  all/  Pope  points  out  that  Shakespeare  was 
dependent  for  his  subsistence  on  pleasing  the  taste  of 
tradesmen  and  mechanics;  and  that  his  'wrong  choice  of 
subjects'  and  'wrong  conduct  of  incidents,'  his  'false 
thoughts  and  forced  expressions'  are  the  result  of  his  being 
forced  to  please  the  lowest  of  the  people  and  keep  the  worst 
of  company.  Similarly  Theobald  considers  that  he  schemed 
his  plots  and  characters  from  romances  simply  for  want 

4.  The       of  classical  information. — With  the  last  name  we  pass  to  yet 
Sst>farcan      anotner  school,  with  whom  Shakespeare's  work  as  a  whole  is 
Drama  not  not  felt  to  need  defence,  and  the   old  spirit  survives  only 
defcncTasa  *n  t^ie^r  distribution  of  praise  and  blame  amongst  its  different 
whole,  but   parts.     Theobald  opens  his   preface   with    the   comparison 
^blamed^'n    °^  l^e  Shakespearean  Drama  to  a  splendid  pile  of  buildings, 
its  parts,     with  'some   parts  finished   up  to  hit  the  taste  of  a  con- 
noisseur,  others   more   negligently  put   together    to    strike 
the  fancy  of  a  common  beholder.'     Pope — who  reflects  the 
most  various  schools  of  criticism,  often  on  successive  pages — 
illustrates   this   stage   in  his  remark  that  Shakespeare  has 
excellences  that  have  elevated   him   above   all   others,  and 
almost  as  many  defects ;  '  as  he  has  certainly  written  better 
so  he  has  perhaps  written  worse  than  any  other.'     Dr.  John- 
son sets  out  by  describing  Shakespeare  as  'having  begun 
to  assume   the  dignity  of   an  ancient' — the  highest  com- 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  II 

mendation  in  his  eyes.  But  he  goes  on  to  point  out  the 
inferiority  of  Shakespeare's  Tragedy  to  his  Comedy,  the 
former  the  outcome  of  skill  rather  than  instinct,  with  little 
felicity  and  always  leaving  something  wanting;  how  he 
seems  without  moral  purpose,  letting  his  precepts  and 
axioms  drop  casually  from  him,  dismissing  his  personages 
without  further  care,  and  leaving  the  examples  to  operate  by 
chance ;  how  his  plots  are  so  loosely  formed  that  they  might 
easily  be  improved,  his  set  speeches  cold  and  weak,  his 
incidents  imperfectly  told  in  many  words  which  might  be 
more  plainly  described  in  few.  Then  in  the  progress  of  his 
commentary,  he  irritates  the  reader,  as  Hallam  points  out, 
by  the  magisterial  manner  in  which  he  dismisses  each  play 
like  a  schoolboy's  exercise. — At  last  comes  a  revolution  in  5.  Finally 
criticism  and  a  new  order  of  things  arises  ;  with  Lessing  comes 
to  lead  the  way  in  Germany  and  Coleridge  in  England,  a  round  en- 
school  of  critics  appear  who  are  in  complete  harmony  with  sjiat,e. 
their  author,  who  question  him  only  to  learn  the  secrets  speare. 
of  his  art.  The  new  spirit  has  not  even  yet  leavened  the 
whole  of  the  literary  world ;  but  such  names  as  Goethe, 
Tieck,  Schlegel,  Victor  Hugo,  Ulrici,  Gervinus  suggest  how 
many  great  reputations  have  been  made,  and  reputations 
already  great  have  been  carried  into  a  new  sphere  of  great- 
ness, by  the  interpretation  and  unfolding  of  Shakespeare's 
greatness :  not  one  critic  has  in  recent  years  risen  to 
eminence  by  attacking  Shakespeare. 

And  the  Shakespearean  Drama  is  only  the  most  illustrious  Other  ex- 
example  of  authors  triumphing  over  the  criticism  that  at-  amPle3' 
tempted  to  judge  them.     It  is  difficult  for  a  modern  reader  Milton. 
to  believe  that  even  Rymer  could  refer  to  the  Paradise  Lost 
as  'what  some  are  pleased  to  call  a  poem';   or  that  Dr. 
Johnson  could  assert  of  the  minor  poems  of  Milton  that 
they  exhibit  '  peculiarity  as  distinguished  from  excellence/ 
*  if  they  differ  from  others  they  differ  for  the  worse.'     He 
says  of  Comus  that  it  is  '  inelegantly  splendid  and  tediously 


12 


INTRODUCTION. 


Shake- 
speare's 
Sonnets. 


Spenser. 


Gray. 
Keats. 

Waver  ley 
Novels. 


Wonh- 


instructive ';  and  of  Lycidas,  that  its  diction  is  harsh,  its 
rhymes  uncertain,  its  numbers  unpleasing,  that  '  in  this  poem 
there  is  no  nature  for  there  is  no  truth,  there  is  no  art  for 
there  is  nothing  new/  that  it  is  '  easy,  vulgar,  and  therefore 
disgusting/ — after  which  he  goes  through  the  different  parts 
of  the  poem  to  show  what  Milton  should  have  done  in  each. 
Hallam  has  pointed  out  how  utterly  impotent  Dr.  Johnson 
has  been  to  fix  the  public  taste  in  the  case  of  these  poems ; 
yet  even  Hallam  could  think  the  verse  of  the  poet  who  wrote 
Paradise  Lost  sufficiently  described  by  the  verdict,  'some- 
times wanting  in  grace  and  almost  always  in  ease.'  In  the 
light  of  modern  taste  it  is  astonishing  indeed  to  find 
Sleevens,  with  his  devotion  of  a  lifetime  to  Shakespeare,  yet 
omitting  the  Sonnets  from  the  edition  of  1793,  'because  the 
strongest  Act  of  Parliament  that  could  be  framed  would  not 
compel  readers  into  their  service.'  It  is  equally  astonishing 
to  find  Dryden  speaking  of  Spenser's  '  ill  choice  of  stanza/ 
and  saying  of  the  Faerie  Qucene  that  if  completed  it  might 
have  been  more  of  a  piece,  but  it  could  not  be  perfect,  be- 
cause its  model  was  not  true :  an  example  followed  up  in 
the  next  century  by  a  '  person  of  quality/  who  translated  a 
book  of  the  Faerie  Queene  out  of  its  '  obsolete  language  and 
manner  of  verse'  into  heroic  couplets.  I  pass  over  the 
crowd  of  illustrations,  such  as  the  fate  of  Gray  at  the  hands 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  of  Keats  at  the  hands  of  monthly  and 
quarterly  reviewers,  or  of  the  various  Waverley  Novels  capri- 
ciously selected  by  different  critics  as  examples  of  literary 
suicide.  But  we  have  not  yet  had  time  to  forget  how  Jeffrey 
— one  of  the  greatest  names  in  criticism — set  in  motion  the 
whole  machinery  of  reviewing  in  order  to  put  down  Words- 
worth. Wordsworth's  most  elaborate  poem  he  describes  as 
a  '  tissue  of  moral  and  devotional  ravings/  a  '  hubbub  of 
strained  raptures  and  fantastical  sublimities ' :  his  '  effusions 
on  ...  the  physiognomy  of  external  nature '  he  character- 
ises as  '  eminently  fantastic,  obscure,  and  affected/  Then,  to 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  13 

find  a  climax,  he  compares  different  species  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry  to  the  various  stages  of  intoxication  :  his  Odes  are 
1  glorious  delirium '  and  '  incoherent  rapture/  his  Lyrical 
Ballads  a  *  vein  of  pretty  deliration/  his  White  Doe  is  '  low 
and  maudlin  imbecility.'  Not  a  whit  the  less  has  the  in- 
fluence of  Wordsworth  deepened  and  solidified ;  and  if  all 
are  not  yet  prepared  to  accept  him  as  the  apostle  of  a  new 
religion,  yet  he  has  tacitly  secured  his  place  in  the  inner 
circle  of  English  poets.  In  fine,  the  work  of  modern  criti- 
cism is  seriously  blocked  by  the  perpetual  necessity  of 
revising  and  reversing  what  this  same  Jeffrey  calls  the  '  im- 
partial and  irreversible  sentences'  of  criticism  in  the  past. 
And  as  a  set-off  in  the  opposite  scale  only  one  considerable 
achievement  is  to  be  noted :  that  journalism  afforded  a 
medium  for  Macaulay  to  quench  the  light  of  Robert  Mont- 
gomery,  which,  on  Macaulay's  own  showing,  journalism  had 
puffed  into  a  flame. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  great  literary  questions  that  have  Defeat  of 
from  time  to  time  arisen,  the  pitched  battles  of  criticism  :  as  f£'f""™.ea 
Goldsmith  says,  there  never   has   been   an   unbeaten  path  literary 
trodden  by  the  poet  that  the  critic  has  not  endeavoured  to  que 
recall  him  by  calling  his  attempt  an  innovation.     Criticism  Blank 
set  its  face  steadily  from  the  first   against  blank  verse  in  Vcr3e- 
English  poetry.     The  interlocutors  in  Dryden's  Essay  on  the 
Drama  agree  that  it  is  vain  to  strive  against  the  stream  of 
the  people's  inclination,  won   over  as  they  have  been  by 
Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher ;  but,  as 
they  go  on  to  discuss  the  rights  of  the  matter,  the  most 
remarkable  thing  to  a  modern  reader  is  that  the  defence  of 
blank  verse  is  made  to  rest  only  on  the  colloquial  character 
of  dramatic  poetry,  and  neither  party  seems  to  conceive  the 
possibility  of  non-dramatic  poetry  other  than  in  rhyme.     Be- 
fore Dryden's  Essay  on  Satire  the  Paradise  Lost  had  made 
its  appearance;  but  so  impossible  an  idea  is  literary  novelty 
to  the  'father  of  English  criticism'  that  Dryden  in  this  Essay 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

refuses  to  believe  Milton's  own  account  of  the  matter,  saying 
that,  whatever  reasons  Milton  may  allege  for  departing  from 
rhyme,  '  his  own  particular  reason  is  plainly  this,  that  rhyme 
was  not  his  talent,  he  has  neither  the  ease  of  doing  it  nor 
the  graces  of  it/  To  one  so  steeped  in  French  fashions  as 
Rymer,  poetry  that  lacks  rhyme  seems  to  lack  everything; 
many  of  Shakespeare's  scenes  might,  he  says,  do  better 
without  words  at  all,  or  at  most  the  words  set  off  the  action 
like  the  drone  of  a  bagpipe.  Voltaire  estimates  blank  verse 
at  about  the  same  rate,  and  having  to  translate  some  of 
Shakespeare's  for  purposes  of  exact  comparison,  he  remarks 
that  blank  verse  costs  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  dictating, 
that  it  is  not  more  difficult  to  write  than  a  letter.  Dr.  John- 
son finds  a  theoretic  argument  in  the  unmusical  character  of 
English  poetry  to  prove  the  impossibility  of  its  ever  adapting 
itself  to  the  conditions  of  blank  verse,  and  is  confident 
enough  to  prophesy :  *  poetry  may  subsist  without  rhyme, 
but  English  poetry  will  not  often  please.'  Even  Byron  is 
found  only  one  degree  more  tolerant  than  Dryden :  he  has 
the  grace  to  except  Milton  from  his  dictum  that  no  one  ever 
wrote  blank  verse  who  could  rhyme.  Thus  critical  taste, 
critical  theory,  and  critical  prophecy  were  unanimous  against 
blank  verse  as  an  English  measure  :  for  all  that  it  has  be- 
come the  leading  medium  of  English  poetry,  and  a  doubter 
of  to-day  would  be  more  likely  to  doubt  the  permanence  of 
The '  three  English  rhyme  than  of  English  blank  verse.  As  to  the 
ttmties  :  famous  <  three  unities,'  not  only  the  principles  themselves,  but 
even  the  refutation  of  them  has  now  become  obsolete.  Yet 
this  stickling  for  the  unities  has  been  merely  the  chief 
amongst  many  examples  of  the  proneness  the  critical  mind 
has  exhibited  towards  limiting  literary  appreciation  and  pro- 

andhnnta-  ductiOn  by  single  standards  of  taste.     The   same  tone  of 

tions  by 

still  nar-     mind   that  contended  for  the  classical   unities   had   in   an 

cfassfral      ear^er  generation  contended  for  the  classical  languages  as 
standards,   the  sole  vehicle  of  literary  expression,  and  the  modern  Ian- 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  15 

guages  of  Europe  had  to  assert  their  rights  by  hard  fighting. 
In  Latin  literature  itself  a  more  successful  attempt  has  been 
made  to  limit  taste  by  the  writers  of  a  single  period,  the 
Augustan  age,  and  so  construct  a  list  of  Latin  poets  which 
omits  Lucretius.  And  for  a  short  period  of  the  Renaissance 
movement  the  limitation  was  carried  further  to  a  single  one 
of  the  Augustan  writers,  and  *  Ciceronianism '  struggled  hard 
against  the  freedom  of  style  it  chose  to  nickname  '  Apu- 
leianism/  till  it  fell  itself  before  the  laughter  of  Erasmus.  It  Criticism 
would  seem  almost  to  be  a  radical  law  of  the  critical  tem-  distinguish 
perament  that  admiration  for  the  past  paralyses  faith  in  the  the  per- 
future ;  while  criticism  proves  totally  unable  to  distinguish  "^J"<L- 
between  what  has  been  essential  in  the  greatness  of  its  idols  sitory. 
and  what  has  been  as  purely  accidental  as,  to  use  Scott's 
illustration,  the  shape  of  the  drinking-glass  is  to  the  flavour 
of  the  wine  it  contains.  And  if  criticism  has  thus  failed  in 
distinguishing  what  is  permanent  in  past  literature,  it  has 
proved  equally  mistaken  in  what  it  has  assumed  to  be  acci- 
dental and  transitory.  Early  commentators  on  Shakespeare, 
whatever  scruples  they  may  have  had  upon  other  points,  had 
no  misgivings  in  condemning  the  irregularities  of  his  English 
and  correcting  his  grammar.  This  was  described  as  obso- 
lete by  Dryden  half  a  century  after  the  poet's  death ;  while  it 
is  delicious  to  hear  Steevens,  in  the  Advertisement  to  his 
edition  of  1766,  mentioning  that  'some  have  been  of  opinion 
that  even  a  particular  syntax  prevailed  in  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare ' — a  novel  suggestion  he  promptly  rejects.  If  the  two 
could  have  lived  each  a  century  later,  Dryden  would  have 
found  Malone  laying  down  that  Shakespeare  had  been  the 
great  purifyer  and  refiner  of  our  language,  and  Steevens 
would  have  seen  Shakespeare's  grammar  studied  with  the 
same  minuteness  and  reduced  to  the  same  regular  form  as 
the  grammar  of  his  commentators  and  readers ;  while  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  of  our  modern  grammarians,  insti- 
tuting a  comparison  between  Elizabethan  and  nineteenth- 


1  6 


INTR  OD  UCTION. 


Critical 


n- 
ductive 


judicial 


century   English,   fancies    the    representative    of    the    old- 
fashioned  tongue  characterising  current  speech  in  the  words 

of  Sebastian  : 

Surely 
It  is  a  sleepy  langunge  ! 

The  critics  may  themselves  be  called  as  chief  witnesses 
aoamst  themselves.  Those  parts  of  their  works  in  which 
they  apply  themselves  to  analysing  and  interpreting  their 
autnors  survive  in  their  full,  force:  where  they  judge,  find 
fault,  and  attempt  to  regulate,  they  inevitably  become  obso- 
lete«  Arist<>tle>  the  founder  of  all  criticism,  is  for  the 
most  part  inductive  in  his  method,  describing  poetry  as  it 
existed  in  his  day,  distinguishing  its  different  classes  and 
elements,  and  tabulating  its  usages  :  accordingly  Aristotle's 
treatise,  though  more  than  two  thousand  years  old,  remains 
the  text-book  of  the  Greek  Drama.  In  some  places,  how- 
ever, he  diverges  from  his  main  purpose,  as  in  the  final 
chapter,  in  which  he  raises  the  question  whether  Epic  or 
Tragic  is  more  excellent,  or  where  he  promises  a  special 
treatise  to  discuss  whether  Tragedy  is  yet  perfect  :  here  he 
has  for  modern  readers  only  the  interest  of  curiosity.  Dr. 
Johnson's  analysis  of  'metaphysical  poetry/  Addison's  de- 
velopment of  the  leading  effects  in  Paradise  Los/,  remain  as 
true  and  forcible  to-day  as  when  they  were  written  :  Addison 
constructing  an  order  of  merit  for  English  poets  with  Cowley 
and  Sprat  at  the  head,  Dr.  Johnson  lecturing  Shakespeare 
and  Milton  as  to  how  they  ought  to  have  written  —  these  are 
to  us  only  odd  anachronisms.  It  is  like  a  contest  with 
atomic  force,  this  attempt  at  using  ideas  drawn  from  the  past 
to  mould  and  limit  productive  power  in  the  present  and 
future.  The  critic  peers  into  the  dimness  of  history,  and  is 
found  to  have  been  blind  to  what  was  by  his  side  :  Boileau 
strives  to  erect  a  throne  of  Comedy  for  Terence,  and  never 
suspects  that  a  truer  king  was  at  hand  in  his  own  personal 
friend  Moliere.  It  is  in  vain  for  critics  to  denounce,  their 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  ij 

denunciation  recoils  on  themselves:  the  sentence  of  Rymer 
that  the  soul  of  modern  Drama  was  a  brutish  and  not  a 
reasonable  soul,  or  of  Voltaire,  that  Shakespeare's  Tragedy 
would  not  be  tolerated  by  the  lowest  French  mob,  can  harm 
none  but  Rymer  and  Voltaire.  If  the  critics  venture  to 
prophesy,  the  sequel  is  the  only  refutation  of  them  needed ; 
if  they  give  reasons,  the  reasons  survive  only  to  explain  how 
the  critics  were  led  astray;  if  they  lay  down  laws,  literary 
greatness  in  the  next  generation  is  found  to  vary  directly 
with  the  boldness  with  which  authors  violate  the  laws.  If 
they  assume  a  judicial  attitude,  the  judgment-seat  becomes 
converted  into  a  pillory  for  the  judge,  and  a  comic  side  to 
literary  history  is  furnished  by  the  mockery  with  which  time 
preserves  the  proportions  of  things,  as  seen  by  past  criticism, 
to  be  laid  side  by  side  with  the  true  perspective  revealed  by 
actual  history.  In  such  wise  it  has  preserved  to  us  the  list 
of  '  poets  laureate  '  who  preceded  Southey  :  Shadwell,  Tate, 
Rowe,  Eusden,  Gibber,  Whitehead,  Warton,  Pye.  It  reveals 
Dryden  sighing  that  Spenser  could  only  have  read  the  rules 
of  Bossu,  or  smitten  with  a  doubt  whether  he  might  not  after 
all  excuse  Milton's  use  of  blank  verse  'by  the  example  of 
Hannibal  Caro ' ;  Rymer  preferring  Ben  Jonson's  Catiline 
to  all  the  tragedies  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  and  declaring 
Waller's  Poem  on  the  Navy  Royal  beyond  all  modern  poetry 
in  any  language ;  Voltaire  wondering  that  the  extravagances 
of  Shakespeare  could  be  tolerated  by  a  nation  that  had  seen 
Addison's  Ca/o ;  Pope  assigning  three-score  years  and  ten  as 
the  limit  of  posthumous  life  to  *  moderns '  in  poetry,  and 
celebrating  the  trio  who  had  rescued  from  the  'uncivilised' 
Elizabethan  poetry  the  'fundamental  laws  of  wit.'  These 
three  are  Buckingham,  Roscommon,  and  Walsh :  as  to  the 
last  of  whom  if  we  search  amongst  contemporary  authorities 
to  discover  who  he  was,  we  at  last  come  upon  his  works 
described  in  the  Rambler  as  '  pages  of  inanity.' 

But  in  the  conflict  between  judicial  criticism  and  science 

c 


1  8  INTRODUCTION. 

In  actual  the  most  important  point  is  to  note  how  the  critics'  own 
^criticism  is  ^eas  °^  criticism  are  found  to  be  gradually  slipping  away 
found  to  from  them.  Between  the  Renaissance  and  the  present  day 
criticism,  as  judged  by  the  methods  actually  followed  by 


approached  critics,  has  slowly  changed  from  the  form  of  laying  down 
on'  laws  to  authors  into  the  form  of  receiving  laws  from  authors. 
Five  stages.  The  process  of  change  falls  into  five  stages.  In  its  first 
Mrfar^  sta^e  ^e  conceP^on  °f  criticism  was  bounded  by  the  notion 
solely  by  of  comparing  whatever  was  produced  with  the  masterpieces 
Standards  anc*  t!7mg  ^  by  the  ideas  of  Greek  and  Roman  literature. 
Boileau  objected  to  Corneille'  s  tragedies,  not  because  they 
did  not  excite  admiration,  but  because  admiration  was  not 
one  of  the  tragical  passions  as  laid  down  by  Aristotle.  To 
Rymer's  mind  it  was  clearly  a  case  of  classical  standards  or 
no  standards,  and  he  describes  his  opponents  as  '  a  kind  of 
stage-quacks  and  empirics  in  poetry  who  have  got  a  receipt 
to  please.'  And  there  is  a  degree  of  naivete  in  the  way  in 
which  Bossu  betrays  his  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  possi- 
bility that  there  should  be  more  than  one  kind  of  excellence, 
where,  in  a  passage  in  which  he  is  admitting  that  the 
moderns  have  as  much  spirit  and  as  lucky  fancies  as  the 
ancients,  he  nevertheless  calls  it  'a  piece  of  injustice  to 
pretend  that  our  new  rules  destroy  the  fancies  of  the  old 
masters,  and  that  they  must  condemn  all  their  works  who 
could  not  foresee  all  our  humours/  Criticism  in  this  spirit 
is  notably  illustrated  by  the  Corneille  incident  in  the  history 
of  the  French  Academy.  The  fashionable  literary  world, 
led  by  a  Scudery,  solemnly  impeach  Corneille  of  originality, 
and  Richelieu  insists  on  the  Academy  pronouncing  judg- 
ment ;  which  they  at  last  do,  unwillingly  enough,  since,  as 
Boileau  admitted,  all  France  was  against  them.  The  only 
one  that  in  the  whole  incident  retained  his  sense  of  humour 
was  the  victim  himself;  who,  early  in  the  struggle,  being 
confronted  by  critics  recognising  no  merit  but  that  of 
obedience  to  rules,  set  himself  to  write  his  Clitandre  as  a 


CRITICISM  TESTED  BY  ITS  HISTORY.  19 

play  which  should  obey  all  the  rules  of  Drama  and  yet  have 
nothing  in  it:  'in  which/  he  said,  'I  have  absolutely  suc- 
ceeded.'— But  this  reign  of  simple   faith .  began  to  be  dis-  2.  Rccogiii- 
turbed  by  sceptical  doubts  :   it  became  impossible  entirely  to  ^/J^  as 
ignore  merit  outside  the  pale  of  classical  conformity.     Thus  illegitimate 
we  get  a  Dennis  unable  to  conceal  his  admiration  for  the  m 
daring  of  Milton,  as  a  man  who  knew  the  rules  of  Aristotle, 
'no  man  better,'  and  yet  violated  them.     Literature  of  the 
modern  type  gets  discussed  as  it  were  under  protest.     Dr. 
Johnson,  when  he  praises  Addison's  Cato   for  adhering  to 
Aristotle's   principles    'with  a   scrupulousness   almost   unex- 
ampled  on  the  English   stage/   is   reflecting   the   constant 
assumption  throughout  this  transitional  stage,  that  departure 
from  classical  models  is  the  result  of  carelessness,  and  that 
beauties  in  such  offending  writers  are  lucky  hits.     The  spirit 
of  this  period  is  distinctly  brought  out  by  Dr.  Johnson  where 
he  '  readily  allows '  that  the  union   in  one  composition  of 
serious  and  ludicrous  is  '  contrary  to  the  rules  of  criticism/ 
but,  he  adds,  '  there  is  always  an  appeal  open  from  criticism 
to   nature.' — Once   admitted   to   examination   the   force   of  3-  Modern 
modern  literature  could  not  fail  to  assert  its  equality  with  the  ^/judging 
literature  of  the  ancients,  and  we  pass  into  a  third  stage  of  side  by 
criticism  when  critics  grasp  the  conception  that  there  may  An 
be  more  than  one  set  of  rules  by  which  authors   may  be 
judged.     The  new  notion  made  its  appearance  early  in  the 
country  which  was  the  main  stronghold  of  the  opposite  view. 
Perrault   in    1687    instituted    his    'Parallels'   between   the 
ancients  and  the  moderns  to  the  advantage  of  the   latter; 
and  the  question  was  put  in  its  naked  simplicity  by  Fon- 
tenelle,  the  *  Nestor  of  literature/  when  he  made  it  depend 
upon  another  question,  '  whether  the  trees  that  used  to  grow 
in   our   woods  were   larger  than   those  which  grow  now.' 
Later,  and  with  less  distinctness,  English  criticism  followed 
the  lead.     Pope,  with  his  happy  indifference  to  consistency, 
after  illustrating  the  first  stage  where  he  advises  to  write  '  as 

C  2 


2  o  INTRO  D  UC  TION. 

if  the  Stagirite  o'erlooked  each  line/  and  where  he  contends 
that  if  the  classical  writers  indulge  in  a  licence  that  licence 
becomes  a  law  to  us,  elsewhere  lays  down  that  to  apply 
ancient  rules  in  the  treatment  of  modern  literature  is  to  try 
by  the  laws  of  one  country  a  man  belonging  to  another.  In 
one  notable  instance  the  genius  of  Dr.  Johnson  rises 
superior  to  the  prejudices  of  his  age,  and  he  vindicates  in 
his  treatment  of  Shakespeare  the  conception  of  a  school  of 
Drama  in  which  the  unities  of  time  and  place  do  not  apply. 
But  he  does  it  with  trembling:  'I  am  almost  frightened  at 
my  own  temerity;  and  when  I  estimate  the  fame  and  the 
strength  of  those  who  maintain  the  contrary  opinion,  an> 
4.  Conccp-  ready  to  sink  down  in  reverential  silence/  —  Criticism  had  set 
ttonof  ouj.  w-^  judging  by  one  set  of  laws,  it  had  come  to  judge  by 
two  :  the  change  began  to  shake  the  notion  of  judging  as  the 
functi°n  °f  criticism,  and  the  eyes  of  critics  came  to  be 
turned  more  to  the  idea  of  literary  beauty  itself,  as  the  end 
for  which  the  laws  of  literary  composition  were  merely 
means.  Addison  is  the  great  name  connected  with  this 
further  transitional  stage.  We  find  Addison  not  only  arguing 
negatively  that  *  there  is  sometimes  a  greater  judgment 
shown  in  deviating  from  the  rules  of  art  than  in  ad- 
hering to  them/  but  even  laying  down  as  a  positive  theory 
hanging  to  that  the  true  function  of  a  critic  is  '  to  discover  the  concealed 


*fyr*leau*    beauties  °^  a  writer';   while  the  practical  illustration  of  his 

ties  ;  theory  which  he  gave  in  the  case  of  the  Paradise  Lost  is 

supposed  to  have  revolutionised  the  opinion  of  the  fashion- 

5.  and        able  reading-public.  —  Addison  was  removed  by  a  very  little 

finally  to     f    m  ^    ^naj  stage  of  criticism,  the  conception  of  which  is 

invesiiga-  {  r 

tion  of  laws  perhaps  most  fully  brought  out  by  Gervinus,  where  he  de- 

'tttfvas^t    c^ares  his  purpose  of  treating  Shakespeare  as  the  '  revealing 

,  stands.        genius  '  of  his  department  of  art   and  of  its    laws.     Thus 

slowly  and  by  gradual  stages  has  the  conception  of  criticism 

been  changing  in  the  direction  of  induction  :  starting  from 

judgment  by  the   laws  of  the  ancient  classics  as   standard 


SEPARATENESS  OF  THE   TWO   CRITICISMS.       21 

beyond  which  there  is  no  appeal,  passing  through  the 
transitional  stage  of  greater  and  greater  toleration  for  in- 
trinsic worth  though  of  a  modern  type,  to  arrive  at  the 
recognition  of  modern  standards  of  judgment  side  by  side 
with  ancient ;  again  passing  through  a  further  transitional 
stage  of  discrediting  judgment  altogether  as  the  purpose  of 
criticism  in  favour  of  the  search  for  intrinsic  worth  in  litera- 
ture as  it  stands,  till  the  final  conception  is  reached  of  ana- 
lysing literature  as  it  stands  for  the  purpose  of  discovering 
its  laws  in  itself.  The  later  stages  do  not  universally  prevail 
yet.  But  the  earlier  stages  have  at  all  events  become  obso- 
lete ;  and  there  is  no  reader  who  will  not  acquiesce  cheerfully 
in  one  of  the  details  Addison  gives  out  for  his  ideal  theatre, 
by  which  Rymer's  tragedy  Edgar  was  to  be  cut  up  into  snow 
to  make  the  Storm  Scene  in  Shakespeare's  Lear. 

It  may  be  well  to  recall  the  exact  purpose  to  which  the  Scparatt- 
present  argument  is  intended  to  lead.     The  purpose  is  not  nte^ ^00 
to  attack  journalism  and  kindred  branches  of  criticism  in  criticisms. 
the  interests  of  inductive  treatment.    It  would  be  false  to  the 
principles  of  induction  not  to  recognise  that  the  criticism  of 
taste  has  long  since  established  its  position  as  a  fertile  branch 
of  literature.  Even  in  an  inductive  system  journalism  would  still 
have  place  as  a  medium  for  fragmentary  and  tentative  treat- 
ment.    Moreover  it  may  be  admitted  that  induction  in  its 
formal  completeness  of  system  can  never  be  applied  in  prac- 
tical life ;  and  in  the  intellectual  pursuits  of  real  life  trained 
literary  taste  may  be  a  valuable  acquisition.     What  is  here 
attacked  is  the  mistake  which  has  identified  the  criticism  of 
taste  and  valuation  with  the  conception  of  criticism   as  a 
whole;  the  intrusion  of  methods  belonging  to  journalism  into 
treatment  that  claims  to  be  systematic.     So  far  from  being  a  Criticism 
standard  of  method  in  the  treatment  of  literature,  criticism  of  °{J^S  to 
the  reviewer's  order  is  outside  science  altogether.     It  finds  creative 
its  proper  place  on  the  creative  side  of  literature,  as  a  branch 


22  INTRODUCTION. 

in  which  literature  itself  has  come  to  be  taken  as  a  theme  for 
literary  writing ;  it  thus  belongs  to  the  literature  treated,  not 
as  the  to  the  scientific  treatment  of  it.  Reviews  so  placed  may  be 
prose  regarded  almost  as  the  lyrics  of  prose :  like  lyric  poems 
they  have  their  completeness  in  themselves,  and  their  interest 
lies,  not  in  their  being  parts  of  some  whole,  but  in  their 
flashing  the  subjectivity  of  a  writer  on  to  a  variety  of  isolated 
topics;  they  thus  have  value,  not  as  fragments  of  literary 
science,  but  as  fragments  of  Addison,  of  Jeffrey,  of  Macaulay. 
Nor  is  the  bearing  of  the  present  argument  that  commen- 
tators should  set  themselves  to  eulogise  the  authors  they  treat 
instead  of  condemning  them  (though  this  would  certainly  be 
the  safer  of  two  errors).  The  treatment  aimed  at  is  one  in- 
dependent of  praise  or  blame,  one  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
merit,  relative  or  absolute.  The  contention  is  for  a  branch 
of  criticism  separate  from  the  criticism  of  taste ;  a  branch 
that,  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  other  modern  sciences, 
reviews  the  phenomena  of  literature  as  they  actually  stand, 
enquiring  into  and  endeavouring  to  systematise  the  laws  and 
principles  by  which  they  are  moulded  and  produce  their  effects. 
Scientific  criticism  and  the  criticism  of  taste  have  distinct 
spheres:  and  the  whole  of  literary  history  shows  that  the  failure 
to  keep  the  two  separate  results  only  in  mutual  confusion. 
Applied-  Our  present  purpose  is  with  inductive  criticism.  What,  by 
*thtftion"o  l^e  anal°gy  °f  other  sciences,  is  implied  in  the  inductive 
literary  treatment  of  literature  ? 

"natter.  ^he  inductive  sciences  occupy  themselves  directly  with 

facts,  that  is,  with  phenomena  translated  by  observation  into 
the  form  of  facts;  and  soundness  of  inductive  theory  is 
measured  by  the  closeness  with  which  it  will  bear  confront- 
ing with  the  facts.  In  the  case  of  literature  and  art  the  facts 
are  to  be  looked  for  in  the  literary  and  artistic  productions 
themselves:  the  dramas,  epics,  pictures,  statues,  pillars, 
capitals,  symphonies,  operas — the  details  of  these  are  the 
phenomena  which  the  critical  observer  translates  into  facts. 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE  CRITICISM.  23 

A  picture  is  a  title  for  a  bundle  of  facts :  that  the  painter  has 
united  so  many  figures  in  such  and  such  groupings,  that  he 
has  given  such  and  such  varieties  of  colouring,  and  such  and 
such  arrangement  of  light  and  shade.  Similarly  the  Iliad  is 
a  short  name  implying  a  large  number  of  facts  characterising 
the  poem:  that  its  principal  personages  are  Agamemnon 
and  Achilles,  that  these  personages  are  represented  as  dis- 
playing certain  qualities,  doing  certain  deeds,  and  standing 
in  certain  relations  to  one  another. 

Here,  however,  arises  that  which  has  been  perhaps  the  Difficulty 
greatest  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  securing  inductive  lA^/j/^ 
treatment  for  literature.     Science  deals  only  with  ascertained  ness  in 
facts:  but  the  details  of  literature  and  art  are  open  to  t 
most  diverse  interpretation.     They  leave  conflicting  impres- 
sions on  different  observers,  impressions  both  subjective  and 
variable  in  themselves,  and  open  to  all  manner  of  distracting 
influences,  not  excepting  that  of  criticism  itself.     Where  in 
the  treatment  of  literature  is  to  be  found  the  positiveness  of 
subject-matter  which  is  the  first  condition  of  science  ? 

In  the  first  place  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  this  want  of  The  diffi- 
certainty  in  literary  interpretation  is  not  a  difficulty  of  a  kind  "^^to 
peculiar  to  literature.  The  same  object  of  terror  will  affect  literature. 
the  members  of  a  crowd  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  from 
presence  of  mind  to  hysteria ;  yet  this  has  not  prevented  the 
science  of  psychology  from  inductively  discussing  fear.  Logic 
proposes  to  scientifically  analyse  the  reasoning  processes  in 
the  face  of  the  infinite  degrees  of  susceptibility  different 
minds  show  to  proof  and  persuasion.  It  has  become  pro- 
verbial that  taste  in  art  is  incapable  of  being  settled  by  dis- 
cussion, yet  the  art  of  music  has  found  exact  treatment  in  the 
science  of  harmony.  In  the  case  of  these  well-established 
sciences  it  has  been  found  possible  to  separate  the  variable 
element  from  that  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  the  science: 
such  a  science  as  psychology  really  covers  two  distinct 
branches  of  thought,  the  psychology  that  discusses  formally 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  rari- 
ab!e  ele- 
ment to  be 
eliminated 
by  reference 
not  to  taste  ; 


but  to  the 
objective 
details  of 
the  litera- 
ture itself. 


the  elements  of  the  human  mind,  and  another  psychology, 
not  yet  systematised,  that  deals  with  the  distribution  of  these 
elements  amongst  different  individuals.  It  need  then  be  no 
barrier  to  inductive  treatment  that  in  the  case  of  literature 
and  art  the  will  and  consciousness  act  as  disturbing  forces, 
refracting  what  may  be  called  natural  effects  into  innumerable 
effects  on  individual  students.  It  only  becomes  a  question 
of  practical  procedure,  in  what  way  the  interfering  variability 
is  to  be  eliminated. 

It  is  precisely  at  this  point  that  a  priori  criticism  and  in- 
duction part  company.  The  h  priori  critic  gets  rid  of 
uncertainty  in  literary  interpretation  by  confining  his  atten- 
tion to  effects  produced  upon  the  best  minds:  he  sets  up 
taste  as  a  standard  by  which  to  try  impressions  of  literature 
which  he  is  willing  to  consider.  The  inductive  critic  cannot 
have  recourse  to  any  such  arbitrary  means  of  limiting  his 
materials;  for  his  doubts  he  knows  no  court  of  appeal  ex- 
cept the  appeal  to  the  literary  works  themselves.  The 
astronomer,  from  the  vast  distance  of  the  objects  he  observes, 
finds  the  same  phenomenon  producing  different  results  on 
different  observers,  and  he  has  thus  regularly  to  allow  for 
personal  errors :  but  he  deals  with  such  discrepancies  only 
by  fresh  observations  on  the  stars  themselves,  and  it  never 
occurs  to  him  that  he  can  get  rid  of  a  variation  by  ab- 
stract argument  or  deference  to  a  greater  observer.  In  the 
same  way  the  inductive  critic  of  literature  must  settle  his 
doubts  by  referring  them  to  the  literary  productions  them- 
selves ;  to  him  the  question  is  not  of  the  nobler  view  or  the 
view  in  best  taste,  but  simply  what  view  fits  in  best  with  the 
details  as  they  stand  in  actual  fact.  He  quite  recognises  that 
it  is  not  the  objective  details  but  the  subjective  impressions 
they  produce  that  make  literary  effect,  but  the  objective  de- 
tails are  the  limit  on  the  variability  of  the  subjective  impres- 
sions. The  character  of  Macbeth  impresses  two  readers 
differently :  how  is  the  difference  to  be  settled  ?  The  a  priori 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE   CRITICISM.  25 

critic  contends  that  his  conception  is  the  loftier ;  that  a  hero 
should  be  heroic ;  that  moreover  the  tradition  of  the  stage 
and  the  greatest  names  in  the  criticism  of  the  past  bear  him 
out ;  or,  finally,  falls  back  upon  good  taste,  which  closes  the 
discussion.  The  inductive  critic  simply  puts  together  all  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  Macbeth  himself,  all  that  others  in  the 
play  say  and  appear  to  feel  about  him,  and  whatever  view  of 
the  character  is  consistent  with  these  and  similar  facts  of 
the  play,  that  view  he  selects ;  while  to  vary  from  it  for  any 
external  consideration  would  seem  to  him  as  futile  as  for  an 
astronomer  to  make  a  star  rise  an  hour  earlier  to  tally  with 
the  movements  of  another  star. 

We  thus  arrive  at  a  foundation  axiom  of  inductive  literary 
criticism :    Interpretation  in  literature  is  of  the  nature  of  a  Fotmda- 
scientific  hypothesis,  the  truth  of  which  is  tested  by  the  degree  of^™™! 
completeness  with  which  it  explains  the  details  of  the  literary  ductive 
work  as  they  actually  stand.     That  will  be  the  true  meaning  CJ%£^. 
of  a  passage,  not  which  is  the  most  worthy,  but  which  most  tation  of 
nearly  explains  the  words  as  they  are ;  that  will  be  the  true  ^^"y 
reading  of  a  character  which,  however  involved  in  expression  pothesis. 
or  tame  in  effect,  accounts  for  and  reconciles  all  that  is  re- 
presented of  the  personage.   The  inductive  critic  will  interpret 
a  complex  situation,  not  by  fastening  attention  on  its  striking 
elements  and  ignoring  others  as  oversights  and  blemishes, 
but  by  putting  together  with  business-like  exactitude  all  that 
the  author  has  given,  weighing,  balancing,  and  standing  by 
the  product.     He  will  not  consider  that  he  has  solved  the 
action  of  a  drama  by  some  leading  plot,  or  some  central  idea 
powerfully  suggested  in  different  parts,  but  will  investigate 
patiently  until  he  can  find  a  scheme  which  will  give  point  to 
the  inferior  as  well  as  to  the  leading  scenes,  and  in  connec- 
tion with  which  all  the  details  are  harmonised  in  their  proper 
proportions.     In  this  way  he  will  be  raising  a  superstructure 
of  exposition  that  rests,  not  on  authority  however  high,  but 
upon  a  basis  of  indisputable  fact. 


26 


INTRODUCTION. 


Practical 
objection : 
Did  the 
authors 
intend 
these  inter- 
pretations ? 


Answer: 
changed 
meaning  of 
1  design  ' 
in  science. 


In  actual  operation  I  have  often  found  that  such  positive 
analysis  raises  in  the  popular  mind  a  very  practical  objection  : 
that  the  scientific  interpretation  seems  to  discover  in  literary 
works  much  more  in  the  way  of  purpose  and  design  than  the 
authors  themselves  can  be  supposed  to  have  dreamed  of. 
Would  not  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare,  it  is  asked,  if  they 
could  come  to  life  now,  be  greatly  astonished  to  hear  them- 
selves lectured  upon  ?  to  find  critics  knowing  their  purposes 
better  than  they  had  known  them  themselves,  and  discovering 
in  their  works  laws  never  suspected  till  after  they  were  dead, 
and  which  they  themselves  perhaps  would  need  some  effort 
to  understand?  Deep  designs  are  traced  in  Shakespeare's 
plots,  and  elaborate  combinations  in  his  characters  and 
passions:  is  the  student  asked  to  believe  that  Shakespeare 
really  intended  these  complicated  effects  ? 

The  difficulty  rests  largely  upon  a  confusion  in  words. 
Such  words  as  '  purpose/  *  intention/  have  a  different  sense 
when  used  in  ordinary  parlance  from  that  which  they  bear 
when  applied  in  criticism  and  science.  In  ordinary  parlance 
a  man's  *  purpose '  means  his  conscious  purpose,  of  which  he 
is  the  best  judge ;  in  science  the  '  purpose '  of  a  thing  is  the 
purpose  it  actually  serves,  and  is  discoverable  only  by  analysis. 
Thus  science  discovers  that  the  'purpose'  of  earthworms  is 
to  break  up  the  soil,  the  '  design '  of  colouring  in  flowers  is 
to  attract  insects,  though  the  flower  is  not  credited  with  fore- 
sight nor  the  worm  with  disinterestedness.  In  this  usage 
alone  can  the  words  '  purpose/  *  intention/  be  properly  applied 
to  literature  and  art :  science  knows  no  kind  of  evidence  in 
the  matter  of  creative  purpose  so  weighty  as  the  thing  it  has 
actually  produced.  This  has  been  well  put  by  Ulrici : 

The  language  of  the  artist  is  poetry,  music,  drawing,  colouring: 
there  is  no  other  form  in  which  he  can  express  himself  with  equal  depth 
and  clearness.  Who  would  ask  a  philosopher  to  paint  his  ideas  in 
colours?  It  would  be  equally  absurd  to  think  that  because  a  poet 
cannot  say  with  perfect  philosophic  certainty  in  the  form  of  reflection 
and  pure  thought  what  it  was  that  he  wished  and  intended  to  produce, 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE  CRITICISM.  27 

that  he  never  thought  at  all,  but  let  his  imagination  improvise  at 
random. 

Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  analysis  to  discover 
design  in  what,  so  far  as  consciousness  is  concerned,  has 
been  purely  instinctive.  Thus  physiology  ascertains  that 
bread  contains  all  the  necessary  elements  of  food  except  one, 
which  omission  happens  to  be  supplied  by  butter :  this  may 
be  accepted  as  an  explanation  of  our  '  purpose '  in  eating 
butter  with  bread,  without  the  explanation  being  taken  to 
imply  that  all  who  have  ever  fed  on  bread  and  butter 
have  consciously  intended  to  combine  the  nitrogenous  and 
oleaginous  elements  of  food.  It  is  the  natural  order  of 
things  that  the  practical  must  precede  the  analytic.  Bees  by 
instinct  construct  hexagonal  cells,  and  long  afterwards 
mensuration  shows  that  the  hexagon  is  the  most  economic 
shape  for  such  stowage ;  individual  states  must  rise  and  fall 
first  before  the  sciences  of  history  and  politics  can  come  to 
explain  the  how  and  why  of  their  mutations.  Similarly  it  is 
in  accordance  with  the  order  of  things  that  Shakespeare  should 
produce  dramas  by  the  practical  processes  of  art-creation,  and 
that  it  should  be  left  for  others,  his  critics  succeeding  him  at 
long  intervals,  to  discover  by  analysis  his  '  purposes '  and  the 
laws  which  underlie  his  effects.  The  poet,  if  he  could  come 
to  life  now,  would  not  feel  more  surprise  at  this  analysis  of 
his  'motives'  and  unfolding  of  his  unconscious  'design'  than 
he  would  feel  on  hearing  that  the  beating  of  his  heart — to 
him  a  thing  natural  enough,  and  needing  no  explanation — 
had  been  discovered  to  have  a  distinct  purpose  he  could 
never  have  dreamed  of  in  propelling  the  circulation  of  his 
blood,  a  thing  of  which  he  had  never  heard. 

There  are  three  leading  ideas  in  relation  to  which  inductive  joints  of 
and  judicial  criticism  are  in  absolute  antagonism :  to  bring  contrast 
out  these  contrasts  will  be  the  most  effective  way  of  fa-  judicial 
scribing  the  inductive  treatment.  a(jd  '"<?*?' 

tlVC  Cf* 

The  first  of  these  ideas  is  order  of  merit,  together  with  the  cism. 


28  INTRODUCTION. 

i.  m  kindred  notions  of  partisanship  and  hostility  applied  to  indi- 
visual  authors  and  works.  The  minds  of  ordinary  readers 
merit:  are  saturated  with  this  class  of  ideas;  they  are  the  weeds  of 
ride  science.  taste>  choking  the  soil,  and  leaving  no  room  for  the  purer 
forms  of  literary  appreciation.  Favoured  by  the  fatal  blunder 
of  modern  education,  which  considers  every  other  mental 
power  to  stand  in  need  of  training,  but  leaves  taste  and 
imagination  to  shift  for  themselves,  literary  taste  has  largely 
become  confused  with  a  spurious  form  of  it :  the  mere  taste 
for  competition,  comparison  of  likes  and  dislikes,  gossip 
applied  to  art  and  called  criticism.  Of  course  such  likes  and 
dislikes  must  always  exist,  and  journalism  is  consecrated  to 
the  office  of  giving  them  shape  and  literary  expression; 
though  it  should  be  led  by  experience,  if  by  nothing  else,  to 
exercise  its  functions  with  a  double  reserve,  recognising  that 
the  judicial  attitude  of  mind  is  a  limit  on  appreciation,  and 
that  the  process  of  testing  will  itself  be  tried  by  the  test  of 
vitality.  But  such  preferences  and  comparisons  of  merit 
must  be  kept  rigidly  outside  the  sphere  of  science.  Science 
knows  nothing  of  competitive  examination :  a  geologist  is 
not  heard  extolling  old  red  sandstone  as  a  model  rock- 
formation,  or  making  sarcastic  comments  on  the  glacial 
epoch.  Induction  need  not  disturb  the  freedom  with  which 
we  attach  ourselves  to  whatever  attracts  our  individual  dis- 
positions: individual  partisanship  for  the  wooded  snugness 
of  the  Rhine  or  the  bold  and  bracing  Alps  is  unaffected  by 
the  adoption  of  exact  methods  in  physical  geography.  What 
is  to  be  avoided  is  the  confusion  of  two  different  kinds  of 
interest  attaching  to  the  same  object.  In  the  study  of  the 
stars  and  the  rocks,  which  can  inspire  little  or  no  personal 
interest,  it  is  easy  to  keep  science  pure ;  to  keep  it  to  '  dry 
light/  as  Heraclitus  calls  it,  intelligence  unclouded  by  the 
humours  of  individual  sentiment,  as  Bacon  interprets.  But 
when  science  comes  to  be  applied  to  objects  which  can  excite 
emotion  and  inspire  affection,  then  confusion  arises,  and  the 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE  CRITICISM.  29 

scientific  student  of  political  economy  finds  his  treatment  of 
pauperism  disturbed  by  the  philanthropy  which  belongs  to 
him  as  a  man.  Still  more  in  so  emotional  an  atmosphere  as 
the  study  of  beauty,  the  student  must  use  effort  to  separate 
the  beauty  of  an  object,  which  is  a  thing  of  art  and  perfectly 
analy sable,  from  his  personal  interest  in  it,  which  is  as  dis- 
tinctly external  to  the  analysis  of  beauty  as  his  love  for  his 
dog  is  external  to  the  science  of  zoology.  The  possibility  of 
thus  separating  interest  and  perception  of  beauty  without 
diminishing  either  may  be  sufficiently  seen  in  the  case  of 
music — an  art  which  has  been  already  reduced  to  scientific 
form.  Music  is  as  much  as  any  art  a  thing  of  tastes  and 
preferences ;  besides  partialities  for  particular  masters  one 
student  will  be  peculiarly  affected  by  melody,  another  is  all 
for  dramatic  effect,  others  have  a  special  taste  for  the  fugue 
or  the  sonata.  No  one  can  object  to  such  preferences,  but 
the  science  of  music  knows  nothing  about  them  ;  its  exposi- 
tion deals  with  modes  of  treatment  or  habits  of  orchestration 
distinguishing  composers,  irrespective  of  the  private  partialities 
they  excite.  Mozart  and  Wagner  are  analysed  as  two  items 
in  the  sum  of  facts  which  make  up  music  ;  and  if  a  particular 
expositor  shows  by  a  turn  in  the  sentence  that  he  has  a  lean- 
ing to  one  or  the  other,  the  slip  may  do  no  harm,  but  for  the 
moment  science  has  been  dropped. 

There  is,  however,  a  sort  of  difference  between  authors  and  Inductive 
works,  the  constant  recognition  of  which  would  more  than  *™9ucrncd 
make  up  to  cultured  pleasure  for  discarding  comparisons  of  with  dif- 
merit.     Inductive  treatment  is  concerned  with  differences  °f  li^noto 
£/>/</ as  distinguished  from  differences  of  degree.     Elementary  degree. 
as  this  distinction  is,  the  power  of  firmly  grasping  it  is  no 
slight  evidence  of  a  trained  mind :  the  power,  that  is,  of  clearly 
seeing  that  two  things  are  different,  without  being  at  the  same 
time  impelled  to  rank  one  above  the  other.     The  confusion 
of  the  two  is  a  constant  obstacle  in  the  way  of  literary  appre- 
ciation.   It  has  been  said,  by  way  of  comparison  between  two 


30  INTRODUCTION. 

great  novelists,  that  George  Eliot  constructs  characters,  but 
Charlotte  Bronte  creates  them.  The  description  (assuming 
it  to  be  true)  ought  to  shed  a  flood  of  interest  upon  both 
authoresses;  by  perpetually  throwing  on  the  two  modes  of 
treatment  the  clear  light  of  contrast  it  ought  to  intensify  our 
appreciation  of  both.  As  a  fact,  however,  the  description  is 
usually  quoted  to  suggest  a  preference  for  Charlotte  Bronte 
on  the  supposed  ground  that  creation  is  '  higher '  than  con- 
struction ;  and  the  usual  consequences  of  preferences  are 
threatened — the  gradual  closing  of  our  susceptibilities  to  those 
qualities  in  the  less  liked  of  the  two  which  do  not  resemble 
the  qualities  of  the  favourite.  Yet  why  should  we  not  be 
content  to  accept  such  a  description  (if  true)  as  constituting 
a  difference  of  kind,  and  proceed  to  recognise  '  construction  ' 
and  'creation'  as  two  parallel  modes  of  treatment,  totally 
distinct  from  one  another  in  the  way  in  which  a  fern  is  dis- 
tinct from  a  flower,  a  distinction  allowing  no  room  for  prefer- 
ences because  there  is  no  common  ground  on  which  to  com- 
pare ?  This  separateness  once  granted,  the  mind,  instead  of 
having  to  choose  between  the  two,  would  have  scope  for 
taking  in  to  the  full  the  detailed  effects  flowing  from  both 
modes  of  treatment,  and  the  area  of  mental  pleasure  would  be 
enlarged.  The  great  blunders  of  criticism  in  the  past,  which 
are  now  universally  admitted,  rest  on  this  inability  to  recognise 
differences  of  kind  in  literature.  The  Restoration  poets  had 
a  mission  to  bring  the  heroic  couplet  to  perfection :  poetry 
not  in  their  favourite  measure  they  treated,  not  as  different, 
but  as  bad,  and  rewrote  or  ignored  Spenser  and  Milton.  And 
generations  of  literary  history  have  been  wasted  in  discussing 
whether  the  Greek  dramatists  or  Shakespeare  were  the  higher: 
now  every  one  recognises  that  they  constitute  two  schools 

Distinc-      different  in  kind  that  cannot  be  compared. 

lions  of 

kindapri-      It  is  hardly  going  too  far  to  assert  that  this  sensitiveness  to 

mary  ele-     differences  of  kind  as  distinguished  from  differences  of  degree 
went  map-  . 

prcdation.  is  the  first  condition  of  literary  appreciation.    Nothing  can  be 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE   CRITICISM.  31 

more  essential  to  art-perception  than  receptiveness,  and 
receptiveness  implies  a  change  in  the  receptive  attitude  of 
mind  with  each  variety  of  art.  To  illustrate  by  an  extreme 
case.  Imagine  a  spectator  perfectly  familiar  with  the  Drama, 
but  to  whom  the  existence  of  the  Opera  was  unknown,  and 
suppose  him  to  have  wandered  into  an  opera-house,  mis- 
taking it  for  a  theatre.  At  first  the  mistake  under  which  he 
was  labouring  would  distort  every  effect :  the  elaborate  over- 
ture would  seem  to  him  a  great '  waste '  of  power  in  what  was 
a  mere  accessory ;  the  opening  recitative  would  strike  him  as 
'unnaturally'  delivered,  and  he  would  complain  of  the 
orchestral  accompaniment  as  a  'distraction';  while  at  the 
first  aria  he  would  think  the  actor  gone  mad.  As,  however, 
arias,  terzettos,  recitatives  succeeded  one  another,  he  must  at 
last  catch  the  idea  that  the  music  was  an  essential  element  in 
the  exhibition,  and  that  he  was  seeing,  not  a  drama,  but  a 
drama  translated  into  a  different  kind  of  art.  The  catching 
of  this  idea  would  at  once  make  all  the  objectionable  elements 
fall  into  their  proper  places.  No  longer  distracted  by  the 
thought  of  the  ordinary  Drama,  his  mind  would  have  leisure 
to  catch  the  special  effects  of  the  Opera :  he  would  feel  how 
powerfully  a  change  of  passion  could  move  him  when  magni- 
fied with  all  the  range  of  expression  an  orchestra  affords,  and 
he  would  acknowledge  a  dramatic  touch  as  the  diabolic  spirit 
of  the  conspirator  found  vent  in  a  double  D.  The  illustration 
is  extreme  to  the  extent  of  absurdity :  but  it  brings  out  how 
expectation  plays  an  important  part  in  appreciation,  and  how 
the  expectation  has  to  be  adapted  to  that  on  which  it  is  exer- 
cised. The  receptive  attitude  is  a  sort  of  mental  focus  which 
needs  adjusting  afresh  to  each  variety  of  art  if  its  effects  arc 
to  be  clearly  caught ;  and  to  disturb  attention  when  engaged 
on  one  species  of  literature  by  the  thought  of  another  is  as 
unreasonable  as  to  insist  on  one  microscopic  object  appearing 
definite  when  looked  at  with  a  focus  adjusted  to  another 
object.  This  will  be  acknowledged  in  reference  to  the  great 


32 


INTR  OD  UCT20N. 


Each 
author 
a  separate 
species. 


Second 
axiom  of 
inductive 
criticism : 
its  function 
in  distin- 
guishing 
literary 
species. 


IT. 

The  '  laws 
of  art '  : 
confusion 
between 
law  exter- 
nal and 
scientific. 


divisions  of  art :  but  does  it  not  apply  to  the  species  as  well  as 
the  genera,  indeed  to  each  individual  author  ?  Wordsworth 
has  laid  down  that  each  fresh  poet  is  to  be  tried  by  fresh 
canons  of  taste  :  this  is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  the 
differences  between  poets  are  differences  of  kind,  that  each 
author  is  a  '  school '  by  himself,  and  can  be  appreciated  only 
by  a  receptive  attitude  formed  by  adjustment  to  himself  alone. 
In  a  scientific  treatment  of  literature,  at  all  events,  an  ele- 
mentary axiom  must  be :  That  inductive  criticism  is  mainly 
occupied  in  distinguishing  literary  species.  And  on  this  view 
it  will  clearly  appear  how  such  notions  as  order  of  merit 
become  disturbing  forces  in  literary  appreciation  :  uncon- 
sciously they  apply  the  qualitative  standard  of  the  favourite 
works  to  works  which  must  necessarily  be  explained  by 
a  different  standard.  They  are  defended  on  the  ground  of 
pleasure,  but  they  defeat  their  own  object :  no  element  in 
pleasure  is  greater  than  variety,  and  comparisons  of  merit, 
wilh  every  other  form  of  the  judicial  spirit,  are  in  reality 
arrangements  for  appreciating  the  smallest  number  of 
varieties. 

The  second  is  the  most  important  of  the  three  ideas,  both 
for  its  effect  in  the  past  and  for  the  sharpness  with  which  it 
brings  judicial  and  inductive  criticism  into  contrast.  It  is  the 
idea  that  there  exist  Maws'  of  art,  in  the  same  sense  in  which 
we  speak  of  laws  in  morality  or  the  laws  of  some  particular 
state — great  principles  which  have  been  laid  down,  and  which 
are  binding  on  the  artist  as  the  laws  of  God  or  his  country 
are  binding  on  the  man;  that  by  these,  and  by  lesser  principles 
deduced  from  these,  the  artist's  work  is  to  be  tried,  and  praise 
or  blame  awarded  accordingly.  Great  part  of  formal  criticism 
runs  on  these  lines;  while,  next  in  importance  to  com- 
parisons of  merit,  the  popular  mind  considers  literary  taste  to 
consist  in  a  keen  sensitiveness  to  the  'faults'  and  'flaws' 
of  literary  workmanship. 

This  attitude  to  art   illustrates  the  enormous  misleading 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE   CRITICISM.          33 

power  of  the  metaphors  that  lie  concealed  in  words.  The 
word  '  law/  justly  applicable  in  one  of  its  senses  to  art,  has 
in  practice  carried  with  it  the  associations  of  its  other  sense  ; 
and  the  mistake  of  metaphor  has  been  sufficient  to  distort 
criticism  until,  as  Goldsmith  remarks,  rules  have  become  the 
greatest  of  all  the  misfortunes  which  have  befallen  the  com- 
monwealth of  letters.  Every  expositor  has  had  to  point  out 
the  widespread  confusion  between  the  two  senses  of  this 
term.  Laws  in  the  moral  and  political  world  are  external 
obligations,  restraints  of  the  will ;  they  exist  where  the  will 
of  a  ruler  or  of  the  community  is  applied  to  the  individual 
will.  In  science,  on  the  other  hand,  law  has  to  do  not  with 
what  ought  to  be,  but  with  what  is ;  scientific  laws  are  facts 
reduced  to  formulae,  statements  of  the  habits  of  things,  so  to 
speak.  The  laws  of  the  stars  in  the  first  sense  could  only 
mean  some  creative  fiat,  such  as  '  Let  there  be  lights  in  the 
firmament  of  heaven  ';  in  the  scientific  sense  laws  of  the  stars 
are  summaries  of  their  customary  movements.  In  the  act  of 
getting  drunk  I  am  violating  God's  moral  law,  I  am  obeying 
his  law  of  alcoholic  action.  So  scientific  laws,  in  the  case  of 
art  and  literature,  will  mean  descriptions  of  the  practice  of 
artists  or  the  characteristics  of  their  works,  when  these  will  go 
into  the  form  of  general  propositions  as  distinguished  from 
disconnected  details.  The  key  to  the  distinction  is  the  notion 
of  external  authority.  There  cannot  be  laws  in  the  moral  and 
political  sense  without  a  ruler  or  legislative  authority;  in 
scientific  laws  the  law-giver  and  the  law-obeyer  are  one  and 
the  same,  and  for  the  laws  of  vegetation  science  looks  no 
further  than  the  facts  of  the  vegetable  world.  In  literature  The  'laws 
and  art  the  term  '  law '  applies  only  in  the  scientific  sense ;  ^l^^ 
the  laws  of  the  Shakespearean  Drama  are  not  laws  imposed  laws. 
by  some  external  authority  upon  Shakespeare,  but  laws  of 
dramatic  practice  derived  from  the  analysis  of  his  actual 
works.  Laws  of  literature,  in  the  sense  of  external  obligations 
limiting  an  author,  there  are  none :  if  he  were  voluntarily  to 

D 


34  INTRODUCTION. 

bind  himself  by  such  external  laws,  he  would  be  so  far  cur- 
tailing art ;  it  is  hardly  a  paradox  to  say  the  art  is  legitimate 
The  word  only  when  it  does  not  obey  laws.  What  applies  to  the  term 
meaning-  '^aw '  aPP^es  similarly  to  the  term  'fault/  The  term  is 
less  in  in-  likely  always  to  be  used  from  its  extreme  convenience  in  art- 
treaiment.  trammg  5  but  it  must  be  understood  strictly  as  a  term  of  edu- 
cation and  discipline.  In  inductive  criticism,  as  in  the  other 
inductive  sciences,  the  word  ' fault'  has  no  meaning.  If  an. 
artist  acts  contrary  to  the  practice  of  all  other  artists,  the 
result  is  either  that  he  produces  no  art-effect  at  all,  in  which 
case  there  is  nothing  for  criticism  to  register  and  analyse,  or 
else  he  produces  a  new  effect,  and  is  thus  extending,  not 
breaking,  the  laws  of  art.  The  great  clash  of  horns  in 
Beethoven's  Heroic  Symphony  was  at  first  denounced  as  a 
gross  fault,  a  violation  of  the  plainest  laws  of  harmony ;  now, 
instead  of  a  *  fault,'  it  is  spoken  of  as  a  '  unique  effect,'  and 
in  the  difference  between  the  two  descriptions  lies  the  whole 
difference  between  the  conceptions  of  judicial  and  inductive 
criticism.  Again  and  again  in  the  past  this  notion  of  faults 
has  led  criticism  on  to  wrong  tracks,  from  which  it  has  had 
to  retrace  its  steps  on  finding  the  supposed  faults  to  be  in 
reality  new  laws.  Immense  energy  was  wasted  in  denouncing 
Shakespeare's  '  fault '  of  uniting  serious  with  light  matter  in 
the  same  play  as  a  violation  of  fundamental  dramatic  laws ; 
experience  showed  this  mixture  of  passions  to  be  the  source 
of  powerful  art-effects  hitherto  shut  out  of  the  Drama,  and  the 
'  fault '  became  one  of  the  distinguishing  *  laws '  in  the  most 
famous  branch  of  modern  literature.  It  is  necessary  then  to 
insist  upon  the  strict  scientific  sense  of  the  term  *  law '  as 
used  of  literature  and  art ;  and  the  purging  of  criticism  from 
the  confusion  attaching  to  this  word  is  an  essential  step  in  its 
elevation  to  the  inductive  standard.  It  is  a  step,  moreover, 
in  which  it  has  been  preceded  by  other  branches  of  thought. 
At  one  time  the  practice  of  commerce  and  the  science  of 
economy  suffered  under  the  same  confusion :  the  battle  of 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE  CRITICISM.          35 

*  free  trade '  has  been  fought,  the  battle  of  '  free  art '  is  still 
going  on.  In  time  it  will  be  recognised  that  the  practice 
of  artists,  like  the  operations  of  business,  must  be  left  to  its 
natural  working,  and  the  attempt  to  impose  external  canons 
of  taste  on  artists  will  appear  as  futile  as  the  attempt  to 
effect  by  legislation  the  regulation  of  prices. 

Objections  may  possibly  be  taken  to  this  train  of  argument  Objection 
on  very  high  grounds,  as  if  the  protest  against  the  notion  of  ^^/t',r_ 
law-obeying  in  art  were  a  sort  of  antinomianism.    Literature,  pose  of 
it  may  be  said,  has  a  moral  purpose,  to  elevate  and  refine,  and  llteraturc  •' 
no  duty  can  be  higher  than  that  of  pointing  out  what  in  it  is 
elevating  and  refining,  and  jealously  watching  against  any 
lowering  of  its  standard.     Such  contention  may  readily  be  this  outside 
granted,  and  yet  may  amount  to  no  more  than  this :  that  ^treatment 
there  are  ways  of  dealing  with  literature  which  are  more  im-  though  in 
portant  than  inductive  criticism,  but  which  are  none  the  less 
outside  it.    Jeremy  Collier  did  infinite  service  to  our  Restora- 
tion  Drama,  but  his  was  not  the  service  of  a  scientific  critic. 
The  same  things  take  different  ranks  as  they  are  tried  by  the 
standards  of  science  or  morals.     An  enervating  climate  may 
have  the  effect  of  enfeebling  the  moral  character,  but  this 
does  not  make  the  geographer's  interest  in  the  tropical  zone 
one  whit  the  less.     Economy  concerns  itself  simply  with  the 
fact  that  a  certain  subsidence  of  profits  in  a  particular  trade 
will  drive  away  capital  to  other  trades.     But  the  details  of 
human  experience  that  are  latent  in  such  a  proposition :  the 
chilling  effects  of  unsuccess  and  the  dim  colour  it  gives  to  the 
outlook  into  the  universe,  the  sifting  of  character  and  separa- 
tion  between   the   enterprising    and   the   simple,   the   hard 
thoughts  as  to  the  mysterious  dispensations  of  human  pros- 
perity, the  sheer  misery  of  a  wage-class  looking  on  plenty  and 
feeling  starvation — this  human  drama  of  failing  profits  may 
be  vastly  more  important  than  the  whole  science  of  economy, 
but  economy  none  the  less  entirely  and  rightly  ignores  it. 

To  some,  I  know,  it  appears  that  literature  is  a  sphere  in 
D  2 


36  INTRODUCTION. 

Objection :  which  the  strict  sense  of  the  word  '  law '  has  no  application  : 
"arbitrary    tnat  suc^  ^aws  ^ong  to  nature,  not  to  art.     The  essence,  it 
product  not  is  contended,  of  the  natural  sciences  is  the  certainty  of  the 
SlawCt         facts  with  which  they  deal.    Art,  on  the  contrary,  is  creative ; 
it  does  not  come  into  the  category  of  objective  phenomena  at 
all,  but  is  the  product  of  some  artist's  will,  and  therefore 
purely   arbitrary.      If  in  a  compilation  of  observations  in 
natural  history  for  scientific  use  it  became  known  that  the 
compiler  had  at  times  drawn  upon  his  imagination  for  his 
details,  the  whole  compilation  would  become  useless ;  and  any 
scientific  theories  based  upon  it  would  be  discredited.     But 
the  artist  bases  his  work  wholly  on  imagination,  and  caprice 
is  a  leading  art-beauty :  how,  it  is  asked,  can  so  arbitrary  a 
subject-matter  be  reduced  to  the  form  of  positive  laws  ? 
Third  In  view  of  any  such  objections,  it  may  be  well  to  set  up 

"Jiductwe     a  tnird  axiom  of  inductive  criticism :  That  art  is  a  part  of 
criticism :    nature.     Nature,  it  is  true,  is  the  vaguest  of  words :  but  this 
aof  nature    *s  a  vaoueness  common  to  the  objection  and  the  answer.    The 
objection  rests  really  on  a  false  antithesis,  of  which  one  term 
is  '  nature/  while  it  is  not  clear  what  is  the  other  term ;  the 
axiom  set  up  in  answer  implies  that  there  is  no  real  distinction 
between  'nature'  and  the  other  phenomena  which  are  the 
subject  of  human  enquiry.     The  distinction  is  supposed  to 
rest  upon  the  degree  to  which   arbitrary  elements  of  the 
mind,  such  as  imagination,  will,  caprice,   enter   into   such 
Other  arln-  a  thing  as  art-production.     But  there  are  other  things  in 
^tucts^stib     wn^cn  tne  numan  will  plays  as  much  part  as  it  does  in  art, 
jtct  to         and  which  have  nevertheless  proved  compatible  with  inductive 
treatment.     Those  who  hold  that  '  thought  is  free '  do  not 
reject  psychology  as  an  inductive  science ;  actual  politics  are 
made  up  of  struggles  of  will,  exercises  of  arbitrary  power,  and 
the  like,  and  yet  there  is  a  political  science.     If  there  is  an 
inductive  science  of  politics,  men's  voluntary  actions  in  the 
pursuit  of  public  life,  and  an  inductive  science  of  economy, 
men's  voluntary  actions   in  pursuit  of  wealth,  why  should 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE   CRITICISM.          37 

there  not  be  an  inductive  science  of  art,  men's  voluntary 
actions  in  pursuit  of  the  beautiful  ?  The  whole  of  human 
action,  as  well  as  the  whole  of  external  nature,  comes  within 
the  jurisdiction  of  science  ;  so  far  from  the  productions  of 
the  will  and  imagination  being  exempted  from  scientific 
treatment,  will  and  imagination  themselves  form  chapters  in 
psychology,  and  caprice  has  been  analysed. 

It  remains  to  notice  the  third  of  the  three  ideas  in  relation       in- 
to which  the  two  kinds  of  criticism  are  in  complete  contrast  fixcd  * 
with  one  another.     It  is  a  vague  notion,  which  no  objector  standards 
would  formulate,  but  which  as  a  fact  does  underlie  judicial  €nt  7C/^ 
criticism,  and  insensibly  accompanies  its  testing  and  assay-  inductive 
ing.     It  is  the  idea  that  the  foundations  of  literary  form  have 
reached  their  final  settlement,  the  past  being  tacitly  taken  as 
a  standard  for  the  present  and  future,  or  the  present  as  a 
standard  for  the  past.     Thus  in  the  treatment  of  new  litera- 
ture the   idea   manifests   itself  in  a  secret   antagonism  to 
variations  from  received  models  ;  at  the  very  least,  new  forms 
are  called  upon  to  justify  themselves,  and  so  the  judicial 
critic  brings  his  least  receptive  attitude  to  the  new  effects 
which  need  receptiveness  most.     In  opposition  to  this  tacit 
assumption,  inductive  criticism  starts  with  a  distinct  counter- 
axiom  of  the  utmost  importance  :   That  literature  is  a  thing  of 
development.     This  axiom  implies  that  the  critic  must  come  to  Fourth 
literature  as  to  that  in  which  he  is  expecting  to  find  unlimited 


change  and  variety  ;   he  must  keep  before  him  the  fact  that  criticism  : 
production   must   always   be   far    ahead   of    criticism    and  ^  tiling  or 
analysis,  and  must  have  carried  its  conquering  invention  into  develop- 
fresh  regions  before  science,  like  settled  government  in  the  m 
wake  of  the  pioneer,  follows  to  explain  the  new  effects  by 
new  principles.     No  doubt  in  name  literary  development  is 
recognised  in  all  criticism;   yet  in  its  treatment  both  of  old 
literature  and  new  the  a  priori  criticism  is  false  to  development 
in  the  scientific  sense  of  the  term.     Such  systems  are  apt  to 
begin  by  laying  down  that  '  the  object  of  literature  is  so  and 


38  INTRODUCTION. 

Ignoring  so/  or  that  '  the  purpose  of  the  Drama  is  to  pourtray  human 
°lopment  in  nature '  *  tnev  tnen  proceed  to  test  actual  literature  and 
new  Utera-  dramas  by  the  degree  in  which  they  carry  out  these  funda- 


mental principles.     Such  procedure  is  the  opposite  of  the 
inductive  method,  and  is  a  practical  denial  of  development  in 
'purpose*    literature.     Assuming  that  the  object  of  existing  literature 
"ur^con"     were  correctly  described,  such  a  formula  could  not  bind  the 
tinually      literature  of  the  future.     Assuming  that  there  was  ever  a 
modifying.  Branch  of  art  wnicn  could  be  reduced  to  one  simple  purpose, 
yet  the  inherent  tendency  of  the  human  mind  and  its  produc- 
tions to  develop  would  bring  it  about  that  what  were  at  first 
means  towards  this  purpose  would  in  time  become  ends  in 
themselves  side  by  side  with  the  main  purpose,  giving  us  in 
addition  to  the  simple  species  a  modified  variety  of  it ;   ex- 
ternal influences,  again,  would  mingle  with  the  native  charac- 
teristics of  the  original  species,   and  produce  new  species 
compound  in  their  purposes  and  effects.     The  real  literature 
would  be  ever  obeying  the  first  principle   of  development 
and  changing  from  simple  to  complex,  while  the  criticism  that 
tried   it  by   the   original   standard  would  be  at  each  step 
removed  one  degree  further  from  the  only  standard  by  which 
the  literature  could  be  explained.     And  if  judicial  criticism 
Develop-      fails  in  providing  for  development  in  the  future  and  present, 
"past  liura-  ^  *s  equally  unfortunate  in  giving  a  false  twist  to  development 
ture  con-     -\vhen  looked  for  in  the  past.      The  critic  of  comparative 
improve'      standards  is  apt  to  treat  early  stages  of  literature  as  ele- 
ment.          mentary,  tacitly  assuming  his  own  age  as  a  standard  up  to 
which  previous  periods  have  developed.     Thus  his  treatment 
of  the  past  becomes  often  an  assessment  of  the  degrees  in 
which  past  periods  have  approximated  to  his  own,  advancing 
from  literary  pot-hooks  to  his  own  running  facility.     The 
clearness  of  an  ancient  writer  he  values  at  fifty  per  cent,  as 
compared    with   modern    standards,    his   concatenation   of 
sentences  is  put  down    as  only  forty-five.     But  what  if   a 
certain  degree  of  mistiness  be  an  essential  element  in  the 


PRINCIPLES  OF  INDUCTIVE  CRITICISM.  39 

phase  of  literary  development  to  which  the  particular  writer 
belongs,  so  that  in  him  modern  clearness  would  become,  in 
judicial  phrase,  a  fault?  What  if  Plato's  concatenation  of 
sentences  would  simply  spoil  the  flavour  of  Herodotus's  story- 
telling, if  Jeremy  Taylor's  prolixity  and  Milton's  bi-lingual 
prose  be  simply  the  fittest  of  all  dresses  for  the  thought  of 
their  age  and  individual  genius  ?  In  fact,  the  critic  of  fixed 
standards  confuses  development  with  improvement :  a  parallel 
mistake  in  natural  history  would  be  to  understand  the  state- 
ment that  man  is  higher  in  the  scale  of  development  than 
the  butterfly  as  implying  that  a  butterfly  was  God's  failure 
in  the  attempt  to  make  man.  The  inductive  critic  will 
accord  to  the  early  forms  of  his  art  the  same  independence  he 
accords  to  later  forms.  Development  will  not  mean  to  him 
education  for  a  future  stage,  but  the  perpetual  branching  out 
of  literary  activity  into  ever  fresh  varieties,  different  in  kind 
from  one  another,  and  each  to  be  studied  by  standards  of  its 
own :  the  *  individuality '  of  authors  is  the  expression  in 
literary  parlance  which  corresponds  to  the  perpetual  '  differ- 
entiation* of  new  species  in  science.  Alike,  then,  in  his 
attitude  to  the  past  and  the  future,  the  inductive  critic  will 
eschew  the  temptation  to  judgment  by  fixed  standards,  which 
in  reality  means  opposing  lifeless  rules  to  the  ever-living 
variety  of  nature.  He  will  leave  a  dead  judicial  criticism  to 
bury  its  dead  authors  and  to  pen  for  them  judicious  epitaphs, 
and  will  himself  approach  literature  filled  equally  with  rever- 
ence for  the  unbroken  vitality  of  its  past  and  faith  in  its 
exhaustless  future. 

To  gather  up  our  results.  Induction,  as  the  most  uni-  Summary. 
versal  of  scientific  methods,  may  be  presumed  to  apply 
wherever  there  is  a  subject-matter  reducible  to  the  form  of 
fact ;  such  a  subject-matter  will  be  found  in  literature  where 
its  effects  are  interpreted,  not  arbitrarily,  but  with  strict  refer- 
ence to  the  details  of  the  literary  works  as  they  actually 
stand.  There  is  thus  an  inductive  literary  criticism,  akin  in 


40  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

spirit  and  methods  to  the  other  inductive  sciences,  and  dis- 
tinct from  other  branches  of  criticism,  such  as  the  criticism 
of  taste.  This  inductive  criticism  will  entirely  free  itself 
from  the  judicial  spirit  and  its  comparisons  of  merit,  which 
is  found  to  have  been  leading  criticism  during  half  its  his- 
tory on  to  false  tracks  from  which  it  has  taken  the  other  half 
to  retrace  its  steps.  On  the  contrary,  inductive  criticism 
will  examine  literature  in  the  spirit  of  pure  investigation; 
looking  for  the  laws  of  art  in  the  practice  of  artists,  and 
treating  art,  like  the  rest  of  nature,  as  a  thing  of  continuous 
development,  which  may  thus  be  expected  to  fall,  with  each 
author  and  school,  into  varieties  distinct  in  kind  from  one 
another,  and  each  of  which  can  be  fully  grasped  only  when 
examined  with  an  attitude  of  mind  adapted  to  the  special 
variety  without  interference  from  without. 

To  illustrate  the  criticism  thus  described  in  its  application 
to  Shakespeare  is  the  purpose  of  the  present  work. 

The  scope  of  the  book  is  limited  to  the  consideration  of 
Shakespeare  in  his  character  as  the  great  master  of  the 
Romantic  Drama;  and  its  treatment  of  his  dramatic  art 
divides  itself  into  two  parts.  The  first  applies  the  inductive 
method  in  a  series  of  Studies  devoted  to  particular  plays, 
and  to  single  important  features  of  dramatic  art  which  these 
plays  illustrate.  One  of  the  purposes  of  this  first  part  is  to 
bring  out  how  the  inductive  method,  besides  its  scientific  in- 
terest, has  the  further  recommendation  of  assisting  more 
than  any  other  treatment  to  enlarge  our  appreciation  of  the 
author  and  of  his  achievements.  The  second  part  will  use  the 
materials  collected  in  the  first  part  to  present,  in  the  form  of 
a  brief  survey,  Dramatic  Criticism  as  an  inductive  science; 
enumerating,  so  far  as  its  materials  admit,  the  leading  topics 
which  such  a  science  would  treat,  and  arranging  these  topics 
in  the  logical  connection  which  scientific  method  requires. 


PART  FIRST 
SHAKESPEARE 

CONSIDERED  AS  A 

DRAMATIC   ARTIST 

IN  FIFTEEN  STUDIES 


T 


I. 

THE  Two  STORIES  SHAKESPEARE  BORROWS 
FOR  HIS  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

A  Study  in  the  Raw  Material  of 
the  Romantic  Drama. 

HE  starting-point  in  the  treatment  of  any  work  of  litera-    CHAP.  I. 

ture  is  its  position  in  literary  history :  the  recognition 
of  this  gives  the  attitude  of  mind  which  is  most  favourable  for  the  'Raw 
extracting  from  the  work  its  full  effect.  The  division-  of  the  Material 
universal  Drama  to  which  Shakespeare  belongs  is  known  as  Romantic 
the  *  Romantic  Drama/  one  of  its  chief  distinctions  being  Drama. 
that  it  uses  the  stories  of  Romance,  together  with  histories 
treated  as  story-books,  as  the  sources  from  which  the  matter 
of  the  plays  is  taken ;  Romances  are  the  raw  material  out  of 
which  the  Shakespearean  Drama  is  manufactured.  This  very 
fact  serves  to  illustrate  the  elevation  of  the  Elizabethan 
Drama  in  the  scale  of  literary  development :  just  as  the 
weaver  uses  as  his  raw  material  that  which  is  the  finished 
product  of  the  spinner,  so  Shakespeare  and  his  contem- 
poraries start  in  their  art  of  dramatising  from  Story  which  is 
already  a  form  of  art.  In  the  exhibition,  then,  of  Shake- 
speare as  an  Artist,  it  is  natural  to  begin  with  the  raw 
material  which  he  worked  up  into  finished  masterpieces. 
For  illustration  of  this  no  play  could  be  more  suitable  than 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  in  which  two  tales,  already  familiar 
in  the  story  form,  have  been  woven  together  into  a  single 
plot :  the  Story  of  the  Cruel  Jew,  who  entered  into  a  bond 
with  his  enemy  of  which  the  forfeit  was  to  be  a  pound  of  this 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


CHAP.  I. 


Story  of 
the  Jeiv. 


Nemesis  as 
a  dramatic 
idea. 


Ancient 

conception  : 

artistic 

connection 

between 

excess  and 

reaction. 


enemy's  own  flesh,  and  the  Story  of  the  Heiress  and  the 
Caskets.  The  present  study  will  deal  with  the  stories  them- 
selves, considering  them  as  if  with  the  eye  of  a  dramatic 
artist  to  catch  the  points  in  which  they  lend  themselves  to 
dramatic  effect ;  the  next  will  show  how  Shakespeare  handles 
the  stories  in  telling  them,  increasing  their  dramatic  force 
by  the  very  process  of  working  them  up  ;  a  third  study  will 
point  out  how,  not  content  with  two  stories,  he  has  added 
others  in  the  development  of  his  plot,  making  it  more  complex 
only  in  reality  to  make  it  more  simple. 

In  the  Story  of  the  Jew  the  main  point  is  its  special 
capability  for  bringing  out  the  idea  of  Nemesis,  one  of  the 
simplest  and  most  universal  of  dramatic  motives.  Described 
broadly,  Nemesis  is  retribution  as  it  appears  in  the  world  of 
art.  In  reality  the  term  covers  two  distinct  conceptions :  in 
ancient  thought  Nemesis  was  an  artistic  bond  between  ex- 
cess and  reaction,  in  modern  thought  it  is  an  artistic  bond 
between  sin  and  retribution.  The  distinction  is  part  of  the 
general  difference  between  Greek  and  modern  views  of  life. 
The  Greeks  may  be  said  to  be  the  most  artistic  nation  of 
mankind,  in  the  sense  that  art  covered  so  large  a  proportion 
of  their  whole  personality:  it  is  not  surprising  to  find  that 
they  projected  their  sense  of  art  into  morals.  Aristotle  was 
a  moral  philosopher,  but  his  system  of  ethics  reads  as  an 
artistically  devised  pattern,  in  which  every  virtue  is  removed 
at  equal  distances  from  vices  of  excess  and  defect  balancing 
it  on  opposite  sides.  The  Greek  word  for  law  signifies  pro- 
portion and  distribution,  nomos ;  and  it  is  only  another  form 
of  it  that  expresses  Nemesis  as  the  power  punishing  viola- 
tions of  proportion  in  things  human.  Distinct  from  Justice, 
which  was  occupied  with  crime,  Nemesis  was  a  companion 
deity  to  Fortune ;  and  as  Fortune  went  through  the  world 
distributing  the  good  things  of  life  heedlessly  without  re- 
gard to  merit,  so  Nemesis  followed  in  her  steps,  and, 
equally  without  regard  to  merit,  delighted  in  cutting  down  the 


STORY  AS  DRAMATIC  MATERIAL.  45 

prosperity  that  was  high  enough  to  attract  attention.     Poly-  CHAP.  I. 

crates  is  the  typical  victim  of  such  Nemesis  :  cast  off  by  his      

firmest  ally  for  no  offence  but  an  unbroken  career  of  good 
luck,  in  the  reaction  from  which  his  ally  feared  to  be  in- 
volved ;  essaying  as  a  forlorn  hope  to  propitiate  by  voluntarily 
throwing  in  the  sea  his  richest  crown-jewel;  recognising 
when  this  was  restored  by  fishermen  that  heaven  had  refused 
his  sacrifice,  and  abandoning  himself  to  his  fate  in  despair. 
But  Nemesis,  to  the  moral  sense  of  antiquity,  could  go  even 
beyond  visitation  on  innocent  prosperity,  and  goodness  itself 
could  be  carried  to  a  degree  that  invited  divine  reaction. 
Heroes  like  Lycurgus  and  Pentheus  perished  for  excess  of 
temperance ;  and  the  ancient  Drama  startles  the  modern 
reader  with  an  Hippolytus,  whose  passionate  purity  brought 
down  on  him  a  destruction  prophesied  beforehand  by  those 
to  whom  religious  duty  suggested  moderate  indulgence  in 
lust. 

Such   malignant  correction  of  human  inequalities  is  not  Modern 
a  function  to  harmonise  with  modern  conceptions  of  Deity.  c™ff$tot 
Yet  the  Greek  notion  of  Nemesis  has  an  element  of  per-  connection 
manency  in  it,  for  it  represents  a  principle  underlying  human  ^J^'/^' 
life.     It  suggests  a  sort  of  elasticity  in  human  experience,  a  button. 
tendency  to  rebound  from  a  strain ;  this  is  the  equilibrium  of 
the  moral  world,  the  force  which  resists  departure  from  the 
normal,  becoming  greater  in  proportion  as  departure  from 
the  normal  is  wider.     Thus  in  commercial  speculation  there 
is  a  safe  medium  certain  to  bring  profit  in  the  long  run ;  in 
social  ambition  there  is  a  certain  rise  though  slow  :  if  a  man 
hurries  to  be  rich,  or  seeks  to  rise  in  public  life  by  leaps  and 
bounds,  the  spectator  becomes  aware  of  a  secret  force  that 
has  been  set  in  motion,  as  when  the  equilibrium  of  physical 
bodies  has  been  disturbed,  which  force  threatens  to  drag  the 
aspirant   down   to  the  point  from   which  he  started,  or  to 
debase  him  lower  in  proportion  to  the  height  at  which  he 
rashly  aimed.     Such  a  force  is  '  risk/  and  it  may  remain  risk, 


4 6  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.  but  if  it  be  crowned  with  the  expected  fall  the  whole  is 
recognised  as  '  Nemesis/  This  Nemesis  is  deeply  embedded 
in  the  popular  mind  and  repeatedly  crops  up  in  its  pro- 
verbial wisdom.  Proverbs  like  '  Grasp  all,  lose  all/  '  When 
things  come  to  the  worst  they  are  sure  to  mend/  exactly 
express  moral  equilibrium,  and  the  'golden  mean'  is  its 
proverbial  formula.  The  saying '  too  much  of  a  good  thing ' 
suggests  that  the  Nemesis  on  departures  from  the  golden 
mean  applies  to  good  things  as  well  as  bad;  while  the 
principle  is  made  to  apply  even  to  the  observation  of  the 
golden  mean  itself  in  the  proverb  '  Nothing  venture,  nothing 
have/  Nevertheless,  this  side  of  the  whole  notion  has  in 
modern  usage  fallen  into  the  background  in  comparison 
with  another  aspect  of  Nemesis.  The  grand  distinction  of 
modern  thought  is  the  predominance  in  it  of  moral  ideas : 
they  colour  even  its  imagination ;  and  if  the  Greeks  carried 
their  art-sense  into  morals,  modern  instincts  have  carried 
morals  into  art.  In  particular  the  speculations  raised  by 
Christianity  have  cast  the  shadow  of  Sin  over  the  whole 
universe.  It  has  been  said  that  the  conception  of  Sin  is 
unknown  to  the  ancients,  and  that  the  word  has  no  real 
equivalent  in  Latin  or  Classical  Greek.  The  modern  mind 
is  haunted  by  it.  Notions  of  Sin  have  invaded  art,  and 
Nemesis  shows  their  influence :  vague  conceptions  of  some 
supernatural  vindication  of  artistic  proportion  in  life  have 
now  crystallised  into  the  interest  of  watching  morals  and 
art  united  in  their  treatment  of  Sin.  The  link  between  Sin 
and  its  retribution  becomes  a  form  of  art-pleasure ;  and  no 
dramatic  effect  is  more  potent  in  modern  Drama  than  that 
which  emphasises  the  principle  that  whatsoever  a  man  soweth 
that  shall  he  also  reap. 

Dramatic  Now  for  this  dramatic  effect  of  Nemesis  it  would  be 
^atctit'in  difficult  to  find  a  story  promising  more  scope  than  the  Story 
the  Story  of  the  Cruel  Jew.  It  will  be  seen  at  once  to  contain  a 
of  the  Jew.  Double  nemesis,  attaching  to  the  Jew  himself  and  to  his 


S  TOR  Y  AS  DRAMA  TIC  MA  TERIAL.  4  7 

victim.    The  two  moreover  represent  the  different  conceptions   CHAP.  I. 

of  Nemesis  in  the  ancient  and  modern  world;    Antonio's      

excess  of  moral  confidence  suffers  a  nemesis  of  reaction  in 
his  humiliation,  and  Shylock's  sin  of  judicial  murder  finds  a 
nemesis  of  retribution  in  his  ruin  by  process  of  law.  The 
nemesis,  it  will  be  observed,  is  not  merely  two-fold,  but 
double  in  the  way  that  a  double  flower  is  distinct  from  two 
flowers :  it  is  a  nemesis  on  a  nemesis ;  the  nemesis  which 
visits  Antonio's  fault  is  the  crime  for  which  Shylock  suffers 
his  nemesis.  Again,  in  that  which  gives  artistic  character 
to  the  reaction  and  the  retribution  the  two  nemeses  differ. 
Let  St.  Paul  put  the  difference  for  us:  'Some  men's  sins 
are  evident,  going  before  unto  judgment;  and  some  they 
follow  after/  So  in  cases  like  that  of  Shylock  the  nemesis 
is  interesting  from  its  very  obviousness  and  the  impatience 
with  which  we  look  for  it;  in  the  case  of  Antonio  the 
nemesis  is  striking  for  the  very  opposite  reason,  that  he  of 
all  men  seemed  most  secure  against  it. 

Antonio  must  be  understood  as  a  perfect  character :   for  Antonio ; 
we  must  read  the  play  in  the  light  of  its  age,  and  intolerance  ^mUdT 
was  a  mediaeval  virtue.     But  there  is  no  single  good  quality  sufficiency, 
that  does  not  carry  with  it  its  special  temptation,  and  the  **/&%!?*** 
sum   of  them  all,  or   perfection,  has   its   shadow   in   self- //•/•>£. 
sufficiency.     It  is  so  with  Antonio.     Of  all  national  types 
of  character   the   Roman  is  the  most   self-sufficient,  alike 
incorruptible  by  temptation  and  independent  of  the  softer 
influences  of  life :    we   find   that  *  Roman   honour '  is  the  iii.  ii.  297. 
idea  which  Antonio's  friends  are  accustomed  to  associate 
with  him.     Further  the  dramatist  contrives  to  exhibit  Antonio 
to  us  in  circumstances  calculated  to  bring  out  this  draw- 
back to  his  perfection.     In  the  opening  scene  we  see  the 
dignified  merchant-prince  suffering  under  the  infliction  of 
frivolous   visitors,  to  which   his  friendship  with  the  young 
nobleman  exposes  him :  his  tone  throughout  the  interview  is 
that  of  the  barest  toleration,  and  suggests  that  his  courtesies 


48  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.    are  felt  rather  as  what  is  due  to  himself  than  what  is  due  to 
those  on  whom  they  are  bestowed.     When  Salarino  makes 
i.  i.  60-64.  flattering  excuses  for  taking  his  leave,  Antonio  replies,  first 
with  conventional  compliment, 

Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard, 

and  then  with  blunt  plainness,  as  if  Salarino  were  not  worth 
the  trouble  of  keeping  up  polite  fiction  : 

I  take  it,  your  own  business  calls  on  you 
And  you  embrace  the  occasion  to  depart. 

i.  i.  8.  The  visitors,  trying  to  find  explanation  for  Antonio's  serious- 
ness, suggest  that  he  is  thinking  of  his  vast  commercial 
speculations ;  Antonio  draws  himself  up  : 

i.  i.  41.  Believe  me,  no  :   I  thank  my  fortune  for  it, 

My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted, 
Nor  to  one  place  ;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year: 
Therefore  my  merchandise  makes  me  not  sad. 

Antonio  is  saying  in  his  prosperity  that  he  shall  never  be 
moved.     But  the  great  temptation  to  self-sufficiency  lies  in 
his  contact,  not  with  social  inferiors,  but  with  a  moral  out- 
cast such  as  Shylock :  confident  that  the  moral  gulf  between 
the  two  can  never  be  bridged  over,  Antonio  has  violated 
dignity  as  well  as  mercy  in  the  gross  insults  he  has  heaped 
upon  the  Jew  whenever  they  have  met.     In  the  Bond  Scene 
i.  iii.  99,     we  see  him  unable  to  restrain  his  insults  at  the  very  moment 
&c*  in  which  he  is  soliciting  a  favour  from  his  enemy ;  the  effect 

i.  iii.  107-  reaches  a  climax  as  Shylock  gathers  up  the  situation  in  a 
single  speech,  reviewing  the  insults  and  taunting  his  op- 
pressor with  the  solicited  obligation : 

Well  then,  it  now  appears  you  need  my  help: 
Go  to,  then ;   you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
*  Shylock,  we  would  have  moneys ' :  you  say  so  ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard 
And  foot  me  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold  ;  moneys  is  your  suit. 

There  is  such  a  foundation  of  justice  for  these  taunts  that 


STORY  AS  DRAMATIC  MATERIAL.  49 

for  a  moment  our  sympathies  are  transferred  to  Shylock's    CHAP.  I. 

side.     But  Antonio,  so  far  from  taking  warning,  is  betrayed      

beyond  all  bounds  in  his  defiance ;  and  in  the  challenge 
to  fate  with  which  he  replies  we  catch  the  tone  of  infatuated 
confidence,  the  hybris  in  which  Greek  superstition  saw  the 
signal  for  the  descent  of  Nemesis. 

I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again,  i.  iii.  131. 

To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 

As  to  thy  friends 

But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy, 

Who,  if  he  break,  thou  mayst  with  better  face 

Exact  the  penally. 

To  this  challenge  of  self-sufficiency  the  sequel  of  the  story 
is  the  answering  Nemesis:  the  merchant  becomes  a  bank- 
rupt, the  first  citizen  of  Venice  a  prisoner  at  the  bar,  the 
morally  perfect  man  holds  his  life  and  his  all  at  the  mercy  of 
the  reprobate  he  thought  he  might  safely  insult. 

So  Nemesis  has  surprised  Antonio  in  spite  of  his  perfect-  Shylock: 
ness :  but  the  malice  of  Shylock  is  such  as  is  perpetually  ^^77/^ 
crying  for  retribution,  and  the  retribution  is  delayed  only  Nemesis  of 
that  it  may  descend  with  accumulated  force.     In  the  case  of  Measure 

Jor 

this  second  nemesis  the  Story  of  the  Jew  exhibits  dramatic  Measure. 
capability  in  the  opportunity  it  affords  for  the  sin  and  the 
retribution  to  be  included  within  the  same  scene.     Portia's  iv.  i. 
happy  thought  is  a  turning-point  in  the  Trial  Scene  on  the 
two  sides  of  which  we  have  the  Jew's  triumph  and  the  Jew's 
retribution ;  the  two  sides  are  bound  together  by  the  prin- 
ciple of  measure  for  measure,  and  for  each  detail  of  vindic- 
tiveness  that  is  developed  in  the  first  half  of  the  scene  there 
is  a  corresponding  item  of  nemesis  in  the  sequel.     To  begin  Charter  v. 
with,  Shylock  appeals  to  the  charter  of  the  city.     It  is  one  of  ^T^S  . 
the  distinctions  between  written  and  unwritten  law  that  no  compare ' 
flagrant  injustice  can  arise  out  of  the  latter.     If  the  analogy  I02'  2I9' 
of  former    precedents   would    seem   to    threaten    such   an 
injustice,  it  is   easy   in   a   new   case   to   meet  the   special 

E 


50  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.    emergency  by  establishing  a  new  precedent ;  where,  however, 

the  letter  of  the  written  law  involves  a  wrong,  however  great, 

it  must,  nevertheless,  be  exactly  enforced.     Shylock  takes 

his  stand  upon  written  law ;  indeed  upon  the  strictest  of  all 

compare      kinds  of  written  law,  for  the  charter  of  the  city  would  seem 

•  •  •        7.  .  £  J 

3?." l  '"  to  be  tne  instrument  regulating  the  relations  between  citizens 
and  aliens — an  absolute  necessity  for  a  free  port — which 
could  not  be  superseded  without  international  negotiations. 
But  what  is  the  result?  As  plaintiff  in  the  cause  Shylock 
would,  in  the  natural  course  of  justice,  leave  the  court,  when 
judgment  had  been  given  against  him,  with  no  further 
mortification  than  the  loss  of  his  suit.  He  is  about  to  do  so 
when  he  is  recalled : 

It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice,  &c. 

Unwittingly,  he  has,  by  the  action  he  has  taken,  entangled 
iv.  i.  314.  himself  with  an  old  statute  law,  forgotten  by  all  except  the 
learned  Bellario,  which,  going  far  beyond  natural  law,  made 
the  mere  attempt  upon  a  citizen's  life  by  an  alien  punishable 
to  the  same  extent  as  murder.  Shylock  had  chosen  the 
letter  of  the  law,  and  by  the  letter  of  the  law  he  is  to  suffer. 
Humour  v.  Again,  every  one  must  feel  that  the  plea  on  which  Portia 
qui  ' e'  upsets  the  bond  is  in  reality  the  merest  quibble.  It  is  appro- 
priate enough  in  the  mouth  of  a  bright  girl  playing  the 
lawyer,  but  no  court  of  justice  could  seriously  entertain  it  for 
a  moment :  by  every  principle  of  interpretation  a  bond  that 
could  justify  the  cutting  of  human  flesh  must  also  justify  the 
shedding  of  blood,  which  is  necessarily  implied  in  such 
cutting.  But,  to  balance  this,  we  have  Shylock  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  scene  refusing  to  listen  to  arguments  of  justice, 
iv.  i.  40-  and  taking  his  stand  upon  his  '  humour ' :  if  he  has  a  whim, 
he  pleads,  for  giving  ten  thousand  ducats  to  have  a  rat 
poisoned,  who  shall  prevent  him  ?  The  suitor  who  rests  his 
cause  on  a  whim  cannot  complain  if  it  is  upset  by  a  quibble. 
Similarly,  throughout  the  scene,  every  point  in  Shylock's 


STORY  AS  DRAMATIC  MATERIAL.  51 

justice  of  malice  meets  its  answer  in  the  justice  of  nemesis.    CHAP.  I. 

He  is  offered  double  the  amount  of  his  loan  : 

Offer  of 

If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats  double  v. 

"Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat,  refusal  of 

principal. 
he  answers,  he  would  not  accept  them  in  lieu  of  his  bond.  iv.  i.  318, 

The  wheel  of  Nemesis  goes   round,  and  Shylock   would  336. 
gladly  accept  not  only  this  offer  but  even  the  bare  principal ; 
but  he  is  denied,  on  the  ground  that  he  has  refused  it  in  open 
court.     They  try  to  bend  him  to  thoughts  of  mercy :  Complete 

How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering  none?  MaHoss^' 

He  dares  to  reply  : 

What  judgement  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong  ? 
The  wheel  of  Nemesis  goes  round,  and  Shylock's  life  and  all 
lie  at  the  mercy  of  the  victim  to  whom  he  had  refused  mercy 
and  the  judge  to  whose  appeal  for  mercy  he  would  not 
listen.     In   the    flow  of  his  success,    when   every  point  is  Exultation 
being  given  in  his  favour,  he  breaks   out   into   unseemly  v>  irony- 
exultation  : 

A  Daniel  come  to  judgement !   yea,  a  Daniel!  iv.  i.  223, 

The  ebb  comes,  and  his  enemies  catch  up  the  cry  and  turn  ^z'  ^0> 
it  against  him : 

A  Daniel,  still  say  I,  a  second  Daniel !  iv.  i.  313, 

I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word.  3T7>  323> 

Such  then  is  the  Story  of  the  Jew,  and  so  it  exhibits 
nemesis  clashing  with  nemesis,  the  nemesis  of  surprise  with 
the  nemesis  of  equality  and  intense  satisfaction. 

In  the  Caskets  Story,  which  Shakespeare  has  associated  The  Cos- 
with  the  Story  of  the  Jew,  the  dramatic  capabilities  are  of  a  kets  Story- 
totally  different  kind.     In  the  artist's  armoury  one  of  the 
most  effective  weapons  is  Idealisation  :   inexplicable  touches  Idcalisa- 
throwing  an  attractiveness  over  the   repulsive,  uncovering  tlon : 
the  truth  and  beauty  which  lie  hidden  in  the  commonplace, 
and  showing  how  much  can  be  brought  out  of  how  little 

£  2 


52  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.  with  how  little  change.  A  story  will  be  excellent  material, 
the  exhibi  ^^  ^or  Dramatic  handling  which  contains  at  once  some 
tion  of  a  experience  of  ordinary  life,  and  also  the  surroundings  which 

common-      can  ^e  ma(je  to  exhibit  this  experience  in  a  glorified  form : 
place  ex- 
perience in  the    more    commonplace    the    experience,   the    greater   the 

yirm  triumPh  of  art  if  it:  can  be  idealised.  The  point  of  the 

Caskets  Story  to  the  eye  of  an  artist  in  Drama  is  the  oppor- 
tunity it  affords  for  such  an  idealisation  of  the  commonest 
problem  in  everyday  experience — what  may  be  called  the 
Problem  of  Judgment  by  Appearances. 

Problem  of  In  the  choice  between  alternatives  there  are  three  ways  in 
-  wm'cn  judgment  may  be  exercised.  The  first  mode,  if  it  can  be 
called  judgment  at  all,  is  to  accept  the  decision  of  chance — to 
cast  lots,  or  merely  to  drift  into  a  decision.  An  opposite  to 
this  is  purely  rational  choice.  But  rational  choice,  if  strictly 
interpreted  as  a  logical  process,  involves  great  complications. 
If  a  man  would  choose  according  to  the  methods  of  strict 
reason,  he  must,  first  of  all,  purge  himself  of  all  passion,  for 
passion  and  reason  are  antagonistic.  Next,  he  must  examine 
himself  as  to  the  possibility  of  latent  prejudice ;  and  as 
prejudice  may  be  unconsciously  inherited,  he  must  include  in 
the  sphere  of  his  examination  ancestral  and  national  bias. 
Then,  he  must  accumulate  all  the  evidence  that  can  possibly 
bear  upon  the  question  in  hand,  and  foresee  every  eventuality 
that  can  result  from  either  alternative.  When  he  has  all  the 
materials  of  choice  before  him,  he  must  proceed  to  balance 
them  against  one  another,  seeing  first  that  the  mental 
faculties  employed  in  the  process  have  been  equally  de- 
veloped by  training.  All  such  preliminary  conditions  having 
been  satisfied,  he  may  venture  to  enquire  on  which  side  the 
balance  dips,  maintaining  his  suspense  so  long  as  the  dip 
is  undecided.  And  when  a  man  has  done  all  this  he  has 
attained  only  that  degree  of  approach  to  strictly  rational 
choice  which  his  imperfect  nature  admits.  Such  pure 
reason  has  no  place  in  real  life  :  judgment  in  practical  affairs 


STORY  AS  DRAMATIC  MATERIAL.  53 

is  something  between  chance  and  this  strict  reason ;  it  CHAP.  I. 
attempts  to  use  the  machinery  of  rational  choice,  but  only  so 
far  as  practical  considerations  proper  to  the  matter  in  hand 
allow.  This  medium  choice  is  what  I  am  here  calling  Judg- 
ment by  Appearances,  for  it  is  clear  that  the  antithesis 
between  appearance  and  reality  will  obtain  so  long  as  the 
materials  of  choice  are  scientifically  incomplete;  the  term 
will  apply  with  more  and  more  appropriateness  as  the 
divergence  from  perfect  conditions  of  choice  is  greater. 

Judgment  by  Appearances  so  denned  is  the  only  method  This  ideal- 
of  judgment   proper  to   practical  life,  and  accordingly  an  l^^mm 
exalted  exhibition  of  it  must  furnish  a  keen  dramatic  interest,  in  the  issue, 
How  is  such  a  process  to  be  glorified  ?    Clearly  Judgment  by 
Appearances  will  reach  the  ideal  stage  when  there  is   the 
maximum  of  importance  in  the  issue  to  be  decided  and  the 
minimum  of  evidence  by  which  to  decide  it.     These  two 
conditions  are  satisfied  in  the  Caskets  Story.     In  questions 
touching  the  individual  life,  that  of  marriage  has  this  unique 
importance,  that  it  is  bound  up  with  wide  consequences  which 
extend  beyond  the  individual  himself  to  his  posterity.     With 
the  suitors  of  Portia  the  question  is  of  marriage  with  the 
woman  who  is  presented  as  supreme  of  her  age  in  beauty,  in 
wealth  and  in  character ;  moreover,  the  other  alternative  is  ii.  i.  40, 
a  vow  of  perpetual  celibacy.     So  the  question  at  issue  in  the 
Caskets  Story  concerns  the  most  important  act  of  life  in  the 
most  important  form  in  which  it  can  be  imagined  to  present 
itself.     When  we  turn  to  the  evidence  on  which  this  question  and  a 
is  to  be  decided  we  find  that  of  rational  evidence  there  is  ab-  """%'%%, 
solutely  none.     The  choice  is  to  be  made  between  three  denct. 
caskets  distinguished  by  their  metals  and  by  the  accompany- 
ing inscriptions : 

Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire.  ii.  vii.  5-9. 

Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves. 
Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath. 

However  individual  fancies  may  incline,  it  is  manifestly  im- 


54  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.  possible  to  set  up  any  train  of  reasoning  which  should 
discover  a  ground  of  preference  amongst  the  three.  And  it 
is  worth  noting,  as  an  example  of  Shakespeare's  nicety  in 
detail,  that  the  successful  chooser  reads  in  the  scroll  which 
announces  his  victory, 

iii.  ii.  132.  You  that  choose  not  by  the  view, 

Chance  as  fair,  and  choose  as  true : 

Shakespeare  does  not  say  ' more  fair,'  'more  true/  This 
equal  balancing  of  the  alternatives  will  appear  still  clearer 
i.  ii.  30-36.  when  we  recollect  that  it  is  an  intentional  puzzle  with  which 
we  are  dealing,  and  accordingly  that  even  if  ingenuity  could 
discover  a  preponderance  of  reason  in  favour  of  any  one  of 
the  three,  there  would  be  the  chance  that  this  preponderance 
had  been  anticipated  by  the  father  who  set  the  puzzle.  The 
case  becomes  like  that  of  children  bidden  to  guess  in  which 
hand  a  sweetmeat  is  concealed.  They  are  inclined  to  say  the 
right  hand,  but  hesitate  whether  that  answer  may  not  have 
been  foreseen  and  the  sweetmeat  put  in  the  left  hand;  and  if 
on  this  ground  they  are  tempted  to  be  sharp  and  guess  the 
left  hand,  there  is  the  possibility  that  this  sharpness  may  have 
been  anticipated,  and  the  sweetmeat  kept  after  all  in  the 
right  hand.  If  then  the  Caskets  Story  places  before  us  three 
suitors,  going  through  three  trains  of  intricate  reasoning  for 
guidance  in  a  matter  on  which  their  whole  future  depends, 
whereas  we,  the  spectators,  can  see  that  from  the  nature  of 
the  case  no  reasoning  can  possibly  avail  them,  we  have 
clearly  the  Problem  of  Judgment  by  Appearances  drawn  out 
in  its  ideal  form;  and  our  sympathies  are  attracted  by  the 
sight  of  a  process,  belonging  to  our  everyday  experience, 
yet  developed  before  us  in  all  the  force  artistic  setting 
can  bestow. 

Solution  of     But  is  this  all  ?     Does  Shakespeare  display  before  us  the 

^cm^the     problem,  yet  give  no  help  towards  its  solution  ?     The  key  to 

characters    the  suitors'  fates  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  trains  of  reasoning 

they  go  through.     As  if  to  warn  us  against  looking  for  it  in 


STORY  AS  DRAMATIC  MATERIAL.  55 

this  direction,  Shakespeare  contrives  that  we  never  hear  the    CHAP.  I. 
reasonings   of  the  successful   suitor.     By  a   natural  touch 

_,  choosers 

Portia,   who   has   chosen    Bassanio   in    her    heart,    is    re-  determine 
presented  as  unable  to  bear  the  suspense  of  hearing  him  their  fates. 
deliberate,  and  calls  for  music  to  drown  his  meditations;  it  is  43j  esp.Gi. 
only  the  conclusion  to  which  he  has  come  that  we  catch  as 
the   music  closes.      The  particular  song   selected  on   this 
occasion  points  dimly  in  the  direction  in  which  we  are  to 
look  for  the  true  solution  of  the  problem  : 

Tell  me  where  is  fancy  bred,  iii.  ii.  63. 

Or  in  the  heart  or  in  the  head? 

'Fancy*  in  Shakespearean  English  means  Move';  and  the 
discussion,  whether  love  belongs  to  the  head  or  the  heart,  is 
no  inappropriate  accompaniment  to  a  reality  which  consists 
in  this — that  the  success  in  love  of  the  suitors,  which  they 
are  seeking  to  compass  by  their  reasonings,  is  in  fact  being 
decided  by  their  characters. 

To  compare  the  characters  of  the  three  suitors,  it  will  be 
enough  to  note  the  different  form  that  pride  takes  in  each. 
The  first  suitor  is  a  prince  of   a  barbarian  race,  who  has  ii.  1,  vii. 
thus  never  known  equals,  but  has  been  taught  to  consider 
himself  half  divine  ;  as  if  made  of  different  clay  from  the  rest 
of  mankind  he  instinctively  shrinks  from  'lead/     Yet  modesty  ii.  vii.  20. 
mingles  with  his  pride,  and  though  he  feels  truly  that,  so  far  ii.  vii.  24- 
as  the  estimation  of  him  by  others  is  concerned,  he  might  ^°* 
rely  upon  '  desert,'  yet  he  doubts  if  desert  extends  as  far  as 
Portia.     What  seizes  his  attention  is  the  words,  'what  many  ii.  vii, from 
men  desire';  and  he  rises  to  a  flight  of  eloquence  in  pictur-  36- 
ing  wildernesses  and  deserts  become  thoroughfares  by  the 
multitude  of  suitors  flocking  to  Belmont.     But  he  is  all  the 
while  betraying  a  secret  of  which  he  was  himself  uncon- 
scious :   he  has  been  led  to  seek  the  hand  of  Portia,  not 
by  true  love,  but  by  the  feeling  that  what  all  the  world  is 
seeking  the  Prince  of  Morocco  must  not  be  slow  to  claim. 
Very  different  is  the  pride  of  Arragon.     He  has  no  regal  ii.  ir. 


56  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  I.   position,  but  rather  appears  to  be  one  who  has  fallen  in 
social  rank ;  he  makes  up  for  such  a  fall  by  intense  pride  of 
ii.ix.47-9.  family,  and  is  one  of  those  who  complacently  thank  heaven 
that  they  are  not  as  other  men.     The  'many  men'  which 
had  attracted  Morocco  repels  Arragon  : 
ii.  ir.  31.  I  will  not  choose  what  many  men  desire, 

Because  I  will  not  jump  with  common  spirits, 
And  rank  me  with  the  barbarous  multitudes. 

ii.  ix,  from  He  is  caught  by  the  bait  of  '  desert.'     It  is  true  he  almost 

deceives  us  with  the  lofty  tone  in  which  he  reflects  how  the 

world  would  benefit  if  dignities  and  offices  were  in  all  cases 

purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer;    yet   there  peeps 

through  his  sententiousness  his  real  conception  of  merit — the 

sole  merit  of  family  descent.    His  ideal  is  that  the  'true  seed 

of  honour '  should  be  '  picked  from  the  chaff  and  ruin  of  the 

times,'  and  wrest  greatness  from  the  *  low  peasantry '  who 

had  risen  to  it.     He  accordingly  rests  his  fate  upon  desert : 

and  he  finds  in  the  casket  of  his  choice  a  fool's  head.     Of 

Bassanio's  soliloquy  we  hear  enough  to  catch  that  his  pride 

iii.  ii,from  is  the  pride  of  the  soldier,  who  will  yield  to  none  the  post  of 

compare      danger,  and  how  he  is  thus  attracted  by  the  '  threatening '  of 

i.  ii.  124.    the  leaden  casket :  thou  meagre  lead> 

"Which  rather  threatenest  than  dost  promise  aught, 
Thy  paleness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence. 

Moreover,  he  is  a  lover,  and  the  threatening  is  a  challenge 
to  show  what  he  will  risk  for  love :  his  true  heart  finds  its 
natural  satisfaction  in  '  giving  and  hazarding  '  his  all.  This 
is  the  pride  that  is  worthy  of  Portia ;  and  thus  the  ingenious 
puzzle  of  the  '  inspired '  father  has  succeeded  in  piercing 
through  the  outer  defence  of  specious  reasoning,  and  carry- 
ing its  repulsion  and  attraction  to  the  inmost  characters 
General  of  the  suitors. 

^hafuter  Such>  then>  is  Shakespeare's  treatment  of  the  Problem  of 
as  an  ele-  Judgment  by  Appearances  :  while  he  draws  out  the.  problem 
judgment  *tse^  to  *ts  ^u^est  extent  in  displaying  the  suitors  elaborating 


STOR  Y  AS  DRAMA  TIC  MA  TERIAL.  5  7 

trains  of  argument  for  a  momentous  decision  in  which  we  CHAP.  I. 
see  that  reason  can  be  of  no  avail,  he  suggests  for  the 
solution  that,  besides  reason,  there  is  in  such  judgments 
another  element,  character,  and  that  in  those  crises  in  which 
reason  is  most  fettered,  character  is  most  potent.  An  im- 
portant solution  this  is;  for  what  is  character?  A  man's 
character  is  the  shadow  of  his  past  life;  it  is  the  grand 
resultant  of  all  the  forces  from  within  and  from  without  that 
have  been  operating  upon  him  since  he  became  a  conscious 
agent.  Character  is  the  sandy  footprint  of  the  common- 
place hardened  into  the  stone  of  habit ;  it  is  the  complexity 
of  daily  tempers,  judgments,  restraints,  impulses,  all  focussed 
into  one  master -passion  acting  with  the  rapidity  of  an 
instinct.  To  lay  down  then,  that  where  reason  fails  as  an 
element  in  judgment,  character  comes  to  its  aid,  is  to  bind 
together  the  exceptional  and  the  ordinary  in  life.  In  most  of 
the  affairs  of  life  men  have  scope  for  the  exercise  of 
commonplace  qualities,  but  emergencies  do  come  where 
this  is  denied  them ;  in  these  cases,  while  they  think,  like 
the  three  suitors,  that  they  are  moving  voluntarily  in  the 
direction  in  which  they  are  judging  fit  at  the  moment,  in 
reality  the  weight  of  their  past  lives  is  forcing  them  in  the 
direction  in  which  their  judgment  has  been  accustomed 
to  take  them.  Thus  in  the  moral,  as  in  the  physical  world, 
nothing  is  ever  lost :  not  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of  conduct 
but  goes  on  widening  to  the  outermost  limit  of  experience. 
Shakespeare's  contribution  to  the  question  of  practical 
judgment  is  that  by  the  long  exercise  of  commonplace 
qualities  we  are  building  up  a  character  which,  though 
unconsciously,  is  the  determining  force  in  the  emergencies 
in  which  commonplace  qualities  are  impossible. 


II. 

How  SHAKESPEARE  MANIPULATES  THE 
STORIES  IN  DRAMATISING  THEM. 

A  Study  in  Dramatic  Workmanship. 

CHAP.  II.  T  N  treating  Story  as  the  raw  material  of  the  Romantic 
JL  Drama  it  has  already  been  shown,  in  the  case  of  the 
of^Drama-  stories  utilised  for  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  what  natural  capa- 
ticMechan-  cities  these  exhibit  for  dramatic  effect.  The  next  step  is  to 
show  how  the  artist  increases  their  force  for  dramatic  pur- 
poses in  the  process  of  working  them  up.  Two  points  will 
be  illustrated  in  the  present  study :  first,  how  Shakespeare 
meets  the  difficulties  of  a  story  and  reduces  them  to  a  mini- 
mum ;  secondly,  how  he  adds  effectiveness  to  the  two  tales 
by  weaving  them  together  so  that  they  assist  one  another's 
effect. 

deduction       The  avoidance  or  reduction  of  difficulties  in  a  story  is  an 

cultus  sfe-  obvious  element  in  any  kind  of  artistic  handling ;   it  is  of 

dally  im-    special  importance  in  Drama  in  proportion  as  we  are  more 

Drama™   sensitive    to   improbabilities   in   what    is   supposed   to    take 

place  before  our  eyes  than  in  what  we  merely  hear  of  by 

narrative.     This  branch  of  art  could  not  be  better  illustrated 

than  in  the  Story  of  the  Jew :  never  perhaps  has  an  artist  had 

to  deal  with  materials  so  bristling  with  difficulties   of  the 

greatest  magnitude,  and  never,  it  may  be  added,  have  they 

been  met  with  greater  ingenuity.  The  host  of  improbabilities 

gathering  about   such  a  detail  as  the  pound  of  flesh  must 

First  dffi-  strike  every  mind.     There  is,  however,  preliminary  to  these, 

numsfros-     anot^er  difficulty  of  more  general  application :  the  difficulty 

ityofthe     of  painting  a  character  bad  enough  to  be  the  hero  of  the 


DIFFICULTIES  IN  STORIES.  59 

story.  It  might  be  thought  that  to  paint  excess  of  badness  CHAP.  II. 
is  comparatively  easy,  as  needing  but  a  coarse  brush.  On  the 
contrary,  there  are  few  severer  tests  of  creative  power  th 
the  treatment  of  monstrosity.  To  be  told  that  there  is 
villainy  in  the  world  and  tacitly  to  accept  the  statement  may 
be  easy ;  it  is  another  thing  to  be  brought  into  close  contact 
with  the  villains,  to  hear  them  converse,  to  watch  their  actions 
and  occasionally  to  be  taken  into  their  confidence.  We  realise 
in  Drama  through  our  sympathy  and  our  experience  :  in  real 
life  we  have  not  been  accustomed  to  come  across  monsters 
and  are  unfamiliar  with  their  behaviour ;  in  proportion  then 
as  the  badness  of  a  character  is  exaggerated  it  is  carried  out- 
side the  sphere  of  our  experience,  the  naturalness  of  the 
scene  is  interrupted  and  its  human  interest  tends  to  decline. 
So,  in  the  case  of  the  story  under  consideration,  the  dramatist 
is  confronted  with  this  dilemma  :  he  must  make  the  character 
of  Shylock  absolutely  bad,  or  the  incident  of  the  bond  will 
appear  unreal;  he  must  not  make  the  character  extra- 
ordinarily bad,  or  there  is  danger  of  the  whole  scene  appear- 
ing unreal. 

Shakespeare  meets  a  difficulty  of  this  kind  by  a  double  Its  re- 
treatment.     On   the   one   hand,    he    puts  no   limits  to  t 
blackness   of  the  character  itself;    on  the   other  hand,  he  acted  by 
provides  against  repulsiveness  by  giving  it  a  special  attraction  ^f  ^/ 
of  another  kind.    In  the  present  case,  while  painting  Shylock  wrongs. 
as  a  monster,  he  secures  for  him  a  hold  upon  our  sympathy 
by  representing  him  as  a  victim  of  intolerable  ill-treatment 
and  injustice.     The  effect  resembles  the  popular  sympathy 
with  criminals.     The  men  themselves  and  their  crimes  are 
highly  repulsive  ;  but  if  some  slight  irregularity  occurs  in  the 
process   of  bringing   them   to  justice — if  a  counsel  shows 
himself  unduly  eager,  or  a  judge  appears  for  a  moment  one- 
sided, a  host  of  volunteer  advocates  espouse  their   cause. 
These  are  actuated  no  doubt  by  sensitiveness  to  purity  of 
justice ;  but  their  protests  have  a  ring  that  closely  resembles 


60  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  II.   sympathy   with  the  criminals  themselves,   whom   they  not 
unfrequently  end  by  believing  to  be  innocent  and  injured. 
?•?:.  in.iii-  In    the    same     way    Shakespeare    shows    no    moderation 
i'-  ii!  v.  '    m  tne   touches   of  bloodthirstiness,   of  brutality,  of  sordid 
meanness  he  heaps  together  in  the  character  of  Shylock ; 
but   he   takes   equal  pains  to  rouse  our  indignation  at  the 
e.g.  iii.  i ;  treatment  he  is  made  to  suffer.    Personages  such  as  Gratiano, 
Salanio,  Salarino,  Tubal,  serve  to  keep  before  us  the  medi- 
eval  feud   between  Jew  and  Gentile,  and  the  persecuting 
insolence  with  which  the  fashionable  youth  met  the  money- 
i.  iii.  107-  lenders     who     ministered     to    their     necessities.     Antonio 
himself  has   stepped   out   of  his   natural   character  in   the 
ill.  i.  57,    grossness  of  his  insults  to  his  enemy.     Shylock  has  been 
iii  iii  22  -  injured  in  pocket  as  well  as  in  sentiment,  Antonio  using  his 
and  i.  iii.    wealth  to  disturb  the  money-market,  and  defeat  the  schemes 
of  the  Jew;   according  to    Shylock  Antonio   has  hindered 
him  of  half-a-million,  and  were  he  out  of  Venice  the  usurer 
could  make  what  merchandise  he  would.     Finally,  our  sense 
of  deliverance  in  the  Trial  Scene   cannot  hinder  a  touch 
of  compunction   for   the   crushed   plaintiff,   as   he   appeals 
against  the  hard  justice  meted  out  to  him : — the  loss  of  his 
property,  the  acceptance  of  his  life  as  an  act  of  grace,  the 
abandonment  of  his  religion  and   race,  which,  implies  the 
abandonment  of  the  profession  by  which  he  makes  his  living. 

iv.  i.  374.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all ;  pardon  not  that : 

You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house;  you  take  my  life 
\Vhen  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

By  thus  making  us  resent  the  harsh  fate  dealt  to  Shylock  the 
dramatist  recovers  in  our  minds  the  fellow-feeling  we  have 
Dramatic  lost  in  contemplating  the  Jew  himself.  A  name  for  such 
double  treatment  might  be  '  Dramatic  Hedging ' :  as  the  better 
covers  a  possible  loss  by  a  second  bet  on  the  opposite  side, 
so,  when  the  necessities  of  a  story  involve  the  creation  of  a 
monster,  the  dramatic  artist  '  hedges '  against  loss  of  attrac- 


DIFFICULTIES  IN  STORIES.  6 1 

tiveness  by  finding  for  the  character  human  interest  in  some  CHAP.  IT. 

other   direction.     So   successful    has   Shakespeare  been  in      

the  present  instance  that  a  respectable  minority  of  readers 
rise  from  the  play  partisans  of  Shylock. 

We  pass  on  to  the  crop  of  difficulties  besetting  the  pound  Difficulties 
of  flesh  as  a  detail  in  the  bond.    That  such  a  bond  should  be  '££"{£ 
proposed,  that  when  proposed  it  should  be  accepted,  that  it  pound  of 
should  be  seriously  entertained  by  a  court  of  justice,  that  \i^es  * 
entertained  at  all  it  should  be  upset  on  so  frivolous  a  pretext 
as  the  omission  of  reference  to  the  shedding  of  blood :  these 
form  a  series  of  impossible  circumstances  that  any  dramatist 
might   despair   of   presenting   with   even    an   approach   to 
naturalness.     Yet  if  we  follow  the  course  of  the  story  as 
moulded  by  Shakespeare  we  shall  find  all  these  impossibilities 
one  after  another  evaded. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  scene  Antonio  had  bidden  Bassanio  Proposal  of 
go  forth  and  try  what  his  credit  could  do  in  Venice.     Armed  '/"  b™1- 
with  this  blank  commission  Bassanio  hurries  into  the  city. 
As  a  gay  young  nobleman  he  knows  nothing  of  the  com- 
mercial world  except  the  money-lenders ;  and  now  proceeds 
to  the  best-known  of  them,  apparently  unaware  of  what  any 
gossip  on  the  Rialto  could  have  told  him,  the  unfortunate  compare 
relations  between  this  Shylock  and  his  friend  Antonio.     At  *'  m>  I~4°> 
the  opening  of  the  Bond  Scene  we  find  Bassanio  and  Shylock 
in  conversation,  Bassanio  impatient  and  irritated  to  find  that 
the  famous  security  he  has  to  offer  seems  to  make  so  little 
impression  on  the  usurer.     At  this  juncture  Antonio  himself  i.  iii.  41. 
falls  *  in  with  them,  sees  at  a  glance  to  what  his  rash  friend 

1  No  commentator  has  succeeded  in  making  intelligible  the  line 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks !  i.  iii.  42. 

as  it  stands  in  the  text  at  the  opening  of  Shylock's  soliloquy.  The 
expression  'fawning  publican'  is  so  totally  the  opposite  of  all  the 
qualities  of  Antonio  that  it  could  have  no  force  even  in  the  mouth  of 
a  satirist.  It  is  impossible  not  to  be  attracted  by  the  simple  change  in 
the  text  that  would  not  only  get  over  this  difficulty,  but  add  a  new 
effect  to  the  scene  :  the  change  of  assigning  this  single  line  to  Antonio, 


62  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  II.  has  committed  him,  but  is  too  proud  to  draw  back  in  sight 
of  his  enemy.  Already  a  minor  difficulty  is  surmounted,  as 
to  how  Antonio  comes  to  be  in  the  position  of  asking  an 
obligation  of  Shylock.  Antonio  is  as  impatient  as  dignity 
will  permit  to  bring  an  awkward  business  to  a  conclusion. 
Shylock,  on  the  contrary,  to  whom  the  interview  itself  is  a 
triumph,  in  which  his  persecutor  is  appearing  before  him  in 
the  position  of  a  client,  casts  about  to  prolong  the  conversa- 
tion to  as  great  a  length  as  possible.  Any  topic  would  serve 
his  purpose ;  but  what  topic  more  natural  than  the  question 
at  the  root  of  the  feud  between  the  two,  the  question  of  lend- 
ing money  on  interest?  It  is  here  we  reach  the  very  heart 
of  our  problem,  how  the  first  mention  of  the  pound  of  flesh 
is  made  without  a  shock  of  unreality  sufficient  to  ruin  the 
whole  scene.  Had  Shylock  asked  for  a  forfeiture  of  a 
million  per  cent.,  or  in  any  other  way  thrown  into  a  com- 
mercial form  his  purpose  of  ruining  Antonio,  the  old  feud 
and  the  present  opportunity  would  be  explanation  sufficient: 
the  real  difficulty  is  the  total  incongruity  between  such  an 
idea  as  a  pound  of  human  flesh  and  commercial  transactions 
The  pro-  of  any  kind.  This  difficulty  Shakespeare  has  met  by  one  of 
ii  greatest  triumphs  of  mechanical  ingenuity;  his  leading 

reserving,  of  course,  the  rest  of  the  speech  for  Shylock.  The  passage 
would  then  read  thus  [the  stage  direction  is  my  own]  : 

Enter  ANTONIO. 
Bass.     This  is  Signior  Antonio. 
Ant.     \_Asiile\.    How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks — 

[lUsSANio  whispers  ANTONIO  and  brings  him  to  SllYLOCK. 
Shy.    \Aside\.    I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian, 

But  more,  &c. 

Both  the  terms  '  fawning  *  and  '  publican '  are  literally  applicable  to 
Shylock,  and  are  just  what  Antonio  would  be  likely  to  say  of  him.  It 
is  again  a  natural  effect  for  the  two  foes  on  meeting  for  the  first  time  in 
the  play  to  exchange  scowling  defiance.  Antonio's  defiance  is  cut  short 
at  the  first  line  by  liassanio's  running  up  to  him,  explaining  what  he  has 
done,  and  bringing  Antonio  up  to  where  Shylock  is  standing  ;  the  time 
occupied  in  doing  this  gives  Shylock  scope  for  his  longer  soliloquy. 


DIFF1CUL  TIES  IN  S  TORIES*  63 

up  to  the  proposal  of  the  bond  by  the  discussion  on  interest.  CHAP.  II. 
The  effect  of  this  device  a  modern  reader  is  in  danger  of  . 

discourse 

losing :  we  are  so  familiar  with  the  idea  of  interest  at  the  On  interest. 
present  day  that  we  are  apt  to  forget  what  the  difficulty  was  *•  iu»  ftl°m 
to  the  ancient  and  mediaeval  mind,  which  for  so  many  gene-  ' 
rations  kept  the  practice  of  taking  interest  outside  the  pale 
of  social  decency.  This  prejudice  was  one  of  the  confusions 
arising  out  of  the  use  of  a  metal  currency.  The  ancient 
mind  could  understand  how  corn  put  into  the  ground  would 
by  the  agency  of  time  alone  produce  twentyfold,  thirtyfold, 
or  a  hundredfold ;  they  could  understand  how  cattle  left  to 
themselves  would  without  human  assistance  increase  from  a 
small  to  a  large  flock:  but  how  could  metal  grow?  how 
could  lifeless  gold  and  silver  increase  and  multiply  like 
animals  and  human  beings  ?  The  Greek  word  for  interest, 
tokos,  is  the  exact  equivalent  of  the  English  word  breed,  and 
the  idea  underlying  the  two  was  regularly  connected  with 
that  of  interest  in  ancient  discussions.  The  same  idea  is 
present  throughout  the  dispute  between  Antonio  and  Shylock. 
Antonio  indignantly  asks : 

when  did  friendship  take  i.  iii.  134. 

A  breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend? 

Shylock  illustrates  usury  by  citing  the  patriarch  Jacob  and  his  i.  iiL  73. 
clever  trick  in  cattle-breeding ;  showing  how,  at  a  time  when 
cattle  were  the  currency,  the  natural  rate  of  increase  might 
be  diverted  to  private  advantage.    Antonio  interrupts  him : 

Is  your  gold  and  silver  ewes  and  rams?  i  iiL  96. 

Shylock  answers : 

I  cannot  tell ;  I  make  it  breed  as  fast ; 

both  parties  thus  showing  that  they  considered  the  distinction 
between  the  using  of  flesh  and  metal  for  the  medium  of 
wealth  to  be  the  essential  point  in  their  dispute.  With  this 
notion  then  of  flesh  versus  money  floating  in  the  air  between 
them  the  interview  goes  on  to  the  outbursts  of  mutual  hatred 
which  reach  a  climax  in  Antonio's  challenge  to  Shylock  to  do 


64  THE  MERCHANT  OF   VENICE. 

CHAP.  II.  his  worst ;  this  challenge  suddenly  combines  with  the  root 

idea  of  the  conversation  to  flash  into  Shylock's  mind  the  sug- 

i.  Hi,  from   gestion  of  the  bond.     In  an  instant  he  smoothes  his  face  and 
proposes  friendship.    He  will  lend  the  money  without  interest, 
in  pure  kindness,  nay  more,  he  will  go.to  that  extent  of  good 
understanding  implied  in  joking,  and  will  have  a  merry  bond ; 
while  as  to  the  particular  joke  (he  says  in  effect),  since  you 
Christians  cannot  understand  interest  in  the  case  of  money 
while  you  acknowledge  it  in  the  case  of  flesh  and  blood, 
suppose  I  take  as  my  interest  in  this  bond  a  pound  of  your 
own  flesh.     In  such  a  context  the  monstrous  proposal  sounds 
almost  natural.     It  has  further  been  ushered  in  in  a  manner 
which  makes  it  almost  impossible  to  decline  it.     When  one 
who  is  manifestly  an  injured  man  is  the  first  to  make  ad- 
vances, a  generous  adversary  finds  it  almost  impossible  to 
hold  back.     A  sensitive  man,  again,  will  shrink  from  nothing 
more  than  from  the  ridicule  attaching  to  those  who  take  serious 
precautions  against  a  jest.     And  the  more  incongruous  Shy- 
lock's  proposal  is  with  commercial   negotiations   the  better 
evidence  it  is  of  his  non-commercial  intentions.     In  a  word, 
the  essence   of  the  difficulty  was  the  incongruity  between 
human  flesh  and  money  transactions:  it  has  been  surmounted 
by  a  discussion,  flowing  naturally  from  the  position  of  the 
two  parties,  of  which  the  point  is  the  relative  position  of 
flesh  and  money  as  the  medium  of  wealth  in  the  past. 
Difficulty        The  bond  thus  proposed  and  accepted,  there  follows  the 
of  legally  ^  Difficulty  of  representing   it   as   entertained    by  a  court  of 
7heTondn*  justice.     With  reference  to  Shakespeare's  handling  of  this 
evaded:       point  it   may  be  noted,  first,  that   he  leaves  us  in  doubt 
iv.  i.  104.   whether  the  court  would  have  entertained  it :  the  Duke  is 
intimating  an  intention  of  adjourning  at  the  moment  when 
the  entrance  of  Portia  gives  a  new  turn  to  the  proceedings, 
iv.  i.  17.     Again,  at  the  opening  of  the  trial,  the  Duke  gives  expression 
to  the  universal  opinion  that  Shylock's  conduct  was  intel- 
ligible only  on  the  supposition  that  he  was  keeping  up  to  the 


DIFFICULTIES  IN  STORIES.  65 

last  moment  the  appearance  of  insisting  on  his  strange  terms,   CHAP.  II. 

in  order  that  before  the  eyes  of   the  whole  city  he  might      

exhibit  his  enemy  at  his  mercy,  and  then  add  to  his  ignominy 
by  publicly  pardoning  him :  a  fate  which,  it  must  be  admitted, 
was  no  more  than  Antonio  justly  deserved.  This  will  explain 
how  Shylock  comes  to  have  a  hearing  at  all :  when  once  he 
is  admitted  to  speak  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  resist  the 
pleas  Shakespeare  puts  into  his  mouth.  He  takes  his  stand  iv.  i.  38. 
on  the  city's  charter  and  the  letter  of  the  law,  and  declines 
to  be  drawn  into  any  discussion  of  natural  justice ;  yet  even  as 
a  question  of  natural  justice  what  answer  can  be  found  when  iv.  i.  90. 
he  casually  points  to  the  institution  of  slavery,  which  we 
must  suppose  to  have  existed  in  Venice  at  the  period  ?  Shy- 
lock's  only  offence  is  his  seeking  to  make  Antonio's  life  a 
matter  of  barter:  what  else  is  the  accepted  institution  of 
slavery  but  the  establishment  of  power  over  human  flesh  and 
blood  and  life,  simply  because  these  have  been  bought  with 
money,  precisely  as  Shylock  has  given  good  ducats  for  his 
rights  over  the  flesh  of  Antonio  ?  No  wonder  the  perplexed 
Duke  is  for  adjourning. 

There  remains  one  more  difficulty,  the  mode  in  which,  Difficulty 
according  to  the  traditional  story,  the  bond  is  upset.     It  is  traditional 
manifest  that  the  agreement  as  to  the  pound  of  flesh,  if  it  is  mode  of 
to  be  recognised  by  a  court  of  justice  at  all,  cannot  without  "h 
the  grossest  perversion  of  justice  be  cancelled  on  the  ground 
of  its  omitting  to  mention  blood.     Legal  evasion  can  go 
to  great  lengths.     It  is  well  known  that  an  Act  requiring 
cabs  to  carry  lamps  at  night  has  been  evaded  through  the 
omission  of  a  direction  that  the  lamps  were  to  be  lighted ; 
and  that  importers  have  escaped  a  duty  on  foreign  gloves  at 
so  much  the  pair  by  bringing  the  right-hand  and  left-hand 
gloves  over  in  different  ships.     But  it  is  perfectly  possible  to 
carry  lamps  without  lighting  them,  while  it  is  a  clear  impos- 
sibility to  cut  human  flesh  without  shedding  blood.    Nothing 
of  course  would  be  easier  than  to  upset  the  bond  on  rational 

F 


66  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  II.  grounds — indeed  the  difficulty  is  rather  to  imagine  it  receiving 
rational  consideration  at  all ;  but  on  the  other  hand  no  solu- 
tion of  the  perplexity  could  be  half  so  dramatic  as  the  one 
tradition  has  preserved.  The  dramatist  has  to  choose  be- 
tween a  course  of  procedure  which  shall  be  highly  dramatic 
but  leave  a  sense  of  injustice,  and  one  that  shall  be  sound 
and  legal  but  comparatively  tame.  Shakespeare  contrives 
to  secure  both  alternatives.  He  retains  the  traditional  plea 
as  to  the  blood,  but  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  one  known  to 
his  audience  to  be  a  woman  playing  the  lawyer  for  the  nonce  ; 
iv.  i.  314,  and  again,  before  we  have  time  to  recover  from  our  surprise 
34"'  and  feel  the  injustice  of  the  proceeding,  he  follows  up  the 
brilliant  evasion  by  a  sound  legal  plea,  the  suggestion  of  a 
real  lawyer.  Portia  has  come  to  the  court  from  a  conference 
with  her  cousin  Bellario,  the  most  learned  jurist  of  Venice. 
iii.  iv.  47 ;  Certainly  it  was  not  this  doctor  who  hit  upon  the  idea  of  the 
lv'  h  l43'  blood  being  omitted.  His  contribution  to  the  interesting  con- 
sultation was  clearly  the  old  statute  of  Venice,  which  every 
one  else  seems  to  have  forgotten,  which  made  the  mere 
attempt  on  the  life  of  a  citizen  by  an  alien  punishable  with 
death  and  loss  of  property:  according  to  this  piece  of  statute 
law  not  only  would  Shylock's  bond  be  illegal,  but  the  de- 
mand of  such  security  constituted  a  capital  offence.  Thus 
Shakespeare  surmounts  the  final  difficulty  in  the  story  of  the 
Jew  in  a  mode  which  retains  dramatic  force  to  the  full,  yet 
does  this  without  any  violation  of  legal  fairness. 

The  inter-       The  second  purpose  of  the  present  study  is  to  show  how 

^Ae'two    Shakespeare  has  added  to  the  effectiveness  of  his  two  stories  by 

stones.        so  weaving  them  together  that  they  assist  one  another's  effect. 

First,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  the  whole  movement  of  the 

play  rises  naturally  out  of  the  union  of  the  two  stories.     One 

of  the  main  distinctions  between  the  progress  of  events  in 

real  life  or  history  and  in  Drama  is  that  the  movement  of  a 

drama  falls  into  the  form  technically  known  as  Complication 


INTERWEAVING  OF  STORIES.  67 

and  Resolution.  A  dramatist  fastens  our  attention  upon  some  CHAP.  II. 
train  of  events :  then  he  sets  himself  to  divert  this  train  of 
events  from  its  natural  course  by  some  interruption ;    this  c9mPlica- 
interruption  is  either  removed,  and  the  train  of  events  returns  ton/Mm 
to  its  natural  course,  or  the  interruption  is  carried  on  to  some 
tragic  culmination.     In  The  Merchant  of  Venice  our  interest 
is  at  the  beginning  fixed  on  Antonio  as  rich,  high-placed,  the 
protector  and  benefactor  of  his  friends.    By  the  events  follow- 
ing upon  the  incident  of  the  bond  we  see  what  would  seem 
the  natural  life  of  Antonio  diverted  into  a  totally  different 
channel ;  in  the  end  the  whole  course  is  restored,  and  Antonio 
becomes  prosperous  as  before.     Such  interruption  of  a  train 
of  incidents  is  its  Complication,  and  the  term  Complication 
suggests  a  happy  Resolution  to  follow.     Complication  and 
Resolution  are  essential  to  dramatic  movement,  as  discords 
and  their  '  resolution '  into  concords  constitute  the  essence  of 
music.    The  Complication  and  Resolution  in  the  story  of  the  The  one 
Jew  serve  for  the  Complication  and  Resolution  of  the  drama  slov  com- 
as  a  whole  ;  and  my  immediate  point  is  that  these  elements  tf^ndrt 
rnovement  in  the  one  story  spring  directly  out  of  its  connec- solved  ^ 
tion  with  the  other.     But  for  Bassanio's  need  of  money  and  '*  \°f*m 
his  blunder  in  applying  to  Shylock  the  bond  would  never  have  122' J  i-  »"• 
been  entered  into,  and  the  change  in  Antonio's  fortunes  would 
never  have  come  about :  thus  the  cause  for  all  the  Complication 
of  the  play  (technically,  the  Complicating  Force)  is  the  happy 
lover  of  the  Caskets  Story.     Similarly  Portia  is  the  means  by 
which  Antonio's  fortunes  are  restored  to  their  natural  flow : 
in  other  words,  the  source  of  the  Resolution  (or  Resolving 
Force)  is  the  maiden  of  the  Caskets  Story.     The  two  leading 
personages  of  the  one  tale  are  the  sources  respectively  of  the 
Complication  and  Resolution  in  the  other  tale,  which  carry 
the  Complication  and  Resolution  of  the  drama  as  a  whole. 
Thus  simply  does  the  movement  of  the  whole  play  flow  from 
the  union  of  the  two  stories. 

One  consequence  flowing  from  this  is  worth  noting ;  that  The  whok 


F  2 


68 


THE  MERCHANT  Of  VENICE. 


play  sym 
metrical 
about  its 
central 
scene. 


CHAP.  II.  the  scene  in  which  Bassanio  makes  his  successful  choice  of 
the  casket  is  the  Dramatic  Centre  of  the  whole  play,  as  being 
the  point  at  which  the  Complicating  and  Resolving  Forces 
meet.  This  Dramatic  Centre  is,  according  to  Shakespeare's 
favourite  custom,  placed  in  the  exact  mechanical  centre  of 
the  drama,  covering  the  middle  of  the  middle  Act.  There  is 
again  an  amount  of  poetic  splendour  lavished  upon  this 
scene  which  throws  it  up  as  a  poetic  centre  to  the  whole. 
More  than  this,  it  is  the  real  crisis  of  the  play.  Looking 
philosophically  upon  the  whole  drama  as  a  piece  of  history, 
we  must  admit  that  the  true  turning-point  is  the  success  of 
Bassanio ;  the  apparent  crisis  is  the  Trial  Scene,  but  this  is 
in  reality  governed  by  the  scene  of  the  successful  choice,  and 
if  Portia  and  Bassanio  had  not  been  united  in  the  earlier 
scene  no  lawyer  would  have  interposed  to  turn  the  current 
of  events  in  the  trial.  There  is  yet  another  sense  in  which 
the  same  scene  may  be  called  central.  Hitherto  I  have  dealt 
with  only  two  tales ;  the  full  plot  however  of  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  involves  two  more,  the  Story  of  Jessica  and  the 
Episode  of  the  Rings :  it  is  to  be  observed  that  all  four  stories 
meet  in  the  scene  of  the  successful  choice.  This  scene  is 
the  climax  of  the  Caskets  Story.  It  is  connected  with  the 

iii.  ii,  from  catastrophe  in  the  Story  of  the  Jew  :  Bassanio,  at  the  moment 
of  his  happiness,  learns  that  the  friend  through  whom 
he  has  been  able  to  contend  for  the  prize  has  forfeited  his 
life  to  his  foe  as  the  price  oi  his  liberality.  The  scene  is 
connected  with  the  Jessica  Story  :  for  Jessica  and  her  husband 
are  the  messengers  who  bring  the  sad  tidings,  and  thus  link 
together  the  bright  and  gloomy  elements  of  the  play.  Finally, 
the  Episode  of  the  Rings,  which  is  to  occupy  the  end  of  the 
3-  drama,  has  its  foundation  in  this  scene,  in  the  exchange  of 
the  rings  which  are  destined  to  be  the  source  of  such  ironical 
perplexity.  Such  is  the  symmetry  with  which  the  plot  of  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  has  been  constructed :  the  incident  which 
is  technically  its  Dramatic  Centre  is  at  once  its  mechanical 


221. 


187. 


UNION  OF  LIGHT  AND  SERIOUS  STORIES.        69 

centre,  its  poetic  centre,  and,  philosophically  considered,  its  CHAP.  IL 
true  turning-point;  while,  considering  the  play  as  a  Romantic 
drama  with  its  union  of  stories,  we  find  in  the  same  central 
incident  all  the  four  stories  dovetailed  together. 

These  points  may  appear  small  and  merely  technical.    But  Shake- 
it  is  a  constant  purpose  with  me  in  the  present  exposition  of  s/%™f™ 
Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist  to  combat  the  notion,  so  of  Plot. 
widely  prevalent  amongst  ordinary  readers,  that  Shakespeare, 
though   endowed   with    the   profoundest  grasp    of    human 
nature,  is  yet  careless  in  the  construction  of  his  plots  :  a 
notion  in  itself  as  improbable  as  it  would  be  that  a  sculptor 
could   be   found   to   produce   individual  figures  exquisitely 
moulded  and  chiselled,  yet  awkwardly  and  clumsily  grouped. 
It  is  the  minuter  points  that  show  the  finish  of  an  artist ;  and 
such  symmetry  of  construction  as  appears  in  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  is  not  likely  to  characterise  a  dramatist  who  sacri- 
fices plot  to  character-painting. 

There  remains  another  point,  which  no  one  will  consider  The  union 

small  or  technical,  connected  with  the  union  of  the  two  °f"ltsht 

with  a 

stories:  the  fact  that  Shakespeare  has  thus  united  a  light  and  serious 
a  serious  story,  that  he  has  woven  together  gloom  and  bright-  story' 
ness.  This  carries  us  to  one  of  the  great  battlefields  of 
dramatic  history;  no  feature  is  more  characteristic  of  the 
Romantic  Drama  than  this  mingling  of  light  and  serious  in 
the  same  play,  and  at  no  point  has  it  been  more  stoutly 
assailed  by  critics  trained  in  an  opposite  school.  I  say 
nothing  of  the  wider  scope  this  practice  gives  to  the  dra- 
matist, nor  the  way  in  which  it  brings  the  world  of  art  nearer 
to  the  world  of  reality ;  my  present  purpose  is  to  review  the 
dramatic  effects  which  .flow  from  the  mingling  of  the  two 
elements  in  the  present  play. 

In  general  human  interest  the  stories  are  a  counterpoise  Dramatic 
to  one  another,  so  different  in  kind,  so  equal  in  the  degree  eff*1? 

arising  out 

of  interest  their  progress  continues  to  call  forth.     The  inci-  of  this 
dents  of  the  two  tales  gather  around  Antonio  and  Portia  umon" 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


CHAP.  II. 


Effects  of 
Human 
Interest. 
i.  i.  i. 


i.  ii.  i. 


Effects  of 
Plot. 


Emotional 
effects:  in- 
crease of 
tragic 
passion  ; 


respectively ;  each  of  these  is  a  full  and  rounded  character, 
and  they  are  both  centres  of  their  respective  worlds.  The 
stones  seem  to  start  from  a  common  point.  The  keynote  to 
the  story  of  the  Jew  is  the  strange  '  sadness ' — the  word  im- 
plies no  more  than  seriousness — which  overpowers  Antonio, 
and  which  seems  to  be  the  shadow  of  his  coming  trouble. 
Compare  with  this  the  first  words  we  hear  of  Portia  : 

By  my  troth,  Nerissa,   my  little   body   is   aweary   of  this  great 
world. 

Such  a  humorous  languor  is  a  fitting  precursor  to  the  ex- 
citement and  energy  of  the  scenes  which  follow.  But  from 
this  common  starting-point  the  stories  move  in  opposite 
directions;  the  spectator's  sympathies  are  demanded  alter- 
nately for  two  independent  chains  of  circumstances,  for  the 
fortunes  of  Antonio  sinking  lower  and  lower,  and  the  for- 
tunes of  Portia  rising  higher  and  higher.  He  sees  the 
merchant  and  citizen  become  a  bankrupt  prisoner,  the  lordly 
benefactor  of  his  friends  a  wretch  at  the  mercy  of  his  foe. 
He  sees  Portia,  already  endowed  with  beauty,  wealth,  and 
character,  attain  what  to  her  heart  is  yet  higher,  the  power  to 
lay  all  she  has  at  the  feet  of  the  man  she  loves.  Then,  when 
they  are  at  the  climax  of  their  happiness  and  misery,  when 
Portia  has  received  all  that  this  world  can  bestow,  and  Anto- 
nio has  lost  all  that  this  world  can  lake  away,  for  the  first 
time  these  two  central  personages  meet  face  to  face  in  the 
Trial  Scene.  And  if  from  general  human  interest  we  pass 
on  to  the  machinery  of  plot,  we  find  this  also  governed  by  the 
same  combination :  a  half-serious  frolic  is  the  medium  in 
which  a  tragic  crisis  finds  its  solution. 

But  it  is  of  course  passion  and  emotional  interest  which 
are  mainly  affected  by  the  union  of  light  and  serious :  these 
we  shall  appreciate  chiefly  in  connection  with  the  Trial  Scene, 
where  the  emotional  threads  of  the  play  are  gathered  into 
a  knot,  and  the  two  personages  who  are  the  embodiments  of 
the  light  and  serious  elements  face  one  another  as  judge  and 


UNION  OF  LIGHT  AND  SERIOUS  STORIES.        71 

prisoner.     In  this  scene  it  is  remarkable  how  Portia  takes  CHAP.  II. 
pains  to  prolong  to  the  utmost  extent  the  crisis  she  has  come  . 
to  solve;  she  holds  in  her  fingers  the  threads  of  the  tangled  2al/ 
situation,  and  she  is  strong  enough  to  play  with  it  before  she 
will  consent  to  bring  it  to  an  end.     She  has  intimated  her  178. 
opinion  that  the  letter  of  the  bond  must  be  maintained,  she  184-207. 
has  made  her  appeal  to  Shylock  for  mercy  and  been  refused, 
she  has  heard  Bassanio's  appeal  to  wrest  the  law  for  once  to  214-222. 
her  authority  and  has  rejected  it ;  there  remains  nothing  but 
to  pronounce  the  decree.     But  at  the  last  moment  she  asks  225. 
to  see  the  bond,  and   every  spectator   in  court  holds  his 
breath  and  hears  his  heart  beat  as  he  follows  the  lawyer's  eye 
down  line  after  line.     It  is  of  no  avail;  at  the  end  she  can  227-230. 
only  repeat  the  useless  offer  of  thrice  the  loan,  with  the  effect 
of  drawing  from  Shylock  an  oath  that  he  will  not  give  way. 
Then  Portia  admits  that  the  bond  is  forfeit,  with  a  needless  230-244. 
reiteration  of  its  horrible  details ;  yet,  as  if  it  were  some  evenly 
balanced  question,  in  which  after-thoughts  were  important, 
she  once  more  appeals  to  Shylock  to  be  merciful  and  bid 
her  tear  the  bond,  and  evokes  a  still  stronger  asseveration 
from  the  malignant  victor,  until  even  Antonio's  stoicism  be- 
gins to  give  way,  and  he  begs  for  a  speedy  judgment.    Portia  243. 
then  commences  to  pass  her  judgment  in  language  of  legal 
prolixity,  which  sounds  like  a  recollection  of  her  hour  with 
Bellario : 

For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 

Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty, 

"Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond,  &c. 

Next  she  fads  about  the  details  of  the  judicial  barbarity,  255-261. 
the  balance  to  weigh  the  flesh,  a  surgeon  as  a  forlorn  hope  ; 
and  when  Shylock  demurs  to  the  last,  stops  to  argue  that  he 
might  do  this  for  charity.     At  last  surely  the  intolerable 
suspense  will  come  to  a  termination.      But  our  lawyer  of  263. 
half-an-hour's   standing   suddenly  remembers   she   has   for- 
gotten to  call  on  the  defendant  in  the  suit,  and  the  pathos  is 


f2  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  II.  intensified  by  the  dying  speech  of  Antonio,  calmly  welcom- 
ing  death  for  himself,  anxious  only  to  soften  Bassanio's  re- 
morse, his  last  human  passion  a  rivalry  with  Portia  for  the 

love  of  his  friend, 
iv.  i.  276.  Bid  her  be  judge 

Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 

iv.  i,  from  When  the  final  judgment  can  be  delayed  no  longer  its  open- 
2"'  ing  sentences  are  still  lengthened  out  by  the  jingling  repeti- 

tions of  judicial  formality, 

The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it,  &c. 

Only  when  every  evasion  has  been  exhausted  comes  the 
thunderstroke  which  reverses  the  whole  situation.  Now  it  is 
clear  that  had  this  situation  been  intended  to  have  a  tragic 
termination  this  prolonging  of  its  details  would  have  been 
impossible ;  thus  to  harrow  our  feelings  with  items  of  agony 
would  be  not  art  but  barbarity.  It  is  because  Portia  knows 
what  termination  she  is  going  to  give  to  the  scene  that  she 
can  indulge  in  such  boldness ;  it  is  because  the  audience 
have  recognised  in  Portia  the  signal  of  deliverance  that  the 
lengthening  of  the  crisis  becomes  the  dramatic  beauty  of 
suspense.  It  appears  then  that,  if  this  scene  be  regarded  only 
as  a  crisis  of  tragic  passion,  the  dramatist  has  been  able  to 
extract  more  tragic  effect  out  of  it  by  the  device  of  assisting 
the  tragic  with  a  light  story. 

reaction          Again,  it  is  a  natural  law  of  the  human  mind  to  pass 

"effect0™1     fr°m  stram  to  reaction,  and  suspense  relieved  will  find  vent 

in  vehement  exhilaration.     By  giving  Portia  her  position  in 

the  crisis  scene  the  dramatist  is  clearly  furnishing  the  means 

for  a  reaction  to  follow,  and  the  reaction  is  found  in  the 

iv.  i,  from  Episode  of  the  Rings,  by  which  the  disguised  wives  entangle 

their  husbands  in  a  perplexity  affording  the  audience  the 

bursts  of  merriment  needed  as  relief  from  the  tension  of  the 

Trial  Scene.     The  play  is  thus  brought  into  conformity  with 

the  laws  of  mental  working,  and  the  effect  of  the  reaction 


UNION  OF  LIGHT  AND  SERIOUS  STORIES.        73 

is  to   make  the   serious  passion   more  keen   because  more  CHAP.  II. 
healthy. 

Finally,  there   are   the   effects  of  mixed  passion,  neither  effects  of 


wholly  serious  nor  wholly  light,  but  compounded  of  the  two, 
which  are  impossible  to  a  drama  that  can  admit  only  a 
single  tone.  The  effect  of  Dramatic  Irony,  which  Shake- 
speare inherited  from  the  ancient  Drama,  but  greatly 
modified  and  extended,  is  powerfully  illustrated  at  the  most 
pathetic  point  of  the  Trial  Scene,  when  Antonio's  chance  iv.  i.  273- 
reference  to  Bassanio's  new  wife  calls  from  Bassanio  and  29** 
his  follower  agonised  vows  to  sacrifice  even  their  wives 
if  this  could  save  their  patron — little  thinking  that  these 
wives  are  standing  by  to  record  the  vow.  But  there  is  an 
effect  higher  than  this.  Portia's  outburst  on  the  theme  ofiv.  i.  184.- 
mercy,  considered  only  as  a  speech,  is  one  of  the  noblest  in  202' 
literature,  a  gem  of  purest  truth  in  a  setting  of  richest 
music.  But  the  situation  in  which  she  speaks  it  is  so  framed 
as  to  make  Portia  herself  the  embodiment  of  the  mercy  she 
describes.  How  can  we  imagine  a  higher  type  of  mercy, 
the  feminine  counterpart  of  justice,  than  in  the  bright 
woman,  at  the  moment  of  her  supreme  happiness,  appearing 
in  the  garb  of  the  law  to  deliver  a  righteous  unfortunate 
from  his  one  error,  and  the  justice  of  Venice  from  the  in- 
soluble perplexity  of  having  to  commit  a  murder  by  legal 
process  ?  And  how  is  this  situation  brought  about  but  by  the 
most  intricate  interweaving  of  a  story  of  brightness  with  a 
story  of  trouble  ? 

In  all  branches  then  of  dramatic  effect,  in  Character,  in 
Plot  and  in  Passion,  the  union  of  a  light  with  a  serious  story 
is  found  to  be  a  source  of  power  and  beauty.  The  fault 
charged  against  the  Romantic  Drama  has  upon  a  deeper  view 
proved  a  new  point  of  departure  in  dramatic  progress ;  and 
by  such  combination  of  opposites  the  two  tales  have  increased 
the  sum  of  their  individual  effectiveness  by  the  added  eftect 
of  their  union  in  a  drama. 


III. 

How  SHAKESPEARE  MAKES  HIS  PLOT  MORE 
COMPLEX  IN  ORDER  TO  MAKE  IT  MORE 
SIMPLE. 

A  Study  in  Underplot. 

CHAP.  III.  /TTSHE  title  of  the  present  study  is  a  paradox  :  that  Shake- 
J_      speare  makes  a  plot  more  complex  *  in  order  to  make 
simplicity    ^  more  simple.     It  is  however  a  paradox  that  finds  an  illustra- 
ty  means  of  {ion.   from  the   material   world    in   every  open  roof.      The 
^ complexity .  architect's   problem   has   been   to   support  a  heavy   weight 
without  the   assistance  of  pillars,  and   it  might  have  been 
expected  that  in  solving  the  problem  he  would  at  least  have 
tried  every  means  in  his  power  for  diminishing  the  weight  to 
be  supported.     On  the  contrary,  he  has  increased  this  weight 
by  the  addition   of  massive   cross-beams  and  heavy   iron- 
girders.     Yet,  if  these  have  been  arranged  according  to  the 
laws  of  construction,  each  of  them  will  bring  a  supporting 
power  considerably  greater  than  its  own  weight ;  and  thus, 
while  in  a  literal  sense  increasing  the  roof,  for  all  practical 
purposes  they  may  be  said  to  have  diminished  it.     Similarly 
a  dramatist  of  the  Romantic  school,   from  his  practice   of 
uniting  more  than  one  story  in  the  same  plot,  has  to  face  the 

1  It  is  a  difficulty  of  literary  criticism  that  it  has  to  use  as  technical 
terms  words  belonging  to  ordinary  conversation,  and  therefore  more  or 
less  indefinite  in  their  significations.  In  the  present  work  I  am  making 
a  distinction  between  'complex'  and  'complicated':  the  latter  is  ap- 
plied to  the  diverting  a  story  out  of  its  natural  course  with  a  view  to  its 
ultimate  '  resolution ' ;  '  complex  '  is  reserved  for  the  interweaving  of 
stories  with  one  another.  Later  on  '  single '  will  be  opposed  to  '  com- 
plex,' and  '  simple'  to  'complicated.' 


USES  OF  THE  JESSICA  STORY.  75 

difficulty  of  complexity.     This  difficulty  he  solves  not  by  seek-  CHAP.  III. 
ing  how  to  reduce  combinations  as  far  as  possible,  but,  on      - 
the  contrary,  by  the  addition  of  more  and  inferior  stories  ; 
yet  if  these  new  stories  are   so  handled   as   to   emphasise 
and  heighten  the  effect  of  the  main  stories,  the  additional 
complexity  will  have  resulted  in  increased  simplicity.     In  the 
play  at  present  under  consideration,  Shakespeare  has  inter- 
woven into  a  common  pattern  two  famous  and  striking  tales  ; 
his  plot,  already  elaborate,  he  has  made  yet  more  elaborate 
by  the  addition  of  two  more  tales  less  striking    in   their 
character  —  the  story  of  Jessica  and  the  Episode  of  the  Rings. 
If  it  can  be  shown  that  these  inferior  stories  have  the  effect  The  Jessica 
of  assisting  the  main  stories,  smoothing  away  their  difficulties  ^'^^ls 
and  making  their  prominent  points  yet  more  prominent,  it  Episode 
will  be  clear  that  he  has  made  his  plot  more  complex  only  in  *^  '** 
reality  to  make  it  more  simple.     The  present  study  is  de-  stories. 
voted  to  noticing  how  the  Stories  of  Jessica  and  of  the  Rings 
minister  to  the  effects  of  the   Story  of  the   Jew  and   the 
Caskets  Story. 

To  begin  with  :  it  may  be  seen  that  in  many  ways  the  The  Jessica 


mechanical  working  out  of  the  main  stories  is  assisted  by  the 


Jessica  Story.     In  the  first  place  it  relieves  them  of  their  Underplot 
superfluous  personages.     Every  drama,  however  simple,  must>/^/^/ 
contain  'mechanical*  personages,  who  are  introduced  into  personages. 
the  play,  not  for  their  own  sake,  but  to  assist  in  presenting 
incidents  or  other  personages.     The  tendency  of  Romantic 
Drama  to  put  a  story  as  a  whole  upon  the  stage  multiplies 
the   number   of  such   mechanical    personages:    and   when 
several  such  stories  come  to  be  combined  in  one,  there  is  a 
danger  of  the  stage  being  crowded  with  characters  which 
intrinsically  have  little  interest.     Here  the   Underplots   be- 
come of  service  and  find  occupation  for  these  inferior  per- 
sonages.    In  the  present  case  only  four  personages  are  es- 
sential to  the  main  plot  —  Antonio,  Shylock,  Bassanio,  Portia. 
But  in   bringing   out   the   unusual   tie   that  binds  together 


76  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  a   representative   of  the   city   and  a   representative   of  the 

nobility,  and  upon  which  so  much  of  the  plot  rests,  it  is  an 

iif  iii-1'     assistance  to  introduce  the  rank  and  file  of  gay  society  and 
iv.  i.  '       depict  these  paying  court  to  the  commercial  magnate.     The 
high  position  of  Antonio  and  Bassanio  in  their  respective 
spheres  will  come  out  still  clearer  if  these  lesser  social  per- 
i.  i ;  com-   sonages  are  graduated.     Salanio,  Salerio,  and  Salarino  are 
es^i^iS  mere  parasites;     Gratiano   has    a    certain    amount   of  in- 
i.i.  74-118.  dividuality  in  his  wit;  while,  seeing  that  Bassanio  is  a  scholar 
i.  ii.  124.     as  well  as  a  nobleman  and  soldier,  it  is  fitting  to  give  pro- 
v.  i,  &c.      minence  amongst  his  followers  to  the  intellectual  and  artistic 
i.  ii,  &c.      Lorenzo.      Similarly  the   introduction  of  Nerissa  assists  in 
iii.  i.  80,     presenting  Portia  fully ;  Shylock  is  seen  in  his  relations  with 
his  race  by  the  aid  of  Tubal,  his  family  life  is  seen  in  con- 
nection with  Jessica,  and   his   behaviour  to  dependants  in 
connection  with  Launcelot;  Launcelot  himself  is  set  off  by 
Gobbo.     Now  the  Jessica  Story  is  mainly  devoted  to  these  in- 
ferior personages,  and  the  majority  of  them  take  an  animated 
part  in  the  successful  elopement.     It  is  further  to  be  noted 
that  the  Jessica  Underplot  has  itself  an  inferior  story  attached 
ii.  ii,  iii ;     to  it,  that  of  Launcelot,  who  seeks  scope  for  his  good  nature 
by  transferring   himself  to  a  Christian  master,  just  as  his 
mistress    seeks  a  freer  social  atmosphere   in  union  with  a 
Christian  husband.     And,  similarly,  side   by  side  with  the 
Caskets  Story,  which  unites  Portia  and  Bassanio,  we  have  a 
iii.  ii.  iSS,  faintly-marked  underplot  which  unites  their  followers,  Nerissa 
and  Gratiano.    In  one  or  other  of  these  inferior  stories  the 
mechanical   personages   find  attachment  to  plot;    and  the 
multiplication   of  individual    figures,  instead  of  leaving  an 
impression   of  waste,  is  made  to   minister  to  the  sense  of 
Dramatic  Economy. 

It  assists  Again  :  as  there  are  mechanical  personages  so  there  are 
llevehp?*1  mechanical  difficulties— difficulties  of  realisation  which  do  not 
ment:  belong  to  the  essence  of  a  story,  but  which  appear  when  the 
storv  comes  to  be  worked  out  upon  the  stage.  The  Story  of 


USES  Of   THE  JESSICA  STORY.  77 

the  Jew  involves  such  a  mechanical  difficulty  in  the  interval  CHAP.  III. 
of  three  months  which  elapses  between  the  signing  of  the 
bond  and  its  forfeiture.  In  a  classical  setting  this  would  be 
avoided  by  making  the  play  begin  on  the  day  the  bond  falls 
due;  such  treatment,  however,  would  shut  out  the  great 
dramatic  opportunity  of  the  Bond  Scene.  The  Romantic 
Drama  always  inclines  to  exhibiting  the  whole  of  a  story;  it 
must  therefore  in  the  present  case  suppose  a  considerable 
interval  between  one  part  of  the  story  and  another,  and  such 
suppositions  tend  to  be  weaknesses.  The  Jessica  Story  con- 
veniently bridges  over  this  interval.  The  first  Act  is  given 
up  to  bringing  about  the  bond,  which  at  the  beginning  of  the 
third  Act  appears  to  be  broken.  The  intervening  Act  consists 
of  no  less  than  nine  scenes,  and  while  three  of  them  carry 
on  the  progress  of  the  Caskets  Story,  the  other  six  are 
devoted  to  the  elopement  of  Jessica  :  the  bustle  and  activity 
implied  in  such  rapid  change  of  scene  indicating  how  an 
underplot  can  be  used  to  keep  the  attention  of  the  audience 
just  where  the  natural  interest  of  the  main  story  would  flag. 

The  same  use  of  the  Jessica  Story  to  bridge  over  the  and  so 
three  months'  interval  obviates  another  mechanical  difficulty  gradually 


of  the  main   plot.     The  loss   of  all  Antonio's   ships,  the  the  news^  of 

supposition  that  all  the  commercial  ventures  of  so  prudent  a  !osscs 

merchant  should  simultaneously  miscarry,  is  so  contrary  to 

the  chances  of  things  as  to  put  some  strain  upon  our  sense 

of  probability;  and  this  is  just  one  of  the  details  which,  too 

unimportant  to  strike  us  in  an  anecdote,  become  realised 

when  a  story  is  presented  before  our  eyes.     The  artist,  it 

must  be  observed,  is  not  bound  to  find  actual  solutions  for 

every  possible  difficulty;  he  has  merely  to  see  that  they  do 

not  interfere  with  dramatic  effect.    Sometimes  he  so  arranges 

his  incidents  that  the  difficulty  is  met  and  vanishes  ;  some- 

times it  is  kept  out  of  sight,  the  portion  of  the  story  which 

contains  it  going  on  behind  the  scenes;  at  other  times  he 

is  content  with  reducing  the  difficulty  in  amount     In  the 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


CHAP.  III.  present  instance  the  improbability  of  Antonio's  losses  is  les- 
sened by  the  gradual  way  in  which  the  news  is  broken  to  us, 
distributed  amongst  the  numerous  scenes  of  the  three  months' 

ii.  viii.  25.  interval.  We  get  the  first  hint  of  it  in  a  chance  conver- 
sation between  Salanio  and  Salarino,  in  which  they  are 
chuckling  over  the  success  of  the  elopement  and  the  fury  of 
the  robbed  father.  Salanio  remarks  that  Antonio  must  look 
that  he  keep  his  day;  this  reminds  Salarino  of  a  ship  he  has 
just  heard  of  as  lost  somewhere  in  the  English  Channel  : 

I  thought  upon  Antonio  when  he  told  me  ; 
And  wish'd  in  silence  that  it  were  not  his. 

iii.  i.  In  the  next  scene  but  one  the  same  personages  meet,  and 
one  of  them,  enquiring  for  the  latest  news,  is  told  that  the 
rumour  yet  lives  of  Antonio's  loss,  and  now  the  exact  place 
of  the  wreck  is  specified  as  the  Goodwin  Sands;  Salarino 
adds  :  '  I  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his  losses.' 
Before  the  close  of  the  scene  Shylock  and  Tubal  have  been 
added  to  it.  Tubal  has  come  from  Genoa  and  gives  Shylock 
the  welcome  news  that  at  Genoa  it  was  known  that  Antonio 
had  lost  an  argosy  coming  from  Tripolis;  while  on  his 
journey  to  Venice  Tubal  had  travelled  with  creditors  of 
Antonio  who  were  speculating  upon  his  bankruptcy  as  a 

iii.  ii.  certainty.  Then  comes  the  central  scene  in  which  the  full 
news  reaches  Bassanio  at  the  moment  of  his  happiness  :  all 
Antonio's  ventures  failed— 

From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico  and  England, 
From  Lisbon,  Barbary,  and  India, 

iii.  iii.        not  one  escaped.     In  the  following  scene  we  see  Antonio  in 

custody. 
The  Jessica      These  are  minor  points  such  as  may  be  met  with  in  any 

asniis  play'  and  the  treatment  of>  tnem  belongs  to  ordinary  Dra- 
Dramatic  matic  Mechanism.  But  we  have  already  had  to  notice  that 
^^f0tn  tfie  Story  of  the  Jew  contains  special  difficulties  which  belong 
Shylock.  to  the  essence  of  the  story,  and  must  be  met  by  special 


USES  OP  THE  JESSICA  STORY.  79 

devices.     One  of  these  was  the  monstrous  character  of  the  CHAP.  III. 

Jew  himself;  and  we  saw  how  the  dramatist  was  obliged  to      

maintain    in   the   spectators  a  double  attitude  to  Shylock, 

alternately  letting   them  be  repelled  by  his  malignity  and 

again  attracting  their  sympathy  to  him  as  a  victim  of  wrong. 

Nothing  in  the  play  assists  this  double  attitude  so  much  as 

the  Jessica  Story.     Not  to  speak  of  the  fact  that  Shylock 

shows  no  appreciation  for  the  winsomeness  of  the  girl  who 

attracts  every  one  else  in  the  drama,  nor  of  the  way  in  which 

this  one  point  of  brightness  in  the  Jewish  quarter  throws  up 

the  sordidness  of  all  her  surroundings,  we  hear  the  Jew's 

own  daughter  reflect  that  his  house  is  a  '  hell/  and  we  see  ii.  iii.  a. 

enough  of  his  domestic  life  to  agree  with  her.     A  Shylock  e.g.  ii  v. 

painted  without  a  tender  side  at  all  would  be  repulsive ;  he 

becomes  much  more  repulsive  when  he  shows  a  tenderness 

for  one  human  being,  and  yet  it  appears  how  this  tenderness 

has  grown  hard  and  rotten  with  the  general  debasement  of 

his  soul  by  avarice,  until,  in  his  ravings  over  his  loss,  his  iii.  i,  from 

ducats  and  his  daughter  are  ranked  as  equally  dear. 

I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jewels  in  iii.  i.  92. 
her  ear !     Would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot,  and  the  ducats  in  her 
coffin  ! 

For  all  this  we  feel  that  he  is  hardly  used  in  losing  her. 
Paternal  feeling  may  take  a  gross  form,  but  it  is  paternal 
feeling  none  the  less,  and  cannot  be  denied  our  sympathy; 
bereavement  is  a  common  ground  upon  which  not  only  high 
and  low,  but  even  the  pure  and  the  outcast,  are  drawn 
together.  Thus  Jessica  at  home  makes  us  hate  Shylock ; 
with  Jessica  lost  we  cannot  help  pitying  him.  The  per- 
fection of  Dramatic  Hedging  lies  in  the  equal  balancing  of 
the  conflicting  feelings,  and  one  of  the  most  powerful 
scenes  in  the  whole  play  is  devoted  to  this  twofold  display  of 
Shylock.  Fresh  from  the  incident  of  the  elopement,  he  is 
encountered  by  the  parasites  and  by  Tubal:  these  amuse 
themselves  with  alternately  'chaffing'  him  upon  his  losses, 


8o  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  and  'drawing'  him  in  the  matter  of  the  expected  gratification 

of  his   vengeance,    while   his   passions    rock   him    between 

Jessica  extremes  of  despair  and  fiendish  anticipation.  We  may  go 
fare's  furtner-  Great  creative  power  is  accompanied  by  great 
compensa-  attachment  to  the  creations  and  keen  sense  of  justice  in  dis- 
P°smg  °f  them.  Looked  at  as  a  whole,  the  Jessica  Story  is 
Shakespeare's  compensation  to  Shylock.  The  sentence  on 
iv.  i.  348-  Shylock,  which  the  necessities  of  the  story  require,  is  legal 
394*  rather  than  just;  yet  large  part  of  it  consists  in  a  require- 

ment that  he  shall  make  his  daughter  an  heiress.  And,  to 
put  it  more  generally,  the  repellent  character  and  hard  fate 
of  the  father  have  set  against  them  the  sweetness  and  beauty 
of  the  daughter,  together  with  the  full  cup  of  good  fortune 
which  her  wilful  rebellion  brings  her  in  the  love  of  Lorenzo 
and  the  protecting  friendship  of  Portia.  Perhaps  the  dramatist, 
according  to  his  wont,  is  warning  us  of  this  compensating 
treatment  when  he  makes  one  of  the  characters  early  in  the 
ii.  iv.  34.  play  exclaim  : 

If  e'er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven, 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake. 

The  Jessica      The  other  main  source  of  difficulty  in  the   Story  of  the 

flouts  Shy-  Jew  is'  as  we  have  seen>  the  detail  concerning  the  pound  of 
lock's  tin-    flesh,  which   throws  improbability  over   every  stage  of  its 
progress.     In  one  at  least  of  these  stages  the  difficulty  is 
directly  met  by  the  aid  of  the  Jessica  Story:  it  is  this  which  ex- 
plains Shylock's  resolution  not  to  give  way.    When  we  try  in 
imagination  to  realise  the  whole  circumstances,  common  sense 
must  take  the  view  taken  in  the  play  itself  by  the  Duke : 
i.  17.  Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too, 

That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then  'tis  thought 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse  more  strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty. 

A  life-long  training  in  avarice  would  not  easily  resist  an 
offer  of  nine  thousand  ducats.  But  further,  the  alternatives 
between  which  Shylock  has  to  choose  are  not  so  simple  as 


USES  OF  THE  JESSICA  STORY.  81 

the  alternatives  of  Antonio's  money  or  his  life.  On  the  one  CHAP.  III. 
hand,  Shylock  has  to  consider  the  small  chance  that  either 
the  law  or  the  mob  would  actually  suffer  the  atrocity  to  be 
judicially  perpetrated,  and  how  his  own  life  would  be  likely 
to  be  lost  in  the  attempt.  Again,  turning  to  the  other  alter- 
native, Shylock  is  certainly  deep  in  his  schemes  of  ven- 
geance, and  the  finesse  of  malignity  must  have  suggested  to 
him  how  much  more  cruel  to  a  man  of  Antonio's  stamp  it 
would  be  to  fling  him  a  contemptuous  pardon  before  the 
eyes  of  Venice  than  to  turn  him  into  a  martyr,  even  sup- 
posing this  to  be  permitted.  But  at  the  moment  when  the 
choice  becomes  open  to  Shylock  he  has  been  maddened  by 
the  loss  of  his  daughter,  who,  with  the  wealth  she  has  stolen, 
has  gone  to  swell  the  party  of  his  deadly  foe.  It  is  fury,  not 
calculating  cruelty,  that  makes  Shylock  with  a  madman's 
tenacity  cling  to  the  idea  of  blood,  while  this  passion  is 
blinding  him  to  a  more  keenly  flavoured  revenge,  and  risking 
the  chance  of  securing  any  vengeance  at  all l. 

From  the  mechanical  development  of  the  main  plot  and  The  Jessica 
the  reduction  of  its  difficulties,  we  pass  to  the  interweaving  of  "f^T/Ae 
the  two  principal  stories,  which  is  so  leading  a  feature  of  the  intcnvcav- 
play.     In  the  main  this  interweaving  is  sufficiently  provided  JJ£J[ 
for  by  the  stories  themselves,  and  we  have  already  seen  how  stories. 
the  leading  personages  in  the  one  story  are  the  source  of  the 
whole  movement  in  the  other  story.     But  this  interweaving 
is  drawn  closer  still  by  the   affair  of  Jessica :   technically  //  is  thus 
described  the  position  in  the  plot  of  Jessica's  elopement  is 
that    of  a   Link   Action   between   the  main   stories.     This 

1  This  seems  to  me  a  reasonable  view  notwithstanding  what  Jessica 
says  to  the  contrary  (iii.  ii.  286),  that  she  has  often  heard  her  father 
swear  he  would  rather  have  Antonio's  flesh  than  twenty  times  the 
value  of  the  bond.  It  is  one  thing  to  swear  vengeance  in  private,  another 
thing  to  follow  it  up  in  the  face  of  a  world  in  opposition.  A  man  of 
overbearing  temper  surrounded  by  inferiors  and  dependants  often  utters 
threats,  and  seems  to  find  a  pleasure  in  uttering  them,  which  both  he 
and  his  hearers  know  he  will  never  carry  out. 

G 


82  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  linking  appears  in  the  way  in  which  Jessica  and  her  suite 

are  in  the  course  of  the  drama  transferred  from  the  one  tale 

to  the  other.     At  the  ope'ning  of  the  play  they  are  personages 
in  the  Story  of  the  Jew,  and  represent  its  two  antagonistic 
sides,  Jessica  being  the  daughter  of  the  Jew  and  Lorenzo  a 
friend   and   follower   of  Bassanio  and  Antonio.     First  the 
contrivance   of  the  elopement  assists  in  drawing  together 
these  opposite  sides  of  the  Jew  Story,  and  aggravating  the 
feud  on  which  it  turns.     Then,  as  we  have  seen,  Jessica  and 
iii.  ii,  from  her  husband  in  the  central  scene  of  the  whole  play  come  into 
contact  with  the  Caskets  Story  at  its  climax.    From  this  point 
they  become  adopted  into  the  Caskets  Story,  and  settle  down 
helping to    in  the  house  and   under  the    protection   of  Portia.     This 
'balance  6e-  trans^erence  further  assists  the  symmetry  of  interweaving  by 
tween  the    helping  to  adjust  the  balance  between  the  two  main  stories. 
'stories        *n  *ts  mass>  if  l^e  expression  may  be  allowed,  the  Caskets 
tale,  with  its  steady  progress  to  a  goal  of  success,  is  over- 
weighted by  the  tale  of  Antonio's  tragic  peril  and  startling 
deliverance:  the  Jessica  episode,  withdrawn  from  the  one 
and   added  to   the   other,    helps   to    make   the   two   more 
equal.     Once  more,  the  case,  we  have  seen,  is  not  merely 
that  of  a  union  between  stories,  but  a  union  between  stories 
opposite  in  kind,  a  combination  of  brightness  with  gloom. 
and  a  bond  The  binding  effect  of  the  Jessica  Story  extends  to  the  union 
fheirTritfit  between  these  opposite  tones.    We  have  already  had  occasion 
and  dark     to  notice  how  the  two  extremes  meet  in  the  central  scene,  how 
from  the  height  of  Bassanio's  bliss  we  pass  in  an  instant  to 
the  total  ruin  of  Antonio,  which  we  then  learn  in  its  fulness 
for  the  first  time:  the  link  which  connects  the  two  is  the 
arrival  of  Jessica  and  her  friends  as  bearers  of  the  news. 
Character       So  far,  the  points  considered  have  been  points  of  Median- 

Character    l^^  and  Plot>  in  the  matter  of  Character-Interest  the  Jessica 

of  Jessica,    episode  is  to  an  even  greater  degree  an  addition  to  the  whole 

effect  of  the  play,  Jessica  and  Lorenzo  serving  as  a  foil  to 

Portia  and  Bassanio.     The  characters  of  Jessica  and  Lorenzo 


USES  OF  THE  JESSICA  STORY.  83 

are  charmingly  sketched,  though  liable  to  misreading  unless  CHAP.  III. 

carefully  studied.     To  appreciate  Jessica  we  must  in  the  first 

place  assume  the  grossly  unjust  mediaeval  view  of  the  Jews  as 

social  outcasts.     The  dramatist  has  vouchsafed  us  a  glimpse 

of  Shylock  at  home,  and  brief  as  the  scene  is  it  is  remark-  ii.  v. 

able  how  much  of  evil  is  crowded  into  it.     The  breath  of 

home  life  is  trust,  yet  the  one  note  which  seems  to  pervade 

the  domestic  bearing  of  Shylock  is  the  lowest  suspiciousness. 

Three  times  as  he  is  starting  for  Bassanio's  supper  he  draws  12,  16,  36. 

back  to  question  the  motives  for  which  he  has  been  invited. 

He  is  moved  to  a  shriek  of  suspicion  by  the  mere  fact  of  his 

servant  joining  him  in  shouting  for  the  absent  Jessica,  by  the  7. 

mention  of  masques,  by  the  sight  of  the  servant  whispering  28,  44. 

to  his  daughter.     Finally,  he  takes  his  leave  with  the  words 

Perhaps  I  will  return  immediately,  52. 

a  device  for  keeping  order  in  his  absence  which  would  be 
a  low  one  for  a  nurse  to  use  to  a  child,  but  which  he  is  not 
ashamed  of  using  to  his  grown-up  daughter  and  the  lady  of 
his  house.  The  short  scene  of  fifty-seven  lines  is  sufficient 
to  gives  us  a  further  reminder  of  Shylock's  sordid  house- 
keeping, which  is  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  good-natured 
Launcelot  as  a  '  huge  feeder  ' ;  and  his  aversion  to  any  form  3>  46- 
of  gaiety,  which  leads  him  to  insist  on  his  shutters  being  put  28. 
up  when  he  hears  that  there  is  a  chance  of  a  pageant  in 
the  streets.  Amidst  surroundings  of  this  type  Jessica  has 
grown  up,  a  motherless  girl,  mingling  only  with  harsh  men 
(for  we  nowhere  see  a  trace  of  female  companionship  for 
her) :  it  can  hardly  be  objected  against  her  that  she  should 
long  for  a  Christian  atmosphere  in  which  her  affections  might  ii.  iii.  20. 
have  full  play.  Yet  even  for  this  natural  reaction  she  feels 
compunction : 

Alack,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me  ii.  iii.  16. 

To  be  ashamed  to  be  my  father's  child ! 
But  though  I  am  a  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners. 
G  2 


84  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  Formed  amidst  such  influences  it  would  be  a  triumph  to  a 

character  if  it  escaped  repulsiveness ;  Jessica,  on  the  contrary, 

is  full  of  attractions.  She  has  a  simplicity  which  stands  to 
her  in  the  place  of  principle.  More  than  this  she  has  a  high 
degree  of  feminine  delicacy.  Delicacy  will  be  best  brought 
out  in  a  person  who  is  placed  in  an  equivocal  situation,  and 
we  see  Jessica  engaged,  not  only  in  an  elopement,  but  in  an 

ii.  iv.  30.  elopement  which,  it  appears,  has  throughout  been  planned  by 
herself  and  not  by  Lorenzo.  Of  course  a  quality  like  feminine 
delicacy  is  more  conveyed  by  the  bearing  of  the  actress  than 
by  positive  words ;  we  may  however  notice  the  impression 
which  Jessica's  part  in  the  elopement  scenes  makes  upon 

ii.  iv.  30-   those  who  are  present.     When  Lorenzo  is  obliged  to  make  a 

4°"  confidant  of  Gratiano,  and  tell  him  how  it  is  Jessica  who  has 

planned  the  whole  affair,  instead  of  feeling  any  necessity  of 
apologising  for  her  the  thought  of  her  childlike  innocence 
moves  him  to  enthusiasm,  and  it  is  here  that  he  exclaims : 

If  e'er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven, 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake. 

ii.  vi.  In  the  scene  of  the  elopement  itself,  Jessica  has  steered  clear 
of  both  prudishness  and  freedom,  and  when  after  her  pretty 
confusion  she  has  retired  from  the  window,  even  Gratiano- 
breaks  out: 

ii.  vi.  51.  Now,  by  my  hood,  a  Gentile  and  no  Jew; 

while  Lorenzo  himself  has  warmed  to  see  in  her  qualities  he 
had  never  expected : 

ii.  vi.  52.  Beshrew  me  but  I  love  her  heartily; 

For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her, 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true, 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  has  proved  herself, 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

So  generally,  all  with  whom  she  comes  into  contact  feel 
ii.  iii.  10.  her  spell :  the  rough  Launcelot  parts  from  her  with  tears  he 
iii.  i.  41.  is  ashamed  of  yet  cannot  keep  down ;  Salarino — the  last  of 


USES  OF  THE  JESSICA  STORY.  85 

men  to  take  high  views  of  women — resents  as  a  sort  of  bias-  CHAP.  III. 
phemy  Shylock's  claiming  her  as  his  flesh  and  blood ;  while 
between  Jessica   and  Portia  there  seems  to   spring   in   anm'.lv>v; 
instant  an  attraction  as  mysterious  as  is  the   tie   between 
Antonio  and  Bassanio. 

Lorenzo  is  for  the  most  part  of  a  dreamy  inactive  nature,  Character 
as  may  be   seen   in   his  amused  tolerance  of  Launcelot's  Of^renzo_' 
word-fencing — word-fencing   being  in   general  a  challenge  75. 
which  none  of  Shakespeare's  characters  can  resist  ;  similarly, 
Jessica's  enthusiasm  on  the  subject  of  Portia,  which  in  reality  iii.  v.  75- 
he  shares,  he  prefers  to  meet  with  banter  :  9* 

Even  such  a  husband 
Hast  thou  of  me  as  she  is  for  a  wife. 

But  the  strong  side  of  his  character  also  is  shown  us  in  the 
play :  he  has  an  artist  soul,  and  to  the  depth  of  his  passion 
for  music  and  for  the  beauty  of  nature  we  are  indebted  for  v.  i.  1-24, 

OQ 

some  of  the  noblest  passages  in  Shakespeare.     This  is  the  54~ 

attraction  which  has  drawn  him  to  Jessica,  her  outer  beauty 

is  the  index  of  artistic  sensibility  within  :   '  she  is  never  merry  v.  i.  69,  i- 

when  she  hears  sweet  music/  and  the  soul  of  rhythm  is  24* 

awakened  in  her,  just  as  much  as  in  her  husband,  by  the 

moonlight  scene.     Simplicity  again,  is  a  quality  they  have 

in   common,   as   is   seen   by   their    ignorance    in    money-  iii  i.  113, 

matters,  and  the  way  a  valuable  turquoise  ring  goes  for  a  I23' 

monkey — if,  at  least,  Tubal  may  be  believed  :  a  carelessness 

of  money  which  mitigates  our  dislike  of  the  free  hand  Jessica 

lays  upon  her  father's  ducats  and  jewels.     On  the  whole, 

however,  Lorenzo's  dreaminess  makes  a  pretty  contrast  to 

Jessica's  vivacity.     And  Lorenzo's  inactivity  is  capable  of 

being  roused  to  great  things.     This  is  seen  by  the  elopement 

itself :  for  the  suggestion  of  its  incidents  seems  to  be  that  csp.  ii.  iy. 

Lorenzo  meant  at  first  no  more  than  trifling  with  the  pretty  *°'  3^  *&"' 

Jewess,  and  that  he  rose  to  the  occasion  as  he  found  and 

appreciated  Jessica's  higher   tone  and   attraction.     Finally, 

we  must  see  the  calibre  of  Lorenzo's  character  through  the 


86  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  eyes  of  Portia,  who  selects  him  at  first  sight  as  the  repre- 

sentative  to  whom  to  commit  her  household  in  her  absence, 

m.  i  24,  ^  Wj1jcj1  commission  she  will  take  no  refusal. 
Jessica  and  So  interpreted  the  characters  of  Jessica  and  Lorenzo  make 
^oin^Por  ^e  wn°k  epis°de  °f  tne  elopement  an  antithesis  to  the 
tia  and  main  plot.  To  a  wedded  couple  in  the  fresh  happiness  of 
Bassamo.  jjjejr  union  there  can  hardly  fall  a  greater  luxury  than  to- 
further  the  happiness  of  another  couple ;  this  luxury  is 
granted  to  Portia  and  Bassanio,  and  in  their  reception  of  the 
fugitives  what  picturesque  contrasts  are  brought  together  I 
The  two  pairs  are  a  foil  to  one  another  in  kind,  and  set  one 
another  off  like  gold  and  gems.  Lorenzo  and  Jessica  are 
negative  characters  with  the  one  positive  quality  of  intense 
capacity  for  enjoyment ;  Bassanio  and  Portia  have  every- 
thing to  enjoy,  yet  their  natures  appear  dormant  till  roused 
by  an  occasion  for  daring  and  energy.  The  Jewess  and  her 
husband  are  distinguished  by  the  bird-like  simplicity  that  so 
often  goes  with  special  art-susceptibility ;  Portia  and  Bas- 
sanio are  full  and  rounded  characters  in  which  the  whole  of 
human  nature  seems  concentrated.  The  contrast  is  of  degree 
as  well  as  kind  :  the  weaker  pair  brought  side  by  side  with 
the  stronger  throw  out  the  impression  of  their  strength. 
Portia  has  a  fulness  of  power  which  puts  her  in  her  most 
natural  position  when  she  is  extending  protection  to  those 
who  are  less  able  to  stand  by  themselves.  Still  more  with 
Bassanio:  he  has  so  little  scope  in  the  scenes  of  the  play 
itself,  which  from  the  nature  of  the  stories  present  him 
always  in  situations  of  dependence  on  others,  that  we  see  his 
strength  almost  entirely  by  the  reflected  light  of  the  attitude 
which  others  hold  to  him ;  in  the  present  instance  we  have 
no  difficulty  in  catching  the  intellectual  power  of  Lorenzo, 
and  Lorenzo  looks  up  to  Bassanio  as  a  superior.  And  the 
couples  thus  contrasted  in  character  present  an  equal  like- 
ness and  unlikeness  in  their  fortunes.  Both  are  happy  for 
ever,  and  both  have  become  so  through  a  bold  stroke.  Yet 


USES  OF  THE  RINGS  EPISODE.  87 

in  the  one  instance  it  is  blind  obedience,  in  face  of  all  tempta-  CHAP.  III. 
tions,  to  the  mere  whims  of  a  good  parent,  who  is  dead,  that 
has  been  guided  to  the  one  issue  so  passionately  desired ;  in 
the  case  of  the  other  couple  open  rebellion,  at  every  practical 
risk,  against  the  legitimate  authority  of  an  evil  father,  still 
living,  has  brought  them  no  worse  fate  than  happiness  in 
one  another,  and  for  their  defenceless  position  the  best  of 
patrons. 

It  seems,  then,  that  the  introduction  of  the  Jessica  Story  is 
justified,  not  only  by  the  purposes  of  construction  which  it 
serves,  but  by  the  fact  that  its  human  interest  is  at  once  a 
contrast  and  a  supplement  to  the  main  story,  with  which 
it  blends  to  produce  the  ordered  variety  of  a  finished 
picture. 

A  few  words  will  be  sufficient  to  point  out  how  the  effects  The  Kings 
of  the  main  plot  are  assisted  by  the  Rings  Episode,  which,  Fa^tds\jie 
though  rich  in  fun,  is  of  a  slighter  character  than  the  Jessica  mechanism 
Story,  and  occupies  a  much  smaller  space  in  the  field  of  view. 
The  dramatic  points  of  the  two  minor  stories  are  similar. 
Like  the  Jessica  Story  the  Rings  Episode  assists  the  me- 
chanical working  out  of  the  main  plot.  An  explanation 
must  somehow  be  given  to  Bassanio  that  the  lawyer  is  Portia 
in  disguise ;  mere  mechanical  explanations  have  always  an 
air  of  weakness,  but  the  affair  of  the  rings  utilises  the  ex- 
planation in  the  present  case  as  a  source  of  new  dramatic 
effects.  This  arrangement  further  assists,  to  a  certain  extent, 
in  reducing  the  improbability  of  Portia's  project.  The  point 
at  which  the  improbability  would  be  most  felt  would  be,  not 
the  first  appearance  of  the  lawyer's  clerk,  for  then  we  are 
engrossed  in  our  anxiety  for  Antonio,  but  when  the  ex- 
planation of  the  disguise  came  to  be  made ;  there  might  be 
a  danger  lest  here  the  surprise  of  Bassanio  should  become 
infectious,  and  the  audience  should  awake  to  the  improb- 
ability of  the  whole  story:  as  it  is,  their  attention  is  at  the 
critical  moment  diverted  to  the  perplexity  of  the  penitent 


88  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

CHAP.  III.  husbands.    The  Story  of  the  Rings,  like  that  of  Jessica,  assists 
the  interweaving  of  the  two  main  stories  with  one  another, 

and  their    -^    subtiety  suggesting  to  what  a  degree  of  detail  this  inter- 

inUrweav-  J      G0 

ing;  lacing  extends.     Bassanio  is  the  mam  point  which  unites  the 

Story  of  the  Jew  and  the  Caskets  Story;  in  the  one  he 
occupies  the  position  of  friend,  in  the  other  of  husband, 
iv.  i.  425-  The  affair  of  the  rings,  slight  as  it  is,  is  so  managed  by 
Portia  that  its  point  becomes  a  test  as  between  his  friendship 
and  his  love;  and  so  equal  do  these  forces  appear  that, 
though  his  friendship  finally  wins  and  he  surrenders  his 
betrothal  ring,  yet  it  is  not  until  after  his  wife  has  given  him 
a  hint  against  herself: 

And  if  your  wife  be  not  a  mad-woman, 
And  know  how  well  I  have  deserved  the  ring, 
She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  for  ever 
For  giving  it  to  me. 

The  Rings  Episode,  even  more  than  the  Jessica  Story,  assists 
in  restoring  the  balance  between  the  main  tales.     The  chief 
inequality  between  them  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  Jew  Story  is 
complicated  and  resolved,  while  the  Caskets  Story  is  a  simple 
progress  to  a  goal;  when,  however,  there  springs  from  the 
latter  a  sub-action  which  has  a  highly  comic  complication 
and  resolution  the  two  halves  of  the  play  become  drama- 
tically on  a  par.     And  the  interweaving  of  the  dark  and 
bright  elements  in  the  play  is  assisted  by  the  fact  that  the 
Episode  of  the  Rings  not  only  provides  a  comic  reaction 
to  relieve  the  tragic  crisis,  but  its  whole  point  is  a  Dramatic 
Irony  in  which  serious  and  comic  are  inextricably  mixed. 
and  assists       Finally,  as  the  Jessica  Story  ministers  to  Character  effect  in 
velopment    connection  with  the  general  ensemble  of  the  personages,  so 
of  Portia's  the  Episode  of  the  Rings  has  a  special  function  in  bringing 
character.    ^  ^  character  of  Portia.     The  secret  of  the  charm  which 
has  won  for  Portia  the  suffrages  of  all  readers  is  the  perfect 
balance  of  qualities  in  her  character:  she  is  the  meeting- 
point  of  brightness,  force,  and  tenderness.    And,  to  crown  the 


USES  OF  THE  RINGS  EPISODE.  89 

union,  Shakespeare  has  placed  her  at  the  supreme  moment  of  CHAP.  III. 
life,  on  the  boundary  line  between  girlhood  and  womanhood, 
when  the  wider  aims  and  deeper  issues  of  maturity  find 
themselves  in  strange  association  with  the  abandon  of  youth. 
The  balance  thus  becomes  so  perfect  that  it  quivers,  and  dips 
to  one  side  and  the  other.  Portia  is  the  saucy  child  as  she  i.  ii.  39. 
sprinkles  her  sarcasms  over  Nerissa's  enumeration  of  the 
suitors:  in  the  trial  she  faces  the  world  of  Venice  as  a 
heroine.  She  is  the  ideal  maiden  in  the  speech  in  which  she  iii.  ii.  15°- 
surrenders  herself  to  Bassanio  :  she  is  the  ideal  woman  as 
she  proclaims  from  the  judgment  seat  the  divinity  of  mercy,  iv.  i.  184. 
Now  the  fourth  Act  has  kept  before  us  too  exclusively  one 
side  of  this  character.  Not  that  Portia  in  the  lawyer's  gown 
is  masculine  :  but  the  dramatist  has  had  to  dwell  too  long  on 
her  side  of  strength.  He  will  not  dismiss  us  with  this  im- 
pression, but  indulges  us  in  one  more  daring  feat  surpassing 
all  the  madcap  frolics  of  the  past.  Thus  the  Episode  of  the 
Rings  is  the  last  flicker  of  girlhood  in  Portia  before  it  merges 
in  the  wider  life  of  womanhood.  We  have  rejoiced  in  a  great 
deliverance  wrought  by  a  noble  woman  :  our  enjoyment  rises 
higher  yet  when  the  Rings  Episode  reminds  us  that  this 
woman  has  not  ceased  to  be  a  sportive  girl. 

It  has  been  shown,  then,  that  the  two  inferior  stories  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  assist  the  main  stories  in  the  most 
varied  manner,  smoothing  their  mechanical  working,  meeting 
their  special  difficulties,  drawing  their  mutual  interweaving 
yet  closer,  and  throwing  their  character  effects  into  relief: 
the  additional  complexity  they  have  brought  has  resulted  in 
making  emphatic  points  yet  more  prominent,  and  the  total 
effect  has  therefore  been  to  increase  clearness  and  simplicity. 
Enough  has  now  been  said  on  the  building  up  of  dramas  out 
of  stories,  which  is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  Romantic 
Drama;  the  studies  that  follow  will  be  applied  to  the  more 
universal  topics  of  dramatic  interest,  Character,  Plot,  and 
Passion. 


IV. 

A  PICTURE  OF  IDEAL  VILLAINY  IN 
RICHARD  III. 

A  Study  in  Character-Interpretation. 

CHAP.  IV.    T  HOPE  that  the  subject  of  the  present  study  will  not  be 

.     7~       JL     considered  by  any  reader  forbidding.     On  the  contrary, 

a  subject      there  is  surely  attractiveness  in  the  thought  that  nothing  is  so 

for  art-       repulsive  or  so  uninteresting  in  the  world  of  fact  but  in  some 

treatment. 

way  or  other  it  may  be  brought  under  the  dominion  of  art- 
beauty.  The  author  of  L  Allegro  shows  by  the  companion 
poem  that  he  could  find  inspiration  in  a  rainy  morning ;  and 
the  great  master  in  English  poetry  is  followed  by  a  great 
master  in  English  painting  who  wins  his  chief  triumphs  by 
his  handling  of  fog  and  mist.  Long  ago  the  masterpiece  of 
Virgil  consecrated  agricultural  toil ;  Murillo's  pictures  have 
taught  us  that  there  is  a  beauty  in  rags  and  dirt;  rustic 
commonplaces  gave  a  life  passion  to  Wordsworth,  and  were 
the  cause  of  a  revolution  in  poetry  ;  while  Dickens  has  pene- 
trated into  the  still  less  promising  region  of  low  London  life, 
and  cast  a  halo  around  the  colourless  routine  of  poverty. 
Men's  evil  passions  have  given  Tragedy  to  art,  crime  is 
beautified  by  being  linked  to  Nemesis,  meanness  is  the 
natural  source  for  brilliant  comic  effects,  ugliness  has  reserved 
for  it  a  special  form  of  art  in  the  grotesque,  and  pain  becomes 
attractive  in  the  light  of  the  heroism  that  suffers  and  the 
devotion  that  watches.  In  the  infancy  of  modern  English 
poetry  Drayton  found  a  poetic  side  to  topography  and  maps, 
and  Phineas  Fletcher  idealised  anatomy;  while  of  the  two 


IDEAL   VILLAINY.  91 

greatest  imaginations  belonging  to  the  modern  world  Milton  CHAP.  IV. 
produced  his  masterpiece  in  the  delineation  of  a  fiend,  and 
Dante  in  a  picture  of  hell.     The  final  triumph  of  good  over 
evil  seems  to  have  been  already  anticipated  by  art. 

The  portrait  of  Richard  satisfies  a  first  condition  of  ide-  The 
ality  in  the  scale  of  the  whole  picture.    The  sphere  in  which  he 
is  placed  is  not  private  life,  but  the  world  of  history,  in  which  ideal  in  its 
moral  responsibility  is  the  highest :  if,  therefore,  the  quality  **** 
of  other  villainies  be  as  fine,  here  the  issues  are  deeper.     As  and  in  its 
another  element  of  the  ideal,  the  villainy  of  Richard  is  V^^-  devdop- 
sented  to  us  fully  developed  and  complete.     Often  an  artist  mtnt. 
of  crime  will  rely — as  notably  in  the  portraiture  of  Tito 
Melema — mainly  on  the  succession  of  steps  by  which  a  cha- 
racter, starting  from  full  possession  of  the  reader's  sympathies, 
arrives  by  the  most  natural  gradations  at  a  height  of  evil  which 
shocks.     In  the  present  case  all  idea  of  growth  is  kept  out- 
side the  field  of  this  particular  play;  the  opening  soliloquy 
announces  a  completed  process  : 

I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain.  i.  i.  30. 

What  does  appear  of  Richard's  past,  seen  through  the 
favourable  medium  of  a  mother's  description,  only  seems  to 
extend  the  completeness  to  earlier  stages : 

A  grievous  burthen  was  thy  birth  to  me  :  iv.  iv.  167. 

Tetchy  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy ; 

Thy  school-days  frightful,  desperate,  wild,  and  furious, 

Thy  prime  of  manhood  daring,  bold,  and  venturous, 

Thy  age  confirm'd,  proud,  subtle,  bloody,  treacherous, 

More  mild,  but  yet  more  harmful,  kind  in  hatred. 

So  in  the  details  of  the  play  there  is  nowhere  a  note  of  the 
hesitation  that  betrays  tentative  action.  When  even  Bucking- 
ham is  puzzled  as  to  what  can  be  done  if  Hastings  should 
resist,  Richard  answers : 

Chop  off  his  head,  man;  somewhat  we  will  do.  iii.  i.  193. 

His  choice  is  only  between  different  modes  of  villainy,  never 
between  villainy  and  honesty. 


92  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  IV.       Again,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  there  is  no  suggestion  of 

impelling   motive    or   other  explanation  for   the   villainy  of 

suffSent     Ricnard-     He  does  not  labour  under  any  sense  of  personal 

motive.        injury,  such  as  lago  felt  in  believing,  however  groundlessly, 

Othello:      that   his  enemies  had  wronged  him  through  his  wife;  or 

i^ni.  392,    -j7(jmun(jj  wnose  soliloquies  display  him  as  conscious  that  his 

Lear:  i.  ii.  birth  has  made  his  whole  life  an  injury.     Nor  have  we  in  this 

T~22'          case  the  morbid  enjoyment  of  suffering  which  we  associate 

with  Mephistopheles,  and  which  Dickens  has  worked  up  into 

one  of  his  most  powerful  portraits  in  Quilp.     Richard  never 

turns  aside  to  gloat  over  the  agonies  of  his  victims ;  it  is  not 

so  much  the  details  as  the  grand  schemes  of  villainy,  the 

handling  of  large  combinations  of  crime,  that  have  an  interest 

for  him  :  he  is  a  strategist  in  villainy,  not  a  tactician.     Nor 

can  we  point  to  ambition  as  a  sufficient  motive.     He  is 

ambitious  in  a  sense  which  belongs  to  all  vigorous  natures  ; 

he  has  the  workman's  impulse  to  rise  by  his  work.     But 

ambition  as  a  determining  force  in  character  must  imply 

more  than  this ;  it  is  a  sort  of  moral  dazzling,  its  symptom  is 

a  fascination  by  ends  which  blinds  to  the  ruinous  means 

leading  up  to  these  ends.     Such  an  ambition  was  Macbeth's ; 

but  in  Richard  the  symptoms  are  wanting,  and  in  all  his  long 

soliloquies  he  is  never  found  dwelling  upon  the  prize  in  view. 

A  nearer  approach  to  an  explanation  would  be  Richard's 

sense  of  bodily  deformity.     Not  only  do  all  who  come  in 

contact  with  him  shrink  from  the  'bottled  spider/  but  he 

i.  iii.^42,    himself  gives  a  conspicuous  place  in  his  meditations  to  the 

81,  &c.    V  thought  of  his  ugliness;  from  the  outset  he  connects  his 

criminal  career  with  the  reflection  that  he  '  is  not  shaped  for 

i.  i.  14.        sportive  tricks ' : 

Deform'd,  unfinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 
Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable 
That  dogs  bark  at  me  as  I  halt  by  them  ; 
Why,  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time, 


FROM   THE  SIDE   OF  CHARACTER.  93 

Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun                              CHAP.  IV. 
And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity.  

Still,  it  would  be  going  too  far  to  call  this  the  motive  of  his 
crimes:    the    spirit   of  this    and   similar   passages   is  more 
accurately  expressed  by  saying  that  he  has  a  morbid  pleasure 
in  contemplating  physical  ugliness  analogous  to  his  morbid  esp.  i.  ii. 
pleasure  in  contemplating  moral  baseness. 

There  appears,  then,  no  sufficient  explanation  and  motive  Villainy 
for  the  villainy  of  Richard :  the  general  impression  conveyed  (ff  j^^^g 
is  that  to  Richard  villainy  has  become  an  end  in  itself  needing  an  end  in 
no  special  motive.     This  is  one  of  the  simplest  principles  of  *  e*' 
human  development — that  a  means  to  an  end  tends  to  be- 
come in  time  an  end  in  itself.     The  miser  who  began  accu- 
mulating to  provide  comforts  for  his  old  age  finds  the  process 
itself  of  accumulating  gain  firmer  and  firmer  hold  upon  him, 
until,  when  old  age  has  come,  he  sticks  to  accumulating  and 
foregoes  comfort.     So  in  previous  plays  Gloster  may  have  compare 
been  impelled  by  ambition  to  his  crimes :  by  the  time  the  py/'Jfi.  ii 
present  play  is  reached  crime  itself  becomes  to  him  the  dearer  165-181. 
of  the  two,  and  the  ambitious  end  drops  out  of  sight.     This 
leads  directly  to  one  of  the  two  main  features  of  Shakespeare's 
portrait:  Richard  is  an  artist  in  villainy.     What  form  and  Richard  an 
colour  are  to  the  painter,  what  rhythm  and  imagery  are  to 
the  poet,  that  crime  is  to  Richard :  it  is  the  medium  in  which 
his  soul  frames  its  conceptions  of  the  beautiful.     The  gulf 
that  separates  between  Shakespeare's  Richard  and  the  rest  of 
humanity  is  no  gross  perversion  of  sentiment,  nor  the  develop- 
ment of  abnormal  passions,  nor  a  notable  surrender  in  the 
struggle  between  interest  and  right.     It  is  that  he  approaches 
villainy  as  a  thing  of  pure  intellect,  a  religion  of  moral  indiffer- 
ence in  which  sentiment  and  passion  have  no  place,  attraction 
to  which  implies  no  more  motive  than  the  simplest  impulse  to 
exercise  a  native  talent  in  its  natural  sphere. 

Of  the  various  barriers  that  exist  against  crime,  the  most 
powerful  are  the  checks  that  come  from  human  emotions.    It  emotions 


94  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  IV.  is  easier  for  a  criminal  to  resist  the  objections  his  reason 
interposes  to  evildoing  than  to  overcome  these  emotional 
restramts  :  either  his  own  emotions,  woven  by  generations  of 


crime.  hereditary  transmission  into  the  very  framework  of  his 
nature,  which  make  his  hand  tremble  in  the  act  of  sinning  ; 
or  the  emotions  his  crimes  excite  in  others,  such  as  will 
cause  hardened  wretches,  who  can  die  calmly  on  the  scaffold, 
to  cower  before  the  menaces  of  a  mob.  Crime  becomes 
possible  only  because  these  emotions  can  be  counteracted  by 
more  powerful  emotions  on  the  other  side,  by  greed,  by  thirst 
for  vengeance,  by  inflamed  hatred.  In  Richard,  however, 
when  he  is  surveying  his  works,  we  find  no  such  evil  emotions 
raised,  no  gratified  vengeance  or  triumphant  hatred.  The 
reason  is  that  there  is  in  him  no  restraining  emotion  to  be 
overcome.  Horror  at  the  unnatural  is  not  subdued,  but 
absent  ;  his  attitude  to  atrocity  is  the  passionless  attitude  of 
the  artist  who  recognises  that  the  tyrant's  cruelty  can  be  set' 

i.  ii.  to  as  good  music  as  the  martyr's  heroism.  Readers  are 

shocked  at  the  scene  in  which  Richard  wooes  Lady  Anne 
beside  the  bier  of  the  parent  he  has  murdered,  and  wonder 
that  so  perfect  an  intriguer  should  not  choose  a  more  favour- 
able time.  But  the  repugnance  of  the  reader  has  no  place  in 
Richard's  feelings  :  the  circumstances  of  the  scene  are  so 
many  objections,  to  be  met  by  so  much  skill  of  treatment.  A 
single  detail  in  the  play  illustrates  perfectly  this  neutral  atti- 
tude to  horror.  Tyrrel  comes  to  bring  the  news  of  the 
princes'  murder  ;  Richard  answers  : 

iv.  iii.  31.  Come  to  me,  Tyrrel,  soon  at  after  supper, 

And  thou  shalt  tell  the  process  of  their  death. 

Quilp  could  not  have  waited  for  his  gloating  till  after  supper  ; 
other  villains  would  have  put  the  deed  out  of  sight  when  done; 
the  epicure  in  villainy  reserves  his  bonbouche  till  he  has  leisure 
to  do  it  justice.  Callous  to  his  own  emotions,  he  is  equally 
callous  to  the  emotions  he  rouses  in  others.  When  Queen 
Margaret  is  pouring  a  flood  of  curses  which  make  the  inno- 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  CHARACTER.  95 

cent  courtiers'  hair  stand  on  end,  and  the  heaviest  curse  of  CHAP.  IV. 

all,  which  she  has  reserved  for  Richard  himself,  is  rolling  on      ~ 

to  its  climax,  ^  2l6~ 

Thou  slander  of  thy  mother's  heavy  womb! 
Thou  loathed  issue  of  thy  father's  loins ! 
Thou  rag  of  honour !   thou  detested — 

he  adroitly  slips  in  the  word  '  Margaret '  in  place  of  the 
intended  '  Richard/  and  thus,  with  the  coolness  of  a  school- 
boy's small  joke,  disconcerts  her  tragic  passion  in  a  way  that 
gives  a  moral  wrench  to  the  whole  scene.     His  own  mother's  iv.  iv,  from 
curse  moves  him  not  even  to  anger;  he  caps  its  clauses  with  I3<5' 
bantering  repartees,  until  he  seizes  an  opportunity  for  a  pun, 
and  begins  to  move  off :  he  treats  her  curse,  as  in  a  previous 
scene  he  had  treated  her  blessing,  with  a  sort  of  gentle  im-  ii.  ii.  109. 
patience  as  if  tired  of  a  fond  yet  somewhat  troublesome 
parent.     Finally,  there  is  an  instinct  which  serves  as  resultant 
to  all  the  complex  forces,  emotional  or  rational,  which  sway 
us  between  right  and  wrong ;  this  instinct  of  conscience  is 
formally  disavowed  by  Richard  : 

Conscience  is  but  a  word  that  cowards  use,  V.  iii.  309. 

Devised  at  first  to  keep  the  strong  in  awe. 

But,  if  the  natural  heat  of  emotion  is  wanting,  there  is,  on  But  he  re- 
the  other  hand,  the  full  intellectual  warmth  of  an  artist's  |J^ 
enthusiasm,  whenever  Richard  turns  to  survey  the  game  he  is  with  the 
playing.     He  reflects  with  a  relish  how  he  does  the  wrong  %£%££ 
and   first   begins   the   brawl,  how  he   sets   secret   mischief  of  the 

abroach  and  charges  it  on  to  others,  beweeping  his  own  f3 

.  l-  ni,  from 

victims  to  simple  gulls,  and,  when  these  begin  to  cry  for  $24. 

vengeance,  quoting  Scripture  against  returning  evil  for  evil, 
and  thus  seeming  a  saint  when  most  he  plays  the  devil.  The 
great  master  is  known  by  his  appreciation  of  details,  in  the 
least  of  which  he  can  see  the  play  of  great  principles :  so  the 
magnificence  of  Richard's  villainy  does  not  make  him  in- 
sensible to  commonplaces  of  crime.  When  in  the  long 


96  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  IV.  usurpation  conspiracy  there  is  a  moment's  breathing  space 
just  before  the  Lord  Mayor  enters,  Richard  and  Buckingham 

iii.v.  i-n.  utiiise  it  for  a  burst  Of  hilarity  over  the  deep  hypocrisy  with 
which  they  are  playing  their  parts ;  how  they  can  counterfeit 
the  deep  tragedian,  murder  their  breath  in  the  middle  of  a 
world,  tremble  and  start  at  wagging  of  a  straw : — here  we 
have  the  musician's  flourish  upon  his  instrument  from  very 
wantonness  of  skill.  Again : 

i.  i.  1 1 8.  Simple,  plain  Clarence!   I  do  love  thee  so 

That  I  will  shortly  send  thy  soul  to  heaven — 

is  the  composer's  pleasure  at  hitting  upon  a  readily  workable 
theme.  Richard  appreciates  his  murderers  as  a  workman 
appreciates  good  tools  : 

i.  iii.  354.  Your  eyes  drop  millstones,  when  fools'  eyes  drop  tears : 

I  like  you,  lads. 

i.  ii,  from  And  at  the  conclusion  of  the  scene  with  Lady  Anne  we  have 
the  artist's  enjoyment  of  his  own  masterpiece : 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  woo'd? 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won  ?  .  .  . 

What !    I,  that  kill'd  her  husband  and  his  father, 

To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extremest  hate, 

With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes, 

The  bleeding  witness  of  her  hatred  by ; 

Having  God,  her  conscience,  and  these  bars  against  me, 

And  I  nothing  to  back  my  suit  at  all, 

But  the  plain  devil  and  dissembling  looks, 

And  yet  to  win  her,  all  the  world  to  nothing! 

The  tone  in  this  passage  is  of  the  highest :  it  is  the  tone  of  a 
musician  fresh  from  a  triumph  of  his  art,  the  sweetest  point 
in  which  has  been  that  he  has  condescended  to  no  adven- 
titious aids,  no  assistance  of  patronage  or  concessions  to 
popular  tastes;  it  has.  been  won  by  pure  music.  So  the  artist 
in  villainy  celebrates  a  triumph  of  plain  devil  I 

The  This  view  of  Richard  as  an  artist  in  crime  is  sufficient  to 

exP^am  tne  no^  which  villainy  has  on  Richard  himself;  but 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  CHARACTER.  97 

ideal  villainy  must  be  ideal  also  in  its  success  ;   and  on  this  CHAT-.  IV 
side  of  the   analysis   another   conception   in   Shakespeare's     - 
portraiture  becomes  of  first  importance.     It  is  obvious  enough 


that  Richard  has  all  the  elements  of  success  which  can  be  ofirresisti- 

reduced  to  the  form  of  skill  :   but  he  has  something  more. 

No  theory  of  human  action  will  be  complete  which  does  not 

recognise  a  dominion  of  will  over  will  operating  by  mere  con- 

tact, without  further  explanation  so  far  as  conscious  influence 

is  concerned.     What  is  it  that  takes  the  bird  into  the  jaws  of 

the  serpent  ?  No  persuasion  or  other  influence  on  the  bird's 

consciousness,  for  it  struggles  to  keep  back;  we  can  only 

recognise   the   attraction   as   a  force,  and  give  it  a  name, 

fascination.     In   Richard   there   is  a  similar  fascination  of 

irresistibility,  which  also  operates  by  his  mere  presence,  and 

which  fights  for  him  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  idea  of 

their  invincibility  fought  for  conquerors  like  Napoleon,  and 

was  on  occasions  as  good  to  them  as  an  extra  twenty  or  thirty 

thousand  men.     A  consideration  like  this  will  be  appreciated 

in  the  case  of  tours  de  force  like  the  Wooing  of  Lady  Anne, 

which  is  a  stumblingblock  to  many  readers  —  a  widow  beside 

the  bier  of  her  murdered  husband's  murdered  father  wooed 

and  won  by  the  man  who  makes  no  secret  that  he  is  the 

murderer  of  them  both.     The  analysis  of  ordinary  human 

motives  would  make  it  appear  that  Anne  would  not  yield  at 

points  at  which  the  scene  represents  her  as  yielding  ;  some 

other  force  is  wanted  to  explain  her  surrender,  and  it  is  found 

in  this  secret  force  of  irresistible  will  which  Richard  bears  about 

with  him.     But,  it  will  be  asked,  in  what  does  this  fascination 

appear  ?     The  answer  is  that  the  idea  of  it  is  furnished  to  us 

by  the  other  scenes  of  the  play.     Such  a  consideration  illus- 

trates the  distinction  between  real  and  ideal.     An  ideal  inci- 

dent is  not  an  incident  of  real  life  simply  clothed  in  beauty  of 

expression;    nor,  on  the   other  hand,  is  an   ideal  incident 

divorced  from  the  laws  of  real  possibility.     Ideal  implies  that 

the  transcendental  has  been  made  possible  by  treatment  :  that 


y8 


KING  RICHARD  III : 


CHAP.  IV. 


The  fasci- 
nation is  to 
be  conveyed 
in  the 
acting. 


The  irre- 
sistibility 
analysed. 
Unlikely 


i.  i,  from 
42. 

iii.  iv;  esp. 
76  com- 
pared with 
iii.  i.  184. 


an  incident  (for  example)  which  might  be  impossible  in  itself 
becomes  possible  through  other  incidents  with  which  it  is  as- 
sociated, just  as  in  actual  life  the  action  of  a  public  personage 
which  may  have  appeared  strange  at  the  time  becomes 
intelligible  when  at  his  death  we  can  review  his  life  as  a 
whole.  Such  a  scene  as  the  Wooing  Scene  might  be  im- 
possible as  a  fragment ;  it  becomes  possible  enough  in  the 
play,  where  it  has  to  be  taken  in  connection  with  the  rest  of 
the  plot,  throughout  which  the  irresistibility  of  the  hero  is 
prominent  as  one  of  the  chief  threads  of  connection.  Nor  is 
it  any  objection  that  the  Wooing  Scene  comes  early  in  the 
action.  The  play  is  not  the  book,  but  the  actor's  interpreta- 
tion on  the  stage,  and  the  actor  will  have  collected  even  from 
the  latest  scenes  elements  of  the  interpretation  he  throws 
into  the  earliest :  the  actor  is  a  lens  for  concentrating  the 
light  of  the  whole  play  upon  every  single  detail.  The  fasci- 
nation of  irresistibility,  then,  which  is  to  act  by  instinct  in 
every  scene,  may  be  arrived  at  analytically  when  we  survey 
the  play  as  a  whole — when  we  see  how  by  Richard's 
innate  genius,  by  the  reversal  in  him  of  the  ordinary  relation 
of  human  nature  to  crime,  especially  by  his  perfect  mas- 
tery of  the  successive  situations  as  they  arise,  the  dra- 
matist steadily  builds  up  an  irresistibility  which  becomes 
a  secret  force  clinging  to  Richard's  presence,  and  through 
the  operation  of  which  his  feats  are  half  accomplished  by 
the  fact  of  his  attempting  them. 

To  begin  with  :  the  sense  of  irresistible  power  is  brought 
out  by  the  way  in  which  the  unlikeliest  things  are  con- 
tinually drawn  into  his  schemes  and  utilised  as  means.  Not 
to  speak  of  his  regular  affectation  of  blunt  sincerity,  he 
makes  use  of  the  simple  brotherly  confidence  of  Clarence  as 
an  engine  of  fraticide,  and  founds  on  the  frank  famili- 
arity existing  between  himself  and  Hastings  a  plot  by 
which  he  brings  him  to  the  block.  The  Queen's  com- 
punction at  the  thought  of  leaving  Clarence  out  of  the 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  CHARACTER.  99 

general  reconciliation  around  the  dying  king's  bedside  is  the  CHAP.  IV. 

fruit  of  a  conscience  tenderer  than  her  neighbours' :  Richard  ..  " 

adroitly  seizes  it  as  an  opportunity  for  shifting  on  to  the  73/ct  IM, 

Queen  and  her  friends  the  suspicion  of  the  duke's  murder. 

The  childish  prattle  of  little  York  Richard  manages  to  sug-  iii.  i.  154. 

gest  to  the  bystanders  as  dangerous  treason;  the  solemnity 

of  the  king's  deathbed  he  turns  to  his  own  purposes  by  out- 11.1.52-72. 

doing  all  the  rest  in  Christian  forgiveness  and  humility ;  and 

he  selects  devout  meditation  as  the  card  to  play  with  the  iii.  v.  99, 

Lord  Mayor  and  citizens.     On   the   other   hand,  amongst  &c> 

other   devices   for    the   usurpation   conspiracy,  he   starts   a 

slander  upon  his  own  mother's  purity ;    and  further — by  one  iii.  v.  75- 

of  the  greatest  strokes  in  the  whole   play — makes  capital  94- 

in   the   Wooing   Scene   out   of  his   own  heartlessness,  de-  i.  ii.  156- 

scribing   in   a   burst   of  startling   eloquence   the  scenes  of l^' 

horror  he  has  passed  through,  the  only  man  unmoved  to 

tears,  in  order  to  add  : 

And  what  these  sorrows  could  not  thence  exhale, 
Thy  beauty  hath,  and  made  them  blind  with  weeping. 

There  are  things  which  are  too  sacred  for  villainy  to  touch, 
and  there  are  things  which  are  protected  by  their  own  foul- 
ness :  both  alike  are  made  useful  by  Richard. 

Similarly  it  is  to  be  noticed  how  Richard  can  utilise  the  The  sensa- 
very  sensation  produced  by  one  crime  as  a  means  to  bring  ^"l/JL 
about  more  ;  as  when  he  interrupts  the  King's  dying  moments  one  crime 
to  announce  the  death  of  Clarence  in  such  a  connection  as  ^ing about 
must  give  a  shock  to  the  most  unconcerned  spectator,  and  others. 
then  draws  attention  to  the  pale  faces  of  the  Queen's  friends  il'/^^ 
as  marks  of  guilt.     He  thus  makes  one  crime  beget  another 
without  further  effort  on  his  part,  reversing  the  natural  law 
by  which  each  criminal  act,  through  its  drawing  more  sus- 
picion to  the  villain,  tends  to  limit  his   power   for  further 
mischief.     It  is  to  the  same  purpose  that  Richard  chooses  Richards 
sometimes  instead  of  acting  himself  to  foist  his  own  schemes  °™lplans 

foisted  on 

on  to  others ;    as  when  he  inspires  Buckingham  with  the  to  others. 

II    2 


ioo  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  IV.  idea   of  the   young   king's  arrest,  and,  when  Buckingham 

seizes  the  idea  as  his  own,  meekly  accepts  it  from  him  : 

ii.  ii.  112- 

1 54  ;  esp.  I,  like  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 

There  is  in  all  this  a  dreadful  economy  of  crime:  not  the 
economy  of  prudence  seeking  to  reduce  its  amount,  but  the 
artist's  economy  which  delights  in  bringing  the  largest 
number  of  effects  out  of  a  single  device.  Such  skill  opens 
up  a  vista  of  evil  which  is  boundless. 

No  signs  of  The  sense  of  irresistible  power  is  again  brought  out  by  his 
Richard  •  Per^ec^  imperturbability  of  mind :  villainy  never  ruffles  his 
imperturb-  spirits.  He  never  misses  the  irony  that  starts  up  in  the 
"mind- ^  circumstances  around  him,  and  says  to  Clarence  : 

i.  i.  in.  This  deep  disgrace  in  brotherhood 

Touches  me  deeply. 

While  taking  his  part  in  entertaining  the  precocious  King 
he  treats  us  to  continual  asides — 

iii.  i.  79,  So  wise  so  young,  they  say,  do  never  live  long — 

showing  how  he  can  stop  to  criticise  the  scenes  in  which 
he  is  an  actor.  He  can  delay  the  conspiracy  on  which  his 

iii.  iv.  24.  chance  of  the  crown  depends  by  coming  late  to  the  council, 
and  then  while  waiting  the  moment  for  turning  upon  his 

iii.  iv.  52.  victim  is  cool  enough  to  recollect  the  Bishop  of  Ely's  straw- 

humour;  berries.  But  more  than  all  these  examples  is  to  be  noted 
Richard's  humour.  This  is  par  excellence  the  sign  of  a 
mind  at  ease  with  itself:  scorn,  contempt,  bitter  jest  belong 
to  the  storm  of  passion,  but  humour  is  the  sunshine  of  the 
soul.  Yet  Shakespeare  has  ventured  to  endow  Richard 
with  unquestionable  humour.  Thus,  in  one  of  his  earliest 

i.  i.  151-  meditations,  he  prays,  '  God  take  King  Edward  to  his 
mercy,'*  for  then  he  will  marry  Warwick's  youngest  daughter  : 

What  though  I  killed  her  husband  and  her  father! 
The  readiest  way  to  make  the  wench  amends 
Is  to  become  her  husband  and  her  father  ! 

e.  g.  i.  i.  And  all  through  there  perpetually  occur  little  turns  of  lan- 
118;  ii.  ii. 


FROM  THE  SIDE   OF  CHARACTER.  IOI 

guage  into  which  the  actor  can  throw  a  tone  of  humorous  CHAP.  IV. 
enjoyment;  notably,  when  he  complains  of  being  'too  —  ;  —  ... 
childish-foolish  for  this  world/  and  where  he  nearly  ruins  the  38,  43;*!.  ' 
effect  of  his  edifying  penitence  in  the  Reconciliation  Scene,  j11-  H2.;.**- 
by  being  unable  to  resist  one  final  stroke  :  vii'  51-54, 

I  thank  my  God  for  my  humility  ! 

Of  a  kindred  nature  is  his  perfect  frankness  and  fairness  to  freedom 
his    victims  :    villainy    never    clouds    his   judgment.     Iago,/^./r<?~ 
astutest  of  intriguers,  was   deceived,  as   has  been  already 
noted,  by  his  own  morbid  acuteness,  and  firmly  believed  — 
what  the  simplest  spectator  can  see  to  be  a  delusion  —  that 
Othello  has  tampered  with  his  wife.     Richard,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  a  marvel  of  judicial  impartiality  ;  he  speaks  of  King 
Edward  in  such  terms  as  these  — 

If  King  Edward  be  as  true  and  just  i.  i.  36. 

As  I  am  subtle,  false  and  treacherous; 

and  weighs  elaborately  the  superior  merit  of  one  of  his 
victims  to  his  own  : 

Hath  she  forgot  already  that  brave  prince,  i.  ii,  from 

Edward,  her  lord,  whom  I,  some  three  months  since,  24°' 

Stabb'd  in  my  angry  mood  at  Tewksbury  1 

A  sweeter  and  a  lovelier  gentleman, 

Framed  in  the  prodigality  of  nature, 

Young,  valiant,  wise,  and,  no  doubt,  right  royal, 

The  spacious  world  cannot  again  afford  : 

And  will  she  yet  debase  her  eyes  on  me, 

That  cropped  the  golden  prime  of  this  sweet  prince, 

And  made  her  widow  to  a  woful  bed  1 

On  me,  whose  all  not  equals  Edward's  moiety  1 

Richard  can  rise  to  all  his  height  of  villainy  without  its 
leaving  on  himself  the  slightest  trace  of  struggle  or  even 
effort. 

Again,  the  idea  of  boundless  resource  is  suggested  by  an  A 
occasional  recklessness,  almost  a  slovenliness,  in  the  details 


of  his  intrigues.     Thus,  in  the   early  part  of  the  Wooing  ******** 

J    r  °  resources. 


102  KING  RICHARD  III : 

CHAP.  IV.  Scene  he  makes  two  blunders  of  which  a  tyro  in  intrigue 
.  : might  be  ashamed.     He  denies  that  he  is  the  author  of  Ed- 
ward's death,  to  be  instantly  confronted  with  the  evidence 
of  Margaret  as  an  eye-witness.     Then  a  few  lines  further 
on  he  goes  to  the  opposite  extreme  : 

i.  ii.  101.  Anne.     Didst  thou  not  kill  this  king  ? 

Clone.  I  grant  ye. 

Anne.     Dost  grant  me,  hedgehog? 

The  merest  beginner  would  know  better  how  to  meet 
accusations  than  by  such  haphazard  denials  and  acknow- 
ledgments. But  the  crack  billiard-player  will  indulge  at 
the  beginning  of  the  game  in  a  little  clumsiness,  giving  his 
adversaries  a  prospect  of  victory  only  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  making  up  the  disadvantage  with  one  or  two  brilliant 
strokes.  And  so  Richard,  essaying  the  most  difficult  problem 
ever  attempted  in  human  intercourse,  lets  half  the  interview 
pass  before  he  feels  it  worth  while  to  play  with  caution. 
General  The  mysterious  irresistibility  of  Richard,  pointed  to  by 
^R^h^-cT tne  succession  of  incidents  in  the  play,  is  assisted  by  the 
intrigue:  very  improbability  of  some  of  the  more  difficult  scenes  in 
lrathertl°an  wn^c^  ^e  *s  an  actor-  Intrigue  in  general  is  a  thing  of 
calculation,  reason,  and  its  probabilities  can  be  readily  analysed  ;  but  the 
genius  of  intrigue  in  Richard  seems  to  make  him  avoid  the 
caution  of  other  intriguers,  and  to  give  him  a  preference  for 
feats  which  seem  impossible.  The  whole  suggests  how  it  is 
not  by  calculation  that  he  works,  but  he  brings  the  touch  of 
an  artist  to  his  dealing  with  human  weakness,  and  follows 
whither  his  artist's  inspiration  leads  him.  If,  then,  there  is 
nothing  so  remote  from  evil  but  Richard  can  make  it  tri- 
butary ;  if  he  can  endow  crimes  with  power  of  self-multiply- 
ing ;  if  he  can  pass  through  a  career  of  sin  without  the  taint 
of  distortion  on  his  intellect  and  with  the  unruffled  calmness 
of  innocence  ;  if  Richard  accomplishes  feats  no  other  would 
attempt  with  a  carelessness  no  other  reputation  would  risk, 
even  slow  reason  may  well  believe  him  irresistible.  When, 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  CHARACTER.  103 

further,  such  qualifications  for  villainy  become,  by  unbroken  CHAP.  IV. 
success  in  villainy,  reflected  in  Richard's  very  bearing ;  when 
the  only  law  explaining  his  motions  to  onlookers  is  the  law- 
lessness of  genius  whose  instinct  is  more  unerring  than  the 
most  laborious  calculation  and  planning,  it  becomes  only 
natural  that  the  opinion  of  his  irresistibility  should  become 
converted  into  a  mystic  fascination,  making  Richard's  very 
presence  a  signal  to  his  adversaries  of  defeat,  chilling  with 
hopelessness  the  energies  with  which  they  are  to  face  his 
consummate  skill. 

The  two  main  ideas  of  Shakespeare's  portrait,  the  idea  of 
an  artist  in  crime  and  the  fascination  of  invincibility  which 
Richard  bears  about  with  him,  are  strikingly  illustrated  in 
the  wooing  of  Lady  Anne.     For  a  long  time  Richard  will  not  i.  ii. 
put  forth  effort,  but  meets  the  loathing  and  execration  hurled 
at  him  with  repartee,  saying  in  so  many  words  that  he  regards 
the  scene  as  a  '  keen  encounter  of  our  wits.'     All  this  time  115. 
the  mysterious  power  of  his  presence  is  operating,  the  more 
strongly  as  Lady  Anne  sees  the  most  unanswerable  cause 
that  denunciation  ever  had  to  put  produce  no  effect  upon 
her  adversary,  and  feels  her  own  confidence  in  her  wrongs 
recoiling  upon  herself.     When  the  spell  has   had  time  to  from  152. 
work  then  he  assumes  a  serious  tone  :  suddenly,  as  we  have 
seen,  turning  the  strong  point  of  Anne's  attack,  his  own 
inhuman  nature,  into  the  basis  of  his  plea — he  who  never 
wept  before  has  been  softened  by  love  to  her.     From  this 
point  he  urges  his  cause  with  breathless  speed  ;  he  presses  a  175. 
sword  into  her  hand  with  which  to  pierce  his  breast,  knowing 
that  she  lacks  the  nerve  to  wield  it,  and  seeing  how  such 
forbearance  on  her  part  will  be  a  starting-point  in  giving 
way.     We  can  trace  the  sinking  of  her  will  before  the  un- 
conquerable will  of  her  adversary  in  her  feebler  and  feebler  from  193. 
refusals,  while  as  yet  very  shame  keeps  her  to  an  outward 
defiance.     Then,  when  she  is  wishing  to  yield,  he  suddenly 
finds  her  an  excuse  by  declaring  that  all  he  desires  at  this 


104  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  IV.  moment  is  that  she  should  leave  the  care  of  the  King's 

funeral 

To  him  that  hath  more  cause  to  be  a  mourner. 

By  yielding  this  much  to  penitence  and  religion  we  see  she 
has  commenced  a  downward  descent  from  which  she  will 
'  never  recover.     Such  consummate  art  in  the  handling  of 
human  nature,  backed  by  the  spell  of  an  irresistible  pre- 
sence, the  weak  Anne  has  no  power  to  combat.     To  the  last 
iv.  i.  66-    she  is  as  much  lost  in  amazement  as  the  reader  at  the  way 
7*  it  has  all  come  about : 

Lo,  ere  I  can  repeat  this  curse  again, 

Even  in  so  short  a  space,  my  woman's  heart 

Grossly  grew  captive  to  his  honey  words. 

Ideal  v.  To  gather  up  our  results.  A  dramatist  is  to  paint  a  por- 
'villainy.  tra^  °^  ^eal  viNamv  as  distinct  from  villainy  in  real  life.  In 
real  life  it  is  a  commonplace  that  a  virtuous  life  is  a  life  of 
effort ;  but  the  converse  is  not  true,  that  he  who  is  prepared 
to  be  a  villain  will  therefore  lead  an  easy  life.  On  the  con- 
trary, '  the  way  of  transgressors  is  hard/  The  metaphor 
suggests  a  path,  laid  down  at  first  by  the  Architect  of  the 
universe,  beaten  plain  and  flat  by  the  generations  of  men 
who  have  since  trodden  it :  he  who  keeps  within  this  path  of 
rectitude  will  walk,  not  without  effort,  yet  at  least  with 
safety ;  but  he  who  '  steps  aside  '  to  the  right  or  left  will 
find  his  way  beset  with  pitfalls  and  stumblingblocks.  In 
real  life  a  man  sets  out  to  be  a  villain,  but  his  mental  power 
is  deficient,  and  he  remains  a  villain  only  in  intention.  Or 
he  has  stores  of  power,  but  lacks  the  spark  of  purpose  to  set 
them  aflame.  Or,  armed  with  both  will  to  plan  and  mind  to 
execute,  yet  his  efforts  are  hampered  by  unfit  tools.  Or,  if 
his  purpose  needs  reliance  alone  on  his  own  clear  head  and 
his  own  strong  arm,  yet  in  the  critical  moment  the  emo- 
tional nature  he  has  inherited  with  his  humanity  starts  into 
rebellion  and  scares  him,  like  Macbeth,  from  the  half- 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  CHARACTER.  105 

accomplished  deed.  Or,  if  he  is  as  hardened  in  nature  as  CHAP.  IV. 
corrupt  in  mind  and  will,  yet  he  is  closely  pursued  by  a 
mocking  fate,  which  crowns  his  well-laid  plans  with  a  mys- 
terious succession  of  failures.  Or,  if  there  is  no  other 
limitation  on  him  from  within  or  from  without,  yet  he  may 
move  in  a  world  too  narrow  to  give  him  scope  :  the  man 
with  a  heart  to  be  the  scourge  of  his  nation  proves  in  fact 
no  more  than  the  vagabond  of  a  country  side. — But  in 
Shakespeare's  portrait  we  have  infinite  capacity  for  mischief, 
needing  no  purpose,  for  evil  has  become  to  it  an  end  in 
itself;  we  have  one  who  for  tools  can  use  the  baseness  of  his 
own  nature  or  the  shame  of  those  who  are  his  nearest  kin, 
while  at  his  touch  all  that  is  holiest  becomes  transformed 
into  weapons  of  iniquity.  We  have  one  whose  nature  in  the 
past  has  been  a  gleaning  ground  for  evil  in  every  stage  of 
his  development,  and  who  in  the  present  is  framed  to  look 
on  unnatural  horror  with  the  eyes  of  interested  curiosity. 
We  have  one  who  seems  to  be  seconded  by  fate  with  a 
series  of  successes,  which  builds  up  for  him  an  irresistibility 
that  is  his  strongest  safeguard ;  and  who,  instead  of  being 
cramped  by  circumstances,  has  for  his  stage  the  world  of 
history  itself,  in  which  crowns  are  the  prize  and  nations  the 
victims.  In  such  a  portrait  is  any  element  wanting  to  arrive 
at  the  ideal  of  villainy  ? 

The  question  would  rather  be  whether  Shakespeare  has  Ideal 
not  gone  too  far,  and,  passing  outside  the  limits  of  art,  ex- 
hibited  a  monstrosity.  Nor  is  it  an  answer  to  point  to  the  strosity. 
1  dramatic  hedging '  by  which  Richard  is  endowed  with  un- 
daunted personal  courage,  unlimited  intellectual  power,  and 
every  good  quality  not  inconsistent  with  his  perfect  villainy. 
The  objection  to  such  a  portrait  as  the  present  study  presents 
is  that  it  offends  against  our  sense  of  the  principles  upon  which 
the  universe  has  been  constructed  ;  we  feel  that  before  a 
violation  of  nature  could  attain  such  proportions  nature  must 
have  exerted  her  recuperative  force  to  crush  it.  If,  however, 


io6  KING  RICHARD  III. 

CHAP.  IV.  the  dramatist  can  suggest  that  such  reassertion  of  nature  is 
actually  made,  that  the  crushing  blow  is  delayed  only  while 
it  is  accumulating  force :  in  a  word,  if  the  dramatist  can 
draw  out  before  us  a  Nemesis  as  ideal  as  the  villainy  was 
ideal,  then  the  full  demands  of  art  will  be  satisfied.  The 
Nemesis  that  dominates  the  whole  play  of  Richard  III  will 
be  the  subject  of  the  next  study. 


V. 


RICHARD  III:    How  SHAKESPEARE  WEAVES 
NEMESIS  INTO  HISTORY. 

A   Study  in  Plot. 


I 


HAVE  alluded  already  to  the  dangerous  tendency,  which,  CHAP.  V. 

as  it  appears  to  me,  exists  amongst  ordinary  readers  of 

P  .  Richard 

Shakespeare,  to   ignore   plot   as   of  secondary  importance,  m:from 

and  to  look  for  Shakespeare's  greatness  mainly  in  his  con-  Me  Charac- 
ceptions  of  character.     But  the   full   character   effect  of  a  violation  of 
dramatic  portrait  cannot  be  grasped  if  it  be  dissociated  from  Nemesis 
the  plot ;    and  this  is  nowhere  more  powerfully  illustrated 
than   in   the   play  of  Richard  III.     The   last   study   was 
devoted  exclusively  to  the  Character  side  of  the  play,  and 
on  this  confined  view  the  portrait  of  Richard  seemed  a  huge 
offence  against  our   sense   of  moral  equilibrium,  rendering 
artistic  satisfaction  impossible.     Such  an  impression  vanishes 
when,  as  in  the  present  study,  the  drama  is  looked  at  from  from  the 
the    side   of   Plot.     The   effect   of   this    plot    is,    however,  *$$£%!' 
missed  by  those  who  limit  their  attention  in  reviewing  it  to  formation 
Richard  himself.     These  may  feel  that  there  is  nothing  in  his  ^/ 
fate  to  compensate  for  the  spectacle  of  his  crimes :    man  sis. 
must  die,  and  a  death  in  fulness  of  energy  amid  the  glorious 
stir  of  battle  may  seem  a  fate  to  be  envied.     But  the  Shake- 
spearean Drama  with  its  complexity  of  plot  is  not  limited 
to  the  individual  life  and  fate  in  its  interpretation  of  history ; 
and  when  we  survey  all  the  distinct  trains  of  interest  in  the 
play   of   Richard   III,   with    their    blendings    and    mutual 
influence,  we   shall  obtain  a  sense  of  dramatic  satisfaction 


io8  KING  RICHARD  III : 

CHAP.  V.  amply  counterbalancing  the  monstrosity  of  Richard's  villainy. 

• •      Viewed  as  a  study  in  character  the  play  leaves  in  us  only  an 

intense  craving  for  Nemesis :  when  we  turn  to  consider  the 
plot,  this  presents  to  us  the  world  of  history  transformed 
into  an  intricate  design  of  which  the  recurrent  pattern  is 
Nemesis. 

The  under-      This  notion  of  tracing  a  pattern  in  human  affairs  is  a 
^separate  convenient   key   to   the   exposition   of  plot.     Laying  aside 
Nemesis      for  the  present  the  main  interest  of  Richard  himself,  we  may 
Actions.      Observe  that  tne  buik  Of  the  drama  consists  in  a  number  of 
minor   interests — single   threads    of    the   pattern — each    of 
Clarence,     which  is  a  separate  example  of  Nemesis.     The  first  of  these 
trains  of  interest  centres  around  the  Duke  of  Clarence.    He  has 
betrayed  the  Lancastrians,  to  whom  he  had  solemnly  sworn 
i. iv.5o,66.  fealty,  for  the  sake  of  the  house  of  York;  this  perjury  is  his 
bitterest  recollection  in  his  hour  of  awakened  conscience,  and 
is  urged  home  by  the  taunts  of  his  murderers  ;  while  his  only 
defence  is  that  he  did  it  all  for  his  brother's  love.     Yet  his 
ii.  i.  86.      lot  is  to  fall  by  a  treacherous  death,  the  warrant  for  which  is 
signed  by  his  brother,  the  King  and  head  of  the  Yorkist  house, 
i.  iv.  250.    while  its  execution  is  procured  by  the  bulwark  of  the  house, 
The  King,  the  intriguing  Richard.     The  centre  of  the  second  nemesis 
is  the  King,  who  has  thus  allowed  himself  in  a  moment  of 
suspicion  to  be  made  a  tool  for  the  murder  of  his  brother, 
ii.  i.  77-     seeking  to  stop  it  when   too   late.     Shakespeare   has  con- 
trived that  this  death  of  Clarence,  announced  as   it   is  in 
so  terrible  a  manner  beside  the  King's  sick  bed,  gives  him  a 
shock  from  which  he  never  rallies,  and  he  is  carried  out  to 
die  with  the  words  on  his  lips : 

O  God,  I  fear  Thy  justice  will  take  hold 

On  me,  and  you,  and  mine,  and  yours,  for  this. 

The  Queen  In  this  nemesis  on  the  King  are  associated  the  Queen  and 

"kindred.      ^er    kindred.      They   have   been   assenting   parties   to   the 

measures  against  Clarence   (however   little   they  may  have 

contemplated  the  bloody  issue  to  which  those  measures  have 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  109 

been  brought  by  the  intrigues  of  Gloster).     This  we  must  CHAP.  V. 
understand   from   the   introduction   of  Clarence's   children,  ..  .. 
who  serve  no  purpose  except  to  taunt  the  Queen  in  her  65 
bereavement : 

Boy.     Good  aunt,  you  wept  not  for  our  father's  death ; 

How  can  we  aid  you  with  our  kindred  tears  ? 
Girl.     Our  fatherless  distress  was  left  unmoan'd ; 

Your  widow-dolour  likewise  be  unwept ! 

The  death  of  the  King,  so  unexpectedly  linked  to  that  of 
Clarence,  removes  from  the  Queen  and  her  kindred  the  sole  ii.  ii.  74, 
bulwark  to  the  hated  Woodville  family,  and  leaves  them  at  &c* 
the  mercy  of  their  enemies.     A  third  Nemesis  Action  has  Hastings. 
Hastings  for  its  subject.     Hastings  is  the  head  of  the  court-  *•  *•  j>6 ;  iii- 
faction  which  is  opposed  to  the  Queen  and  her  allies,  and  he 
passes  all  bounds  of  decency  in  his  exultation  at  the  fate 
which  overwhelms  his  adversaries : 

But  I  shall  laugh  at  this  a  twelvemonth  hence, 
That  they  who  brought  me  in  my  master's  hate, 
I  live  to  look  upon  their  tragedy. 

He  even  forgets  his  dignity  as  a  nobleman,  and  stops  on  his 

way  to  the  Tower  to  chat  with  a  mere  officer  of  the  court,  in  iii.  ii.  97. 

order  to  tell  him  the  news  of  which  he   is  full,  that  his 

enemies   are   to   die   that   day  at  Pomfret.     Yet   this   very 

journey  of  Hastings  is  his  journey  to  the  block;  the  same 

cruel  fate  which  had  descended  upon  his  opponents,  from 

the  same  agent  and  by  the  same  unscrupulous  doom,  is  dealt 

out  to  Hastings  in  his  turn.     In  this  treacherous  casting  off  Buckin^- 

of  Hastings  when  he  is  no  longer  useful,  Buckingham  has  " 

been  a  prime  agent.     Buckingham  amused  himself  with  the  iii.  ii,  from 

false  security  of  Hastings,  adding  to  Hastings' s   innocent  II-4' 

expression  of  his  intention  to  stay  dinner  at  the  Tower  the 

aside 

And  supper  too,  although  thou  know'st  it  not; 

while  in  the  details  of  the  judicial  murder  he  plays  second  to 
Richard.     By  precisely  similar  treachery  he  is  himself  cast 


HO  KING  RICHARD  III : 

CHAP.  V.   off  when  he  hesitates  to  go  further  wi;h  Richard's  villainous 
schemes ;  and  in  precisely  similar  manner  the  treachery  is 

iv.  ii,  from  flavoured  with  contempt. 
86. 

Buck.     I  am  thus  bold  to  put  your  grace  in  mind 

Of  what  you  promised  me. 

K.  Rich.  Well,  but  what 's  o'clock  ? 

Buck.     Upon  the  stroke  of  ten. 
K.  Rich.  Well,  let  it  strike. 

Buck.     Why  let  it  strike? 
K.  Rich.     Because  that,  like  a  Jack,  thou  keep'st  the  stroke 

Betwixt  thy  begging  and  my  meditation. 

I  am  not  in  the  giving  vein  to-day. 
Buck.     Why,  then  resolve  me  whether  you  will  or  no. 
K.  Rich.    Tut,  tut, 

Thou  troublest  me ;  I  am  not  in  the  vein. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Buckingham. 
Buck.     Is  it  even  so?  rewards  he  my  true  service 

With  such  deep  contempt?  made  I  him  king  for  this? 

O,  let  me  think  on  Hastings,  and  be  gone 

To  Brecknock,  while  my  fearful  head  is  on ! 

The  four  These  four  Nemesis  Actions,  it  will  be  observed,  are  not 
'formed  into  seParate  trams  of  incident  going  on  side  by  side,  they  are 
a  system  by  linked  together  into  a  system,  the  law  of  which  is  seen  to  be 
r!Suas  that  those  who  triumph  in  one  nemesis  become  the  victims 
of  the  next ;  so  that  the  whole  suggests  a  *  chain  of  destruc- 
tion/ like  that  binding  together  the  orders  of  the  brute 
creation  which  live  by  preying  upon  one  another.  When 
Clarence  perished  it  was  the  King  who  dealt  the  doom  and 
the  Queen's  party  who  triumphed  :  the  wheel  of  Nemesis  goes 
round  and  the  King's  death  follows  the  death  of  his  victim, 
the  Queen's  kindred  are  naked  to  the  vengeance  of  their 
enemies,  and  Hastings  is  left  to  exult.  Again  the  wheel  of 
Nemesis  revolves,  and  Hastings  at  the  moment  of  his  highest 
exultation  is  hurled  to  destruction,  while,  Buckingham  stands 
by  to  point  the  moral  with  a  gibe.  Once  more  the  wheel 
goes  round,  and  Buckingham  hears  similar  gibes  addressed 
to  himself  and  points  the  same  moral  in  his  own  person. 
Thus  the  portion  of  the  drama  we  have  so  far  considered 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  Ill 

yields  us  a  pattern  within  a  pattern,  a   series  of  Nemesis  CHAP.  V. 

Actions  woven  into  a  complete  underplot  by  a  connecling-link     

which  is  also  Nemesis. 

Following  out  the  same  general  idea  we  may  proceed  to  The' En- 
notice  how  the  dramatic  pattern  is  surrounded  by  a  fringe  or  v**0j*nK 
border.  The  picture  of  life  presented  in  a  play  will  have  the  Nemesis. 
more  reality  if  it  be  connected  with  a  life  wider  than  its  own. 
There  is  no  social  sphere,  however  private,  but  is  to  some 
extent  affected  by  a  wider  life  outside  it,  this  by  one  wider 
still,  until  the  great  world  is  reached  the  story  of  which  is 
History.  The  immediate  interest  may  be  in  a  single  family, 
but  it  will  be  a  great  war  which,  perhaps,  takes  away  some 
member  of  this  family  to  die  in  battle,  or  some  great  com- 
mercial crisis  which  brings  mutation  of  fortune  to  the 
obscure  home.  The  artists  of  fiction  are  solicitous  thus  to 
suggest  connections  between  lesser  and  greater;  it  is  the 
natural  tendency  of  the  mind  to  pass  from  the  known  to  the 
unknown,  and  if  the  artist  can  derive  the  movements  in  his 
little  world  from  the  great  world  outside,  he  appears  to  have 
given  his  fiction  a  basis  of  admitted  truth  to  rest  on.  This 
device  of  enclosing  the  incidents  of  the  actual  story  in  a  frame- 
work of  great  events — technically,  the  'Enveloping  Action' 
— is  one  which  is  common  in  Shakespeare;  it  is  enough  to 
instance  such  a  case  as  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  in  which 
play  a  fairy  story  has  a  measure  of  historic  reality  given  to  it 
by  its  connection  with  the  marriage  of  personages  so  famous 
as  Theseus  and  Hippolyta.  In  the  present  case,  the  main 
incidents  and  personages  belong  to  public  life ;  nevertheless 
the  effect  in  question  is  still  secured,  and  the  contest  of 
factions  with  which  the  play  is  occupied  is  represented  as 
making  up  only  a  few  incidents  in  the  great  feud  of  Lan- 
caster and  York.  This  Enveloping  Action  of  the  whole  play, 
the  War  of  the  Roses,  is  marked  with  special  clearness :  two 
personages  are  introduced  for  the  sole  purpose  of  giving  it 
prominence.  The  Duchess  of  York  is  by  her  years  and  ii.  ii.  So. 


112  KING  RICHARD  III : 

CHAP.  V.  position  the  representative  of  the  whole  house ;  the  factions 
who  in  the  play  successively  triumph  and  fall  are  all  de- 
scended from  herself;  she  says: 

Alas,  I  am  the  mother  of  these  moans  I 
Their  woes  are  parcell'd,  mine  are  general. 

i.  iii,  from  And  probabilities  are  forced  to  bring  in  Queen  Margaret, 

iv*  /v*i-    t^ie  ^ead  an(*  s°le  rallying-point  of  the  ruined  Lancastrians  : 

125.  when  the  two  aged  women  are  confronted  the  whole  civil 

war  is  epitomised.     It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that 

this  Enveloping  Action  is  itself  a  Nemesis  Action.     All  the 

rising   and   falling,    the   suffering   and    retaliation   that   we 

actually  see  going  on  between  the  different  sections  of  the 

Yorkist  house,  constitute  a  detail  in  a  wider  retribution  :  the 

esp.  ii.  ii ;  presence  of  the  Duchess  gives  to  the  incidents  a  unity,  Queen 

iv.ijiv.iv.  Margaret's  function  is  to  point  out  that  this  unity  of  woe  is 

ii.  iii ;  and  only  the  nemesis  falling  on  the  house  of  York  for  their 

lv' lv*        wrongs  to  the  house  of  Lancaster.     Thus  the  pattern  made 

up  of  so  many  reiterations  of  Nemesis  is  enclosed  in  a 

border  which  itself  repeats  the  same  figure. 

The  En-         The  effect  is  carried  further.     Generally  the  Enveloping 
VN°mesis      Action  *s  a  sort  °f  curtain  by  which  our  view  of  a  drama  is 
carried  on   bounded;   in  the  present  case  the  curtain  is  at  one  point 
\rifeniss.      ^ted>  anc*  wc  Set  a  glimpse  into  the  world  beyond.     Queen 
Margaret  has  surprised  the  Yorkist  courtiers,  and  her  pro- 
phetic denunciations  are  still  ringing,  in  which  she  points  to 
the  calamities  her  foes  have  begun  to  suffer  as  retribution  for 
the  woes  of  which  her  fallen  greatness  is  the  representative 

i.  iii.  174 when  Gloster  suddenly  turns  the  tables  upon  her: 

194. 

The  curse  my  noble  father  laid  on  thee, 
When  thou  didst  crown  his  warlike  brows  with  paper 
And  with  thy  scorns  drew'st  rivers  from  his  eyes, 
And  then,  to  dry  them,  gavest  the  duke  a  clout 
Steep'd  in  the  faultless  blood  of  pretty  Rutland,— 
His  curses,  then  from  bitterness  of  soul 
Denounced  against  thee,  are  all  fall'n  upon  thee ; 
And  God,  not  we,  hath  plagu'd  thy  bloody  deed.  • 


FROM  THE  SIDE   OF  PLOT.  113 

And   the  new  key-note  struck  by  Gloster  is  taken  up  in  CHAP.  V. 

chorus  by  the  rest,  who  find  relief  from  the  crushing  effect  of     

Margaret's  curses  by  pressing  the  charge  home  upon  her. 
This  is  only  a  detail,  but  it  is  enough  to  carry  the  effect  of 
the  Enveloping  Action  a  degree  further  back  in  time  :  the 
events  of  the  play  are  nemesis  on  York  for  wrongs  done  to 
Lancaster,  but  now,  it  seems,  these  old  wrongs  against 
Lancaster  were  retribution  for  yet  older  crimes  Lancaster  had 
committed  against  York.  As  in  architecture  the  vista  is 
contrived  so  as  to  carry  the  general  design  of  the  building 
into  indefiniteness,  so  here,  while  the  grand  nemesis,  of 
which  Margaret's  presence  is  the  representative,  shuts  in  the 
play  like  a  veil,  the  momentary  lifting  of  the  veil  opens  up  a 
vista  of  nemeses  receding  further  and  further  back  into 
history. 

Once  more.     All  that  we  have  seen  suggests  it  as  a  sort  The  one 
of  law  to   the   feud  of  York  and  Lancaster  that  each  is  ^f/^ 
destined  to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  other,  and  then  itself  nemesis 
suffer  in  turn.     But  at  one  notable  point  of  the  play  an  c°nfirm3  lt 
attempt  is  made  to  evade  the  hereditary  nemesis   by  the 
marriage  of  Richard  and  Lady  Anne.     Anne,  daughter  to 
Warwick — the  grand  deserter  to  the  Lancastrians  and  martyr 
to  their  cause — widow  to  the  murdered  heir  of  the  house 
and   chief  mourner   to   its   murdered    head,   is   surely   the 
greatest  sufferer  of  the  Lancastrians  at  the  hands  of  the 
Yorkists.     Richard  is  certainly  the  chief  avenger  of  York 
upon  Lancaster.     When  the  chief  source  of  vengeance  and 
the  chief  sufferer  are  united  in  the  closest  of  all  bonds,  the 
attempt  to  evade  Nemesis  becomes  ideal.     Yet  what  is  the 
consequence  ?     This  attempt  of  Lady  Anne  to  evade  the 
hereditary  curse  proves  the  very  channel  by  which  the  curse 
descends  upon  herself.     We  see  her  once  more  :   she  is  then  iv.  i.  66- 
on  her  way  to  the  Tower,  and  we  hear  her  tell  the  strange    ^ 
story  of  her  wooing,  and  wish  the  crown  were  '  red  hot  steel 
to  sear  her  to  the  brain ' ;  never,  she  says,  since  her  union 

I 


H4  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  V.  with  Richard  has  she  enjoyed  the  golden  dew  of  sleep ;  she  is 

but  waiting  for  the  destruction,  by  which,  no  doubt,  Richard 

will  shortly  rid  himself  of  her. 

Tocotmtcr-  An  objection  may,  however,  here  present  itself,  that  con- 
"effect'of  re  tmua^  repetition  of  an  idea  like  Nemesis,  tends  to  weaken  its 
petition  the  artistic  effect,  until  it  comes  to  be  taken  for  granted.  No 


doubt  it  is  a  law  of  taste  that  force  may  be  dissipated  by 
empna-       repetition  if  carried  beyond  a  certain  point.     But  it  is  to  be 
noted,  on  the  other  hand,  what  pains  Shakespeare  has  taken 
to  counteract  the  tendency  in  the  present  instance.     The 
force  of  a  nemesis  may  depend  upon  a  fitness  that  addresses 
itself  to  the  spectator's  reflection,  or  it  may  be  measured  by 
the  degree  to  which  the  nemesis  is  brought  into  prominence 
in  the  incidents  themselves.     In  the  incidents  of  the  present 
by  recog-      play  special  means  are  adopted  to  make  the  recognition  of 
mtion,        ^  successive  nemeses  as  they  arise  emphatic.     In  the  first 
place  the  nemesis  is  in  each  case  pointed  out  at  the  moment 
of  its  fulfilment.     In  the  case  of  Clarence  his  story  of  crime 
I.  iv,  from  and  retribution  is  reflected  in  his  dream  before  it  is  brought 
to  a  conclusion  in  reality ;  and  wherein  the  bitterness  of  this 
review  consists,  we  see  when  he  turns  to  his  sympathising 
jailor  and  says  : 

i.  iv.  66.  O  Brackenbury,  I  have  done  those  things, 

Which  now  bear  evidence  against  my  soul, 
For  Edward's  sake  :  and  see  how  he  requites  me ! 

The  words  have  already  been  quoted  in  which  the  King  re- 
cognises how  God's  justice  has  overtaken  him  for  his  part  in 
Clarence's  death,  and  those  in  which  the  children  of  Clarence 
taunt  the  Queen  with  her  having  herself  to  bear  the  bereave- 
ment she  has  made  them  suffer.  As  the  Queen's  kindred  are 
being  led  to  their  death,  one  of  them  exclaims  : 

ill.  iii.  15.  Now  Margaret's  curse  is  fall'n  upon  our  heads 

For  standing  by  when  Richard  stabb'd  her  son. 

Hastings,  when  his  doom  has  wakened  him  from  his  in- 
fatuation, recollects  a  priest  he  had  met  on  his  way  to  the 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  115 

Tower,  with  whom  he  had  stopped  to  talk  about  the  dis-  CHAP.  V. 
comfiture  of  his  enemies  : 

O,  now  I  want  the  priest  that  spake  to  me !  iii.  iv.  89. 

Buckingham  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold  apostrophises  the 
souls  of  his  victims : 

If  that  your  moody  discontented  souls  V.  i.  7. 

Do  through  the  clouds  behold  this  present  hour, 
Even  for  revenge  mock  my  destruction. 

And  such  individual  notes  of  recognition  are  collected  into  a 
sort  of  chorus  when  Margaret  appears  the  second  time  to  iv.iv.i,35. 
point  out  the  fulfilment  of  her  curses,  and  sits  down  beside 
the  old  Duchess  and  her  daughter-in-law  to  join  in  the 
'society  of  sorrow'  and  'cloy  her'  with  beholding  the  re- 
venge for  which  she  has  hungered. 

Again,  the  nemeses    have   a   further  emphasis  given  to  by  pro- 
them  by  prophecy.     As  Queen  Margaret's  second  appear-  ^lccy> 
ance  is  to  mark  the  fulfilment  of  a  general  retribution,  so  her  i.  Hi,  from 
first  appearance  denounced  it  beforehand   in   the  form  of I95' 
curses.     And   the   effect   is   carried   on  in  individual   pro- 
phecies: the  Queen's  friends  as  they  suffer  foresee  that  the 
turn  of  the  opposite  party  will  come  : 

You  live  that  shall  cry  woe  for  this  hereafter ;  iii.  iii.  7. 

and  Hastings  prophesies  Buckingham's  doom  : 

They  smile  at  me  that  shortly  shall  be  dead.  iii.  iv.  109. 

It  is  as  if  the  atmosphere  cleared  for  each  sufferer  with  the 
approach  of  death,  and  they  then  saw  clearly  the  righteous 
plan  on  which  the  universe  is  constructed,  and  which  had 
been  hidden  from  them  by  the  dust  of  life. 

But  there  is  a  third  means,  more  powerful  than  either  re-  and  espcd- 
cognition  or  prophecy,  which  Shakespeare  has  employed  to  a 
make  his  Nemesis  Actions  emphatic.    The  danger  of  an  effect 
becoming  tame  by  repetition  he  has  met  by  giving  to  each 
train  of  nemesis  a  flash  of  irony  at  some  point  of  its  course. 
In  the  case  of  Lady  Anne  we  have  already  seen  how  the 
exact  channel  Nemesis  chooses  by  which  to  descend  upon 

i  2 


n6  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  V.  her  is  the  attempt  she  made  to  avert  it.     She  had  bitterly 
" cursed  her  husband's  murderer  : 

iv.  i.  75.  And  be  thv  wife— if  any  be  so  mad — 

As  miserable  by  the  life  of  thee 
As  thou  hast  made  me  by  my  dear  lord's  death! 

In  spite  of  this  she  had  yielded  to  Richard's  mysterious 
power,  and  so,  as  she  feels,  proved  the  subject  of  her  own 
heart's  curse.  Again,  it  was  noticed  in  the  preceding  study 
how  the  Queen,  less  hard  than  the  rest  in  that  wicked  court, 
or  perhaps  softened  by  the  spectacle  of  her  dying  husband, 
essayed  to  reverse,  when  too  late,  what  had  been  done 
against  Clarence ;  Gloster  skilfully  turned  this  compunction 

ii.  i.  134.  of  conscience  into  a  ground  of  suspicion  on  which  he  traded 
to  bring  all  the  Queen's  friends  to  the  block,  and  thus  a 
moment's  relenting  was  made  into  a  means  of  destruction. 
In  Clarence's  struggle  for  life,  as  one  after  another  the 

i.  iv.  187,    threads  of  hope  snap,  as  the  appeal  to  law  is  met  by  the 

199, 200,  King's  command,  the  appeal  to  heavenly  law  by  the  re- 
minder of  his  own  sin,  he  comes  to  rest  for  his  last  and  surest 

i.  iv.  232.  hope  upon  his  powerful  brother  Gloster — and  the  very  mur- 
derers catch  the  irony  of  the  scene : 

Clar.     If  you  be  hired  for  meed,  go  back  again, 
And  I  will  send  you  to  my  brother  Gloster, 
Who  shall  reward  you  better  for  my  life 
Than  Edward  will  for  tidings  of  my  death. 

Sec.  Murd.     You  are  deceived,  your  brother  Gloster  hates  you. 

Clar.     O,  no,  he  loves  me,  and  he  holds  me  dear: 
Go  you  to  him  from  me. 

Both.  Ay,  so  we  will. 

Clar.     Tell  him,  when  that  our  princely  father  York 
Bless'd  his  three  sons  with  his  victorious  arm, 
And  charg'd  us  from  his  soul  to  love  each  other, 
He  little  thought  of  this  divided  friendship : 
Bid  Gloster  think  of  this,  and  he  will  weep. 

First  Murd.    Ay,  millstones  ;  as  he  lesson'd  us  to  weep. 

Clar.     O,  do  not  slander  him,  for  he  is  kind. 

First  Murd.  Right, 

As  snow  in  harvest.     Thou  deceivest  thyself: 
'Tis  he  that  sent  us  hither  now  to  slaughter  thee. 


FK02V  THE  SIDE   OF  PLOT. 


117 


Clar,     It  cannot  be  ;  for  when  I  parted  with  him,  CHAP.  V. 

He  hugg'd  me  in  his  arms,  and  swore,  with  sobs,  

That  he  would  labour  my  delivery. 
Sec.  Murd,     Why,  so  he  doth,  now  he  delivers  thee 

From  this  world's  thraldom  to  the  joys  of  heaven. 

In  the  King's  case  a  special  incident  is  introduced  into  the  ii.  i.  95. 
scene  to  point  the  irony.  Before  Edward  can  well  realise 
the  terrible  announcement  of  Clarence's  death,  the  decorum 
of  the  royal  chamber  is  interrupted  by  Derby,  who  bursts 
in,  anxious  not  to  lose  the  portion  of  the  king's  life  that  yet 
remains,  in  order  to  beg  a  pardon  for  his  follower.  The 
King  feels  the  shock  of  contrast : 

Have  I  a  tongue  to  doom  my  brother's  death, 
And  shall  the  same  give  pardon  to  a  slave  ? 

The  prerogative  of  mercy  that  exists  in  so  extreme  a  case  as 

the  murder  of  a  *  righteous  gentleman/  and  is  so  passionately 

sought  by  Derby  for  a  servant,  is  denied  to  the  King  himself 

for  the  deliverance  of  his  innocent  brother.     The  nemesis  iii.  ii,  from 

on  Hastings  is  saturated  with  irony ;  he  has  the  simplest  4I< 

reliance  on  Richard  and  on  '  his  servant  Catesby,'  who  has 

come  to  him  as  the  agent  of  Richard's  treachery ;  and  the 

very  words  of  the  scene  have  a  double  significance  that  all 

see  but  Hastings  himself. 

Hast.     I  tell  thee  Catesby,— 

Cafe.  What,  my  lord? 

Hast.     Ere  a  fortnight  make  me  elder 

I'll  send  some  packing  that  yet  think  not  on  it. 
Cote.     'Tis  a  vile  thing  to  die,  my  gracious  lord, 

When  men  are  unprepared,  and  look  not  for  it. 
Hast.     O  monstrous,  monstrous !  and  so  falls  it  out 

With  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey :  and  so  'twill  do 

With  some  men  else,  who  think  themselves  as  safe 

As  thou  and  I. 

As  the  scenes  with  Margaret  constituted  a  general  summary 
of  the  individual  prophecies  and  recognitions,  so  the  Recon-  ii.  i. 
•ciliation  Scene  around  the  King's  dying  bed  may  be  said  to 
gather  into  a  sort  of  summary  the  irony  distributed  through 


Ii8  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  V.  the  play ;  for  the  effect  of  the  incident  is  that  the  different 

'    - parties  pray  for  their  own  destruction.     In  this  scene  Buck- 

n* l'  32'      ingham  has  taken  the  lead  and  struck  the  most  solemn  notes 
in  his  pledge  of  amity ;  when  Buckingham  comes  to  die,  his 
bitterest  thought  seems  to  be  that  the  day  of  his  death  is  All 
v.  i,  from    Souls'  Day. 

This  is  the  day  that,  in  King  Edward's  time, 
I  wish'd  might  fall  on  me,  when  I  was  found 
False  to  his  children  or  his  wife's  allies ; 
This  is  the  day  wherein  I  wish'd  to  fall 
By  the  false  faith  of  him  I  trusted  most ;  .  .  .  . 
That  high  All- Seer  that  I  dallied  with 
Hath  turn'd  my  feigned  prayer  on  my  head 
And  given  in  earnest  what  I  begg'd  in  jest. 

By  devices,  then,  such  as  these ;  by  the  sudden  revelation  of 
a  remedy  when  it  is  just  too  late  to  use  it;  by  the  sudden 
memory  of  clear  warnings  blindly  missed ;  by  the  spectacle 
of  a  leaning  for  hope  upon  that  which  is  known  to  be  ground 
for  despair ;  by  attempts  to  retreat  or  turn  aside  proving 
short  cuts  to  destruction  ;  above  all  by  the  sufferer's  perception 
that  he  himself  has  had  a  chief  share  in  bringing  about  his 
doom  : — by  such  irony  the  monotony  of  Nemesis  is  relieved, 
and  fatality  becomes  flavoured  with  mockery. 
Thismulti-  Dramatic  design,  like  design  which  appeals  more  directly 

Nemesis  ^ tO  the  ^  haS  ilS  PersPective  :  to  miss  even  bv  a  little  the 
a  dramatic  point  of  view  from  which  it  is  to  be  contemplated  is  enough 

bforth°Und to  tlirow  the  wnole  into  distortion.     So  readers  who  are  not 
villainy  of  careful  to  watch  the  harmony  between  Character  and  Plot 
Rtc  iard.     kave  often  found  in  the  present  play  nothing  but  wearisome 
repetition.     Or,  as  there  is  only  a  step  between  the  sublime 
and  the  ridiculous,  this  masterpiece  of  Shakespearean  plot 
has  suggested  to  them  only  the  idea  of  Melodrama, — that 
curious  product  of  dramatic  feeling  without  dramatic  inven- 
tiveness, with  its  world  in  which  poetic  justice  has  become 
prosaic,  in  which  conspiracy  is  never  so  superhumanly  secret 
but  there  comes  a  still  more  superhuman  detection,  and  how- 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  119 

ever  successful  villainy  may  be  for  a  moment  the  spectator  CHAP.  V. 
confidently  relies  on  its  being  eventually  disposed  of  by  a 
summary  '  off  with  his  head/  The  point  of  view  thus  missed 
in  the  present  play  is  that  this  network  of  Nemesis  is  all 
needed  to  give  dramatic  reality  to  the  colossal  villainy  of  the 
principal  figure.  When  isolated,  the  character  of  Richard  is 
unrealisable  from  its  offence  against  an  innate  sense  of  re- 
tribution. Accordingly  Shakespeare  projects  it  into  a  world 
of  which,  in  whatever  direction  we  look,  retribution  is  the  sole 
visible  pattern ;  in  which,  as  we  are  carried  along  by  the 
movement  of  the  play,  the  unvarying  reiteration  of  Nemesis 
has  the  effect  of  giving  rhythm  to  fate. 

What  the  action  of  the  play  has  yielded  so  far  to  our  in-  The  motive 
vestigation  has  been  independent  of  the  central  personage :  *wholtpldy 
we   have  now  to   connect  Richard  himself  with  the  plot,  is  another 
Although  the  various  Nemesis  Actions  have  been  carried  on  ^^"|fe 
by  their  own  motion  and  by  the  force  of  retribution  as  a  and  Death 
principle  of  moral  government,  yet  there  is  not  one  of  them  ^ 
which  reaches  its  goal  without  at  some  point  of  its  course 
receiving  an  impetus  from  contact  with  Richard.     Richard 
is  thus  the  source  of  movement  to  the  whole  drama,  commu- 
nicating his  own  energy  through  all  parts.     It  is  only  fitting 
that  the  motive  force  to  this  system  of  nemeses  should  be 
itself  a  grand  Nemesis  Action,  the  Life  and  Death,  or  crime 
and  retribution,  of  Richard  III.     The  hero's  rise  has  been 
sufficiently  treated  in  the  preceding  study ;  it  remains  to  trace 
his  fall. 

This   fall   of  Richard   is   constructed   on    Shakespeare's  The  fall  of 

favourite  plan ;  its  force  is  measured,  not  by  suddenness  and  Rlchart^: 

not  a  snocK 

violence,  but  by  protraction  and  the  perception  of  distinct  but  a  suc- 
stages — the  crescendo  in  music  as  distinguished  from  the 
fortissimo.  Such  a  fall  is  not  a  mere  passage  through  the  air 
— one  shock  and  then  all  is  over — but  a  slipping  down  the 
face  of  the  precipice,  with  desperate  clingings  and  con- 
sciously increasing  impetus :  its  effect  is  the  one  inexhaust- 


120  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  V.  ible  emotion  of  suspense.     If  we  examine  the  point  at  which 
the  fall  begins  we  are  reminded  that  the  nemesis  on  Richard 
Not  a         is  different  in  its  type  from  the  others  in  the  play.     These 
7quaUty°Lt  are  (like  that  on  Shylock)  of  the  equality  type,  of  which  the 
of  surcness.  motto  is  measure  for  measure  :  and,  with  his  usual  exactness, 
Shakespeare  gives  us  a  turning-point  in  the  precise  centre 
iii.  iii.  15.  of  the  play,  where,  as  the  Queen's  kindred  are  being  borne 
to  their  death,  we  get  the  first  recognition  that  the  general 
retribution  denounced  by  Margaret  has  begun  to  work.    But 
the  turning-point  of  Richard's  fate  is  reserved  till  long  past 
the  centre  of  the  play ;   his  is  the  nemesis  of  sureness,  in 
which  the   blow  is  delayed   that  it  may  accumulate  force. 
Not  that  this  turning-point  is  reserved  to  the  very  end ;  the 
The  turn-   change   of  fortune   appears   just   when   Richard   has   com- 
^ronv^f  its  m^e^  himself  to   his   final   crime   in   the   usurpation — the 
delay.         murder   of  ihe    children — the  crime  from  which  his  most 
iv.  ii.  from  unscrupulous  accomplice  has  drawn  back.     The   effect   of 
this   arrangement   is  to  make  the  numerous  crimes  which 
follow  appear  to  come  by  necessity ;  he  is  '  so  far  in  blood 
that  sin  will  pluck  on  sin  ' ;  he  is  forced  to  go  on  heaping  up 
his  villainies  with  Nemesis  full  in  his  view.     This  turning- 
point  appears  in  the  simple  announcement  that  '  Dorset  has 
fled  to  Richmond.'      There  is  an  instantaneous  change  in 
Richard  to  an  attitude  of  defence,  which  is  maintained  to  the 
end.     His  first  instinct  is  action :   but  as  soon  as  we  have 
heard  the  rapid  scheme  of  measures — most  of  them  crimes — 
by  which  he  prepares  to  meet  his  dangers,  then  he  can  give 
from  98.     himself  up  to  meditation ;    and  we  now  begin  to  catch  the 
significance  of  what  has  been  announced.     The   name   of 
Richmond  has  been  just  heard  for  the  first  time  in  this  play. 
But  as  Richard  meditates  we   learn   how  Henry  VI  pro- 
phesied that  Richmond  should  be  a  king  while  he  was  but  a 
peevish   boy.     Again,  Richard  recollects  how  lately,  while 
viewing  a  castle  in  the  west,  the  mayor,  who  showed  him 
over  it,  mispronounced  its  name  as  '  Richmond ' — and  he  had 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  12 1 

started,  for  a  bard  of  Ireland  had  told  him  he  should  not  CHAP.  V. 

live  long  after  he  had  seen  Richmond.     Thus  the  irony  that     

has  given  point  to  all  the  other  retributions  in  the  play  is 
not  wanting  in  the  chief 'retribution  of  all:  Shakespeare 
compensates  for  so  long  keeping  the  grand  nemesis  out 
of  sight  by  thus  representing  Richard  as  gradually  realising 
that  the  finger  of  Nemesis  has  been  pointing  at  him  all  his  life 
and  he  lias  never  seen  it ! 

From  this  point  fate  never  ceases  to  tantalise  and  mock  Tantalis- 
Richard.     He  engages  in  his  measures  of  defence,  and  with  ^^f£/,_ 
their  villainy  his  spirits  begin  to  recover :  artfsfate. 

The  sons  of  Edward  sleep  in  Abraham's  bosom,  iv.  iii.  38. 

And  Anne  my  wife  hath  bid  the  world  good  night; 

young  Elizabeth  is  to  be  his  next  victim,  and 
To  her  I  go,  a  jolly  thriving  wooet. 

Suddenly  the  Nemesis   appears   again  with  the  news  that  comp.  49. 
Ely,  the  shrewd  bishop  he  dreads  most  of  all  men,  is  with  1V* iu*  45" 
Richmond,   and    that    Buckingham    has    raised    an    army. 
Again,  his  defence  is  completing,  and  the  wooing  of  Eliza- 
beth— his  masterpiece,  since  it  is  the  second  of  its  kind — has 
been  brought  to  an  issue  that  deserves  his  surprised  exulta- 
tion: 

Relenting  fool,  and  shallow,  changing  woman!  iv.  iv.  431. 

Suddenly  the  Nemesis  again  interrupts  him,  and  this  time  is 
nearer :  a  puissant  navy  has  actually  appeared  on  the  west. 
And  now  his  equanimity  begins  at  last  to  be  disturbed.     He  His  tqua- 
storms  at  Catesby  for  not  starting,  forgetting  that  he  hasj^J^^" 
given   him   no  message  to  take.     More  than  this,  a  little  iv.  iv.  444. 
further  on  Richard  changes  his  mind!     Through  the  rest  of  54°- 
the  long  scene  destiny  is  openly  playing  with  him,  giving 
him  just  enough  hope  to  keep  the  sense  of  despair  warm. 
Messenger  follows  messenger  in  hot  haste :  Richmond  is  on 
the  seas — Courtenay  has  risen  in  Devonshire— the   Guild- 
fords   are   up   in   Kent. — But   Buckingham's   army   is    dis- 


122  KING  RICHARD  III: 

CHAP.  V.  persed. — But  Yorkshire  has  risen. — But,  a  gleam  of  hope, 

the   Breton  navy  is  dispersed — a  triumph,  Buckingham  is 

taken. — Then,  finally,  Richmond  has  landed !     The  suspense 

is  telling  upon  Richard.    In  this  scene  he  strikes  a  messenger 

before   he   has   time  to  learn  that  he  brings  good  tidings. 

v.  iii.  2,  5,  When  we  next  see  him  he  wears  a  false  gaiety  and  scolds 

8j  &c'         his   followers   into    cheerfulness ;    but   with   the   gaiety   go 

sudden  fits  of  depression  : 

Here  will  I  lie  to-night ; 
But  where  to-morrow  ? 

v.  iii,  from  A  little  later  he  becomes  nervous,  and  we  have  the  minute 
47'  attention  to  details  of  the  man  who  feels  that  his  all  depends 

upon  one  cast ;  he  will  not  sup,  but  calls  for  ink  and  paper 
to  plan  the  morrow's  fight,  he  examines  carefully  as  to  his 
beaver  and  his  armour,  selects  White  Surrey  to  ride,  and  at 
last  calls  for  wine  and  confesses  a  change  in  himself: 

I  have  not  that  alacrity  of  spirit, 

Nor  cheer  of  mind,  that  I  was  wont  to  have. 

Climax  of       Then  comes  night,  and  with  it  the  full  tide  of  Nemesis. 
fat^sfoni-  ^V  t^ie  Device  °f  tne  apparitions  the  long  accumulation  of 
ficanceof    crimes  in  Richard's  rise  are  made  to  have  each  its  due  re- 
tfotts^*™'  Presentation  in  his  foil.     It  matters  not  that  they  are  only 
v.  iii,  from  apparitions.     Nemesis  itself  is  the  ghost  of  sin  :  its  sting  lies 
not  in  the  physical  force  of  the  blow,  but  in  the  close  con- 
nection  between   a   sin  and   its    retribution.     So    Richard's 
victims  rise  from  the  dead  only  to  secure  that  the  weight  of 
each  several  crime  shall  lie  heavy  on  his  soul  in  the  morrow's 
doom.     This  point  moreover  must  not  be  missed — that  the 
Signifi-       climax  of  his   fate   comes   to   Richard   in   his  sleep.     The 
Richard's    suPreme  conception  of  resistance  to  Deity  is  reached  when 
sleep.          God  is  opposed  by  God's  greatest  gift,  the  freedom  of  the 
will.     God,  so  it  is  reasoned,  is  omnipotent,  but  God  has 
made  man  omnipotent  in  setting  no  bounds  to  his  will ;   and 
God's  omnipotence  to  punish  may  be  met  by  man's  omni- 
potence to  endure.     Such  is  the  ancient  conception  of  Pro- 


FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  PLOT.  123 

metheus,  and  such  are  the  reasonings  Milton  has  imagined  CHAP.  V. 
for  his  Satan :  to  whom,  though  heaven  be  lost, 

All  is  not  lost,  the  unconquerable  will  .  .  . 
And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield. 

But  when  that  strange  bundle  of  greatness  and  littleness 
which  makes  up  man  attempts  to  oppose  with  such  weapons 
the  Almighty,  how  is  he  to  provide  for  those  states  in  which 
the  will  is  no  longer  the  governing  force  in  his  nature ;  for 
the  sickness,  in  which  the  mind  may  have  to  share  the 
feebleness  of  the  body,  or  for  the  daily  suspension  of  will  in 
sleep  ?  Richard  can  to  the  last  preserve  his  will  from  falter- 
ing. But,  like  all  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  must  some  time 
sleep :  that  which  is  the  refuge  of  the  honest  man,  when  he 
may  relax  the  tension  of  daily  care,  sleep,  is  to  Richard  his 
point  of  weakness,  when  the  safeguard  of  invincible  will  can 
protect  him  no  longer.  It  is,  then,  this  weak  moment  which 
a  mocking  fate  chooses  for  hurling  upon  Richard  the  whole 
avalanche  of  his  doom ;  as  he  starts  into  the  frenzy  of  his 
half -waking  soliloquy  we  see  him,  as  it  were,  tearing  off 
layer  after  layer  of  artificial  reasonings  with  which  the  will- 
struggles  of  a  lifetime  have  covered  his  soul  against  the  touch 
of  natural  remorse.  With  full  waking  his  will  is  as  strong 
as  ever :  but  meanwhile  his  physical  nature  has  been  shat- 
tered to  its  depths,  and  it  is  only  the  wreck  of  Richard  that 
goes  to  meet  his  death  on  Bosworth  field. 

There  is  no  need  to  dwell  on  the  further  stages  of  the  Remaining 
fall :  to  the  last  the  tantalising  mockery  continues.    Richard's  s^softhe 
spirits  rise  with  the  ordering  of  the  battle,  and  there  comes  v.  iii.  303. 
the  mysterious  scroll  to  tell  him  he  is  bought  and  sold.     His 
spirits  rise  again  as  the  fight  commences,  and  news  comes  of  v.  iii.  342. 
Stanley's  long-feared  desertion.     Five  times  in  the  battle  he 
has  slain  his  foe,  and  five  times  it  proves  a  false  Richmond,  v.  iv.  n. 
Thus  slowly  the  cup  is  drained  to  its  last  dregs  and  Richard 
dies.     The  play  opened  with  the  picture  of  peace,  the  peace  i,i,from  i. 
which  led  Richard's  turbid  soul,  no  longer  finding  scope  in 


124  KING  RICHARD  III. 

CHAP.  V.  physical  warfare,  to  turn  to  the  moral  war  of  villainy ;  from 
that  point  through  all  the  crowded  incidents  has  raged  the 
tumultuous  battle  between  Will  and  Nemesis;  with  Richard's 
death  it  ceases,  and  the  play  may  return  to  its  keynote : 

v.  v.  40.  Now  civil  wounds  are  stopp'd,  peace  lives  again. 


VI. 


How  NEMESIS  AND  DESTINY  ARE  INTER- 
WOVEN IN  MACBETH. 

A  further  Study  in  Plot. 


T 


HE  present  study,  like  the  last,  is  a  study  in  Plot.     The  CHAP.  VI. 

last  illustrated  Shakespeare's  grandeur  of  conception,  7 

,  .      ,          •      •   i     •    i    i  j   c  -j        v      .       .        .          .Macbeth  as 

how  a  single  principle  is  held  firm  amidst  the  intricacies  of  a  study  of 

history,  and  reiterated  in  every  detail.     The  present  purpose  subtlety  in 
is  to  give  an  example  of  Shakespeare's  subtlety,  and  to  exhibit 
the  incidents  of  a  play  bound  together  not  by  one,  but  by 
three,  distinct  threads  of  connection — or,  if  a  technical  term  Its  three- 
may  be   permitted,  three   Forms   of  Dramatic   Action — ^  fold  action. 
working  harmoniously  together  into  a  design  equally  involved 
and  symmetrical.     One  of  these  forms  is  Nemesis  ;  the  other 
two  are  borrowed  from  the  ancient  Drama :  it  thus  becomes 
necessary  to  digress  for  a  moment,  in  order  to  notice  certain 
differences  between   the  ancient  and  modern   Drama,  and 
between  the  ancient  and  modern  thought  of  which  the  Drama 
is  the  expression. 

In  the  ancient  Classical  Drama  the  main  moral  idea  under-  in  the 
lying  its  action  is  the  idea  of  Destiny.     The  ancient  world  %"£se 
recognised  Deity,  but  their  deities  were  not  supreme  in  the  ancient  to 
universe ;   Zeus  had   gained   his   position   by  a  revolution,  J^J"' 
and  in  his  turn  was  to  be  overthrown  by  revolution ;    there  changes 
was  thus,  in  ancient  conception,  behind  Deity  a  yet  higher  TJJto 
force  to  which  Deity  itself  was  subject.     The  supreme  force 
of  the  universe  has  by  a  school  of  modern  thought  been  de- 
fined as  a  stream  of  tendency  in  things  not  ourselves  making 


126  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  for  righteousness :  if  we  attempt  to  adapt  this  formula  to  the 

ideas  of  antiquity  the  difficulty  will  be  in  finding  anything  to 

substitute  for  the  word  '  righteousness.'  Sometimes  the  sum 
of  forces  in  the  universe  did  seem,  in  the  conception  of  the 
ancients,  to  make  for  righteousness,  and  Justice  became  the 
highest  law.  At  other  times  the  world  seemed  to  them 
governed  by  a  supernatural  Jealousy,  and  human  prosperity 
was  struck  down  for  no  reason  except  that  it  was  prosperity. 
In  such  philosophy  as  that  of  Lucretius,  again,  the  tendency 
of  all  things  was  towards  Destruction ;  while  in  the  handling 
of  legends  such  as  that  of  Hippolytus  there  is  a  suggestion  of 
a  dark  interest  to  ancient  thought  in  conceiving  Evil  itself  as 
an  irresistible  force.  It  appears,  then,  that  the  ancient  mind 
had  caught  the  idea  of  force  in  the  universe,  without  adding 
to  it  the  further  idea  of  a  motive  by  which  that  force  was 
guided :  blind  fate  was  the  governing  power  over  all  other 
powers.  With  this  simple  conception  of  force  as  ruling  the 
world,  modern  thought  has  united  as  a  motive  righteousness 
or  law  :  the  transition  from  ancient  to  modern  thought  may 
be  fairly  described  by  saying  that  Destiny  has  become 
changed  into  Providence  as  the  supreme  force  of  the  uni- 
Tke  change  verse.  The  change  may  be  well  illustrated  by  comparing  the 
1  ancient  and  ancient  anc*  modern  conception  of  Nemesis.  To  ancient 
modern  thought  Nemesis  was  simply  one  phase  of  Destiny ;  the  story 
of  Polycrates  has  been  quoted  in  a  former  study  to  illustrate 
how  Nemesis  appeared  to  the  Greek  mind  as  capricious  a 
deity  as  Fortune,  a  force  that  might  at  any  time,  heedless  of 
desert,  check  whatever  happiness  was  high  enough  to  attract 
its  attention.  But  in  modern  ideas  Nemesis  and  justice  are 
strictly  associated:  Nemesis  may  be  defined  as  the  artistic 
side  of  justice. 

So  far  as  Nemesis  then  is  concerned,  it  has,  in  modern 
thought,  passed  altogether  out  of  the  domain  of  Destiny  and 
been  absorbed  into  the  domain  of  law :  it  is  thus  fitted  to  be 
one  of  the  regular  forms  into  which  human  history  may  be 


NEMESIS.  127 

represented  as  falling,  in  harmony  with  our  modern  moral  CHAP.  VI. 

conceptions.     But  even  as  regards  Destiny  itself,  while  the 

notion  as  a  whole  is  out  of  harmony  with  the  modern  notion 

of  law  and  Providence  as   ruling  forces  of  the  world,  yet 

certain  minor  phases  of  Destiny  as  conceived  by  antiquity 

have  survived  into  modern  times  and  been  found  not  irre-  Nemesis 

concilable  with  moral  law.     Two  of  these  minor  phases  o>{a"d  D.es~ 

tiny  tn- 

Destiny  are,  it  will  be  shown,  illustrated  in  Macbeth  :    and  terwoven 


we  may  thus  take  as  a  general  description  of  its  plot,  the 
interweaving  of  Destiny  with  Nemesis. 

That  the  career  of  Macbeth  is  an  example  of  Nemesis  The  whole 
needs  only  to  be  stated.     As  in  the  case  of  Richard  III,  ^^^emesis 
have  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  leading  personage  ;   the  rise  is  a  Action, 
crime  of  which  the  fall  is  the  retribution.     Nemesis  has  just 
been  defined  as  the  artistic  aspect  of  justice;  we  have  in 
previous  studies  seen  different  artistic  elements  in  different 
types   of  Nemesis.     Sometimes,   as   with   Richard  III,   the 
retribution  becomes  artistic  through  its  sureness;    its  long 
delay  renders  the  effect  of  the  blow  more  striking  when  it 
does  come.     More  commonly  the  artistic  element  in  Nemesis  of  the  type 
consists  in  the  perfect  equality  between  the  sin  and  its  retri-  °fe^ualtty- 
bution  ;   and  of  the  latter  type  the  Nemesis  in  the  play  of 
Macbeth  is  perhaps  the  most  conspicuous  illustration.     The 
rise   and   fall   of   Macbeth,   to   borrow    the    illustration   of 
Gervinus,  constitute  a  perfect  arch,  with  a  turning-point  in 
the  centre.     Macbeth's  series  of  successes  is  unbroken  till  it 
ends  in  the  murder  of  Banquo  ;  his  series  of  failures  is  un- 
broken from  its  commencement  in  the  escape  of  Fleance. 
Success  thus  constituting  the  first  half  and  failure  the  second 
half  of  the  play,  the  transition  from  the  one  to  the  other  is 
the  expedition  against  Banquo  and  Fleance,  in  which  success 
and  failure  are  mingled  :  and  this  expedition,  the  keystone  to 
the  arch,  is  found  to  occupy  the  exact  middle  of  the  middle  iii.  iii. 
Act. 

But  this  is  not  all  :    not  only  is  the  play  as  a  whole  an 


128  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  example  of  nemesis,  but  if  its  two  halves  be  taken  sepa- 

~  ,  rately  they  will  be  found  to  constitute  each  a  nemesis  com- 

Macbcth  a   plete  in  itself.     To  begin  with  the  first  half,  that  which  is 


occupied  with  the  rise  of  Macbeth.  If  the  plan  of  the  play 
action.  extended  no  further  than  to  make  the  hero's  fall  the  retribu- 
tion upon  his  rise,  it  might  be  expected  that  the  turning- 
point  of  the  action  would  be  reached  upon  Macbeth's 
elevation  to  the  throne.  As  a  fact,  however,  Macbeth's  rise 
does  not  stop  here  ;  he  still  goes  on  to  win  one  more  success 
in  his  attempt  upon  the  life  of  Banquo.  What  the  purpose  of 
this  prolonged  flow  of  fortune  is  will  be  seen  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  this  final  success  of  the  hero  is  in  reality  the 
source  of  his  ruin.  In  Macbeth's  progress  to  the  attainment 
of  the  crown,  while  of  course  it  was  impossible  that  crimes  so 
violent  as  his  should  not  incur  suspicion,  yet  circumstances 
had  strangely  combined  to  soothe  these  suspicions  to  sleep. 
But  —  so  Shakespeare  manipulates  the  story  —  when  Macbeth, 
seated  on  the  throne,  goes  on  to  the  attempt  against  Banquo, 
this  additional  crime  not  only  brings  its  own  punishment,  but 
has  the  further  effect  of  unmasking  the  crimes  that  have  gone 
before.  This  important  point  in  the  plot  is  brought  out  to  us 
in  a  scene,  specially  introduced  for  the  purpose,  in  which 
Lennox  and  another  lord  represent  the  opinion  of  the 
court. 

iii.  vi.  I.  Lennox.    My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts, 

Which  can  interpret  further  :  only,  I  say, 
Things  have,  been  strangely  borne.     The  gracious  Duncan 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth  :  many,  he  was  dead  : 
And  the  right-valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late  ; 
Whom,  you  may  say,  if't  please  you,  Fleance  kill'd, 
For  Fleance  fled  :   men  must  not  walk  too  late. 
Who  cannot  want  the  thought  how  monstrous 
It  was  for  Malcolm  and  for  Donalbain 
To  kill  their  gracious  father?   damned  fact! 
How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth  !   did  he  not  straight 
In  pious  rage  the  two  delinquents  tear, 
That  were  the  slaves  of  drink  and  thralls  of  sleep  ? 


NEMESIS  AS  A  FORM  OF  ACTION. 


129 


Was  not  that  nobly  done  ?    Ay,  and  wisely  too  ;  CHAP.  VI. 

For  'twould  have  anger1  d  any  heart  alive  - 

To  hear  the  men  deny't.     So  that,  I  say, 

He  has  borne  all  things  well  :   and  I  do  think 

That  had  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key  — 

As,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not  —  they  should  find 

What  'twere  to  kill  a  father;    so  should  Fleance. 

Under  the  bitter  irony  of  this  speech  we  can  see  clearly 
enough  that  Macbeth  has  been  exposed  by  his  series  of 
suspicious  acts  ;  he  has  '  done  all  things  well  '  ;  and  in 
particular  by  peculiar  resemblances  between  this  last  incident 
of  Banquo  and  Fleance  and  the  previous  incident  of  Duncan 
and  his  son.  It  appears  then  that  Macbeth's  last  successful 
crime  proves  the  means  by  which  retribution  overtakes  all  his 
other  crimes  ;  the  latter  half  of  the  play  is  needed  to  develop 
the  steps  of  the  retribution,  but,  in  substance,  Macbeth's  fall 
is  latent  in  the  final  step  of  his  rise.  Thus  the  first  half  of 
the  play,  that  which  traces  the  rise  of  Macbeth,  is  a  complete 
Nemesis  Action  —  a  career  of  sins  in  which  the  last  sin  secures 
the  punishment  of  all. 

The  same  reasoning  applies  to  the  latter  half  of  the  play  :  The  fall  of 
the  fall  of  Macbeth  not  only  serves  as  the  retribution  for  his  A£g££e  a 
rise,  but  further  contains  in  itself  a  crime  and  its  nemesis  Nemesis 
complete.     What  Banquo  is  to  the   first  half  of  the  play  Actim- 
Macduff  is  to  the  latter  half;  the  two  balance  one  another  as, 
in  the  play  of  Julius  Ctzsar,  Caesar  himself  is  balanced  by 
Antony;  and  Macduff  comes  into  prominence  upon  Banquo's 
death  as  Antony  upon  the  fall  of  Caesar.     Now  Macduff,  when 
he  finally  slays  Macbeth,  is  avenging  not  only  Scotland,  but 
also  his  own  wrongs  ;  and  the  tyrant's  crime  against  Macduff, 
with  its  retribution,  just  gives  unity  to  the  second  half  of  the 
play,  in  the  way  in  which  the  first  half  was  made  complete  by 
the  association  between  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  from  their  joint 
encounter  with  the  Witches  on  to  the  murder  of  Banquo  as  iii. 
a  consequence  of  the  Witches'  prediction.     Accordingly  we  ?2* 
find  that  no  sooner  has  Macbeth,  by  the  appearance  of  the 

K 


57- 


1 30  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  Ghost  at  the  banquet,  realised  the  turn  of  fate,  than  his  first 
thoughts  are  of  Macduff: 

iii.  iv.  128.      Macbeth.     How  say'st  them,  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 

At  our  great  bidding? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 

Macbeth.     I  hear  it  by  the  way  ;  but  I  will  send. 

When  the  Apparitions  bid  Macbeth  'beware  Macduff/  he 

answers, 

iv.  i.  74.  Thou  hast  harp'd  my  fear  aright ! 

iv.  i,  from  On  the  vanishing  of  the  Apparition  Scene,  the  first  thing  that 
I39'  happens  is  the  arrival  of  news  that   Macduff  has  fled   to 

England,  and  is  out  of  his  enemy's  power ;  then  Macbeth's 

bloody  thoughts  devise  a  still  more  cruel  purpose  of  vengeance 

to  be  taken  on  the  fugitive's  family. 

Time,  thou  anticipatest  my  drend  exploits : 

The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook 

Unless  the  deed  go  with  it  .... 

The  castle  of  Macduff  I  will  surprise ; 

Seize  upon  Fife ;   give  to  the  edge  o'  the  sword 

His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 

That  trace  him  in  his  line. 

iv.  ii,  iii.  In  succeeding  scenes  we  have  this  diabolical  massacre  carried 
out,  and  see  the  effect  which  the  news  of  it  has  in  rousing 

v.  vii.  15.  Macduff  to  his  revenge ;  until  in  the  final  scene  of  all  he  feels 
that  if  Macbeth  is  slain  and  by  no  stroke  of  his,  his  wife  and 
children's  ghosts  will  for  ever  haunt  him.  Thus  Macduff  s 
function  in  the  play  is  to  be  the  agent  not  only  of  the  grand 
nemesis  which  constitutes  the  whole  plot,  but  also  of  a 
nemesis  upon  a  private  wrong  which  occupies  the  latter  half 
of  the  play.  And,  putting  our  results  together,  we  find  that 
a  Nemesis  Action  is  the  description  alike  of  the  whole  plot 
and  of  the  rise  and  fall  which  are  its  two  halves. 

TheOracu-      With  Nemesis  is  associated  in  the  play  of  Macbeth  Destiny 

phase  of      m  two  distinct  phases.     The  first  of  these  is  the  Oracular.     In 

Destiny:     ancient  thought,  as  Destiny  was  the  supreme  governor  of  the 
its  partial         .  .  •       _       .  .    . 

revelation    universe,  so  oracles  were  the  revelation  of  Destiny ;  and  thus 


THE   ORACULAR  ACTION.  131 

the  term  '  the  Oracles  of  God '  is  appropriately  applied  to  CHAP.  VI. 
the  Bible  as  the  Christian  revelation.     With  the  advent  of 
Christianity  the  oracles  became  dumb.     But  the  triumph  of 
Christianity  was  for  centuries  incomplete ;    heathen  deities  , 
were  not  extirpated,  but  subordinated  to  the  supernatural 
personages  of  the  new  religion ;  and  the  old  oracles  declined  A  minor 
into   oracular    beings    such   as   witches   and   wizards,    and  Qracular* 
oracular  superstitions,  such  as  magic  mirrors,  dreams,  appa-  in  modern 
ritions — all  means  of  dimly  revealing  hidden  destiny.    Shake- 
speare  is  never  wiser  than  the  age  he  is  pourtraying;  and 
accordingly  he  has  freely  introduced  witches  and  apparitions 
into  the  machinery  of  Macbeth,  though  in  the  principles  that 
govern  the  action  of  this,  as  of  all  his  other  plays,  he  is  true 
to  the  modern  notions  of  Providence  and  moral  law.     An  The  Grant- 
oracle  and  its  fulfilment  make  up  a  series  of  events  eminently  ^^y°" 
fitted   to   constitute   a   dramatic  interest;    and  no  form  of  working 
ancient  Drama  and  Story  is  more  common  than  this  of  the*™JJ      fo 
1  Oracular  Action/    Its  interest  may  be  formulated  as  Destiny  clearness; 
working  from  mystery  to  clearness.     At  the  commencement 
of  an  oracular  story  the  fated  future  is  revealed  indeed,  but 
in  a  dress  of  mystery,  as  when  the  Athenians  are  bidden  to 
defend  themselves  with  only  wooden  walls ;  but  as  the  story 
of  Themistocles  develops  itself,  the  drift  of  events  is  throwing 
more  and  more  light  on  to  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  oracle, 
until  by  the  naval  victory  over  the  Persians  the  oracle  is  at 
once  clear  and  fulfilled. 

The  Oracular  Action  is  so  important  an  element  in  plot, 
that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  prolong  the  consideration  of  it 
by  noting  the  three  principal  varieties  into  which  it  falls,  all 
of  which  are  illustrated  in  the  play  of  Macbeth.  In  each  case 
the  interest  consists  in  tracing  the  working  of  Destiny  out  of 
mystery  into  clearness :  the  distinction  between  the  varieties 
depends  upon  the  agency  by  which  Destiny  works,  and  the  (i)  by  the 
relation  of  this  agency  to  the  original  oracle.  In  the  first 
variety  Destiny  is  fulfilled  by  the  agency  of  blind  obedience,  ence ; 

K  2 


I32  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  The  Spartans,  unfortunate  in  their  war  with  the  Messenians, 
enquire  of  an  oracle,  and  receive  the  strange  response  that 
they  must  apply  for  a  general  to  the  Athenians,  their  heredi- 
tary enemies.  But  they  resolve  to  obey  the  voice  of  Destiny, 
though  to  all  appearance  they  obey  at  their  peril ;  and  the 
Athenians  mock  them  by  selecting  the  most  unfit  subject 
they  can  find — a  man  whose  bodily  infirmities  had  excluded 
him  from  the  military  exercises  altogether.  Yet  in  the  end 
the  faith  of  the  Spartans  is  rewarded.  It  had  been  no  lack 
of  generalship  that  had  caused  their  former  defeats,  but  dis- 
cord and  faction  in  their  ranks  ;  now  Tyrtaeus  turned  out  to 
be  a  lyric  poet,  whose  songs  roused  the  spirit  of  the  Spartans 
and  united  them  as  one  man,  and  when  united,  their  native 
military  talent  led  them  to  victory.  Thus  in  its  fulfilment  the 
hidden  meaning  of  the  oracle  breaks  out  into  clearness  : 
and  blind  obedience  to  the  oracle  is  the  agency  by  which  it 
has  been  fulfilled. 

(2)  by  the  In  the  second  variety  the  oracle  is  fulfilled  by  the  agency 
"freewill-  °f  indifference  an<3  free  will :  it  is  neither  obeyed  nor  dis- 
obeyed, but  ignored.  One  of  the  best  illustrations  is  to  be 
found  in  the  plot  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novel,  The  Betrothed. 
Its  heroine,  more  rational  than  her  age,  resists  the  family 
tradition  that  would  condemn  her  to  sleep  in  the  haunted 
chamber;  overborne,  however,  by  age  and  authority,  she 
consents,  and  the  lady  of  the  bloody  finger  appears  to  pro- 
nounce her  doom  : 

Widow'd  wife,  and  wedded  maid ; 
Betrothed,  Betrayer,  and  Betrayed. 

This  seems  a  mysterious  destiny  for  a  simple  and  virtuous 
girl.  The  faithful  attendant  Rose  declares  in  a  burst  of  devo- 
tion that  betrayed  her  mistress  may  be,  but  betrayer  never ;  the 
heroine  herself  braces  her  will  to  dismiss  the  foreboding  from 
her  thoughts,  and  resolves  that  she  will  not  be  influenced  by 
it  on  the  one  side  or  on  the  other.  Yet  it  all  comes  about. 
Gratitude  compels  her  to  give  her  hand  to  the  elderly 


THE  ORACULAR  ACTION.  133 

Constable,  who  on  the  very  day  of  betrothal  is  summoned  CHAP.  VI. 

away  to  the  Crusade,  from  which,  as  it  appears,  he  is  never  to     

return,  leaving  his  spouse  at  once  a  widowed  wife  and  a 
wedded  maid.  In  the  troubles  of  that  long  absence,  by  a 
perfectly  natural  series  of  events,  gratitude  again  leads  the 
heroine  to  admit  to  her  castle  her  real  deliverer  and  lover  in 
order  to  save  his  life,  and  in  protecting  him  amidst  strange 
circumstances  of  suspicion  to  bid  defiance  to  all  comers. 
Finally  the  castle  is  besieged  by  the  royal  armies,  and  the 
heroine  has  to  hear  herself  proclaimed  a  traitor  by  the  herald 
of  England ;  from  this  perplexity  a  deliverance  is  found  only 
when  her  best  friend  saves  her  by  betraying  the  castle  to  the 
king.  So  every  detail  in  the  unnatural  doom  has  been  in  the 
most  natural  manner  fulfilled :  and  the  woman  by  whose 
action  it  has  been  fulfilled  has  been  all  the  while  maintaining 
the  freedom  of  her  will  and  persistently  ignoring  the  oracle. 

But  the  supreme  interest  of  the  Oracular  Action  is  reached  (3)  by  flu 
when  the  oracle  is  fulfilled  by  an  agency  that  has  all  the 
while  set  itself  to  oppose  and  frustrate  it.  A  simple  illustra- 
tion  of  this  is  seen  in  the  Eastern  potentate  who,  in  opposition 
to  a  prophecy  that  his  son  should  be  killed  by  a  lion,  forbad 
the  son  to  hunt,  but  heaped  upon  him  every  other  indulgence. 
In  particular  he  built  him  a  pleasure-house,  hung  with 
pictures  of  hunting  and  of  wild  beasts,  on  which  all  that  art 
could  do  was  lavished  to  compensate  for  the  loss  of  the  for- 
bidden sport.  One  day  the  son,  chafing  at  his  absence  from 
the  manly  exercise  in  which  his  comrades  were  at  that 
moment  engaged,  wandered  through  his  pleasure-house,  until, 
stopping  at  a  magnificient  picture  of  a  lion  at  bay,  he  began 
to  apostrophise  it  as  the  source  of  his  disgrace,  and  waxing 
still  more  angry,  drove  his  fist  through  the  picture.  A  nail, 
hidden  behind  the  canvas,  entered  his  hand ;  the  wound 
festered,  and  he  died.  So  the  measures  taken  to  frustrate  the 
destiny  proved  the  means  of  fulfilling  it.  But  in  this  third 
variety  of  the  Oracular  Action  the  classical  illustration  is  the 


134  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  story  of  OEdipus  :  told  full}7,  it  presents  three  examples  woven 

together.    Laius  of  Thebes  learns  from  an  oracle  that  the  son 

about  to  be  born  to  him  is  destined  to  be  his  murderer; 
accordingly  he  refuses  to  rear  the  child,  and  it  is  cast  out  to 
perish.  A  herdsman  rescues  the  infant,  and  afterwards  dis- 
poses of  it  surreptitiously  to  the  childless  wife  of  Polybus, 
king  of  Corinth,  keeping  the  secret  of  its  birth.  In  due 
time  this  CEdipus  seeks  advice  of  the  oracle  as  to  his  future 
career,  and  receives  the  startling  response  that  he  is  destined 
to  slay  his  own  father.  Resolved  to  frustrate  so  terrible  a 
fate,  he  will  not  return  to  Corinth,  but,  as  it  happens,  takes 
the  road  to  Thebes,  where  he  falls  in  accidentally  with  Laius, 
and,  in  ignorance  of  his  person,  quarrels  with  him  and  slays 
him.  Now  if  Laius  had  not  resisted  the  oracle  by  casting 
out  the  infant,  it  would  have  grown  up  like  other  sons,  and 
every  probability  would  have  been  against  his  committing 
so  terrible  a  crime  as  parricide.  Again,  if  the  herdsman  had 
not,  by  sending  the  child  out  of  the  country,  sought  to  bar  him 
against  a  chance  of  the  dreadful  fate  prophesied  for  him, 
he  would  have  known  the  person  of  Laius  and  spared  him. 
Once  more,  if  CEdipus  had  not,  in  opposition  to  the  oracle, 
avoided  his  supposed  home,  Corinth,  he  would  never  have 
gone  to  Thebes  and  fallen  in  with  his  real  father.  Three 
different  persons  acting  separately  seek  to  frustrate  a  declared 
destiny,  and  their  action  unites  in  fulfilling  it. 

The  plot  of  Macbeth,  both  as  a  whole  and  in  its  separate 

parts,  is  constructed  upon  this  form  of  the  Oracular  Action, 

in  combination  with  the  form  of  Nemesis.     The  play  deals 

with  the  rise  and  fall  of  Macbeth  :   the  rise,  and  the  fall,  and 

again   the   two   taken   together,   present   each  of  them  an 

The  rise  of  example  of  an  Oracular  Action.     Firstly,  the  former  half  of 

Oracular'1  l^e  P^av»  tne  r*se  °f  Macbeth,  taken  by  itself,  consists  in  an 

Action,       oracle  and  its  fulfilment — the  Witches'  promise  of  the  crown 

and   the   gradual   steps   by   which    the   crown   is   attained. 

Amongst  the  three  varieties  of  the  Oracular  Action  we  have 


THE   ORACULAR  ACTION.  135 

just  distinguished,  the  present  example  wavers  between  the  CHAP.  VI. 
first  and  the  second.  After  his  first  excitement  has  passed 
away,  Macbeth  resolves  that  he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  temptation  that  lurked  in  the  Witches'  words ;  in  his  second  and 
disjointed  meditation  we  hear  him  saying: 

If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why  chance  may  crown  me          i  in.  143. 
Without  my  stir; 

and  again  : 

Come  what  come  may,  i.  iii.  146. 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day; 

in  which  last  speech  the  very  rhyming  may,  according  to 
Shakespeare's  subtle  usage,  be  pointed  to  as  marking  a  mind 
made  up.  So  far  then  we  appear  to  be  following  an  Oracular 
Action  of  the  second  type,  that  of  indifference  and  ignoring. 
But  in  the  very  next  scene  the  proclamation  of  a  Prince  of 
Cumberland — that  is,  of  an  heir-apparent  like  our  Prince  of 
Wales — takes  away  Macbeth's  '  chance  ' : 

Macb.     [Aside].    The  prince  of  Cumberland  !  that  is  a  step  i.  iv.  48. 

On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies. 

He  instantly  commits  himself  to  the  evil  suggestion,  and  thus 
changes  the  type  of  action  to  the  first  variety,  that  in  which 
the  oracle  is  fulfilled  by  the  agency  of  obedience. 

Similarly  Macbeth's  fall,   taken  by  itself,  constitutes  an  The  fall  an 
Oracular  Action,  consisting  as  it  does  of  the  ironical  promises  °^tion^of 
given  by  the  Apparitions  which  the  Witches  raise  for  Macbeth  the  first 
on  his  visit  to  them,  and  the  course  of  events  by  which  these  ty^e' 
promises   are   fulfilled.      Its    type    is    a   highly   interesting 
example  of  the  first  variety,  that  of  blind  obedience.     The  iv.  i.  71- 
responses  of  the  Apparitions  lay  down  impossible  conditions,  I0°* 
and  as  long  as  these  conditions  are  unfulfilled  Macbeth  is  to 
be  secure ;  he  will  fall  only  when  one  not  born  of  woman 
shall  be  his  adversary,  only  when  Birnam  Wood  shall  come 
to  Dunsinane.     Macbeth  trusts  blindly  to  these  promises; 
further  he  obeys  them,  so  far  as  a  man  can  be  said  to  obey 


136  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  an  oracle  which  enjoins  no  command  :  he  obeys  in  the  sense 

of  relying  on  them,  and  making  that  reliance  his  ground 

of  action.  But  this  reliance  of  Macbeth  on  the  ironical 
promises  is  an  agency  in  fulfilling  them  in  their  real  mean- 
iv.  i.  144-  ing.  In  his  reckless  confidence  he  strikes  out  right  and  left, 
and  amongst  others  injures  one  to  whom  the  description 
'not  born  of  woman*  applies.  In  his  reliance  on  the 
Apparitions  he  proceeds,  when  threatened  by  the  English,  to 
shut  himself  up  in  Dunsinane  Castle ;  but  for  this  fact  the 
English  army  would  not  have  approached  Dunsinane  Castle 
by  the  route  of  Birnam  Wood,  and  the  incident  of  the  boughs 
would  never  have  taken  place.  Thus  Macbeth's  fate  was 
made  to  depend  upon  impossibilities :  by  his  action  in 
reliance  on  these  impossibilities  he  is  all  the  while  giving 
them  occasion  to  become  possible.  In  this  way  an  ironical 
oracle  comes  to  be  fulfilled  by  the  agency  of  blind  obe- 
dience. 

The  whole       Thirdly,  the  rise  and  fall  of  Macbeth  are  so  linked  to- 

^Ordcular    &et^er  as  to  constitute  the  whole  plot  another  example  of  the 

Action  of    Oracular  Action.     The  original  oracle  given  by  the  Witches 

fe*hzrd    on  the  blasted  heath  was  a  double  oracle  :  besides  the  promise 

i  iii  48-    °^  *^e  thaneships  and  the  crown  there  was  another  revelation 

50,  62-66.  of  destiny,  that  Banquo  was  to  be  lesser  than  Macbeth  and 

yet  greater,  that  he  was  to  get  kings  though  to  be  none.     In 

this  latter  half  of  the  oracle  is  found  the  link  which  binds 

together  the  rise  and  fall  of  Macbeth.     When  the  first  half 

of  the  Witches'  promise  has  been  fulfilled  in  his  elevation  to 

the  throne,  Macbeth  sets  himself  to  prevent  the  fulfilment  of 

the  second  half  by  his  attempt  upon  Banquo  and  Fleance. 

Now  we  have  already  seen  how  this  attempt  has  the  effect  of 

drawing  attention,  not  only  to  itself,  but  also  to  Macbeth's 

other  crimes,  and  proves  indeed  the  foundation  of  his  ruin. 

Had  Macbeth  been  content  with  the  attainment  of  the  crown, 

all  might  yet  have  been  well :   the  addition  of  just  one  more 

precaution  renders  all  the  rest  vain.    It  appears,  then,  that  that 


IRONY  AS  A  FORM  OF  ACTION.  137 

which  binds  together  the  rise  and  the  fall,  that  which  makes  CHAP.  VI. 
the  fall  the  retribution  upon  the  rise,  is  the  expedition  against 
the  Banquo  family ;  and  the  object  of  this  crime  is  to 
frustrate  the  second  part  of  the  Witches'  oracle.  So  the 
original  oracle  becomes  the  motive  force  to  the  whole  play, 
setting  in  motion  alike  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  action.  The 
figure  of  the  whole  plot  we  have  taken  as  a  regular  arch  ;  its 
movement  might  be  compared  to  that  terrible  incident  of 
mining  life  known  as  'overwinding/  in  which  the  steam  engine 
pulls  the  heavy  cage  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  the  shaft, 
but,  instead  of  stopping  then,  winds  on  till  the  cage  is  carried 
over  the  pulley  and  dashed  down  again  to  the  bottom.  So 
the  force  of  the  Witches'  prediction  is  not  exhausted  when  it 
has  tempted  Macbeth  on  to  the  throne,  but  carries  him  on  to 
resist  its  further  clauses,  and  in  resisting  to  bring  about  the 
fall  by  which  they  are  fulfilled.  Not  only  then  are  the  rise 
and  the  fall  of  Macbeth  taken  separately  oracular,  but  the  whole 
plot,  compounded  of  the  two  taken  together,  constitutes 
another  Oracular  Action  ;  and  the  last  is  of  that  type  in  which 
Destiny  is  fulfilled  by  the  agency  of  a  will  that  has  been 
opposing  it. 

A  second  phase  of  Destiny  enters  into  the  plot  of  Macleth  :  Irony  a 
this  is  Irony.     Etymologically  the  word  means  no  more  than  ^ifJnant 
saying.     Pressing  the  idea  of  saying  as  distinguished  from  Destiny. 
meaning  we  get   at    the   ordinary  signification,  ambiguous 
speech ;  from  which  the  word  widens  in  its  usage  to  include 
double-dealing  in  general,  such  as  the  'irony  of  Socrates/ 
his  habit  of  assuming  the  part  of  a  simple  enquirer  in  order 
to  entangle  the  pretentious  sophists  in  their  own  wisdom. 
The   particular  extension   of  meaning  with  which  we  are 
immediately  concerned  is  that  by  which  irony  comes  to  be 
applied  to  a  double-dealing  in  Destiny  itself;  the  link  between 
this  and  the  original  sense  being  no  doubt  the  ambiguous 
wording  of  oracular  responses  which  has  become  proverbial. 
In  ancient  conception  Destiny  wavered  between  justice  and 


138  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  malignity ;   a  leading  phase  of  malignant  destiny  was  this 

Irony  or  double-dealing ;  Irony  was  the  laughter  or  mockery 

of  Fate.   It  is  illustrated  in  the  angry  measures  of  CEdipus  for 
penetrating  the  mystery  that  surrounds  the  murder  of  Laius 
in   order   to   punish    the    crime,   impunity  for   which    has 
brought  the  plague  upon  his  city:  when  at  last  it  is  made 
clear  that  (Edipus  himself  has  been  unknowingly  the  culprit, 
there  arises  an  irresistible  sensation  that  Destiny  has  been  all 
the  while  playing  with  the  king,  and  using  his  zeal  as  a 
means  for  working  his  destruction.     In  modern  thought  the 
supreme  force  of  the  universe  cannot  possibly  be  represented 
A  modified  as  malignant.    But  mockery,  though  it  may  not  be  enthroned 
tice'tn^t'5'  *n  OPP02*1*011  to  justice,  may  yet,  without  violating  modern 
mocking      ideas,  be  made  to  appear  in  the  mode  of  operation  by  which 
ur'     justice  is  brought  about ;    here  mockery  is  no  longer  malig- 
nant, but  simply  an  index  of  overpowering  force,  just  as  we 
smile  at  the  helpless  stubbornness  of  a  little  child,  whereas  a 
man's  opposition  makes  us  angry.     For  such  a  reconciliation 
of  mockery  with   righteousness   we   have   authority  in  the 
imagery  of  Scripture. 

Why  do  the  heathen  rage? 

And  the  people  imagine  a  vain  thing? 
The  kings  of  the  earth  set  themselves 

And  the  rulers  take  counsel  together 
Against  the  Lord 

And  against  His  Anointed  : 
Saying,  Let  us  break  their  bonds, 

And  cast  away  their  cords  from  us. 

He  that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh  : 
The  Lord  shall  have  them  in  derision. 

Then  shall  He  speak  unto  them  in  His  wrath; 
And  vex  them  in  His  sore  displeasure. 

There  could  not  be  a  more  perfect  type  of  Irony,  in  that 
form  of  it  which  harmonises  with  justice,  than  this  picture 
in  three  touches,  of  the  busy  security  of  the  wicked,  of 
justice  pausing  to  mock  their  idle  efforts,  and  then  with  a 


IRONY  AS  A  FORM  OF  ACTION.  139 

burst  of  wrath  and  displeasure  annihilating  their  projects  at  a  CHAP.  VI. 

stroke.  

In  modern  thought,  then,  Irony  is  Justice  in  a  mocking 
humour.  The  mockery  that  suddenly  becomes  apparent  in 
the  mysterious  operations  of  Providence,  and  is  a  measure  of 
their  overpowering  force,  is  clearly  capable  of  giving  a  highly 
dramatic  interest  to  a  train  of  events,  and  so  is  fitted  to  be 
a  form  of  dramatic  action.  The  operation  of  Destiny  as  Irony  in 

exhibited  in  the  plot  of  Macbeth  is  throughout  tinctured  with  ^/^fX" 

Macbeth : 

irony :  the  element  of  mockery  appearing  always  in  this,  that  obstacles 
apparent  checks  to  Destiny  turn  out  the  very  means  Destiny  c^0e^f 
chooses   by   which   to   fulfil   itself.     Irony  of  this   kind   \&  ping  stones. 
regularly  attached  to  what  I  have  called  the  third  variety  of 
the  Oracular  Action,  that  in  which  the  oracle  is  fulfilled  by  the 
agency  of  attempts   to  oppose  it;    but  in  the  play  under 
consideration  the  destiny,  whether  manifesting  itself  in  that 
type   of  the  Oracular  Action   or  not,  is   never  dissociated 
from  the  attitude  of  mockery  to  resistance  which  converts 
obstacles   into   stepping-stones.     It   remains   to   show   how 
the  rise  of  Macbeth,  the  fall  of  Macbeth,  and  again  the 
rise   and  the   fall   taken   together,  are   all   of  them   Irony 
Actions. 

The  basis  of  Macbeth's  rise  is  the  Witches'  promise  of  the  The  rise  of 
crown.     Scarcely  has  it  been  given  when  an  obstacle  starts  jrony  ' 
up  to  its  fulfilment  in  the  proclamation  of  Malcolm  as  heir-  Action. 
apparent.     I  have  already  pointed  out  that  it  is  this  very 
proclamation  which  puts  an  end  to  Macbeth's  wavering,  and 
leads  him  to  undertake  the  treasonable  enterprise  which  only 
in  the  previous  scene  he  had  resolved  he  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with.     Later  in  the  history  a  second  obstacle  appears :  ii.  iii.  141. 
the  king  is  slain,  but  his  two  sons,  this  heir-apparent  and 
his  brother,  escape  from  Macbeth's  clutches  and  place  two 
lives  between  him  and  the  fulfilment  of  his  destiny.     But,  as 
events  turn  out,  it  is  this  very  flight  of  the  princes  that,  by 
diverting  suspicion  to  them  for  a  moment,  causes  Macbeth  to 


1 40  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  be  named  as  Duncan's  successor.   A  conversation  in  the  play 
—      itself  is  devoted  to  making  this  point  clear. 

ii.  iv.  22.         Ross.     Is 't  known  who  did  this  more  than  bloody  deed? 
Macduff.     Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 
Ross.  Alas,  the  day! 

What  good  could  they  pretend? 
Macduff.  They  were  suborn 'd  : 

Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  the  king's  two  sons, 

Are  stol'n  away  and  fled ;  which  puts  upon  them 

Suspicion  of  the  deed. 
Ross.  'Gainst  nature  still! 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  will  ravin  up 

Thine  own  life's  means !     Then  'tis  most  like 

The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth. 
Klacduff.     He  is  already  named,  and  gone  to  Scone 

To  be  invested. 

Thefallan      Twice,  then,  in  the  course   of  the   rise   Destiny  allows 

Action.  obstacles  to  appear  only  for  the  sake  of  using  them  as  an 
unexpected  means  of  fulfilment.  The  same  mockery  marks 
the  fall  of  the  action.  The  security  against  a  fall  promised 
by  the  Apparitions  to  Macbeth  had  just  one  drawback — 

iv.  i.  71.  'beware  Macduff';  and  we  have  already  had  occasion  to 
notice  Macbeth's  attempt  to  secure  himself  against  this 

iv.  ii,  &c.  drawback  in  the  completest  manner  by  extirpating  the 
dangerous  thane  and  his  family  to  the  last  scion  of  his  stock, 
and  also  how  this  cruel  purpose  succeeded  against  all  but 
Macduff  himself.  Now  it  is  to  be  noted  that  this  attempt 
against  the  fulfilment  of  the  destined  retribution  proves  the 
very  source  of  the  fulfilment,  without  which  it  would  never 
have  come  about.  For  at  one  point  of  the  story  Macduff, 
the  only  man  who,  according  to  the  decrees  of  Fate,  can 
harm  Macbeth,  resolves  to  abandon  his  vengeance  against 
him.  In  his  over-cautious  policy  Macduff  was  unwilling  to 
move  without  the  concurrence  of  Malcolm  the  rightful  heir. 

iv.  iii.  In  one  of  the  most  singular  scenes  in  all  Shakespeare 
Macduff  is  represented  as  urging  Malcolm  to  assert  his 
rights,  while  Malcolm  (in  reality  driven  by  the  general  panic 


IRONY  AS  A  FORM  OF  ACTION.  141 

to   suspect   even   Macduff)   discourages    his   attempts,   and  CHAP.  VI. 
affects  to  be  a  monster  of  iniquity,  surpassing  the  tyrant  of 
Scotland  himself.    At  last  he  succeeds  in  convincing  Macduff  iv.  iii, from 
of  his  villainies,  and  in  a  burst  of  despair  the  fate-appointed 
avenger  renounces  vengeance. 

Macduff.  Fit  to  govern? 

No,  not  to  live  ....  Fare  thee  well! 
These  evils  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself 
Have  banish'd  me  from  Scotland.     O  my  breast, 
Thy  hope  ends  here! 

Malcolm,  it  is  true,  then  drops  the  pretence  of  villainy,  but 
he  does  not  succeed  in  reassuring  his  companion. 

Macduff.     Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once  iv.  iii.  138. 

'Tis  hard  to  reconcile. 

At  this  moment  enters  Ross  with  the  news  of  Macbeth's 
expedition  against  Fife,  and  tells  how  all  Macduff  s  house- 
hold, 'wife,  children,  servants,  all/  have  been  cut  off  'at 
one  swoop ' :  before  the  agony  of  a  bereavement  like  this 
hesitation  flies  away  for  ever. 

Gentle  heavens,  iv.  iii.  231. 

Cut  short  all  intermission  ;  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him  :   if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too ! 

The  action  taken  by  Macbeth  with  a  view  to  prevent  Mac- 
duff's  being  the  instrument  of  retribution,  is  brought  by  a 
mocking  Fate  to  impel  Macduff  to  his  task  at  the  precise 
moment  he  had  resolved  to  abandon  it. 

Finally,  if  the  rise  and  the  fall  be  contemplated  together  The  plot  as 
as  constituting  one  action,  this  also  will  be  found  animated  ^J^  an 
by  the  same  spirit  of  irony.     The  original  promise  of  the  Action. 
Witches,  as  well  as  the  later  promise  of  the  Apparition,  had 
its  drawback  in  the  destiny  that  Banquo  was  to  be  lesser  i.  iii.  62- 
than  Macbeth  and  yet  greater,  to  get  kings  though  to  be     ' 
none ;    and  to  secure  against  this  drawback  is  Macbeth's 


142  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VI.  purpose  in  his  plot  against  Banquo  and  Fleance,  by  which 
the  rival  family  would  be  extirpated.  The  plot  only  half 
succeeds,  and  by  its  half-success  contributes  to  the  exactness 
with  which  the  destiny  is  fulfilled.  Had  Macbeth's  attempt 
fully  succeeded,  Banquo  would  neither  have  got  kings  nor 
been  one ;  had  no  such  attempt  at  all  been  made,  then,  for 
anything  we  see  to  the  contrary  in  the  play,  Banquo  would 
have  preceded  his  sons  on  the  throne,  and  so  again  the 
oracle  would  not  have  been  fulfilled  which  made  Banquo 
lesser  than  Macbeth.  But  by  the  mixture  of  success  and 
failure  in  Macbeth's  plot  Banquo  is  slain  before  he  can  attain 
the  crown,  and  Fleance  lives  to  give  a  royal  house  to  Scot- 
land. Once  more,  then,  mockery  appears  a  characteristic  of 
the  Destiny  that  finds  in  human  resistance  just  the  one 
peculiar  device  needed  for  effecting  the  peculiar  distribution 
of  fortune  it  has  promised. 

Summary.  Such  is  the  subtlety  with  which  Shakespeare  has  con- 
structed this  plot  of  Macbeth,  and  interwoven  in  it  Nemesis 
and  Destiny.  To  outward  appearance  it  is  connected  with 
the  rise  and  fall  of  a  sinner  :  the  analysis  that  searches  for 
inner  principles  of  construction  traces  through  its  incidents 
three  forms  of  action  working  harmoniously  together,  by 
which  the  rise  and  fall  of  Macbeth  are  so  linked  as  to  exhibit 
at  once  a  crime  with  its  Nemesis,  an  Oracle  with  its  fulfilment, 
and  the  Irony  which  works  by  the  agency  of  that  which 
resists  it.  Again  the  separate  halves  of  the  play,  the  rise  and 
the  fall  of  the  hero,  are  found  to  present  each  the  same  triple 
pattern  as  the  whole.  Once  more,  with  the  career  of 
Macbeth  are  associated  the  careers  of  Banquo  and  Macduff, 
and  these  also  reflect  the  threefold  spirit.  Macbeth's  rise 
involves  Banquo's  fall :  this  fall  is  the  subject  of  oracular 
prediction,  it  is  the  starting-point  of  nemesis  on  Macbeth, 
and  it  has  an  element  of  irony  in  the  fact  that  Banquo  all  but 
escaped.  With  Macbeth's  fall  is  bound  up  Macduff' s  rise ; 
,  this  also  had  been  predicted  in  oracles,  it  is  an  agency 


IROATY  AS  A  FORM  OF  ACTION.  143 

in  the  main  nemesis,  and  Macduff's  fate  has  the  irony  that  CHAP.  VI. 

he  all  but  perished  at  the  outset  of  his  mission.     Through  all     

the  separate  interests  of  this  elaborate  plot,  the  three  forms 
of  action — Nemesis,  the  Oracular,  Irony — are  seen  perfectly 
harmonised  and  perfectly  complete.  And  over  all  this  is 
thrown  the  supernatural  interest  of  the  Witches,  who  are 
agents  of  nemesis  working  by  the  means  of  ironical  oracles. 


VII. 

MACBETH,  LORD  AND  LADY. 

A  Study  in  Character-Contrast. 

CHAP. VII.  /''CONTRASTS  of  character  form  one  of  the  simplest 

\^/  elements  of  dramatic  interest.  Such  contrasts  are  often 

obvious;  at  other  times  they  take  definitiveness  only  when 
looked  at  from  a  particular  point  of  view.  The  contrast  of 
character  which  it  is  the  object  of  the  present  study  to  sketch 
rests  upon  a  certain  distinction  which  is  one  of  the  funda- 

The  anti-    mental  ideas  in  the  analysis  of  human  nature — the  distinction 

thesis  of  the  between  the  outer  life  of  action  and  the  inner  life  of  our 

outer  and  ,  . 

inner  life,  own  experience.      I  he  recognition  of  the  two  is  as  old  as 

the  Book  of  Proverbs,  which  contrasts  the  man  that  ruleth 
his  spirit  with  the  man  that  taketh  a  city.  The  heathen 
oracle,  again,  opened  out  to  an  age  which  seemed  to  have 
exhausted  knowledge  a  new  world  for  investigation  in  the 
simple  command,  Know  thyself.  The  Stoics,  who  so  de- 
spised the  busy  vanity  of  state  cares,  yet  delighted  to  call 
their  ideal  man  a  king ;  and  their  particular  tenet  is  univer- 
salised  by  Milton  when  he  says : 

Therein  stands  the  office  of  a  king, 
His  honour,  virtue,  merit,  and  chief  praise, 
That  for  the  public  all  this  weight  he  bears : 
Yet  he  who  reigns  within  himself,  and  rules 
Passions,  desires,  and  fears,  is  more  a  king. 

And  the  modern  humourist  finds  the  idea  indispensable  for 
his  pourtrayal  of  character  and  experience.  '  Sir,'  says  one  of 
Thackeray's  personages,  '  a  distinct  universe  walks  about 


THE  PRACTICAL  AND  INNER  LIFE.  145 

under  your  hat  and  under  mine  .  .  .  You  and  I  are  but  a  pair  CHAP.  VII. 

of  infinite  isolations  with  some  fellow-islands  more  or  less      

near  to  us.'  And  elsewhere  the  same  writer  says  that  '  each 
creature  born  has  a  little  kingdom  of  thought  of  his  own, 
which  it  is  a  sin  in  us  to  invade.' 

This  antithesis  of  the  practical  and  inner  life  is  so  ac- 
cepted a  commonplace  of  the  pulpit  and  of  the  essayist  on 
morals  and  culture  that  it  may  seem  tedious  to  expound  it. 
But  for  the  very  reason  that  it  belongs  to  all  these  spheres, 
and  that  these  spheres  overlap,  the  two  sides  of  the  anti- 
thesis are  not  kept  clearly  distinct,  nor  are  the  terms 
uniformly  used  in  the  same  sense.  For  the  present  purpose 
the  exact  distinction  is  between  the  outer  world,  the  world  of 
practical  action,  the  sphere  of  making  and  doing,  in  which 
we  mingle  with  our  fellow  men,  join  in  their  enterprises,  and 
influence  them  to  our  ideas,  in  which  we  investigate  nature 
and  society,  or  seek  to  build  up  a  fabric  of  power :  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  inner  intellectual  life,  in  which  our 
powers  as  by  a  mirror  are  turned  inwards  upon  ourselves, 
finding  a  field  for  enterprise  in  self-discipline  and  the  contest 
with  inherited  notions  and  passions,  exploring  the  depths  of 
our  consciousness  and  our  mysterious  relations  with  the 
unseen,  until  the  thinker  becomes  familiar  with  strange  situa- 
tions of  the  mind  and  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  its  problems. 
The  antithesis  is  thus  not  at  all  the  same  as  that  between 
worldly  and  religious,  for  the  inner  life  may  be  cultivated 
for  evil :  self-anatomy,  as  Shelley  says, 

Shall  teach  the  will 

Dangerous  secrets :  for  it  tempts  our  powers, 
Knowing  what  must  be  thought  and  may  be  done, 
Into  the  depth  of  darkest  purposes. 

Still  less  is  it  the  antithesis  between  intellectual  and  common- 
place; the  highest  intellectual  powers  find  employment  in 
practical  life.  The  various  mental  and  moral  qualities  be- 
long to  both  spheres,  but  have  a  different  meaning  for  each. 

L 


I46  MACBETH. 

CHAP. VII.  Practical  experience  is  a  totally  different  thing  from  what  the 

religious  thinker  means  by  his  '  experience/     The  discipline 

given  by  the  world  often  consists  in  the  dulling  of  those 
powers  which  self-discipline  seeks  to  develope.  Knowledge 
of  affairs,  with  its  rapid  and  instinctive  grasp,  is  often 
possessed  in  the  highest  degree  by  the  man  who  is  least  of 
all  men  versed  in  the  other  knowledge,  which  could  explain 
and  analyse  the  processes  by  which  it  operated.  And  every 
observer  is  struck  by  the  different  forms  which  courage  takes 
in  the  two  spheres,  courage  in  action,  and  courage  where 
nothing  can  be  done  and  men  have  only  to  endure  and  wait. 
Macaulay  in  a  well-known  passage  contrasts  the  active  and 
passive  courage  as  one  of  the  distinctions  between  the  West 
and  the  East. 

An  European  warrior,  who  rashes  on  a  battery  of  cannon  with  a  loud 
hurrah,  will  sometimes  shriek  under  the  surgeon's  knife,  and  fall  into 
an  agony  of  despair  at  the  sentence  of  death.  But  the  Bengalee,  who 
would  see  his  country  overrun,  his  house  laid  in  ashes,  his  children 
murdered  or  dishonoured,  without  having  the  spirit  to  strike  one  blow, 
has  yet  been  known  to  endure  torture  with  the  firmness  of  Mucius,  and 
to  mount  the  scaffold  with  the  steady  step  and  even  pulse  of  Algernon 
Sidney. 

The  two  lives  are  complete,  each  with  its  own  field,  its  own 
qualities,  culture,  and  fruit. 

The  anti-        It  is  obvious  that  relation  to  these  two  lives  will  have  a 

element  in  verv  £reat  effect  in  determining  individual  character.     In  the 

Character-  same  man  the  two  sides  of  experience  may  be  most  un- 

tion.       2~  ecluaMy  developed;  an  intellectual  giant  is  often  a  child  in 

the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  a  moral  hero  may  be  found  in 

the  person  of  some  bedridden  cripple.     On  the  other  hand, 

to  some  the  inner  life  is  hardly  known :  familiar  perhaps  with 

every  other  branch  of  knowledge   they  go  down   to  their 

graves  strangers  to  themselves. 

All  things  without,  which  round  about  we  see, 
We  seek  to  know  and  how  therewith  to  do; 
But  that  whereby  we  reason,  live,  and  be 
Within  ourselves,  we  strangers  are  thereto. 


MACBETH  AS   THE  PRACTICAL  MAN.  147 

We  seek  to  know  the  moving  of  each  sphere,  CHAP.  VII. 

And  the  strange  cause  of  the  ebbs  and  flows  of  Nile :  

But  of  that  clock  within  our  breasts  we  bear, 

The  subtle  motions  we  forget  the  while. 

We,  that  acquaint  ourselves  with  every  zone, 

And  pass  both  tropics,  and  behold  each  pole, 
When  we  come  home,  are  to  ourselves  unknown, 

And  unacquainted  still  with  our  own  soul. 

The  antithesis  then  between  the  outer  and  inner  life  will  be 
among  the  ideas  which  lie  at  the  root  of  Character-Inter- 
pretation. 

When  the  idea  is  applied  to  an  age  like  that  of  Macbeth,  the  In  a  simple 
antithesis  between  the  two  lives  almost  coincides  with  the  dis-  ^Inddes 
tinction  of  the  sexes :  amid  the  simple  conditions  of  life  belong-  with  the 
ing  to  such  an  age  the  natural  tendency  would  be  for  genius 
in  men  to  find  scope  in  the  outer  and  practical  world,  while 
genius  in  women  would  be  restricted  to  the  inner  life.     And 
this  is  the  idea  I  am  endeavouring  to  work  out  in  the  present 
study  : — that  the  key  to  Shakespeare's  portraiture  of  Macbeth  The  anti- 
and  Lady  Macbeth  will  be  found  in  regarding  the  two  as  Jjjf*  '/£ 
illustrations  of  the  outer  and  inner  life.     Both  possess  force  characters 
in  the  highest  degree,  but  the  two  have  been  moulded  by  ^J^y 
the  exercise  of  this  force  in  different  spheres ;  their  cha-  Macbeth. 
racters  are  in  the  play  brought  into  sharp  contrast  by  their 
common  enterprise,  and  the  contrast  of  practical  and  in- 
tellectual mind  is  seen  maintained  through   the  successive 
stages  of  their  descent  to  ruin. 

Thus  Macbeth  is  essentially  the  practical  man,  the  man  Macbeth  as 
of  action,  of  the  highest  experience,  power,  and  energy  in 
military  and  political  command,  accustomed  to  the  closest  con- 
nection between  willing  and  doing.  He  is  one  who  in  another 
age  would  have  worked  out  the  problem  of  free  trade,  or 
unified  Germany,  or  engineered  the  Suez  Canal.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  has  concerned  himself  little  with  things  tran- 
scendental ;  he  is  poorly  disciplined  in  thought  and  good- 
ness ;  prepared  for  any  emergency  in  which  there  is  anything 

L  2 


148  MACBETH. 

CHAP. VII.  to  be  done,  yet  a  mental  crisis  or  a  moral  problem  afflicts 
him  with  the  shock  of  an  unfamiliar  situation.  This  is  by 
no  means  a  generally  accepted  view :  amongst  a  large 
number  of  readers  the  traditional  conception  of  Macbeth 
lingers  as  a  noble  disposition  dragged  down  by  his  con- 

His  no-  nection  with  the  coarser  nature  of  his  wife.  According  to 
the  view  here  suggested  the  nobility  of  Macbeth  is  of  the 
flimsiest  and  most  tawdry  kind.  The  lofty  tone  he  is  found 
at  times  assuming  means  no  more  than  virtuous  education 
and  surroundings.  When  the  purely  practical  nature  is 
examined  in  reference  to  the  qualities  which  belong  to  the 
intellectual  life,  the  result  is  not  a  blank  but  ordinariness: 
the  practical  nature  will  reflect  current  thought  and  goodness 
as  they  appear  from  the  outside.  So  Macbeth's  is  the 
morality  of  inherited  notions,  retained  just  because  he  has 
no  disposition  to  examine  them ;  he  has  all  the  practical 
man's  distrust  of  wandering  from  the  beaten  track  of  opinion, 
which  gives  the  working  politician  his  prejudice  against  doc- 
trinaires, and  has  raised  up  stout  defenders  of  the  Church 
amongst  men  whose  lives  were  little  influenced  by  her  teaching. 
And  the  traditionary  morality  is  more  than  merely  retained. 
When  the  seed  fell  into  stony  ground  forthwith  it  sprang 
up  because  it  had  no  deepness  of  earth  :  the  very  shallowness 
of  a  man's  character  may  lend  emphasis  to  his  high  pro- 
fessions, just  as,  on  the  other  hand,  earnestness  in  its  first 
stage  often  takes  the  form  of  hesitation.  So  Macbeth's 
practical  genius  takes  in  strongly  what  rt  takes  in  at  all,  and 
gives  it  out  vigorously.  But  that  the  nobility  has  gone  beyond 
the  stage  of  passive  recognition,  that  it  has  become  absorbed 
into  his  inner  nature,  there  is  not  a  trace ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  impossible  to  follow  Macbeth's  history  far  without 
abundant  evidence  that  real  love  of  goodness  for  its  own 
sake,  founded  on  intelligent  choice  or  deep  affection,  has 
failed  to  root  a  single  fibre  in  his  nature. 

First,  we   have   the  opportunity  of   studying   Macbeth's 


MACBETH  AS   THE  PRACTICAL  MAN.  149 

-character  in  the  analysis  given  of  it  in  the  play  itself  by  the  CHAP.  VII. 
•one  person  who  not  only  saw  Macbeth  in  his  public  life,  but 
knew  also  the  side  of  him  hidden  from  the  world.  j,etKs 

analysis  of 
Lady  Macbeth.  I  fear  thy  nature ;  jur  %us_ 

It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness  band's  cha- 

To  catch  the  nearest  way.  racier. 

I  believe  that  this  phrase,  the  '  milk  of  human  kindness,' 
divorced  from  its  context  and  become  the  most  familiar  of 
all  commonplaces,  has  done  more  than  anything  else  to- 
wards giving  a  false   twist   to   the   general  conception  of 
Macbeth's  character.     The  words  kind,  kindness  are  amongst 
the  most  difficult  words  in  Shakespeare.     The  wide  original 
signification  of  the  root,  natural,  nature,  still  retained  in  the 
noun  kind,  has  been  lost  in  the  adjective,  which  has  been 
.narrowed  by  modern  usage  to  one  sort  of  naturalness,  ten- 
der-heartedness;  though  in  a  derivative   form  the  original 
sense  is  still  familiar  to  modern  ears  in  the  expression  '  the 
kindly  fruits  of  the  earth.'     In  Elizabethan  English,  however, 
the  root  signification  still  remained  in  all  usages  of  kind  and 
its  derivatives.     In  Schmidt's  analysis  of  the  adjective,  two 
•of  its  four  significations  agree  with  the  modern  use,  the 
other  two  are  '  keeping  to  nature,  natural/  and  '  not  dege- 
nerate and  corrupt,  but  such  as  a  thing  or  person  ought  to 
be.'     Shakespeare  delights  to  play  upon  the  two  senses  of 
this  family  of  words :  tears  of  joy  are  described  as  a  '  kind  Much  Ado, 
overflow  of  kindness';  the  Fool  says  of  Regan  that  she  will lp  u  2  ' 
use  Lear  'kindly/  i.e.  according  to  her  nature;  'the  worm  Lr.i.v.  15. 
will  do  his  kind/  i.  e.  bite.     How  far  the  word  can  wander  Ant.  and 
from  its  modern  sense  is  seen  in  a  phrase  of  the  present  2/^'v'u' 
play,  '  at  your  kind'st  leisure/  where  it  is  simply  equivalent  ii.  i.  24. 
io  'convenient/     Still  more  will  the  wider  signification  of 
the  word  obtain,  when  it  is  associated  with  the  word  human ; 
'humankind'  is  still  an  expression  for  human  nature,  and 
the  sense  of  the  passage  we  are  considering  would  be  more 
•obvious  if  the  whole  phrase  were  printed  as  one  word,  not 


150  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  '  human  kindness,'  but  '  humankind-ness ': — that  shrinking- 

from  what  is  not  natural,  which  is  a  marked  feature  of  the 

practical  nature.  The  other  part  of  the  clause,  milk  of 
humankind-ness,  no  doubt  suggests  absence  of  hardness : 
but  it  equally  connotes  natural,  inherited,  traditional  feelings, 
imbibed  at  the  mother's  breast.  The  whole  expression  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  then,  I  take  to  attribute  to  her  husband  an 
instinctive  tendency  to  shrink  from  whatever  is  in  any  way 
unnatural.  That  this  is  the  true  sense  further  appears,  not 
only  from  the  facts — for  nothing  in  the  play  suggests  that 

i.  ii.  54.  Macbeth,  '  Bellona's  bridegroom/  was  distinguished  by  kind- 
ness in  the  modern  sense — but  from  the  context.  The 
form  of  Lady  Macbeth's  speech  makes  the  phrase  under 
discussion  a  summing  up  of  the  rest  of  her  analysis,  or 
rather  a  general  text  which  she  proceeds  to  expand  into 
details.  Not  one  of  these  details  has  any  connection  with 
tender-heartedness :  on  the  other  hand,  if  put  together  the 
details  do  amount  to  the  sense  for  which  I  am  contending, 
that  Macbeth's  character  is  a  type  of  commonplace  morality, 
the  shallow  unthinking  and  unfeeling  man's  lifelong  hesita- 
tion between  God  and  Mammon. 

Thou  would'st  be  great ; 
Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  it :    what  thou  would'st  highly 
That  would'st  thou  holily;   would'st  not  play  false, 
And  yet  would'st  wrongly  win  :    thou'ldst  have,  great  Glamis, 
That  which  cries  '  Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it, 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 
Than  wishest  should  be  undone! 

If  the  delicate  balancing  of  previous  clauses  had  left  any 
doubt  as  to  the  meaning,  the  last  two  lines  remove  it,  and 
assert  distinctly  that  Macbeth  has  no  objection  to  the  evil 
itself,  but  only  a  fear  of  evil  measures  which  must  be  as- 
sociated to  a  practical  mind  with  failure  and  disgrace.  It  is 
striking  that  at  the  very  moment  Lady  Macbeth  is  so  medi- 
i.iv.  48-53.  tating,  her  husband  is  giving  a  practical  confirmation  of  her 


MACBETH  AS   THE  PRACTICAL  MAN.  151 

description  in  its  details  as  well  as  its  general  purport.     He  CHAP.  VII. 
had  resolved  to  take  no  steps  himself  towards  the  fulfilment  .  ~ 
of  the  Witches'  prophecy,  but  to  leave  all  to  chance ;  then  ^g/ 
the  proclamation  of  Malcolm,  removing  all  apparent  chance 
of  succession,  led  him  to  change  his  mind  and  entertain  the 
scheme  of  treason  and  murder :  the  words  with  which  he 
surrenders  himself  seems  like  an  echo  of  his  wife's  analysis. 

Stars,  hide  your  fires ; 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires : 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand ;  yet  let  that  be 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

But  we  are  not  left  to  descriptions  of  Macbeth  by  others.  Macbeth' s 
We  have  him  self-displayed;    and   that   in  a  situation  &$%?££ 
framed  that  if  there  were  in  him  the  faintest  sympathy  with  iiuntly 
goodness  it  must  here  be  brought  into  prominence.     Mac-  Character 
beth  has  torn  himself  away  from  the  banquet,  and,  his  mind  i.  vii.  1-28. 
full  of  the  desperate  danger  of  the  treason  he  is  meditating, 
he  ponders  over  the  various  motives  that  forbid  its  execution. 
A  strong  nobility  would  even  amid  incentives  to  crime  feel 
the  attraction  of  virtue  and  have  to  struggle  against  it ;  but 
surely  the  weakest  nobility,  when  facing  motives  against  sin, 
would  be  roused  to  some  degree  of  virtuous  passion.     Yet, 
if  Macbeth's    famous   soliloquy   be  searched   through   and 
through,  not  a  single  thought  will  be  found  to  suggest  that 
he  is  regarding  the  deep  considerations  of  sin  and  retri- 
bution in  any  other  light  than  that  of  immediate  practical 
consequences.     First,  there  is  the  thought  of  the  sureness  of 
retribution  even  in  this  world.     It  may  be  true  that  hope  of 
heaven  and  fear  of  hell  are  not  the  highest  of  moral  incen- 
tives, but  at  least  they  are  a  degree  higher  than  the  thought 
of  worldly  prosperity  and  failure ;  Macbeth  however  is  willing 
to  take  his  chance  of  the  next  world  if  only  he  can  be 
guaranteed  against  penalties  in  this  life. 

If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly :  if  the  assassination 


152  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 

With  his  surcease  success ;    that  but  this  blow 

Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 
We 'Id  jump  the  life  to  come.     But  in  these  cases 
We  still  have  judgement  here ;    that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor :    this  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poisoned  chalice 
To  our  own  lips. 

So  far  he  has  reached  no  higher  consideration,  in  reference 
to  treason  and  murder,  than  the  fear  that  he  may  be  sug- 
gesting to  others  to  use  against  himself  the  weapon  he  is 
intending  for  Duncan.  Then  his  thoughts  turn  to  the 
motives  against  crime  which  belong  to  the  softer  side  of  our 

nature. 

He's  here  in  double  trust, 

First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 
Strong  both  against  the  deed  ;   then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off ; 
And  pit)' — 

At  all  events  it  is  clear  this  is  no  case  of  a  man  blinded  for 
the  moment  to  the  emotions  which  resist  crime ;  and  as  we 
hear  him  passing  in  review  kinship,  loyalty,  hospitality,  pity, 
we  listen  for  the  burst  of  remorse  with  which  he  will  hurl 
from  him  the  treachery  he  had  been  fostering.  But,  on  the 
contrary,  his  thoughts  are  still  practical,  and  the  climax  to 
which  this  survey  of  motives  is  to  lead  up  is  no  more  than 
the  effect  they  will  have  on  others  :  pity 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. 

And  then  he  seems  to  regret  that  he  cannot  find  more  incen- 
tives to  his  villainy. 


MACBETH  AS   THE  PRACTICAL  MAN.  153 

I  have  no  spur  CHAP.  VII 

To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only  

Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'erleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  the  other. 

So  Macbeth's  searching  self-examination  on  topics  of  sin  and 
retribution,  amid  circumstances  specially  calculated  to  rouse 
compunction,  results  in  thoughts  not  more  noble  than  these — 
that  murder  is  a  game  which  two  parties  can  play  at,  that 
heartlessness  has  the  effect  of  drawing  general  attention,  that 
ambition  is  apt  to  defeat  its  own  object. 

Again :    that  Macbeth's  union  of  superficial  nobility  with  Macbeth 
real  moral  worthlessness  is  connected  with  the  purely  prac-  ^ 
tical  bent  of  his  mind  will  be  the  more  evident  the  wider  deeds  and 
the  survey  which  is  taken  of  his  character  and  actions.     It  ^L™af 
may  be  observed  that  Macbeth's  spirits  always  rise  with  evil  conJKcts. 
deeds :    however  he  may  have  wavered  in  the  contemplation 
of  crime,  its  execution  strings  him  up  to  the  loftiest  tone. 
This  is  especially  clear  in  the   Dagger   Scene,  and  in  the  ii.  i,  from 
scene  in  which  he  darkly  hints  to  his  wife  the  murder  of  j*^ 
Banquo,  which  is  in  a  brief  space  to  be  in  actual  perpetra-  39. 
tion.     As  he  feels  the  moment  of  crime  draw  near,  his  whole 
figure  seems  to  dilate,  the  language  rises,  and  the  imagery 
begins  to  flow.     Like  a  poet  invoking  his  muse,  Macbeth 
calls  on  seeling  night  to  scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day. 
He  has  an  eye  to  dramatic  surroundings  for  his  dark  deeds. 

Now,  o'er  the  one  half-world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain' d /sleep ;  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings,  and  wither'd  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
"Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
"With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 
Moves  like  a  ghost.     Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it. 
The  man  who  had  an  hour  or  two  before  been  driven  from 


154  MACBETH. 

CHAP. VII.  the  table  of  his  guests  by  the  mere  thought  of  a  crime  moves 

to  the  deed  itself  with  the  exalted  language  of  a  Hebrew 

prophet.     On  the  other  hand,  in  his  spiritual  struggles  there 

is  a  simpleness  that  sometimes  suggests  childishness.     His 

ii.  ii.  31.     trouble  is  that  he  could  not  say  'Amen'  when  the  sleepers 

cried  '  God  bless  us ' ;  his  conscience  seems  a  voice  outside 

ii.  ii.  35-    him ;    finally,  the  hardened  warrior  dare  not  return  to  the 

4  darkness  and  face  the  victim  he  had  so  exultingly  done  to 

death. 

Macbeth,  then,  is. the  embodiment  of  one  side  of  the  anti- 
thesis with  which  we  started ;  his  is  pre-eminently  the  prac- 
tical nature,  moulded  in  a  world  of  action,  but  uninfluenced 
by  the  cultivation  of  the  inner  life.     Yet  he  is  not  perfect 
as  a  man  of  action :    for  the  practical  cannot  reach  its  per- 
Two flaws  fection  without  the  assistance  of  the  inner  life.     There  are 
"as^ntn-1  two  flaws  in  Macbelh's  completeness.     For  one,  his  lack  of 
bodiment  of  training  in  thought  has  left  him  without  protection  against 
cal^hi^u  ^e  suPerstiti°n  °f  hi§  aoe'     He  is  a  passive  prey  to  super- 
perstition;  natural  imaginings.     He  himself  tells  us  he  is  a  man  whose 
v.  v.  10.     senses  would  cool  to  hear  a  night-shriek,  and  his  fell  of  hair 
rouse  at  a  dismal  treatise.     And  we  see  throughout  the  play 
how  he  never  for  an  instant  doubts  the  reality  of  the  super- 
natural appearances :    a  feature  the  more  striking  from  its 
e.  g.  iii.  iv.  contrast   with   the   scepticism   of  Lady  Macbeth,    and   the 
107  ^'a"1"    nes^tatino  doubt  of  Banquo.     Again  :    no  active  career  can 
iii.'i.  6.      be  without  its  periods  when  action  is  impossible,  and  it  is  in 
and  his       such  periods  that  the  training  given  by  the  intellectual  life 
u$£Ssw-  makes  itself  felt'  with  its  self-control  and  passive  courage. 
pense.         All  this  Macbeth  lacks:    in  suspense  he  has  no  power  of 
compare      self-restraint.     When  we  come   to   trace  him   through  the 
ancUii3  ii    staoes  °f tne  action  we  shall  find  that  one  of  these  two  flaws 
1 6.  springing  out  of  Macbeth's  lack  of  the  inner  life,  his  super- 

stition and  his  helplessness  in  suspense,  is  at  every  turn  the 
source  of  his  betrayal. 

In  the  case  of  Lady  Macbeth,  the  old-fashioned  view  of 


LADY  MACBETH  A  TYPE  OF  THE  INNER  LIFE.    155 

her  as  a  second  Clytaemnestra  has  long  been  steadily  giving  CHAP.  VII. 

way  before  a  conception  higher  at  least  on  the  intellectual     

side.  The  exact  key  to  her  character  is  given  by  regarding  ifthas  an 
her  as  the  antithesis  of  her  husband,  and  an  embodiment  of 
the  inner  life  and  its  intellectual  culture  so  markedly  wanting 
in  him.  She  has  had  the  feminine  lot  of  being  shut  out 
from  active  life,  and  her  genius  and  energy  have  been  turned 
inwards ;  her  soul — like  her  *  little  hand ' — is  not  hardened  v.  i.  58. 
for  the  working-day  world,  but  is  quick,  delicate,  sensitive. 
She  has  the  keenest  insight  into  the  characters  of  those 
around  her.  She  is  accustomed  to  moral  loneliness  and 
at  home  in  mental  struggles.  She  has  even  solved  for 
herself  some  of  their  problems.  In  the  very  crisis  of  Dun- 
can's murder  she  gives  utterance  to  the  sentiment : 

the  sleeping  and  the  dead  ii.  ii.  53. 

Are  but  as  pictures. 

When  we  remember  that  she  must  have  started  with  the 
superstitions  of  her  age  such  an  expression,  simple  enough 
in  modern  lips,  opens  up  to  us  a  whole  drama  of  personal 
history :  we  can  picture  the  trembling  curiosity,  the  struggle 
between  will  and  quivering  nerves,  the  triumph  chequered 
with  awe,  the  resurrection  of  doubts,  the  swayings  between 
natural  repulsion  and  intellectual  thirst,  the  growing  courage 
and  the  reiterated  victories  settling  down  into  calm  prin- 
ciple. Accordingly,  Lady  .Macbeth  has  won  the  grand 
prize  of  the  inner  life:  in  the  kingdom  of  her  personal 
experience  her  WILL  is  unquestioned  king.  It  may  seem 
strange  to  some  readers  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  be  held 
up  as  the  type  of  the  inner  life,  so  associated  is  that  phrase 
to  modern  ears  with  the  life  fostered  by  religion.  But  the 
two  things  must  not  be  confused — religion  and  the  sphere  in 
which  religion  is  exercised.  '  The  kingdom  of  God  is  within 
you/  was  the  proclamation  of  Christ,  but  the  world  within 
may  be  subjugated  to  other  kings  than  God.  Mental  dis- 
cipline and  perfect  self-control,  like  that  of  Lady  Macbeth, 


156  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  would  hold  their  sway  over  evil  passions,  but  they  would 

-     also  be  true   to  her   when   she   chose   to  contend   against 

goodness,  and   even   against   the    deepest   instincts   of  her 

A  strtiggle  feminine  nature.     This  was  ignored  in  the  old  conception  of 

absence  of  ^  ^e  character,  and  a  struggle  against  the  softer  side  of  her 

"the  softer    nature   was  mistaken   for   its   total   absence.     But  her  in- 

quahties.     tellectual  culture  must  have  quickened  her  finer  sensibilities 

at  the  same  time  that  it  built  up  a  will  strong  enough  to 

hold  them  down;    nor   is  the   subjugation   so   perfect  but 

that  a   sympathetic   insight   can   throughout   trace   a   keen 

delicacy  of  nature   striving  to  assert   itself.     In   particular, 

i.  v.  41.      when  she  calls  upon  the  spirits  that  tend  on  mortal  thoughts 

to  unsex  and  fill  her  from  crown  to  toe  with  direst  cruelty, 

she   is  thrilling  all  over  with  feminine  repugnance  to   the 

bloody  enterprise,  which  nevertheless  her  royal  will  insists 

upon  her  undertaking.     Lady  Macbeth's  career  in  the  play 

is  one  long  mental  civil  war  ;  and  the  strain  ends,  as  such  a 

strain  could  only  end,  in  madness. 

The  Cha-  Such  is  the  general  conception  of  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth 
™rast  traced  ^rom  ^e  Pomt  °^  v*ew  °^  tne  antithesis  between  the  outer 
through  the  and  inner  life.  We  have  now  to  turn  from  character  to  action, 
action.  an(j  trace  tjie  contrasted  pajr  through  the  stages  of  their 

common  career. 

Situation  The  two  opposing  natures  have  been  united  in  a  happy 
%jgoftke~  marria&e>  the  happier  because  a  link  between  characters  so 
play.  forceful  and  so  antithetic,  if  it  held  at  all,  must  be  a  source  of 
compare  interest  :  the  dark  tragedy  of  this  unhappy  pair  is  softened  by 
i  vii55~8°;  l^e  tenderness  of  demeanour  which  appears  on  both  sides. 
iii.  ii.  27,  Another  source  of  marriage  happiness  is  added:  there  is  not 
iu'.h6.'i445i'  a  trace  of  self-seeking  in  Lady  Macbeth.  Throughout  the 
play  she  is  never  found  meditating  upon  what  she  is  to  gain 
by  the  crown  ;  wife-like,  she  has  no  sphere  but  the  career  of 
'Theorigin-  her  husband.  In  a  picture  of  human  characters,  great  in 
scale,  overwhelmed  in  moral  ruin,  the  question  of 


from  Mac-  absorbing  interest  is  the  commencement  of  the  descent,  and 
beth. 


THE  CONTRAST  TRACED  THROUGH  THE  ACTION.   157 

the  source  from  which  the  impulse  to  evil  has  come.     This,  CHAP. VII. 

in  the  present  case,  Shakespeare  has  carefully  hidden  from     ' 

us :  before  the  play  opens  the  essential  surrender  of  spirit 
has  taken  place,  and  all  that  we  are  allowed  to  see  is  its 
realisation  in  life  and  fact.  If,  however,  we  use  the  slight 
material  afforded  us  for  speculation  on  this  point,  it  would 
appear  that  the  original  choice  for  evil  has  for  both  been 
made  by  Macbeth.  In  the  partnership  of  man  and  wife  it  is 
generally  safe  to  assume  that  the  initiative  of  action  has 
come  from  the  husband,  if  nothing  appears  to  the  contrary. 
In  the  present  case  we  are  not  left  to  assumptions,  Lady 
Macbeth  distinctly  speaks  of  her  husband  as  first  breaking  i.  vii.  48. 
to  her  the  enterprise  of  treacherous  ambition. 

What  beast  was't,  then, 
Which  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me 

Nor  time  nor  place 

Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both. 

The  reference  can  only  be  to  a  period  before  the  commence- 
ment of  the  play ;  and  the  general  drift  of  the  passage  sug- 
gests that  it  was  no  mere  choice,  made  by  Macbeth  with 
deliberation  during  which  he  would  be  open  to  conviction, 
but  an  impulse  of  uncontrollable  passion  that  it  would  have 
been  vain  for  his  wife  to  resist,  supposing  that  she  had  had 
the  desire  to  resist  it — so  uncontrollable,  indeed,  that  it 
appears  to  Lady  Macbeth  stronger  than  the  strongest  of  i.  vii.  54. 
feminine  passions,  a  mother's  love. 

I  have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me: 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 

The  only  sense  in  which  Lady  Macbeth  can  be  pronounced 
the  ruin  of  her  husband  is  that  her  firm  nature  holds  him  in 
the  path  to  which  he  has  committed  them  both,  and  will  not 


158  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  allow  his  fatal  faltering  to  lose  both   the  virtue  he  has  re- 

nounced  and  the  price  for  which  he  has  bartered  it.     Denied 

by  her  feminine  position,  the  possibility— even  if  she  had 
had  the  desire — of  directing  the  common  lot  for  good,  she 
has  recognised  before  we  make  her  acquaintance  that  this 
lot  has  been  cast  for  evil,  and  she  is  too  well-trained  in  self- 
knowledge  to  attempt  the  self-deception  her  husband  tries  to 
keep  up.  And  to  this  evil  lot  she  applies  her  full  force.  Her 

i.  vii.  54.  children  have  died,  and  this  natural  outlet  for  passion  is 
wanting;  the  whole  of  her  energy  is  brought  to  bear  upon 
her  husband's  ambition,  and  she  is  waiting  only  an  oc- 
casion for  concentrating  her  powers  upon  some  definite 
project. 

Four  With  such  mutual  relations  between  the   hero   and   the 

stages  in  heroine  the  play  opens:  we  are  to  watch  the  contrasted 
characters  through  the  successive  stages  of  the  Temptation, 
the  Deed,  the  Concealment,  the  Nemesis. 

TheTempt-  The  Temptation  accosts  the  two  personages  when  se- 
parated from  one  another,  and  we  thus  have  the  better 
opportunity  of  watching  the  different  forms  it  assumes  in 
adapting  itself  to  the  different  characters.  The  expedition, 
which  has  separated  Macbeth  from  his  wife,  is  one  which 
must  have  led  him  to  brood  over  his  schemes  of  ambition. 
Certainly  it  exhibits  to  him  an  example  of  treason  and  shows 
him  the  weakness  of  his  sovereign.  Probably  he  sees  events 
shaping  in  a  direction  that  suggests  opportunity;  he  may 
have  known  that  the  king  must  pass  in  the  direction  of  his 
castle,  or  in  some  other  way  may  have  anticipated  a  royal 
visit;  at  all  events  the  king's  intimation  of  this  visit  in  the 
play  itself — 

i.  iv.  42.  From  hence  to  Inverness, 

And  bind  us  further  to  you, — 

does  not  look  like  a  first  mention  of  it.  To  a  mind  so  pre- 
i.  iii.  38-  pared  the  supernatural  solicitation  brings  a  shock  of  tempta- 
?  *  tion ;  and  as  the  Witches  in  their  greeting  reach  the  promise, 


THE  CONTRAST  TRACED  THROUGH  THE  ACTION.  159 

*  Thou  shall  be  KING  hereafter,'  Macbeth  gives  a  start  that  CHAP. VII. 
astonishes  Banquo : 

Good  sir,  why  do  you  start;  and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair  ? 

To  Banquo  this  prediction  of  the  Witches  seems  no  more 
than  curious  ;  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  Macbeth's 
position  in  the  kingdom  was  not  such  as  to  exclude  hope  of 
succession  to  the  crown,  though  the  hope  was  a  remote  one. 
But  Macbeth's  start  tells  a  tale  of  his  inner  thoughts  at  the 
time.  This  alone  should  be  sufficient  to  vindicate  Shake- 
speare from  the  charge  sometimes  brought  against  him  of 
turning  a  great  character  from  virtue  to  vice  by  demoniac 
agency;  his  is  the  higher  conception  that  a  soul  which  has 
commenced  the  surrender  to  evil  will  find  in  the  powers  of 
darkness  agencies  ready  to  expedite  its  descent,  it  matters 
not  what  form  these  agencies  assume.  Macbeth  has  been 
for  years  playing  with  the  idea  of  treason,  while  never 
bracing  himself  up  to  the  point  of  acting  it :  suddenly  the 
thought  he  fancied  so  safe  within  his  bosom  appears  outside 
him  in  tangible  form,  gleaming  at  him  in  the  malignant 
glances  of  recognition  the  Witches  are  casting  at  him.  To  a 
mind  utterly  undefended  by  culture  against  superstitious 
terror  this  objective  presentation  of  his  own  thought  proves 
a  Rubicon  of  temptation  which  he  never  attempts  to  recross. 
On  Lady  Macbeth  the  supernatural  incident  makes  not  the  i.  v.  1-55. 
slightest  impression  of  any  kind ;  we  see  her  reading  her 
husband's  excited  account  of  the  interview  with  the  most 
deliberate  calmness,  weighing  its  suggestions  only  with  re- 
ference to  the  question  how  it  can  be  used  upon  her  husband. 
To  her  temptation  comes  with  the  suggestion  of  opportunity. 
The  messenger  enters  during  her  quiet  meditation  : 

Mess.     The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Thou  'rt  mad  to  say  it ! 

The  shock  that  passes  over  her  is  like  the  shock  of  chemical 
change.     In  an  instant  her  whole  nature  is  strung  up  to 


160  MACBETH. 

CHAP. VII.  a  single  end;  the  long-expected  occasion  for  the  concen- 

tration  of  a  whole  life's  energy  upon  a  decisive  stroke  is 

come.  So  rapidly  does  her  imagination  move  that  she  sees 
the  deed  before  her  as  already  done,  and,  as  she  casts  her 
eyes  upwards,  the  very  ravens  over  her  head  seem  to  be 
croaking  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan  under  her  battle- 
ments. 

The  meet-  The  stage  of  Temptation  cannot  be  considered  complete 
'wards**'  witnout  taking  in  that  important  section  of  the  play  \vhich 
i.  v,  from  intervenes  between  the  meeting  of  the  two  personages  after 
05 ,  i.  vii.  tjie-r  separate  temptations  and  the  accomplishment  of  the 
treason.  This  is  essentially  a  period  of  suspense,  and  ac- 
cordingly exhibits  Macbeth  at  his  weakest.  As  he  enters 
his  castle  his  tell-tale  face  is  as  a  book  where  men  may 
read  strange  matters;  and  his  utter  powerlessness  of  self- 
control  throws  upon  his  wife's  firm  will  the  strongest  of  all 
strains,  that  of  infusing  her  own  tenacity  into  a  vacillating 
ally.  I  have  already  dealt  with  the  point  at  which  Macbeth's 
suspense  becomes  intolerable,  and  he  leaves  the  supper-table ; 
and  I  have  drawn  attention  to  the  eminently  practical  nature 
of  his  thoughts  even  at  this  crisis.  The  scene  which  follows, 
when  his  wife  labours  to  hold  him  to  the  enterprise  he  has 
undertaken,  illustrates  perhaps  better  than  any  other  incident 
in  the  play  how  truly  this  practical  bent  is  the  key  to  Mac- 
beth's whole  character.  At  first  he  takes  high  ground,  and 
rests  his  hesitation  on  considerations  of  gratitude.  Lady 
Macbeth  appeals  to  consistency,  to  their  mutual  love,  and, 
her  anger  beginning  to  rise  at  this  wavering  of  will  in  a 
critical  moment,  she  taunts  her  husband  with  cowardice. 
Then  it  is  that  Macbeth,  irritated  in  his  turn,  speaks  the 
noble  words  that  have  done  so  much  to  gain  him  a  place  in 
the  army  of  martyrs  to  wifely  temptations. 

Prithee,  peace: 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 


THE  CONTRAST  TRACED  THROUGH  THE  ACTION.   161 

But  it  is  difficult  to  share  Macbeth's  self-deception  long.  At  CHAP.  VII. 
his  wife's  reminder  how  he  had  been  the  one  to  first  moot 
the  undertaking,  and  swear  to  it  in  spite  of  overwhelming  ob- 
stacles, already  the  noble  attitude  looks  more  like  the  sour 
grapes  morality  of  the  man  who  begins  to  feel  indignation 
against  sin  at  the  precise  moment  when  the  sin  becomes 
dangerous.  And  the  whole  truth  comes  sneaking  out  at 
Macbeth's  next  rejoinder  :  '  If  we  should  fail  ? '  Here  is 
the  critical  point  of  the  scene.  At  its  beginning  Macbeth  is  i.  vii,  from 
for  abandoning  the  treason,  at  its  end  he  prepares  for  his 
task  of  murder  with  animation :  where  does  the  change 
come  ?  The  practical  man  is  nerved  by  having  the  practical 
details  supplied  to  him.  Lady  Macbeth  sketches  a  feasible 
scheme  :  how  that  the  King  will  be  wearied,  his  chamberlains 
can  by  means  of  the  banquet  be  easily  drugged,  their  con- 
fusion on  waking  can  be  interpreted  as  guilt — before  she  has 
half  done  her  husband  interrupts  her  with  a  burst  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  completes  her  scheme  for  her.  The  man  who 
had  thought  it  was  manliness  that  made  him  shrink  from 
murder  henceforward  never  hesitates  till  he  has  plunged  his 
dagger  in  his  sovereign's  bosom. 

In  the  perpetration  of  the  Deed  itself  we  have  the  woman  The  Deed. 
passing  from  weakness  to  strength,  the  man  from  strength  to  JJ'  j:  3I  * 
weakness.     To  Lady  Macbeth  this  actual  contact  with  a  deed 
of  blood  is  the  severest  point  of  the  strain,  the  part  most 
abhorrent  to  her  more  delicate  nature.     For  a  single  moment 
she  feels  herself  on  the  verge  of  the  madness  which  eventually 
comes  upon  her : 

These  deeds  must  not  be  thought  ii.  ii.  33. 

After  these  ways ;   so,  it  will  make  us  mad ! 

And  at  the  beginning  of  the  scene  she  has  been  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  stimulants  in  order  to  brace  her  failing 
nerves : 

That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made  me  bold.        ii.  ii.  i. 
M 


1 62  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  And  in  part  the  attempt  to  bring  her  delicate  nature  to  the 
repugnant  deed  does  fail.  It  is  clear  that,  knowing  how 
little  her  husband  could  be  depended  upon,  she  had  intended 
to  have  a  hand  in  the  murder  itself : 

i.  vii.  69 ;  What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 

compare  The  unguarded  Duncan  ? 

i.  v.  68. 

But  the  will  which  was  strong  enough  to  hold  down  con- 
science gave  way  for  a  moment  before  an  instinct  of  feminine 

tenderness : 

ii.  ii.  1 3.  e  no    r68611™'6^ 

My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done't. 

The  superiority,  however,  of  the  intellectual  mind  is  seen  in 
this,  that  it  can  nerve  itself  from  its  own  agitation,  it  can 
draw  strength  out  of  the  weakness  surrounding  it,  or  out  of 
the  necessities  of  the  situation  :  must  is  the  most  powerful  of 
spells  to  a  trained  will.  And  so  it  is  that  Lady  Macbeth  rises 
to  the  occasion  when  her  husband  fails.  At  first  Macbeth  in 
the  perpetration  of  the  murder  appears  in  his  proper  sphere 
of  action,  and  we  have  already  noticed  how  the  Dagger 
Soliloquy  shows  no  shrinking,  but  rather  excitement  on  the 
side  of  exultation.  The  change  in  him  comes  with  a  moment 
of  suspense,  caused  by  the  momentary  waking  of  the  grooms : 
ii.  ii.  24.  '  I  stood  and  heard  them/  With  this,  no  longer  sustained 
by  action,  he  utterly  breaks  down  under  the  unfamiliar  terrors 
of  a  fight  with  his  conscience.  His  prayer  sticks  in  his  throat ; 
his  thoughts  seem  so  vivid  that  his  wife  can  hardly  tell  whether 
he  did  not  take  them  for  a  real  voice  outside  him. 

"Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ?     Why,  worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things. 

In  his  agitation  he  forgets  the  plan  of  action,  brings  away 
the  daggers  instead  of  leaving  them  with  the  grooms,  and 
finally  dares  not  return  to  finish  what  he  has  left  uncompleted. 
And  accordingly  his  wife  has  to  make  another  demand  upon 
,  her  overwrought  nature  :  with  one  hysterical  jest, 


THE  CONTRAST  TRA CED  THR 0 UGH  THE  A C TION.  163 

If  he  do  bleed,  CHAP.  VII. 

I'll  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal,  

For  it  must  seem  their  guilf, 

her  nature  rallies,  and  the  strength  derived  from  the  inner 
life  fills  up  a  gap  in  action  where  the  mere  strength  of  action 
had  failed. 

The  Concealment  of  the   murder  forms  a  stage  of  the  The  first 
action  which  falls  into  two  different  parts :  the  single  effort  ^onceal- 
which  faces  the  first  shock  of  discovery,  and  the  very  different  went.    ii. 
strain  required  to  meet  the  slowly  gathering  evidence  of  guilt.  m>  r( 
In  the  Scene  of  the  Discovery  Macbeth  is  perfectly  at  home  : 
energetic  action  is  needed,  and  he  is  dealing  with  men.     His 
acted  innocence  appears  to  me  better  than  his  wife's ;  Lady 
Macbeth  goes  near  to  suggesting  a  personal  interest  in  the 
crime  by  her  over-anxiety  to  disclaim  it. 

Macditff.  O  Banquo,  Banquo, 

Our  royal  master 's  murder'd  ! 
Lady  M.  Woe.  alas ! 

What,  in  our  house? 
Banquo.  Too  cruel  anywhere. 

Yet  in  this  scene,  as  everywhere  else,  the  weak  points  in 
Macbeth's  character  betray  him :  for  one  moment  he  is  left 
to  himself,  and  that  moment's  suspense  ruins  the  whole 
episode.  In  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world  Macbeth 
had,  on  hearing  the  announcement,  rushed  with  Lennox  to  the 
scene  of  the  murder.  Lennox  quitted  the  chamber  of  blood 
first,  and  for  an  instant  Macbeth  was  alone,  facing  the  grooms 
still  heavy  with  their  drugged  sleep,  and  knowing  that  in 
another  moment  they  would  be  aroused  and  telling  their 
tale :  the  sense  of  crisis  proves  too  much  for  him,  and  under 
an  ungovernable  impulse  he  stabs  them.  He  thus  wrecks 
the  whole  scheme.  How  perfectly  Lady  Macbeth's  plan 
would  have  served  if  it  had  been  left  to  itself  is  shown  by 
Lennox's  account  of  what  he  had  seen,  and  how  the  grooms 

stared,  and  were  distracted;  no  man's  life 
Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 
M   2 


164  MACBETH. 

CHAP.  VII.  Nothing,  it  is  true,  can  be  finer  than  the  way  in  which  Mac- 

beth  seeks  to  cover  his  mistake  and  announces  what  he  has 

done.     But  in  spite  of  his  brilliant  outburst, 

Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment? 

and  his  vivid  word-picture  of  his  supposed  sensations,  his 

efforts  are  in  vain,  and  at  the  end  of  his  speech  we  feel  that 

there  has  arisen  in  the  company  of  nobles  the  indescribable 

effect  known  as  *  a  sensation/  and  we  listen  for  some  one  to 

speak  some  word  that  shall  be  irrevocable.     The  crisis  is 

ii.  iii.  124.  acute,  but  Lady  Macbeth  comes  to  the  rescue  and  faints  I 

It  matters  little  whether  we  suppose  the  fainting  assumed, 

or  that  she  yields  to  the  agitation   she  has  been  fighting 

against  so  long.     The  important  point  is  that  she  chooses 

this  exact  moment  for  giving  way :  she  holds  out  to  the  end 

of  her  husband's  speech,  then  falls  with  a  cry  for  help ;  there 

is  at  once  a  diversion,  and  she  is  carried  out.     But  the  crisis 

ii.  iii.  132.  has  passed,  and  a  moment's  consideration  has  suggested  to 

the  nobles  the  wisdom  of  adjourning  for  a  fitter  occasion  the 

enquiry  into  the  murder  they  all  suspect :  before  that  occasion 

ii.  iv.  24-   arrives  the  flight  of  the  king's  sons  has  diverted  suspicion  into 

32'  an  entirely  new  channel.     Lady  Macbeth's  fainting  saved  her 

husband. 

The  long         To  convey  dramatically  the  continuous  strain  of  keeping 

SConccaf    UP  aPPearances  m  ^ace  °f  steadily  accumulating  suspicion  is 

ment.    iii.  more  difficult  than  to  depict  a  single  crisis.     Shakespeare 

manages  it  in  the  present  case  chiefly  by  presenting  Macbeth 

to  us  on  the  eve  of  an  important  council,  at  which  the  whole 

truth  is  likely  to  come  out. 

iii.  i.  30.  We  hear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestowed 

In  England  and  in  Ireland,  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention :  but  of  that  to-morrow. 

It  is  enough  to  note  here  that  Macbeth  takes  the  step — the 
fatal  step,  as  was  pointed  out  in  the  last  study — of  contriving 


THE  CONTRAST  TRA  CED  THR 0 UGH  THE  A C TION.    1 6 5 

Banquo's  murder  simply  because  he  cannot  face  the  suspense  CHAP.  VII. 

of  waiting  for  the  morrow,  and  hearing  the  defence  of  the     

innocent  princes  made  in  presence  of  Banquo,  who  knows 
the  inducement  he  had  to  such  a  deed.  That  he  feels  the 
danger  of  the  crime,  which  nevertheless  he  cannot  hold  him- 
self back  from  committing,  is  clear  from  the  fact  that  he  will 
not  submit  it  to  the  calmer  judgment  of  his  wife.  The  con-  iii.  ii.  45. 
trast  of  the  two  characters  appears  here  as  everywhere.  Lady 
Macbeth  can  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  freeing  themselves 
from  Banquo : 

Macb.     Thou  know'st  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives.  iii'  ii-  37* 

Lady  M.     But  in  them  nature's  copy 's  not  eterne. 

To  Macbeth  the  one  thing  impossible  is  to  wait ;   and  once 
more  his  powerlessness  to  control  suspense  is  his  ruin. 

We  have  reviewed  the  contrasted  characters  under  Tempta-  The  first 
tion,  in  the  Deed  of  sin  itself,  and  in  the  struggle  for  Conceal-  S^fe^{s 
ment :  it  remains  to  watch  them  face  to  face  with  their  iii.  iv. 
Nemesis.  In  the  present  play  Shakespeare  has  combined  the 
nemesis  which  takes  the  form  of  a  sudden  shock  with  the  yet 
severer  nemesis  of  a  hopeless  resistance  through  the  stages  of 
a  protracted  fall.  The  first  Shock  of  Nemesis  comes  in  the 
Banquet  Scene.  Macbeth  has  surrendered  himself  to  the 
supernatural,  and  from  the  supernatural  his  retribution  comes. 
This  is  not  the  place  to  draw  out  the  terrible  force  of  this 
famous  scene  j  for  its  bearing  on  the  contrast  of  character 
under  delineation  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  Macbeth  faces  his 
ghostly  visitation  with  unflinching  courage,  yet  without  a 
shadow  of  doubt  as  to  the  reality  of  what  nevertheless  no  one 
sees  but  himself.  Lady  Macbeth  is  equally  true  to  her 
character^  and  fights  on  to  the  last  in  the  now  hopeless 
contest — her  double  task  of  keeping  up  appearances  for  her- 
self and  for  her  husband.  Her  keen  tact  in  dealing  with 
Macbeth  is  to  be  noted.  At  first  she  rallies  him  angrily,  and 
seeks  to  shame  him  into  self-command;  a  moment  shows 


1 66  MACBETH. 

CHAP. VII.  that  he  is  too  far  gone  to  be  reached  by  such  motives.     In- 

stantly  she  changes  her  tactics,  and,  employing  a  device  so 

often  effective  with  patients  of  disordered  brain,  she  en- 
deavours to  recall  him  to  his  senses  by  assuming  an  ordinary 
tone  of  voice ;  hitherto  she  has  whispered,  now,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  all,  she  makes  the  practical  remark  : 

iii.  iv.  83.  My  worthy  lord, 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

The  device  proves  successful,  his  nerves  respond  to  the  tone 
of  everyday  life,  and  recovering  himself  he  uses  all  his  skill 
of  deportment  to  efface  the  strangeness  of  the  episode,  until 
the  reappearance  of  his  victim  plunges  the  scene  in  confusion 
past  recovery.  In  the  moment  of  crisis  Lady  Macbeth  had 
used  roughness  to  rouse  her  husband  ;  when  the  courtiers 

iii.  iv,  from  are  gone  she  is  all  tenderness.     She  utters  not  a  word  of  re- 

I22'  proach :  perhaps  she  is  herself  exhausted  by  the  strain  she  has 

gone  through ;  more  probably  the  womanly  solicitude  for  the 
physical  sufferer  thinks  only  how  to  procure  for  her  husband 
'  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep/ 

Thefiill         At  last  the  end  comes.     The  final  stage,  like  the  first  is 

sls'     brought  to  the  two  personages  separately.     Lady  Macbeth 

has  faced  every  crisis  by  sheer  force  of  nerve ;   the  nemesis 

v.  i.  comes  upon  her  fitly  in  madness,  the  brain  giving  way  under 

the  strain  of  contest  which  her  will  has  forced  upon  it.  In 
the  delirium  of  her  last  appearance  before  us  we  can  trace 
three  distinct  tones  of  thought  working  into  one  another  as  if 
in  some  weird  harmony.  There  is  first  the  mere  reproduction 
of  the  horrible  scenes  she  has  passed  through. 

One  :  two :  why  then  'tis  time  to  do 't.  .  .  .  Yet  who  would  have 
thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him.  .  .  .  The  thane 
of  Fife  had  a  wife  :  where  is  she  now  ? 

Again  there  is  an  inner  thought  contending  with  the  first,  the 
struggle  to  keep  her  husband  from  betraying  himself  by  his 
irresolution. 

No  more  o'  that,  my  lord,  no  more  o'  that :  you  mar  all  with  this 


THE  CONTRAS  T  TRA  CED  THR  0  UGH  THE  A  CTION.    1 6  7 

starting.  .  .  .  Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  night-gown;  look  not  so  CHAP. VII. 
pale.  ...  Fie  !  a  soldier  and  afear'd  ?  

And  there  is  an  inmost  thought  of  all;  the  uprising  of  her 
feminine  nature  against  the  foulness  of  the  violent  deed. 

Out,  damn'd  spot !  .  .  .  Here 's  the  smell  of  blood  still :  all  the  per- 
fumes of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand — 

and  the  '  sorely  charged  heart '  vents  itself  in  a  sigh  which 
the  attendants  shudder  to  hear.  On  Macbeth  Nemesis  heaps 
itself  in  double  form.  The  purely  practical  man,  without 
resources  in  himself,  finds  nemesis  in  an  old  age  that  receives 
no  honour  from  others. 

My  way  of  life  V.  iii.  22. 

Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I  must  not  look  to  have,  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud,  but  deep. 

Again,  as  the  drunkard   finds   his  refuge  in  drink,  so  the 
victim  of  superstition  longs  for  deeper  draughts  of  the  super- 
natural.    Macbeth  seeks  the  Witches,  forces  himself  to  hear  iv.  i. 
the  worst,  and  suffers   nemesis  in  anticipation  in  viewing 
future  generations  which  are  to  see  his  foes  on  his  throne,  iv.  i.  110- 
Finally  from  the  supernatural  comes  the  climax  of  retribution  I35* 
when  Macbeth  is  seen  resting  in  unquestioning  reliance  on  an  from  iv.  i. 
ironical  oracle  :  till  the  shock  of  revelation  comes,  the  pledge    °* 
of  his  safety  is  converted  into  the  sign  of  his  doom,  and  the  3j ;  v.  viii, 
brave  Macbeth,  hero  of  a  hundred  battles,  throws  down  his  from  13. 
sword  and  refuses  to  fight.  v*  vm*  22* 


VIII. 

JULIUS  C.ESAR  BESIDE  HIS  MURDERERS 
AND  HIS  AVENGER. 

A  Study  in  Character-Grouping. 

CH.  VIII.    ITp  VERY  lover  of  art  feels  that  the  different  fine  arts  form 

_•_ I    ^    not  a  crowd  but  a  family ;  the  more  familiar  the  mind 

Character-  ,  .        , 

Grouping,   becomes  with  them  the  more  it  delights  to  trace  in  them  the 

application  of  common  ideas  to  different  media  of  expression. 
We  are  reminded  of  this  essential  unity  by  the  way  in  which  the 
arts  borrow  their  terms  from  one  another.  '  Colour '  is  applied 
to  music,  '  tone '  to  painting ;  we  speak  of  costume  as  '  loud,' 
of  melody  as  'bright,'  of  orchestration  as  'massive';  'fragrance* 
was  applied  by  Schumann  to  Liszt's  playing.  Two  classes 
of  oratorical  style  have  been  distinguished  as  '  statuesque ' 
and  'picturesque';  while  the  application  of  a  musical  term, 
4  harmony,'  and  a  term  of  sculpture,  '  relief,'  to  all  the  arts 
alike  is  so  common  that  the  transference  is  scarcely  felt. 
Such  usages  are  not  the  devices  of  a  straitened  vocabulary, 
but  are  significant  of  a  single  Art  which  is  felt  to  underlie 
the  special  arts.  So  the  more  Drama  is  brought  by  criticism 
into  the  family  of  the  fine  arts  the  more  it  will  be  seen  to 
present  the  common  features.  We  have  already  had  to 
notice  repeatedly  how  the  idea  of  pattern  or  design  is  the 
key  to  dramatic  plot.  We  are  in  the  present  study  to  see  how 
contrast  of  character,  such  as  was  traced  in  the  last  study 
between  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth,  when  applied  to  a  larger 
,  number  of  personages,  produces  an  effect  on  the  mind 

analogous  to  that  of  grouping  in  pictures  and  statuary :   the 
different  personages  not  only  present  points  of  contrast  with 


INDIVIDUALITY  AND  PUBLIC  LIFE.  169 

one  another,  but  their  varieties  suddenly  fall  into  a  unity  of  CH.  VIII. 

effect  if  looked  at  from  some  one  point  of  view.     An  example     

of  such  Character-Grouping  is  seen  in  the  play  of  Julius  grouping 

Ccesar,  where  the  four  leading  figures,  all  on  the  grandest  i*J*&** 

_     ,  Ccesar  rests 

scale,  have  the   elements   of  their   characters  thrown   into  on  the  anti- 

relief  by  comparison  with   one   another,  and   the   contrast  thesis  of  the 

.  .        _  practical 

stands  out  boldly  when  the  four  are  reviewed   in  relation  and  inner 

to  one  single  idea.  W** 

This  idea  is  the  same  as  that  which  lay  at  the  root  of  the 
Character-Contrast  in  Macbeth — the  antithesis  of  the  practical 
and  inner  life.  It  is,  however,  applied  in  a  totally  different 
sphere.  Instead  of  a  simple  age  in  which  the  lives  coincide 
with  the  sexes  we  are  carried  to  the  other  extreme  of  civilisa- 
tion, the  final  age  of  Roman  liberty,  and  all  four  personages 
are  merged  in  the  busy  world  of  political  life.  Naturally,  then, 
the  contrast  of  the  two  lives  takes  in  this  play  a  different 
form.  In  the  play  of  Macbeth  the  inner  life  was  seen  in  the  This  takes 
force  of  will  which  could  hold  down  alike  bad  and  good  '^^/ 
impulses ;  while  the  outer  life  was  made  interesting  by  its  sympathie 
confinement  to  the  training  given  by  action,  and  an  exhi-  \' 
bition  of  it  devoid  of  the  thoughtfulness  and  self-control  for 
which  the  life  of  activity  has  to  draw  upon  the  inner  life. 
But  there  is  another  aspect  in  which  the  two  may  be  re- 
garded. The  idea  of  the  inner  life  is  reflected  in  the  word 
*  individuality/  or  that  which  a  man  has  not  in  common  with 
others.  The  cultivation  of  the  inner  life  implies  not  merely 
cultivation  of  our  own  individuality,  but  to  it  also  belongs 
sympathy  with  the  individuality  of  others;  whereas  in  the 
sphere  of  practical  life  men  fall  into  classes,  and  each 
person  has  his  place  as  a  member  of  these  classes.  Thus 
benevolence  may  take  the  form  of  enquiring  into  indi- 
vidual wants  and  troubles  and  meeting  these  by  personal 
assistance;  but  a  man  has  an  equal  claim  to  be  called 
benevolent  who  applies  himself  to  such  sciences  as  political 
economy,  studies  the  springs  which  regulate  human  society, 


170  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CH.VHI.  and    by  influencing   these    in   the    right    direction   confers 

benefits  upon  whole  classes  at  a  time.     Charity  and  political 

science  are  the  two  forms  benevolence  assumes  correspon- 
dent to  the  inner  life  of  individual  sympathies  and  the  outer 
life  of  public  action.  Or,  if  we  consider  the  contrast  from 
the  side  of  rights  as  distinguished  from  duties,  the  supreme 
form  in  which  the  rights  of  individuals  may  be  summed 
up  is  justice;  the  corresponding  claim  which  public  life 
makes  upon  us  is  (in  the  highest  sense  of  the  term)  policy : 
wherever  these  two,  justice  and  policy,  seem  to  clash,  the  outer 
and  inner  life  are  brought  into  conflict.  It  is  in  this  form 
that  the  conflict  is  raised  in  the  play  of  Julius  C&sar.  To 
get  it  in  its  full  force,  the  dramatist  goes  to  the  world  of 
antiquity,  for  one  of  the  leading  distinctions  between  ancient 
and  modern  society  is  that  the  modern  world  gives  the  fullest 
play  to  the  individual,  while  in  ancient  systems  the  individual 
was  treated  as  existing  solely  for  the  state.  *  Liberty'  has 
been  a  watchword  in  both  ages  ;  but  while  we  mean  by  liberty 
the  least  amount  of  interference  with  personal  activity,  the 
liberty  for  which  ancient  patriots  contended  was  freedom  of 
the  government  from  external  or  internal  control,  and  the 
ideal  republic  of  Plato  was  so  contrived  as  to  reduce  indi- 
vidual liberty  to  a  minimum.  And  this  subordination  of 
private  to  public  was  most  fully  carried  out  in  Rome.  '  The 
common  weal/  says  Merivale,  '  was  after  all  the  grand  object 
of  the  heroes  of  Roman  story.  Few  of  the  renowned  heroes 
of  old  had  attained  their  eminence  as  public  benefactors 
without  steeling  their  hearts  against  the  purest  instincts  of 
nature.  The  deeds  of  a  Brutus  or  a  Manlius,  of  a  Sulla 
or  a  Caesar,  would  have  been  branded  as  crimes  in  private 
citizens:  it  was  the  public  character  of  the  actors  that 
stamped  them  with  immortal  glory  in  the  eyes  of  their 
countrymen/  Accordingly,  the  opposition  of  outer  and 
inner  life  is  brought  before  us  most  keenly  when,  in  Roman 
life,  a  public  policy,  the  cause  of  republican  freedom,  seems 


CHARACTER   OF  BRUTUS.  171 

to  be  bound  up  with  the  supreme  crime  against  justice  and  CH.  VIII. 
the  rights  of  the  individual,  assassination. 

Brutus  is  the  central  figure  of  the  group :  in  his  character  Brtttm's 

the  two  sides  are  so  balanced  that  the  antithesis  disappears.  character 

so  evenly 

This  evenness  of  development  in  his  nature  is  the  thought  of  developed  • 
those   who   in  the  play  gather  around  his  corpse ;    giving  ^ntitficsis 
prominence  to  the  quality  in  Brutus  hidden  from  the  casual  disappears. 
observer  they  say : 

His  life  was  gentle ;   and  the  elements  V.  v.  73. 

So  mix'd  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world  '  This  was  a  man ! ' 

Of  another  it  would  be  said  that  he  was  a  poet,  a  philoso- 
pher ;  of  Brutus  the  only  true  description  was  that  he  was  a 
man !     It  is  in  very  few  characters  that  force  and  softness 
are  each  carried  to  such  perfection.     The  strong  side  of  Force  of  his 
Brutus's  character  is  that  which  has  given  to  the  whole  play  character- 
its  characteristic  tone.     It  is  seen  in  the  way  in  which  he 
appreciates  the  issue  at  stake.    Weak  men  sin  by  hiding  from 
themselves  what  it  is  they  do;    Brutus  is  fully  alive  to  the 
foulness  of  conspiracy  at  the  moment  in  which  he  is  con- 
spiring. 

O  conspiracy,  ii.  i.  77* 

Shamest  Ihou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 

When  evils  are  most  free  ?    O,  then  by  day 

Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 

To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ? 

His  high  tone  he  carries  into  the  darkest  scenes  of  the  play. 
The  use  of  criminal  means  has  usually  an  intoxicating  effect 
upon  the  moral  sense,  and  suggests  to  those  once  committed 
to  it  that  it  is  useless  to  haggle  over  the  amount  of  the  crime 
until  the  end  be  obtained.  Brutus  resists  this  intoxication, 
setting  his  face  against  the  proposal  to  include  Antony  in  ii.  i.  162. 
Caesar's  fate,  and  resolving  that  not  one  life  shall  be  unneces- 
sarily sacrificed.  He  scorns  the  refuge  of  suicide ;  and  with 
warmth  adjures  his  comrades  not  to  stain — 


172  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CH.  VIII.  The  even  virtue  of  our  enterprise, 
Nor  the  insuppressive  mettle  of  our  spirits, 

ii.  i.  114,  To  think  that  or  our  cause  or  our  performance 

Did  need  an  oath ;    when  every  drop  of  blood 
That  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears, 
Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy, 
If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 
Of  any  promise  that  hath  pass'd  from  him. 

The  scale  of  Brutus's  character  is  again  brought  out  by  his 
relations  with  other  personages  of  the  play.  Casca,  with  all 
his  cynical  depreciation  of  others,  has  to  bear  unqualified 
testimony  to  Brutus's  greatness  : 

i.  iii.  157.  O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts; 

And  that  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchemy, 
Will  change  to  virtue  and  to  worthiness. 

ii.  i,  fin.  We  see  Ligarius  coming  from  a  sick-bed  to  join  in  he  knows 
not  what :  '  it  sufficeth  that  Brutus  leads  me  on.'  And  the 
hero's  own  thought,  when  at  the  point  of  death  he  pauses  to 
take  a  moment's  survey  of  his  whole  life,  is  of  the  unfailing 

v.  v.  34.     power  with  which  he  has  swayed  the  hearts  of  all  around 

him : 

My  heart  doth  joy  that  yet  in  all  my  life 
I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me. 

Above  all,  contact  with  Cassius  throws  into  relief  the  great- 

i.  ii.  ness  of  Brutus.     At  the  opening  of  the  play  it  is  Cassius  that 

we  associate  with  the  idea  of  force ;  but  his  is  the  ruling 

mind  only  while  Brutus  is  hesitating ;  as  soon  as  Brutus  has 

thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  conspirators,  Cassius  himself  is 

swept  along  with  the  current  of  Brutus's  irresistible  influence. 

Cf.  ii.  i.      In  the  councils  every  point  is  decided— and,  so  far  as  success 

iii'^o-  'ls  concerned>  wrongly  decided — against  Cassius's  better  judg- 

i46,  231-    ment.     In  the  sensational  moment  when  Popilius  Lena  enters 

jlj3^  *7*     the  Senate-house  and  is  seen  to  whisper  Caesar,  Cassius's 

225,  &c.     presence  of  mind  fails  him,  and  he  prepares  in  despair  for 

iii.  i.  19.     suicide;  Brutus  retains  calmness  enough  to  ivatch  faces : 


CHARACTER   OF  BRUTUS.  173 

Cassius,  be  constant :  CH.  VIII. 

Popilins  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes; 
For,  look,  he  smiles,  and  Caesar  doth  not  change. 

In  the  Quarrel  Scene  Cassius  has  lost  all  pretensions   to  iv.  iii. 
dignity  of  action  in  the  impatience  sprung  from  a  ruined 
cause  ;  Brutus  maintains  principle  in  despair.     Finally,  at  the 
close  of  the  scene,  when  it  is  discovered  that  under  all  the 
hardness  of  this  contest  for  principle  Brutus  has  been  hiding  iv.  iii,  from 
a  heart  broken  by  the  loss  of  Portia,  Cassius  is  forced  to  give  I45* 
way  and  acknowledge  Brutus's  superiority  to  himself  even  in 
his  own  ideal  of  impassiveness  : 

I  have  as  much  of  this  in  art  as  you,  iv.  iii.  194. 

But  yet  my  nature  could  not  bear  it  so. 

The  force  in  Brutus's  character  is  obvious :  it  is  rather  its  Its  softness. 
softer  side  that  some  readers  find  difficulty  in  seeing.     But  this 
difficulty  is  in  reality  a  testimony  to  Shakespeare's  skill,  for 
Brutus  is  a  Stoic,  and  what  gentleness  we  see  in  him  appears 
in  spite  of  himself.     It  may  be  seen  in  his  culture  of  art, 
music,  and  philosophy,  which  have  such  an  effect  in  softening 
the  manners.     Nor  is  this  in  the  case  of  the  Roman  Brutus 
a   mere  conventional   culture :    these  tastes   are  among  his 
strongest  passions.     When  all  is  confusion  around  him  on  the 
eve  of  the  fatal  battle  he  cannot  restrain  his  longing  for  the  iv.  iii.  256. 
refreshing  tones  of  his  page's  lyre ;  and,  the  music  over,  he 
takes  up  his  philosophical  treatise  at  the  page  he  had  turned 
down.     Again  Brutus's  considerateness  for  his  dependants  is  iv.  iii.  242. 
in  strong  contrast  with  the  harshness  of  Roman  masters. 
On  the  same  eve  of  the  battle  he  insists  that  the  men  who 
watch  in  his  tent  shall  lie  down  instead  of  standing  as  dis- 
cipline would  require.     An  exquisite  little  episode  brings  out  iv.  iii,  from 
Brutus's  sweetness  of  demeanour  in  dealing  with  his  youthful  *52' 
page;    this  rises  to  womanly  tenderness  at  the  end  when, 
noticing  how  the  boy,  wearied  out  and  fallen  asleep,  is  lying 
in  a  position  to  injure  his  instrument,  he  rises  and  disengages 
it  without  waking  him. 


174 


JULIUS  C&SAR. 


CH.  VIII. 


ii.  i,  from 
233- 


ii.  iv. 


This  is 
concealed 
under  stoic 
imper- 
turbability. 


Brti.    Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  book  I  sought  for  so; 

I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown. 
Luc.    I  was  sure  your  lordship  did  not  give  it  me. 
Brti.     Bear  with  me,  good  boy ;   I  am  much  forgetful. 

Can'st  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 

And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two? 
Luc.     Ay,  my  lord,  an't  please  you. 
Bru.  It  does,  my  boy: 

I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  thou  art  willing. 
Luc.     It  is  my  duty,  sir. 
Bru.     I  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  might ; 

I  know  young  bloods  look  for  a  time  of  rest. 
Luc.     I  have  slept  my  lord,  already. 
Bru.     It  was  well  done ;    and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 

I  will  not  hold  thee  long :    if  I  do  live 

I  will  be  good  to  thee.  \^Music  and  a  song. 

This  is  a  sleepy  tune.     O  murderous  slumber, 

Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy, 

That  plays  thee  music  ?   Gentle  knave,  good  night ; 

I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. — 

If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break' st  thy  instrument ; 

I'll  take  it  from  thee  ;   and,  good  boy,  good  night. 

Brutus's  relations  with  Portia  bear  the  same  testimony. 
Portia  is  a  woman  with  as  high  a  spirit  as  Lady  Macbeth, 
and  she  can  inflict  a  wound  on  herself  to  prove  her  courage 
and  her  right  to  share  her  husband's  secrets.  But  she  lacks 
the  physical  nerve  of  Lady  Macbeth ;  her  agitation  on  the 
morning  of  the  assassination  threatens  to  betray  the  con- 
spirators, and  when  these  have  to  flee  from  Rome  the 
suspense  is  too  much  for  her  and  she  commits  suicide. 
Brutus  knew  his  wife  better  than  she  knew  herself,  and  was 
right  in  seeking  to  withhold  the  fatal  confidence;  yet  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded :  no  man  would  be  so 
swayed  by  a  tender  woman  unless  he  had  a  tender  spirit  of 
his  own.  In  all  these  ways  we  may  trace  an  extreme  of 
gentleness  in  Brutus.  But  it  is  of  the  essence  of  his  character 
that  this  softer  side  is  concealed  behind  an  imperturbability 
of  outward  demeanour  that  belongs  to  his  stoic  religion : 
this  struggle  between  inward  and  outward  is  the  main  feature 


CHARACTER   OF  BRUTUS.  175 

for  the  actor  to  bring  out.     It  is  a  master  stroke  of  Shake-  CH.  VIII. 

speare  that  he  utilises  the  euphuistic  prose  of  his  age  to     

express   impassiveness   in   Brutus's   oration.     The   greatest  iii.  ii,  from 
man  of  the  world  has  just  been  assassinated;  the  mob  are  I4' 
swaying  with  fluctuating  passions ;  the  subtlest  orator  of  his 
day  is  at  hand  to  turn  those  passions  into  the  channel  of 
vengeance  for  his  friend :    Brutus  called  on  amid  such  sur- 
roundings to  speak  for  the  conspirators  still  maintains  the 
artificial    style    of    carefully    balanced    sentences,    such    as 
emotionless  rhetoric  builds  up  in  the  quiet  of  a  study. 

As  Csesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice 
at  it;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honour  him  :  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew 
him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love ;  joy  for  his  fortune ;  honour  for  his 
valour ;  and  death  for  his  ambition. 

Brutus's  nature  then  is  developed  on  all  its  sides ;  in  his  The  anti- 

character  the  antithesis  of  the  outer  and  inner  life  disappears. thens  re~, 

appears  for 

It  reappears,  however,  in  the  action ;  for  Brutus  is  compelled  Brutus  in 
to  balance  a  weighty  issue,  with  public  policy  on  the  one  *!]*  actlon- 
side,  and  on  the  other,  not  only  justice  to  individual  claims, 
but  further  the   claims  of  friendship,  which  is  one  of  the 
fairest  flowers  of  the  inner  life.     And  the  balance  dips  to 
the  wrong  side.     If  the  question  were  of  using  the  weapon 
of  assassination  against  a  criminal  too  high  for  the  ordinary 
law  to  reach,  this  would  be  a  moral  problem  which,  how- 
ever doubtful  to  modern  thought,  would  have  been  readily 
decided   by   a    Stoic.     But   the   question   which    presented 
itself  to  Brutus  was  distinctly  not  this.     Shakespeare  has  ii.i.  18-34. 
been  careful  to  represent  Brutus  as  admitting   to   himself 
that  Caesar  has  done  no  wrong :  he  slays  him  for  what  he 
might  do. 

The  abuse  of  greatness  is,  when  it  disjoins 
Remorse  from  power:  and,  to  speak  truth  of  Casar, 
I  have  not  known  when  his  affections  swayed 
More  than  his  reason.     But  'tis  a  common  proof, 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder, 
Whereto  the  climber-upward  turns  his  face; 


176  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CH.  VIII.  But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 

He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 

Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 

By   which  he  did  ascend.     So  Caesar  may. 

Then,  lest  he  may,  prevent.     And  since  the  quarrel 

Will  bear  no  coloiir  for  the  thing  he  is, 

Fashion  it  thus ;    that  what  he  is,  augmented, 

Would  run  to  these  and  these  extremities  : 

And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  egg 

Which  hatch'd,  would,  as  his  kind,  grow  mischievous, 

And  kill  him  in  the  shell. 

It  is  true  that  Shakespeare,  with  his  usual '  dramatic  hedging/ 
softens  down  this  immoral  bias  in  a  great  hero  by  represent- 
ing him  as  both  a  Roman,  of  the  nation  which  beyond  all 
other  nations  exalted  the  state  over  the  individual,  and  a 
compare  Brutus,  representative  of  the  house  which  had  risen  to  great- 
:59-  ness  by  leading  violence  against  tyranny.  But,  Brutus's  own 
conscience  being  judge,  the  man  against  whom  he  moves  is 
guiltless  ;  and  so  the  conscious  sacrifice  of  justice  and  friend- 
ship to  policy  is  a  fatal  error  which  is  source  sufficient  for  the 
whole  tragedy  of  which  Brutus  is  the  hero. 

Casar:dis-      The  character  of  Caesar  is  one   of  the  most  difficult  in 
^hi^cha-  Shakespeare.     Under  the  influence  of  some  of  his  speeches 
racter  to  be  we  find  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the  master  spirits 
reconcile  .   Qf  manjjm(j .  other  scenes  in  which  he  plays  a  leading  part 
breathe  nothing  but  the  feeblest  vacillation  and  weakness. 
It  is  the  business  of  Character-Interpretation  to  harmonise 
this  contradiction ;  it  is  not  interpretation  at  all  to  ignore  one 
side  of  it  and  be  content  with  describing  Caesar  as  vacillating. 
The  force  and  strength  of  his  character  is  seen  in  the  im- 
pression  he  makes   upon  forceful   and   strong  men.     The 
attitude  of  Brutus  to  Caesar  seems  throughout  to  be  that  of 
looking  up ;  and  notably  at  one  point  the  thought  of  Caesar's 
greatness  seems  to  cast  a  lurid  gleam  over  the  assassination 
plot  itself,  and  Brutus  feels  that  the  grandeur  of  the  victim 
gives  a  dignity  to  the  crime  : 
ii.  i.  173.  Let's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods. 


CHARACTER  OF  CAESAR.  177 

The  strength  and  force  of  Antony  again  no  one  will  ques-  CH.  VIII. 

tion ;  and  Antony,  at  the  moment  when  he  is  alone  with  the     

corpse  of  Caesar  and  can  have  no  motive  for  hypocrisy, 
apostrophises  it  in  the  words — 

Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man  lii.  i.  256. 

That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 

And  we  see  enough  of  Caesar  in  the  play  to  bear  out  the 
opinions  of  Brutus  and  Antony.  Those  who  accept  vacilla- 
tion as  sufficient  description  of  Caesar's  character  must  ex- 
plain his  strong  speeches  as  vaunting  and  self-assertion.  But 
surely  it  must  be  possible  for  dramatic  language  to  distinguish 
between  the  true  and  the  assumed  force  ;  and  equally  surely 
there  is  a  genuine  ring  in  the  speeches  in  which  Caesar's 
heroic  spirit,  shut  out  from  the  natural  sphere  of  action  in 
which  it  has  been  so  often  proved,  leaps  restlessly  at  every 
opportunity  into  pregnant  words.  We  may  thus  feel  certain 
of  his  lofty  physical  courage. 

Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths ;  ii-  ii-  32- 

The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 

Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 

It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear  .  .  . 

Danger  knows  full  well  ii.  ii.  44. 

That  Coesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he: 
We  are  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible. 

A  man  must  have  felt  the  thrill  of  courage  in  search  of  its 
food,  danger,  before  his  self-assertion  finds  language  of  this 
kind  in  which  to  express  itself.     In  another  scene  we  have 
the  perfect  fortiter  in  re  and  suaviter  in  modo  of  the  trained 
statesman  exhibited  in  the  courtesy  with  which  Caesar  receives  ii.  ii,  from 
the  conspirators,  combined  with  his  perfect  readiness  to  '  tell  57' 
graybeards  the  truth.'     Nor  could  imperial  firmness  be  more  iii.  i.  35. 
ideally  painted  than  in  the  way  in  which  Caesar  '  prevents ' 

Cimber's  intercession.  , 

Be  not  fond, 

To  think  that  Caesar  bears  such  rebel  blood 


178  JULIUS  CAESAR. 

Cil.  VIII.  That  will  be  thaw'd  from  the  true  quality 

With  that  which  melteth  fools;  I  mean,  sweet  words, 

Low-crooked  court'sies,  and  base  spaniel- fawn  ing. 

Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished : 

If  thou  dost  bend  and  pray  and  fawn  for  him, 

I  spurn  thee  like  a  cur  out  of  my  way. 

Know,  Coesar  doth  not  wrong,  nor  without  cause 

Will  he  be  satisfied. 

Commonplace  authority  loudly  proclaims  that  it  will  never 
relent :  the  true  imperial  spirit  feels  it  a  preliminary  condition 
to  see  first  that  it  never  does  wrong. 

ReconciU-        It  is  the  antithesis  of  the  outer  and  inner  life  that  explains 
ac™ar the    l^*s  contracnction  m  Caesar's  character.     Like  Macbeth,  he  is 
highest        the  embodiment  of  one  side  and  one  side  only  of  the  anti- 
tnes*s  >  ne  *s  ^e  complete  type  of  the  practical — though  in 
special  qualities  he  is  as  unlike  Macbeth  as  his  age  is  unlike 
Macbeth's  age.     Accordingly  Caesar  appears  before  us  perfect 
up  to  the  point  where  his  own  personality  comes  in.     The 
military  and  political  spheres,  in  which  he  has  been  such  a 
colossal  figure,  call  forth  practical  powers,  and  do  not  in- 
volve introspection  and  meditation  on  foundation  principles 

of  thought. 

Theirs  not  to  reason  why : 

Theirs  but  to  do. 

The  tasks  of  the  soldier  and  the  statesman  are  imposed  upon 

them  by  external  authority  and  necessities,  and  the  faculties 

exercised  are  those  which  shape  means  to  ends.     But  at  last 

Caesar  comes  to  a  crisis  that  does  involve  his  personality ;  he 

attempts  a  task  imposed  on  him  by  his  own  ambition.     He 

plays  in  a  game  of  which  the  prize  is  the  world  and  the 

stake  himself,  and  to  estimate  chances  in  such  a  game  tests 

but  lacking  self-knowledge  and  self-command  to  its  depths.     How  want- 

lrfe    '         ing  Caesar  is  in  the  cultivation  of  the  inner  life  is  brought  out 

3.  ii.  loo-   by  his  contrast  with  Cassius.     The  incidents  of  the  flood  and 

A  28.  tne  fever)  retained  by  the  memory  of  Cassius,  illustrate  this. 

The  first  of  these  was  no  mere  swimming-match ;  the  flood 

in  the  Tiber  was  such  as  to  reduce  to  nothing  the  difference 


CHARACTER   OF  CALSAR.  179 

between  one  swimmer  and  another.     It  was  a  trial  of  nerve :  CH.  VIII. 
and  as  long  as  action  was  possible  Caesar  was  not  only  as     ~~ 
brave  as  Cassius,  but  was  the  one  attracted  by  the  danger,  i  ii.  102. 
Then  some  chance  wave  or  cross  current  renders  his  chance 
•of  life  hopeless,  and  no  buffeting  with  lusty  sinews  is  of  any 
avail ;  that  is  the  point  at  which  the  passive  courage  born  of 
the  inner  life  comes  in,  and  gives  strength  to  submit  to  the 
inevitable  in  calmness.     This  Caesar  lacks,  and  he  calls  for 
rescue  :  f  assius  would  have  felt  the  water  close  over  him  and 
have  sunk  to  the  bottom  and  died  rather  than  accept  aid  from 
his  rival.     In  like  manner  the  sick  bed  is  a  region  in  which 
the  highest  physical  and  intellectual  activity  is  helpless ;   the 
trained  self-control  of  a  Stoic  may  have  a  sphere  for  exercise 
•even  here ;    but  the  god  Caesar  shakes,  and  cries  for  drink 
like  a  sick  girl.     It  is  interesting  to  note  how  the  two  types  The  con- 
of  mind,  when  brought  into  personal  contact,  jar  upon  one  c^^./lt  out 
another's  self-consciousness.     The  intellectual  man,  judging  by  personal 
the  man  of  action  by  the  test  of  mutual  intercourse,  sees  ™"f%£* 
nothing  to  explain  the  other's  greatness,  and  wonders  what  Cassius. 
people  find  in  him  that  they  so  admire  him  and  submit  to  his 
influence.     On  the  other  hand,  the  man  of  achievement  is 
uneasily  conscious  of  a  sort  of  superiority  in  one  whose  intel- 
lectual aims  and  habits  he  finds  it  so  difficult  to  follow — yet 
superiority  it  is  not,  for  what  has  he  done  ?     Shakespeare  has 
illustrated  this  in  the  play  by  contriving  to  bring  Coesar  and 
his  suite  across  the  '  public  place '  in  which  Cassius  is  dis-  i.  ii.  182- 
coursing   to   Brutus.     Cassius   feels   the  usual  irritation   at  2l4* 
being  utterly  unable  to  find   in  his  old   acquaintance  any 
special  qualities  to  explain  his  elevation. 

Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once,  i.  ii.  148. 

Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great  ? 

Similarly  Caesar,  as  he  casts  a  passing  glance  at  Cassius,  be- 
comes at  once  uneasy.  '  He  thinks  too  much,'  is  the  ex- 
clamation of  the  man  of  action : 

N  2 


i8o  JULIUS  CAESAR. 

CH.  VIII.  He  loves  no  plays, 

As  thou  dost,  Antony;  he  hears  no  music. 

The  practical  man,  accustomed  to  divide  mankind  into  a  few 
simple  types,  is  always  uncomfortable  at  finding  a  man  he 
cannot  classify.  Finally  there  is  a  climax  to  the  jealousy  that 
exists  between  the  two  lives :  Caesar  complains  that  Cassius 
'  looks  quite  through  the  deeds  of  men! 

Achangein      There  is  another  circumstance  to  be  taken  into  account  in 

^kan^tt  expiring  the  weakness  of  Caesar.     A  change  has  come  over 

Rome  if  self,  the  spirit  of  Roman  political  life  itself — such  seems  to  be 

comp.  i.  i,  Shakespeare's  conception  :    Caesar  on  his  return  has  found 

i.  ii.  151,  '  Rome  no  longer  the  Rome  he  had  known.     Before  he  left 

164;  i.  iii.  for  Gaul,  Rome  had  been  the  ideal  sphere  for  public  life,  the 

ill  i°66-    arena  in  which  principles  alone  were  allowed  to  combat,  and! 

70 ;  v.  v.    from  which  the  banishment  of  personal  aims  and  passions 

was  the  first  condition  of  virtue.     In  his  absence  Rome  has 

gradually  degenerated  ;  the  mob  has  become  the  ruling  force,. 

and  introduced  an  element  of  uncertainty  into  political  life ; 

politics  has  passed  from  science  into  gambling.     A  new  order 

of  public  men  has  arisen,  of  which  Cassius  and  Antony  are 

the  types  ;  personal  aims,  personal  temptations,  and  personal 

risks   are  now  inextricably  interwoven  with   public  action. 

This  is  a  changed  order  of  things  to  which  the  mind  of 

Caesar,  cast  in  a  higher  mould,  lacks  the  power  to  adapt 

itself.     His  vacillation  is  the  vacillation  of  unfamiliarity  with 

the  new  political  conditions.     He  refuses  the  crown  'each 

i.  ii.  230.     time  gentler  than  the  other/  showing  want  of  decisive  reading 

in  dealing  with  the  fickle  mob;  and  on  his  return  from  the 

i.  ii.  183.     Capitol  he  is  too  untrained  in  hypocrisy  to  conceal  the  angry 

spot  upon  his  face ;    he  has  tried  to  use  the  new  weapons 

which  he  does  not  understand,  and  has  failed.     It  is  a  subtle 

touch  of  Shakespeare's  to  the   same   effect   that  Caesar  is 

ii.  i.  195.    represented  as  having  himself  undergone  a  change  of  late'. 

For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late, 

Quite  from  the  main  opinion  he  held  once 

Of  fantasy,  of  dreams  and  ceremonies. 


CASSIUS  AND  ANTONY.  181 

To  come  back  to  a  world  of  which  you  have  mastered  the  CH.  VIII. 
machinery,  and  to  find  that  it  is  no  longer  governed  by 
machinery  at  all,  that  causes  no  longer  produce  their  effects  — 
this,  if  anything,  might  well  drive  a  strong  intellect  to  super- 
stition. And  herein  consists  the  pathos  of  Caesar's  situation. 
The  deepest  tragedy  of  the  play  is  not  the  assassination  of 
Caesar,  it  is  rather  seen  in  such  a  speech  as  this  of  Decius  : 

If  he  be  so  resolved,  ii.  i.  202. 

I  can  o'ersway  him  ;  for  he  loves  to  hear 
That  unicorns  may  be  betray'  d  with  trees, 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  with  holes, 
Lions  with  toils  and  men  with  flatterers  ; 
But  when  I  tell  him,  he  hates  flatterers, 
He  says  he  does,  being  then  most  flattered. 

Assassination  is  a  less  piteous  thing  than  to  see  the  giant 
intellect  by  its  very  strength  unable  to  contend  against  the 
low  cunning  of  a  fifth-rate  intriguer. 

Such,  then,  appears  to  be  Shakespeare's  conception  of 
Julius  Caesar.  He  is  the  consummate  type  of  the  practical  : 
emphatically  the  public  man,  complete  in  all  the  greatness 
that  belongs  to  action.  On  the  other  hand,  the  knowledge 
of  self  produced  by  self-contemplation  is  wanting,  and 
so  when  he  comes  to  consider  the.  relation  of  his  individual 
self  to  the  state  he  vacillates  with  the  vacillation  of  a  strong 
man  moving  amongst  men  of  whose  greater  intellectual 
subtlety  he  is  dimly  conscious  :  no  unnatural  conception  for  a 
•Caesar  who  has  been  founding  empires  abroad  while  his 
fellows  have  been  sharpening  their  wits  in  the  party  contests 
of  a  decaying  state. 

The  remaining  members  of  the  group  are  Cassius  and  Cassius: 
Antony.  In  Cassius  thought  and  action  have  been  equally  c]5ia^a°teer 
•developed,  and  he  has  the  qualities  belonging  to  both  developed 
the  outer  and  the  inner  life.  But  the  side  which  in  Brutus  1fatedt9a 
barely  preponderated,  absolutely  tyrannises  in  Cassius  ;  his  master- 
public  life  has  given  him  a  grand  passion  to  which  the  whole 
of  his  nature  becomes  subservient.  Inheriting  a  '  rash  interested. 


i 


182 


JULIUS  CALSAR. 


CH.  VIII.   humour '  from  his  mother,  he  was  specially  prepared  for  im- 
patience of  political  anomalies ;  republican  independence  has- 


iv.  iii.  1 20. 


i.  ii.  95. 


become  to  him  an  ideal  dearer  than  life. 


I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 

i.  ii,iii;  ii.  He  has  thus  become  a  professional  politician.     Politics  is  to 

i??11^1      kim  a  £ame>  anc^  men  are  counters  to  De  used  ;  Cassius  finds 

i.  11.312-   satisfaction  in  discovering  that  even  Brutus's  'honourable 

3r9-  metal  may  be  wrought  from  that  it  is  disposed/     He  has  the 

politician's  low  view  of  human  nature  ;  while  Brutus  talks  of 

principles  Cassius  interposes  appeals  to  interest :  he  says  to 

Antony, 

iii.  i.  177.  Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's 

In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities. 

His   party  spirit   is,  as   usual,  unscrupulous ;    he   seeks  to- 
work  upon  his  friend's  unsuspecting  nobility  by  concocted 
i.  ii.  319.     letters  thrown  in  at  his  windows ;  and  in  the  Quarrel  Scene 
loses  patience  at  Brutus's  scruples. 


iv.  iii.  7, 
29,  &c. 


I  '11  not  endure  it :    you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in  ;    I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 


At  the  same  time  he  has  a  party  politician's  tact ;  his  advice 
throughout  the  play  is  proved  by  the  event  to  have  been 
right,  and  he  does  himself  no  more  than  justice  when  he  says 
iii.  i.  145.  his  misgiving  '  still  falls  shrewdly  to  the  purpose.'  Antony 
also  has  all  the  powers  that  belong  both  to  the  intellectual 
and  practical  life ;  so  far  as  these  powers  are  concerned,  he 
has  them  developed  to  a  higher  degree  than  even  Brutus  and 
Cassius.  His  distinguishing  mark  lies  in  the  use  to  which 
these  powers  are  put ;  like  Cassius,  he  has  concentrated  his 
whole  nature  in  one  aim,  but  this  aim  is  not  a  disinterested 
object  of  public  good,  it  is  unmitigated  self-seeking.  Antony 
has  greatness  enough  to  appreciate  the  greatness  of  Caesar ; 
hence  in  the  first  half  of  the  play  he  has  effaced  himself,. 


Antony : 
his  whole 
character 
developed 
and  sub- 
jected to 
selfish 
passion. 


SURVEY  OF  THE   WHOLE  GROUP.  183 

choosing  to  rise  to  power  as  the  useful  tool  of  Caesar.     Here,  CH.  VIII. 

indeed,  he  is  famed  as  a  devotee  of  the  softer  studies,  but 

it  is  not  till  his  patron  has  fallen  that  his  irresistible  strength  fr0m  ',  go  . 

is  put  forth.     There  seems  to  be  but  one  element  in  Antony  comp.  ii.  i. 

that  is  not  selfish  :  his  attachment  to  Caesar  is  genuine,  and 

its  force  is  measured  in  the  violent  imagery  of  the  vow  with  iii.  i,  from 

which,  when  alone  for  a  moment  with  the  corpse,  he  promises  jqt^JT^' 

vengeance  till  all  pity  is  '  choked  with  custom  of  fell  deeds.' 

And  yet  this  perhaps  is  after  all  the  best  illustration  of  his 

callousness  to  higher  feelings  ;  for  the  one  tender  emotion  of 

his  heart  is  used  by  him  as  the  convenient  weapon  with  which 

to  fight  his  enemies  and  raise  himself  to  power. 

Such,  then,  is  the  Grouping  of  Characters  in  the  play  of  TheGroup- 
Julius  Cccsar.  To  catch  it  they  must  be  contemplated  in  the  J£?«»r- 
light  of  the  antithesis  between  the  outer  and  inner  life.  In  veycd. 
Brutus  the  antithesis  disappears  amid  the  perfect  balancing 
of  his  character,  to  reappear  in  the  action,  when  Brutus  has 
to  choose  between  his  cause  and  his  friend.  In  Caesar  the 
practical  life  only  is  developed,  and  he  fails  as  soon  as  action 
involves  the  inner  life.  Cassius  has  the  powers  of  both  outer 
and  inner  life  perfect,  and  they  are  fused  into  one  master- 
passion,  morbid  but  unselfish.  Antony  has  carried  to  an  even 
greater  perfection  the  culture  of  both  lives,  and  all  his  powers 
are  concentrated  in  one  purpose,  which  is  purely  selfish.  In 
the  action  in  which  this  group  of  personages  is  involved  the 
determining  fact  is  the  change  that  has  come  over  the  spirit 
of  Roman  life,  and  introduced  into  its  public  policy  the 
element  of  personal  aggrandisement  and  personal  risk.  The 
new  spirit  works  upon  Brutus :  the  chance  of  winning 
political  liberty  by  the  assassination  of  one  individual  just 
overbalances  his  moral  judgment,  and  he  falls.  Yet  in  his  fall 
he  is  glorious  :  the  one  false  judgment  of  his  life  brings  him, 
what  is  more  to  him  than  victory,  the  chance  of  maintaining 
the  calmness  of  principle  amid  the  ruins  of  a  falling  cause, 
and  showing  how  a  Stoic  can  fail  and  die.  The  new  spirit 


1 84  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CH.  VIII.  affects  Caesar  and  tempts  him  into  a  personal  enterprise  in 

which  success  demands  a  meanness  that  he  lacks,  and  he 

is  betrayed  to  his  fall.  Yet  in  his  fall  he  is  glorious:  the 
assassins'  daggers  purge  him  from  the  stain  of  his  momentary 
personal  ambition,  and  the  sequel  shows  that  the  Roman 
world  was  not  worthy  of  a  ruler  such  as  Caesar.  The  spirit 
of  the  age  affects  Cassius,  and  fans  his  passion  to  work  itself 
out  to  his  own  destruction,  and  he  falls.  Yet  in  his  fall  he  is 
glorious  :  we  forgive  him  the  lowered  tone  of  his  political 
action  when  we  see  by  the  spirit  of  the  new  rulers  how 
desperate  was  the  chance  for  which  he  played,  and  how 
Cassius  and  his  loved  cause  of  republican  freedom  expire 
together.  The  spirit  of  the  age  which  has  wrought  upon  the 
rest  is  controlled  and  used  by  Antony,  and  he  rises  on  their 
ruins.  Yet  in  his  rise  he  is  less  glorious  than  they  in  their 
fall :  he  does  all  for  self ;  he  may  claim  therefore  the  prize 
of  success,  but  in  goodness  he  has  no  share  beyond  that 
he  is  permitted  to  be  the  passive  instrument  of  punishing 
evil. 


IX. 

How  THE  PLAY  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR  WORKS 
TO  A  CLIMAX  AT  THE  CENTRE. 

A  Study  in  Passion  and  Movement. 

THE  preceding  chapters  have  been  confined  to  two  of  CHAP.  IX. 
the  main  elements  in  dramatic  effect,  Character  and         ; 
Plot :   the  third  remains  to  be  illustrated.     Amongst  other  aH(t  Move- 

devices  of  public  amusement  the  experiment  has  been  tried  ™ent  as 

elements  of 
of  arranging  a  game  of  chess  to  be  played  by  living  pieces  dramatic 

on  a  monster  board ;  if  we  suppose  that  in  the  midst  of  such  effect- 
a  game  the  real  combative  instincts  of  the  living  pieces  should 
be  suddenly  aroused,  that  the  knight  should  in  grim  earnest 
plunge  his  spear  into  his  nearest  opponent,  and  that  missiles 
should  actually  be  discharged  from  the  castles,  then  the 
shock  produced  in  the  feelings  of  the  bystanders  by  such 
a  change  would  serve  to  bring  out  with  emphasis  the  dis- 
tinction between  Plot  and  the  third  element  of  dramatic 
effect,  Passion.  Plot  is  an  interest  of  a  purely  intellectual 
kind,  it  traces  laws,  principles,  order,  and  design  in  the 
incidents  of  life.  Passion,  on  the  other  hand,  depends  on  the 
human  character  of  the  personages  involved ;  it  consists  in 
the  effects  produced  on  the  spectator's  emotional  nature  as 
his  sympathy  follows  the  characters  through  the  incidents  of 
the  plot ;  it  is  War  as  distinguished  from  Kriegspiel.  Effects 
of  such  Passion  are  numerous  and  various  :  the  present  study 
is  concerned  with  its  Movement.  This  Movement  com- 
prehends a  class  of  dramatic  effects  differing  in  one  obvious 


1 86  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  particular  from  the  effects  considered  so  far.  Character- 
Interpretation  and  Plot  are  both  analytical  in  their  nature ; 
the  play  has  to  be  taken  to  pieces  and  details  selected  from 
various  parts  have  to  be  put  together  to  give  the  idea  of  a 
complete  character,  or  to  make  up  some  single  thread  of 

Passion       design.     Movement,  on  the  contrary,  follows  the  actual  order 

C°rilhCfhe  of  the  events  as  they  take  Place  in  the  Play  itself>  The 
movement  emotional  effects  produced  by  such  events  as  they  succeed 
of  a  drama.  one  another  wjn  not  be  uniform  and  monotonous ;  the  skill 
of  the  dramatist  will  lie  in  concentrating  effect  at  some  points 
and  relieving  it  at  others  ;  and  to  watch  such  play  of  passion 
through  the  progress  of  the  action  will  be  a  leading  dramatic 
interest.  Now  we  have  already  had  occasion  to  notice  the 
prominence  which  Shakespeare  in  his  dramatic  construction 
gives  to  the  central  point  of  a  play ;  symmetry  more  than 
sensation  is  the  effect  which  has  an  attraction  for  his  genius, 
and  the  finale  to  which  the  action  is  to  lead  is  not  more  im- 
portant to  him  than  the  balancing  of  the  whole  drama  about 
a  turning-point  in  the  middle.  Accordingly  it  is  not  surprising 
to  find  that  in  the  Passion-Movement  of  his  dramas  a  similar 
plan  of  construction  is  often  followed ;  that  all  other  varia- 
tions are  subordinated  to  one  great  Climax  of  Passion  at  the 
The  centre.  To  repeat  an  illustration  already  applied  to  Plot :  the 

^nil-form  movement  of  the  passion  seems  to  follow  the  form  of  a 
applicable  regular  arch,  commencing  in  calmness,  rising  through 
emotional  strain  to  a  summit  of  agitation  at  the  centre,  then 
through  the  rest  of  the  play  declining  into  a  calmness  of  a 
different  kind.  It  is  the  purpose  of  this  and  the  next  studies 
to  illustrate  this  .  kind  of  movement  in  two  very  different 
plays.  Julius  Ccesar  has  the  simplest  of  plots  ;  our  attention 
is  engaged  with  a  train  of  emotion  which  is  made  to  rise 
gradually  to  a  climax  at  the  centre,  and  then  equally 
gradually  to  decline.  Lear,  on  the  contrary,  is  amongst  the 
most  intricate  of  Shakespeare's  plays;  nevertheless  the 
dramatist  contrives  to  keep  the  same  simple  form  of  emotional 


KEY  TO   THE  MOVEMENT  OF  THE  PLAY.      187 

effect,  and  its  complex  passions  unite  in  producing  a  concen-  CHAP.  IX. 
tration  of  emotional  agitation  in  a  few  central  scenes. 

The  passion  in  the  play  Q{  Julius  Cccsar  gathers  around  In  Julius 
the  conspirators,  and  follows  them  through  the  mutations  of 


their  fortunes.     If  however  we  are  to  catch  the  different  parts  follows  the 
of  the  action  in  their  proper  proportions  we  must  remember 


the  character  of  these  conspirators,  and  especially  of  their  conspira- 
leaders  Brutus  and  Cassius.     These  are  actuated  in  what  atll^encc  . 
they  do  not  by  personal  motives  but  by  devotion  to  the 
public  good  and  the  idea  of  republican  liberty  ;  accordingly 
in  following  their  career  we  must  not  look  too  exclusively  at 
their  personal  success  and  failure.     The  exact  key  to  the 
movement  of  the  drama  will  be  given  by  fixing  attention 
upon  \hs  justification  of  the  conspirators  cause  in  the  minds  of 
the  audience  ;   and  it  is  this  which  is  found  to  rise  gradually  this  rises  to 
to  its  height  in  the  centre  of  the  play,  and  from  that  point  to  an(i  je. 
decline  to  the  end.     I  have  pointed  out  in  the  preceding  dines  from 
study  how  the  issue  at  stake  in  Julius  Casar  amounts  to  a 
conflict  between  the  outer  and  inner  life,  between  devotion 
to  a  public  enterprise  and  such  sympathy  with  the  claims  of 
individual  humanity  as  is  specially  fostered  by  the  cultivation 
of  the  inner  nature.     The   issue  is  reflected  in  words  of 
Brutus  already  quoted  : 

The  abuse  of  greatness  is,  when  it  disjoins  ii.  i.  18. 

Remorse  from  power. 

Brutus  applies  this  as  a  test  to  Caesar's  action,  and  is  forced 
to  acquit  him  :  but  is  not  Brutus  here  laying  down  the  very 
principle  of  which  his  own  error  in  the  play  is  the  violation  ? 
The  assassin's  dagger  puts  Brutus  and  the  conspirators  in 
the  position  of  power  ;  while  '  remorse  '  —  the  word  in  Shake- 
spearean English  means  human  sympathy  —  is  the  due  of 
their  victim  Caesar,  whose  rights  to  justice  as  a  man,  and  to 
more  than  justice  as  the  friend  of  Brutus,  the  conspirators 
have  the  responsibility  of  balancing  against  the  claims  of  a 
political  cause.  These  claims  of  justice  and  humanity  are 


1 88  JULIUS  CsESAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  deliberately  ignored  by  the  stoicism  of  Brutus,  while  the  rest 
of  the  conspirators  are  blinded  to  them  by  the  mists  of 
political  enthusiasm  ;  this  outraged  human  sympathy  asserts 
itself  after  Caesar's  death  in  a  monstrous  form  in  the  passions 
of  the  mob,  \vhich  are  guided  by  the  skill  of  Antony  to  the 
destruction  of  the  assassins.  Of  course  both  the  original 
violation  of  the  balance  between  the  two  lives  and  the 
subsequent  reaction  are  equally  corrupt.  The  stoicism  of 
Brutus,  with  its  suppression  of  the  inner  sympathies,  arrives 
practically  at  the  principle — destined  in  the  future  history  of 
the  world  to  be  the  basis  of  a  yet  greater  crime — that  it  is 
expedient  that  one  man  should  die  rather  than  that  a  whole 
people  should  perish.  On  the  other  hand,  Antony  trades  upon 
the  fickle  violence  of  the  populace,  and  uses  it  as  much  for 
personal  ends  as  for  vengeance.  This  demoralisation  of  both 
the  sides  of  character  is  the  result  of  their  divorce.  Such  is 
the  essence  of  this  play  if  its  action  be  looked  at  as  a  whole  ; 
but  it  belongs  to  the  movement  of  dramatic  passion  that  we 
see  the  action  only  in  its  separate  parts  at  different  times. 
Through  the  first  half  of  the  play,  while  the  justification  of 
the  conspirators'  cause  is  rising,  the  other  side  of  the  question 
is  carefully  hidden  from  us ;  from  the  point  of  the  assassina- 
tion the  suppressed  element  starts  into  prominence,  and 
sweeps  our  sympathies  along  with  it  to  its  triumph  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  play. 

First  stage:  In  following  the  movement  of  the  drama  the  action  seems 
spiracy  to  divide  itself  into  stages.  In  the  first  of  these  stages,  which 
forming,  comprehends  the  first  two  scenes,  the  conspiracy  is  only 
indistin-  forming ;  the  sympathy  with  which  the  spectator  follows  the 

gttishable     details  is  entirely  free  from  emotional  agitation ;  passion  so 

from  mere   r       •     •     •,.    .         .  ,    ,  ,      /.  .  mi 

interest.      lar  1S  ^distinguishable  from  mere  interest.     I  he  opening 

i.  i,  ii.  scene  strikes  appropriately  the  key-note  of  the  whole  action. 
Starting-  In  it  we  see  the  tribunes  of  the  people — officers  whose  whole 
^reaction  ratson  <?etre  is  to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  the  commonalty — re- 
in  the  straining  their  own  clients  from  the  noisy  honours  they  are  dis- 


FIRST  STAGE  OF  THE  MOVEMENT.  189 


posed  to  pay  to  Caesar.     To  the  justification  in  our  eyes  of  a  CHAP.  IX. 

conspiracy  against  Caesar,  there  could  not  be  a  better  starting- 

point  than  this  hint  that   the   popular  worship   of  Caesar,  worship  of 

which   has   made   him    what   he    is,    is   itself   reaching   its  Casar. 

reaction-point.      Such   a   suggestion    moreover   makes    ihe 

whole  play  one  complete  wave  of  popular  fickleness  from 

crest  to  crest. 

The  second  is  the  scene  upon  which  the  dramatist  mainly  The  Rise 

relies   for   the   crescendo   in   the    justification    of   the    con-  l)esins-  The 

J  cause  seen 

spirators.  It  is  a  long  scene,  elaborately  contrived  so  as  to  at  its  best, 
keep  the  conspirators  and  their  cause  before  us  at  their  very  JJ^**** 
best,  and  the  victim  at  his  very  worst.  Cassius  is  the  life  worst. 
and  spirit  of  this  scene,  as  he  is  of  the  whole  republican  "' 
movement.  Cassius  is  excellent  soil  for  republican  prin- 
ciples. The  '  rash  humour  '  his  mother  gave  him  would  pre- 
dispose him  to  impatience  of  those  social  inequalities  and  con- 
ventional distinctions  against  which  republicanism  sets  itself. 
Again  he  is  a  hard-thinking  man,  to  whom  the  perfect 
realisation  of  an  ideal  theory  would  be  as  palpable  an  aim  as 
the  more  practical  purposes  of  other  men.  He  is  a  Roman 
moreover,  at  once  proud  of  his  nation  as  the  greatest  in  the 
world,  and  aware  that  this  national  greatness  had  been 
through  all  history  bound  up  with  the  maintenance  of  a 
republican  constitution.  His  republicanism  gives  to  Cassius 
the  dignity  that  is  always  given  to  a  character  by  a  grand 
passion,  whether  for  a  cause,  a  woman,  or  an  idea  —  the 
unification  of  a  whole  life  in  a  single  aim,  by  which  the 
separate  strings  of  a  man's  nature  are,  as  it  were,  tuned  into 
harmony.  In  the  present  scene  Cassius  is  expounding  the 
cause  which  is  his  life-object.  Nor  is  this  all.  Cassius  was 
politician  enough  to  adapt  himself  to  his  hearers,  and  could 
hold  up  the  lower  motives  to  those  who  would  be  influenced 
by  them  ;  but  in  the  present  case  it  is  the  '  honourable  metal  ' 
of  a  Brutus  that  he  has  to  work  upon,  and  his  exposition 
of  republicanism  must  be  adapted  to  the  highest  possible 


1 90  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  standard.  Accordingly,  in  the  language  of  the  scene  we  find 
the  idea  of  human  equality  expressed  in  its  most  ideal  form. 
Without  it  Cassius  thinks  life  not  worth  living. 

i.  ii.  95.  I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Coesaf ;    so  were  you ; 
We  both  have  fed  as  well,  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he. 

The  examples  follow  of  the  flood  and  fever  incidents,  which 
show  how  the  majesty  of  Caesar  vanished  before  the  violence 
of  natural  forces  and  the  prostration  of  disease. 

115.  And  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god,  and  Cassius  is 

A  wretched  creature  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  Csesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 

In  the  eye  of  the  state,  individuals  are  so  many  members  of 
a  class,  in  precisely  the  way  that  their  names  are  so  many 
examples  of  the  proper  noun. 

142.  Brutus  and  Coesar :   what  should  be  in  that  '  Ca?sar '  1 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
WTeigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;    conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Czesar. 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Ccesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great? 

And  this  exposition  of  the  conspirators'  cause  in  its  highest 
form  is  at  the  same  time  thrown  into  yet  higher  relief  by  a 
background  to  the  scene,  in  which  the  victim  is  presented  at 
his  worst.  All  through  the  conversation  between  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  the  shouting  of  the  mob  reminds  of  the  scene  which 
from  182.  is  at  the  moment  going  on  in  the  Capitol,  while  the  conversa- 
tion is  interrupted  for  a  time  by  the  returning  procession  of 
Caesar.  In  this  action  behind  the  scenes  which  thus  mingles 
with  the  main  incident  Caesar  is  committing  the  one  fault  of 
his  life :  this  is  the  fault  of  '  treason/  which  can  be  justified 


SECOND  STAGE  OF  THE  MOVEMENT.  191 

only  by  being  successful  and  so  becoming  '  revolution/  CHAP.  IX. 
whereas  Cresar  is  failing,  and  deserving  to  fail  from  the 
vacillating  hesitation  with  which  he  sins.  Moreover,  un- 
favourable as  such  incidents  would  be  in  themselves  to  our 
sympathy  with  Caesar,  yet  it  is  not  the  actual  facts  that  we 
are  permitted  to  see,  but  they  are  further  distorted  by 
the  medium  through  which  they  reach  us  —  the  cynicism  of 
Casca  which  belittles  and  disparages  all  he  relates. 

Bni.     Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca.  i.  ii.  235. 

Casca.  I  can  as  well  be  hanged  as  tell  the  manner  of  it  :  it  was  mere 
foolery  ;  I  did  not  mark  it.  I  saw  Mark  Antony  offer  him  a  crown  ;  — 
yet  'twas  not  a  crown  neither,  'twas  one  of  these  coronets  :  —  and,  as  I 
told  you,  he  put  it  by  once  :  but,  for  all  that,  to  my  thinking,  he  would 
fain  have  had  it.  Then  he  offered  it  to  him  again  ;  then  he  put  it  by 
again  :  but,  to  my  thinking,  he  was  very  loath  to  lay  his  fingers  off  it. 
And  then  he  offer'd  it  the  third  time  ;  he  put  it  the  third  time  by  :  and 
still  as  he  refused  it,  the  rabblement  hooted  and  clapped  their  chapped 
hands  and  threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of 
stinking  breath  because  Coesar  had  refused  the  crown  that  it  had  almost 
choked  Caesar  ;  for  he  swounded  and  fell  down  at  it  :  and,  for  mine  own 
part,  I  durst  not  laugh,  for  fear  of  opening  my  lips  and  receiving  the 
bad  air.  .  .  .  When  he  came  to  himself  again,  he  said,  If  he  had  done  or 
said  anything  amiss,  he  desired  their  worships  to  think  it  was  his 
infirmity.  Three  or  four  wenches,  where  I  stood,  cried,  '  Alas,  good 
soul  !  '  and  forgave  him  with  all  their  hearts  ;  but  there  's  no  heed  to  be 
taken  of  them  ;  if  Caesar  had  stabbed  their  mothers  they  would  have 
•done  no  less. 

At  the  end  of  the  scene  Brutus  is  won,  and  we  pass  Second 
immediately  into  the  second  stage  of  the  action  :  the  con-  ^^/J** 
spiracy  is  now  formed  and   developing,  and  the  emotional  formed  and 
strain  begins.     The  adhesion  of  Brutus  has  given  us  con-  dj%fs°^"s' 
fidence  that  the  conspiracy  will  be  effective,  and  we  have  Strain  be- 
only  to  wait  for  the  issue.     This  mere  notion  of  waiting  is?2'"'  .. 
itself  enough  to  introduce  an  element  of  agitation  into  the 


passion  sufficient  to  mark  off  this  stage  of  the  action  from  one  element 
the  preceding.     How  powerful  suspense  is  for  this  purpose  we  *       * 


•   Of 

have  expressed  in  the  words  of  the  play  itself:  passion. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing  ii.  i.  63. 

And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 


192  JULIUS  CAESAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream  : 

The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council  ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

The  back-    But   besides   the   suspense    there   is    a    special   device    for 
ground  of   securjng  the  agitation  proper  to  this  stage  of  the  passion  : 
and  super-  throughout  there  is  maintained  a  Dramatic  Background  of 
"portents  a    n^t»  storm>  an^  supernatural  portents. 
device  for        The  conception  of  nature  as  exhibiting  sympathy  with 
"he'sfrain    sudden  turns   in  human  affairs  is  one  of  the  most  funda- 
mental  instincts   of    poetry.     To    cite    notable    instances : 
it  is  this  which  accompanies  with  storm  and  whirlwind  the 
climax  to  the  Book  of  Job,  and  which  leads  Milton  to  make 
the  whole  universe  sensible  of  Adam's  transgression : 

Earth  trembl'd  from  her  entrails,  as  again 

In  pangs,  and  Nature  gave  a  second  groan ; 

Sky  lowr'd,  and  muttering  thunder,  some  sad  drops 

Wept  at  completing  of  the  mortal  sin 

Original. 

So  too  the  other  end  of  the  world's  history  has  its  appropriate 
accompaniments  :  '  the  sun  shall  be  darkened  and  the  moon 
shall  not  give  her  light,  and  the  stars  shall  be  falling  from 
heaven.'  There  is  a  vagueness  of  terror  inseparable  from 
these  outbursts  of  nature,  so  mysterious  in  their  causes  and 
aims.  They  are  actually  the  most  mighty  of  forces — for 
human  artillery  is  feeble  beside  the  earthquake — yet  they  are 
invisible :  the  wind  works  its  havoc  without  the  keenest  eye 
being  able  to  perceive  it,  and  the  lightning  is  never  seen  till 
it  has  struck.  Again,  there  is  something  weird  in  the  feeling 
that  the  most  frightful  powers  in  the  material  universe  are  all 
soft  things.  The  empty  air  becomes  the  irresistible  wind; 
the  fluid  and  yielding  water  wear  down  the  hard  and 
massive  rock  and  determines  the  shape  of  the  earth ;  im- 
palpable fire  that  is  blown  about  in  every  direction  can  be 
roused  till  it  devours  the  solidest  constructions  of  human 


DRAMATIC  BACKGROUND  OF  NATURE.         193 

skill ;  while  the  most  powerful  agencies  of  all,  electricity  and  CHAP.  IX. 
atomic  force,  are  imperceptible  to  any  of  the  senses  and  are 
known  only  by  their  results.  This  uncanny  terror  attaching 
to  the  union  between  force  and  softness  is  the  inspiration  of 
one  of  Homer's  most  unique  episodes,  in  which  the  be- 
wildered Achilles,  struggling  with  the  river-god,  finds  the 
strength  and  skill  of  the  finished  warrior  vain  against  the 
ever-rising  water,  and  bitterly  feels  the  violation  of  the 
natural  order — 

That  strong  might  fall  by  strong,  where  now  weak  water's  luxury 
Must  make  my  death  blush. 

To  the  terrible  in  nature  are  added  portents  of  the  super- i.iii;  ii. 
natural,  sudden  violations  of  the  uniformity  of  nature,  the  "*  &c 
principle  upon  which  all  science  is  founded.  The  solitary 
bird  of  night  has  been  seen  in  the  crowded  Capitol ;  fire  has 
played  around  a  human  hand  without  destroying  it;  lions, 
forgetting  their  fierceness,  have  mingled  with  men ;  clouds 
drop  fire  instead  of  rain ;  graves  are  giving  up  their  dead ; 
the  chance  shapes  of  clouds  take  distinctness  to  suggest 
tumult  on  the  earth.  Such  phenomena  of  nature  and  the 
supernatural,  agitating  from  their  appeal  at  once  to  fear  and 
mystery,  and  associated  by  the  fancy  with  the  terrible  in 
human  events,  have  made  a  deep  impression  upon  primitive 
thought ;  and  the  impression  has  descended  by  generations 
of  inherited  tradition  until,  whatever  may  be  the  attitude  of 
the  intellect  to  the  phenomena  themselves,  their  associations 
in  the  emotional  nature  are  of  agitation.  They  thus  become 
appropriate  as  a  Dramatic  Background  to  an  agitated  passion 
in  the  scenes  themselves,  calling  out  the  emotional  effect  by 
a  vague  sympathy,  much  as  a  musical  note  may  set  in  vibra- 
tion a  distant  string  that  is  in  unison  with  it. 

This  device  then  is  used  by  Shakespeare  in  the  second 
stage  of  the  present  play.  We  see  the  warning  terrors 
through  the  eyes  of  men  of  the  time,  and  their  force  is 

o 


194  JULIUS  CsESAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  measured  by  the  fact  that  they  shake  the  cynical  Casca  into 
eloquence. 

i.  iii.  3.  Are  not  you  moved,  when  all  the  sway  of  earth 

Shakes  like  a  thing  unfirm?    O  Cicero, 
I  have  seen  tempests,  when  the  scolding  winds 
Have  rived  the  knotty  oaks,  and  I  have  seen 
The  ambitious  ocean  swell  and  rage  and  foam, 
To  be  exalted  with  the  threatening  clouds : 
But  never  till  to-night,  never  till  now, 
Did  I  go  through  a  tempest  dropping  fire. 
Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven, 
Or  else  the  world,  too  saucy  with  the  gods, 
Incenses  them  to  send  destruction. 

And  the  idea  thus  started  at  the   commencement  is  kept 

before  our  minds  throughout  this  stage  of  the  drama  by 

compare     perpetual  allusions,  however  slight,  to  the  sky  and  external 

ii.  i.  44,      nature.     Brutus   reads  the  secret  missives   by  the  light  of 
101,  108,  ° 

221,263;    exhalations  whizzing  through  the  air;    when  some  of  the 

**•  u*  conspirators  step  aside,  to  occupy  a  few  moments  while  the 
rest  are  conferring  apart,  it  is  to  the  sky  their  thoughts 
naturally  seem  to  turn,  and  they  with  difficulty  can  make  out 
the  East  from  the  West;  the  discussion  of  the  conspirators 
includes  the  effect  on  Caesar  of  the  night's  prodigies.  Later 
Portia  remonstrates  against  her  husband's  exposure  to  the 
raw  and  dank  morning,  to  the  rheumy  and  unpurged  air; 
even  when  daylight  has  fully  returned,  the  conversation  is  of 
Calpurnia's  dream  and  the  terrible  prodigies. 

i.  iii.  Against  this  background  are  displayed,  first  single  figures 

ii.  i.  1-85.  of  Cassius  and  other  conspirators  ;  then  Brutus  alone  in  calm 

ii.  i.  86-     deliberation  :  then  the  whole  band  of  conspirators,  their  wild 

228t  excitement  side  by  side  with  Brutus's  immovable  moderation. 

ii.  i,  from    Then  the  Conspiracy  Scene  fades  in  the  early  morning  light 

233*  into  a  display  of  Brutus  in  his  softer  relations;    and  with 

ii.  ii.          complete  return  of  day  changes  to  the  house  of  Caesar  on 

the  fatal  morning.     Caesar  also  is  displayed  in  contact  with 

the  supernatural,  as  represented  by  Calpurnia's  terrors  and 

repeated  messages  of  omens  that  forbid  his  venturing  upon 


OF  THE  MOVEMENT.  195 

public  action  for  that  day.     Caesar  faces  all  this  with  his  CHAP.  IX. 

usual  loftiness  of  mind :  yet  the  scene  is  so  contrived  that,  as 

,   ...  .    Casar  still 

far  as  immediate  effect  is  concerned,  this  very  loftiness  is  seen  at  a 

made  to  tell  against  him.     The   unflinching   courage   that  disadvan- 
overrides  and  interprets  otherwise  the  prodigies  and  warnings 
seems  presumption  to  us  who  know  the  reality  of  the  danger. 
It  is  the  same  with  his  yielding  to  the  humour  of  his  wife.  ii.  ii.  8-56. 
Why  should  he  not  ?   his  is  not  the  conscious  weakness  that 
must  be  firm  to  show  that  it  is  not  afraid.     Yet  when,  upon 
Decius's  explaining  away  the  dream  and  satisfying  Calpur- 
nia's  fears,  Caesar's  own  attraction  to  danger  leads  him  to 
persevere  in  his  first  intention,  this  change  of  purpose  seems 
to  us,  who  have  heard  Decius's  boast  that  he  can  o'ersway  ii.  i.  202. 
Caesar  with  flattery,  a  confirmation  of  Caesar's  weakness.     So 
in  accordance  with  the  purpose  that  reigns  through  the  first 
half  of  the  play  the  victim  is  made  to  appear  at  his  worst  : 
the  passing  effect  of  the  scene  is  to  suggest  weakness  in 
Caesar,  while  it  is  in  fact  furnishing  elements  which,  upon 
reflection,  go  to  build  up  a  character  of  strength.     On  the  and  the 
other  hand,  throughout  this  stage  the  justification  of  ^^TonoTike 
conspirators'  cause  gains  by  their  confidence  and  their  high  conspira- 
tone ;   in  particular  by  the  way  in  which  they  interpret  to  °^ing. 
their  own  advantage  the  supernatural  element.     Cassius  feels  i.  iii.  42- 
the  wildness  of  the  night  as  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  own  79- 

spirit. 

For  my  part,  I  have  walk'd  about  the  streets,  1.  in.  40. 

Submitting  me  unto  the  perilous  night, 
And,  thus  unbraced,  Casca,  as  you  see, 
Have  bared  my  bosom  to  the  thunder-stone ; 
And  when  the  cross  blue  lightning  seem'd  to  open 
The  breast  of  heaven,  I  did  present  myself 
Even  in  the  aim  and  very  flash  of  it. 

And  it  needs  only  a  word  from  him  to  communicate  his 
confidence  to  his  comrades. 

Cassius.    Now  could  I,  Casca,  name  to  thee  a  man  i.  iii.  72. 

Most  like  this  dreadful  night, 
That  thunders,  lightens,  opens  graves,  and  roars 
O   2 


196 


JULIUS  C&SAR. 


CHAP.  IX. 


Third 
stage.    2T« 

passion- 

StoaClimax 
ii.  iii- 
iii.  i.  121. 


Devicesfor 


tation. 
Artemi- 

if  iii  and 
iii.  i.  3. 


Portia 
u*  1V< 


As  doth  the  lion  in  the  Capitol, 
A  man  no  mightier  than  thyself  or  me 
In  personal  action,  yet  prodigious  grown 
And  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are  — 
Casca.    'Tis  Caesar  that  you  mean;  is  it  not,  Cassius? 

The  third  stage  of  the  action  brings  us  to  the  climax  of 
the  passion  ;  the  strain  upon  our  emotions  now  rises  to  a 
height  of  agitation.  The  exact  commencement  of  the  crisis 
seems  to  be  marked  b7  tne  soothsayer's  words  at  the  opening 
of  Act  III.  Caesar  observes  on  entering  the  Capitol  the 
soothsayer  who  had  warned  him  to  beware  of  this  very 

Ccesar.  The  ides  of  March  are  come. 
Sooth.     Ay,  Caesar  ;  but  not  gone. 

Such  words  seem  to  measure  out  a  narrow  area  of  time  in 
which  the  crisis  is  to  work  itself  out.  There  is  however  no 
distinct  break  between  different  stages  of  a  dramatic  move- 
ment  like  that  in  the  present  play  ;  and  two  short  incidents 
^ave  Prece<^ed  this  scene  which  have  served  as  emotional 
devices  to  bring  about  a  distinct  advance  in  the  intensifica- 
tion  of  the  strain.  In  the  first,  Artemidorus  appeared  reading 
a  letter  of  warning  which  he  purposed  to  present  to  Caesar 
on  his  way  to  the  fatal  spot.  In  the  Capitol  Scene  he  pre- 
sents it,  while  the  ready  Decius  hastens  to  interpose  another 
petition  to  take  off  Caesar's  attention.  Artemidorus  conjures 
Caesar  to  read  his  first  for  'it  touches  him  nearer';  but  the 
imperial  chivalry  of  Caesar  forbids  : 

What  touches  us  ourself  shall  be  last  served. 
The  momentary  hope  of  rescue  is  dashed.  In  the  second 
incident  Portia  has  been  displayed  completely  unnerved  by 
the  weight  of  a  secret  to  the  anxiety  of  which  she  is  not 
equal;  she  sends  messengers  to  the  Capitol  and  recalls 
them  as  she  recollects  that  she  dare  give  them  no  mes- 
sage; her  agitation  has  communicated  itself  to  us,  besides 
suggesting  the  fear  that  it  may  betray  to  others  what  she  is 
anxious  to  conceal.  Our  sympathy  has  thus  been  tossed 


CRISIS  OF  THE  MOVEMENT.  197 

from  side  to  side,  although  in  its  general  direction  it  still  CHAP.  IX. 
moves  on  the  side  of  the  conspirators.     In  the  crisis  itself     ~~~~ 
the  agitation  becomes  painful  as  the  entrance  of  Popilius  Lena. 
Lena  and  his  secret  communication  to  Csesar  cause  a  panic  *"• *•  J3- 
that  threatens  to  wreck  the  whole  plot  on  the  verge  of  its 
success.     Brutus's  nerve  sustains  even  this  trial,  and  the  way 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  deed  is  again  clear.   Emotional 
devices  like  these  have  carried  the  passion  up  to  a  climax  of 
agitation;    and   the   conspirators   now  advance   to   present 
their  pretended  suit  and  achieve  the  bloody  deed.     To  the 
last    the    double    effect   of  Caesar's   demeanour   continues. 
Considered    in  itself,  his  unrelenting  firmness  of  principle 
exhibits  the  highest  model  of  a  ruler  ;    yet  to  us,  who  know 
the  purpose  lurking  behind  the  hypocritical  intercession  of 
the  conspirators,  Caesar's  self-confidence  resembles  the  in- 
fatuation that  goes  before  Nemesis.      He  scorns  the  fickle  from  58. 
politicians  before  him  as  mere  wandering  sparks  of  heavenly 
fire,  while  he  is  left  alone  as  a  pole-star  of  true-fixed  and 
resting  quality : — and  in  answer  to  his  presumptuous  boast 
that  he  can  never  be  moved  come  the  blows  of  the  assassins 
which  strike  him  down  ;  while  there  is  a  flash  of  irony  as  he 
is  seen  to  have  fallen  beside  the  statue  of  Pompey,  and  the  compare 
marble  seems  to  gleam  in  cold  triumph  over  the  rival  at  last  II5' 
lying  bleeding  at  its  feet.    The  assassination  is  accomplished, 
the  cause  of  the  conspirators  is  won :  pity  notwithstanding 
we  are  swept  along  with  the  current  of  their  enthusiasm ; 
and  the  justification  that  has  been  steadily  rising  from  the  T/iejustifi- 
commencement  reaches  its  climax  as,  their  adversaries  dis-  #/j^/^ 
persing  in  terror,  the  conspirators  dip  their  hands  in  their  in  the  ap- 
victim's   blood,  and  make  their  triumphant  appeal  to  thef^  ° 
whole  world  and  all  time. 

Cassius.     Stoop,  then,  and  wash.     How  many  ages  hence  III. 

Shall  this  our  lofty  scene  be  acted  over 

In  states  unborn  and  accents  yet  unknown  ! 
Brutus.     How  many  times  shall  Csesar  bleed  in  sport, 


198  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  That  now  on  Pompey's  basis  lies  along, 

No  worthier  than  the  dust! 

Cassius.  So  oft  as  that  shall  be, 

So  often  shall  the  knot  of  us  be  call'd 
The  men  that  gave  their  country  LIBERTY! 

Catas-  Enter    a    servant:    this    simple    stage-direction    is    the 

ammetice? '  catastrophe/  the  turning-round  of  the  whole   action ;    the 

went  of  the  arch  has  reached  its  apex  and  the  Reaction  has  begun.     So 

Saffron!  instantaneous  is  the  change,  that  though  it  is  only  the  servant 

122.'          of  Antony  who  speaks,  yet  the  first  words  of  his  message 

ring   with    the    peculiar    tone    of    subtly-poised    sentences 

which  are  inseparably  associated  with  Antony's  eloquence ; 

it  is  like  the  first  announcement  of  that  which  is  to  be  a  final 

theme  in  music,  and  from  this  point  this  tone  dominates  the 

scene  to  the  very  end. 

12-  Thus  he  bade  me  say: 

Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest, 
Coesar  was  mighty,  bold,  royal,  and  loving, 
Say  I  love  Brutus,  and  I  honour  him ; 
Say  I  fear'd  Cocsar,  honour'd  him,  and  lov'd  him. 
If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe  that  Antony 
May  safely  come  to  him,  and  be  resolvM 
How  Coesar  hath  deserved  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Caesar  dead 
So  well  as  Brutus  living. 

In  the  whole  Shakespearean  Drama  there  is  nowhere  such  a 
swift  swinging  round  of  a  dramatic  action  as  is  here  marked 
by  this  sudden  up-springing  of  the  suppressed  individuality 

ii.  i.  165.  in  Antony's  character,  hitherto  so  colourless  that  he  has 
been  spared  by  the  conspirators  as  a  mere  limb  of  Caesar. 
The  tone  of  exultant  triumph  in  the  conspirators  has  in  an- 

iii.  i.  144.  instant  given  place  to  Cassius's  '  misgiving '  as  Brutus  grants 
Antony  an  audience ;  and  when  Antony  enters,  Brulus's  first 

from  164.  words  to  him  fall  into  the  form  of  apology.  The  quick 
subtlety  of  Antony's  intellect  has  grasped  the  whole  situa- 
tion, and  with  irresistible  force  he  slowly  feels  his  way 
towards  using  the  conspirators'  aid  for  crushing  themselves 


CATASTROPHE  AND  DECLINE.  199 

and  avenging  their  victim.     The  bewilderment  of  the  con-  CHAP.  IX. 
spirators  in  the  presence  of  this  unlooked-for  force  is  seen 
in  Cassius's  unavailing  attempt  to  bring  Antony  to  the  point,  iii.  i.  211 ; 
as  to  what  compact  he  will  make  with  them.     Antony,  on  j°mpare 
the  contrary,  reads   his  men  with  such  nicety  that  he  can 
indulge  himself  in  sailing   close   to   the  wind,  and   grasps 
fervently  the  hands  of  the  assassins  while  he  pours  out  a  from  184. 
flood  of  bitter  grief  over  the  corpse.     It  is  not  hypocrisy, 
nor  a  trick  to  gain  time,  this  conciliation  of  his   enemies. 
Steeped  in  the  political  spirit  of  the  age,  Antony  knows,  as 
no  other  man,  the  mob  which  governs  Rome,  and  is  con- 
scious of  the  mighty  engine  he  possesses  in  his  oratory  to 
sway  that  mob  in  what  direction  he  pleases ;  when  his  bold 
plan  has  succeeded,  and  his  adversaries  have  consented  to 
meet   him  in  contest  of  oratory,  then  ironical  conciliation 
becomes  the  natural  relief  to  his  pent-up  passion. 

Friends  am  I  with  you  all  and  love  you  all,  220. 

Upon  this  hope,  that  you  shall  give  me  reasons 
Why  and  wherein  Caesar  was  dangerous. 

It  is  as  he  feels  the  sense  of  innate  oratorical  power  and  of 
the  opportunity  his  enemies  have  given  to  that  power,  that 
he  exaggerates  his   temporary  amity  with   the  men   he   is 
about  to  crush :   it  is  the  executioner  arranging  his  victim 
comfortably  on  the  rack  before  he  proceeds  to  apply  the 
levers.     Already  the  passion  of  the  drama  has  fallen  under 
the  guidance  of  Antony.     The  view  of  Caesar  as  an  inno- 
cent victim  is  now  allowed  full  play  upon  our  sympathies 
whan  Antony,  left   alone   with   the   corpse,    can   drop   the  from  254. 
artificial   mask  and  give  vent  to  his  love  and  vengeance. 
The  success  of  the  conspiracy  had  begun  to  decline  as  we  231-243. 
marked  Brutus's  ill-timed  generosity  to  Antony  in  granting 
him  the  funeral  oration ;  it  crumbles  away  through  the  cold  iii.  ii,  from 
unnatural  euphuism  of  Brutus's  speech  in  its  defence;   it  is  I3< 
hurried  to  its  ruin  when  Antony  at  last  exercises  his  spell  iii.  ii,  from 
upon  the  Roman  people  and  upon  the  reader.     The  speech  ^ 


200  JULIUS  C&SAR. 

CHAP.  IX.  of  Antony,  with  its  mastery  of  every  phase  of  feeling,  is  a 

perfect  sonata  upon  the  instrument  of  the  human  emotions, 
iii.  ii.  78.  Its  opening  theme  is  sympathy  with  bereavement,  against 

which  are  working  as  if  in  conflict  anticipations  of  future 
95>  IC9>  themes,    doubt   and   compunction.      A   distinct    change   of 

movement  comes  with  the  first  introduction  of  what  is  to  be 
133-  the  final  subject,  the  mention  of  the  will.     But  when  this  new 

movement  has  worked  up  from  curiosity  to  impatience,  there 
i77-  is  a  diversion:   the  mention  of  the  victory  over  the  Nervii 

turns  the  emotions  in  the  direction  of  historic  pride,  which 
178.  harmonises  well  with  the  opposite  emotions  roused  as  the 

orator  fingers  hole  after  hole  in  Caesar's  mantle  made  by  the 

daggers  of  his  false  friends,  and  so  leads  up  to  a  sudden 
200.  shock  when  he  uncovers  the  body  itself  and  displays  the 

popular  idol  and  its  bloody  defacement.     Then  the  finale 
243.  begins :   the  forgotten  theme  of  the  will  is  again  started,  and 

from  a  burst  of  gratitude  the  passion  quickens  and  inten- 
The  mob  sifies  to  rage,  to  fury,  to  mutiny.  The  mob  is  won  to  the 
^Reaction?  Reaction  ;  and  the  curtain  that  falls  upon  the  third  Act  rises 
iii.  iii.  for  a  moment  to  display  the  populace  tearing  a  man  to 

pieces  simply  because  he  bears  the  same  name  as  one  of  the 

conspirators. 

Last  stage.  The  final  stage  of  the  action  works  out  the  development 
mtntofan  °f  an  inevitable  fate.  The  emotional  strain  now  ceases, 
inevitable  and,  as  in  the  first  stage,  the  passion  is  of  the  calmer  order, 
sion-strain  ^e  calmness  in  this  case  of  pity  balanced  by  a  sense  of 
ceases.  justice.  From  the  opening  of  the  fourth  Act  the  decline  in 

the  justification  of  the  conspirators  is  intimated  by  the  logic 

of  events.     The  first  scene  exhibits  to  us  the  triumvirate  that 

now  governs  Rome,  and  shows  that  in  this  triumvirate 
Acts  iv,  v.  Antony  is  supreme :  with  the  man  who  is  the  embodiment 
iv.  i.  of  t|ie  Reaction  thus  appearing  at  the  head  of  the  world, 

the  fall  of  the  conspirators   is  seen  to  be  inevitable.     The 

decline  of  our  sympathy  with  them  continues  in  the  following 
iv.  ii.  3.  scenes.  The  Quarrel  Scene  shows  how  low  the  tone  of 


FALL   OF  THE  MOVEMENT.  2OI 

Cassius  has  fallen  since  he  has  dealt  with  assassination  as  a  CHAP.  IX. 
political  weapon  ;   and  even  Brutus's  moderation  has  hard- 
ened into   unpleasing   harshness.     There   is    at   this   point  iv.iii.  148, 
plenty  of  relief  to   such   unpleasing  effects :    there   is   the  fc>... 
exhibition  of  the  tender  side  of  Brutus's  character  as  shown  339.  ' 
in  his  relations  with  his  page,  and  the  display  of  friendship  iv.  iii. 
maintained  between  Brutus  and  Cassius  amid  falling  fortunes. 
But  such  incidents  as  these  have  a  different  effect  upon  us 
from  that  which  they  would  have  had  at  an  earlier  period; 
the  justification  of  the  conspirators  has  so  far  declined  that 
now  attractive  touches  in  them  serve  only  to  increase  the 
pathos  of  a  fate  which,  however,  our  sympathy  no  longer 
seeks  to  resist.     We  get  a  supernatural  foreshadowing  of  the 
end  in  the  appearance  to  Brutus  of  Caesar's  Ghost,  and  the  iv.iii.  275. 
omen  Cassius  sees  of  the  eagles  that  had  consorted  his  army  v.  i.  80. 
to  Philippi  giving  place  to  ravens,  crows,  and  kites  on  the 
morning  of  battle :  this  lends  the  authority  of  the  invisible 
world  to  our  sense  that  the  conspirators'  cause  is  doomed. 
And  judicial  blindness  overtakes  them  as  Brutus's  authority  iv.  iii.  196 
in   council   overweighs   in   point   after   point   the   shrewder  ~23°* 
advice  of  Cassius.     Through  the  scenes  of  the  fifth  Act  we 
see  the  republican  leaders  fighting  on  without  hope.     The  Justi/ica- 
last  remnant  of  justification  for  their  cause  ceases  as  the  ly^niskes 
conspirators  themselves  seem  to  acknowledge  their  error  and  as  the  con- 
fate.     Cassius  as  he  feels  his  death-blow  recognises  the  very  Cognise 

weapon  with  which  he  had  committed  the  crime :  C<zsar*s 

victory. 

Ccesar,  thou  art  revenged,  V.  iii.  45. 

Even  with  the  sword  that  kill'd  thee. 

And  at  last  even  the  firm  spirit  of  Brutus  yields : 

O  Julius  Caesar,  thou  art  mighty  yet !  V.  v.  94. 

Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
In  our  own  proper  entrails. 


X. 


CHAP.  X. 


The  plot 
of  Lear 
highly 
complex. 


The  main 
plot  ex- 
hibits the 
Problem 
form  of 


How  CLIMAX  MEETS  CLIMAX  IN 

THE    CENTRE    OF    LEAR. 


A  Study  in  more  complex 
Passion  and  Movement. 


IN  Julius  Ccesar  we  have  seen  how,  in  the  case  of  a  very 
simple  play,  a  few  simple  devices  are  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce a  regular  rise  and  fall  in  the  passion.  We  now  mm  to 
a  highly  elaborate  plot  and  trace  how,  notwithstanding  the 
elaborateness,  a  similar  concentration  of  the  passion  in  the 
centre  of  the  play  can  be  secured.  King  Lear  is  one  of  the 
most  complex  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies;  its  plot  is  made 
up  of  a  number  of  separate  actions,  with  their  combinations 
accurately  carried  out,  the  whole  impressing  us  with  a  sense 
of  artistic  involution  similar  to  that  of  an  elaborate  musical 
fugue.  Here,  however,  we  are  concerned  only  indirectly 
with  the  plot  of  the  play :  we  need  review  it  no  further  than 
may  suffice  to  show  what  distinct  interests  enter  into  it,  and 
enable  us  to  observe  how  the  separate  trains  of  passion  work 
toward  a  common  climax  at  the  centre. 

Starting  from  the  notion  of  pattern  as  a  fundamental  idea 
we  have  seen  how  Plot  presents  trains  of  events  in  human 
life  taking  form  and  shape  as  a  crime  and  its  nemesis,  an 
oracle  and  its  fulfilment,  the  rise  and  fall  of  an  individual,  or 
even  as  simply  a  story.  The  particular  form  of  action  under- 
lying the  main  plot  of  King  Lear  is  different  from  any  we 
have  yet  noticed.  It  may  be  described  as  a  Proble?n  Action. 
A  mathematician  in  his  problem  assumes  some  unusual  com- 


PROBLEM  ACTION  OF  THE  MAIN  PLOT.        203 

bination  of  forces  to  have  come  about,  and  then  proceeds  to  CHAP.  X. 

trace   its   consequences :    so    the    Drama   often    deals   with  1         ' 

dramatic 
problems  in  history  and  life,   setting  up,  before  the  com-  action. 

mencement  of  the  play  or  early  in  the  action,  some  peculiar 

arrangement  of  moral  relations,   and   then  throughout  the 

rest  of  the  action  developing  the  consequences  of  these  to  the 

personages  involved.     Thus  the  opening  scene  of  King  Lear 

is  occupied  in  bringing  before  us  a  pregnant  and  suggestive 

state  of  affairs  :  imperiousness  is  represented  as  overthrowing 

conscience  and  setting  up  an  unnatural  distribution  of  power. 

A  human  problem  has  thus  been  enunciated  which  the  re-  Theprob- 

mainder  of  the  play  has  to  work  out  to  its  natural  solution.      lem  5tated- 

Impericusness  seems  to  be  the  term  appropriate  to  Lear's 
conduct  in  the  first  scene.    This  is  no  case  of  dotage  dividing 
an   inheritance   according   to   public   declarations   of  affec- 
tion.    The   division  had   already  been   made  according. to 
the  best  advice  :  in  the  case  of  two  of  the  daughters  '  equali-  i.  i.  3,  &c. 
ties   had  been  so  weighed   that  curiosity  in  neither   could 
make  choice  of  cither's  moiety';    and  if  the  portion  of  the 
youngest  and  best  loved  of  the  three  was  the  richest,  this 
is   a   partiality    natural    enough  to   absolute    power.     The 
opening  scene  of  the  play  is  simply  the  court  ceremony  in 
which  the  formal  transfer  is  to  be  made.     Lear  is  already  38. 
handing  to  his  daughters  the  carefully  drawn  maps  which 
mark  the  boundaries  of  the   provinces,  when  he  suddenly  49. 
pauses,  and,  with  the  yearning  of  age  and  authority  for  tes- 
timonies of  devotion,  calls  upon  his  daughters  for  declarations 
of  affection,  the  easiest  of  returns  for  the  substantial  gifts  he 
is  giving  them,  and  which  Goneril  and  Regan  pour  forth 
with  glib  eloquence.     Then  Lear  turns   to  Cordelia,  and,  84. 
thinking  delightedly  of  the  special  prize  he  has  marked  out 
for  the  pet  of  his  old  age,  asks  her : 

What  can  you  say  to  draw 
A  third  more  opulent  than  your  sisters? 

But  Cordelia  has  been  revolted  by  the  fulsome  flattery  of  the 


204  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  sisters  whose  hypocrisy  she  knows  so  well,  and  she  bluntly 
refuses  to  be  drawn  into  any  declaration  of  affection  at  all. 
Cordelia  might  well  have  found  some  other  method  of 
separating  herself  from  her  false  sisters,  without  thus  flouting 
her  father  before  his  whole  court  in  a  moment  of  tenderness 
to  herself;  or,  if  carried  away  by  the  indignation  of  the 
moment,  a  sign  of  submission  would  have  won  her  a  ready 
pardon.  But  Cordelia,  sweet  and  strong  as  her  character  is 
compare  in  great  things,  has  yet  inherited  a  touch  of  her  father's 
i.  i.  131.  temper,  and  the  moment's  sullenness  is  protracted  into  ob- 
stinacy. Cordelia  then  has  committed  an  offence  of  manner ; 
Lear's  passion  vents  itself  in  a  sentence  proper  only  to  a 
moral  crime  :  now  the  punishment  of  a  minute  offence  with 
wholly  disproportionate  severity  simply  because  it  is  an 
offence  against  personal  will  is  an  exact  description  of  im- 
periousness. 

As  Lear  stands  for  imperiousness,  so  conscience  is  repre- 
sented by  Kent,  who,  with  the  voice  of  authority  derived 
from  lifelong  intimacy  and  service,  interposes  to  check  the 
King's  passion  in  its  headlong  course. 
141-190.          Kent.  Royal  Lear, 

Whom  I  have  ever  honour'd  as  my  king, 
Loved  as  my  father,  as  my  master  follow'd, 
As  my  great  patron  thought  on  in  my  prayers,—* 
Lear.     The  bow  is  bent  and  drawn,  make  from  the  shaft. 
Kent.     Let  it  fall  rather,  though  the  fork  invade 
The  region  of  my  heart :    be  Kent  unmannerly 
When  Lear  is  mad.     What  wilt  thou  do,  old  man  ? 
Think'st  thou  that  duty  shall  have  dread  to  speak, 
When  power  to  flattery  bows?    To  plainness  honour's  bound, 
\Vhen  majesty  stoops  to  folly     Reverse  thy  doom  .  .  . 
Lear.     Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more. 
Kent.     My  life  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn 

To  wage  against  thy  enemies,  nor  fear  to  lose  it, 
Thy  safety  being  the  motive  .  .  . 
<-  Lear.  O,  vassal !  miscreant ! 

[Laying  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

Albany.      l  ... 

~  ,,  \  Dear  sir,  forbear. 

Cornwall.  } 


SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM.  205 

Kent.     Do :  CHAP.  X. 

Kill  thy  physician,  and  the  fee  bestow  

Upon  thy  foul  disease.     Revoke  thy  doom  ; 

Or,  whilst  I  can  vent  clamour  from  my  throat, 

I'll  tell  thee  thou  dost  evil. 

In  the  banishment  of  this  Kent,  then,  the  resistance  of  Lear's 
conscience  is  overcome,  and  his  imperious  passion  has  full 
swing  in  transferring  Cordelia's  kingdom  to  her  treacherous 
sisters. 

The  opening  scene  has  put  before  us,  not  in  words  but 
figured  in  action,  a  problem  in  human  affairs :  the  violation 
of  moral  equity  has  set  up  an  unnatural  arrangement  of 
power — power  taken  from  the  good  and  lodged  in  the  hands 
of  the  bad.  Here  is,  so  to  speak,  a  piece  of  moral  unstable 
equilibrium,  and  the  rebound  from  it  is  to  furnish  the  re- 
mainder of  the  action.  The  very  structure  of  the  plot 
corresponds  with  the  simple  structure  of  a  scientific  pro- 
position. The  latter  consists  of  two  unequal  parts :  a  few 
lines  are  sufficient  to  enunciate  the  problem,  while  a  whole 
treatise  may  be  required  for  its  solution.  So  in  King  Lear 
a  single  scene  brings  about  the  unnatural  state  of  affairs,  the 
consequences  of  which  it  takes  the  rest  of  the  play  to  trace. 
The  '  catastrophe/  or  turning-point  of  the  play  at  which  the 
ultimate  issues  are  decided,  appears  in  the  present  case,  not 
close  to  the  end  of  the  play,  nor  (as  in  Julius  Ccrsar)  in  the 
centre,  but  close  to  the  commencement :  at  the  end  of  the 
opening  scene  Lear's  act  of  folly  has  in  reality  determined 
the  issue  of  the  whole  action;  the  scenes  which  follow  are 
only  working  out  a  determined  issue  to  its  full  realisation. 

We  have  seen  the  problem  itself,  the  overthrow  of  con-  The  sol 'u- 
science  by  imperiousness  and  the  transfer  of  power  from  the •fl°"^?'     • 
good  to  the  bad :  what  is  the  solution  of  it  as  presented  by  a  triple 
the  incidents  of  the  play  ?     The  consequences  flowing  from  traSedy- 
what  Lear  has  done  make  up  three  distinct  tragedies,  which 
go  on  working  side  by  side,  and  all  of  which  are  essential  to 
the  full  solution  of  the  problem.     First,  there  is  the  nemesis 


206  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  upon  Lear  himself — the  double  retribution  of  receiving  nothing 
but  evil  from  those  he  has  unrighteously  rewarded,  and 

of  Leaf*  y  nothing  but  good  from  her  whom,  he  bitterly  feels,  he  has 
cruelly  wronged.  But  the  punishment  of  the  wrong-doer  is 
only  one  element  in  the  consequences  of  wrong;  the  inno- 
cent  a^so  are  involved,  an^  we  get  a  second  tragedy  in  the 
sufferings  of  the  faithful  Kent  and  the  loving  Cordelia,  who, 
through  Kent  as  her  representative,  watches  over  her  father's 
safety,  until  at  the  end  she  appears  in  person  to  follow  up  her 
devotion  to  the  death.  When,  however,  the  incidents  making 
up  the  sufferings  of  Lear,  of  Kent,  and  of  Cordelia  are  taken 
out  of  the  main  plot,  there  is  still  a  considerable  section  left — 

(3)  Tragedy  that  which  is  occupied  with  the  mutual  intrigues  of  Goneril 

aMlll^an  an(*  Regan>  intrigues  ending  in  their  common  ruin.  This 
constitutes  a  third  tragedy  which,  it  will  be  seen,  is  as  neces- 
sary to  the  solution  of  our  problem  as  the  other  two.  To 
place  power  in  the  hands  of  the  bad  is  an  injury  not  only  to 
others,  but  also  to  the  bad  themselves,  as  giving  fuel  to  the 
fire  of  their  wickedness :  so  in  the  tragedy  of  Goneril  and 
Regan  we  see  evil  passions  placed  in  improper  authority 
using  this  authority  to  work  out  their  own  destruction. 

An  under-       To  this  main  plot  is  added  an  underplot  equally  elaborate. 

plot  on  the  ^  jn  jy^  Merchant  of  Venice,  the  stories  borrowed  from  two 

same  basis  J 

as  the  main  distinct  sources  are  worked  into  a  common  design;  and  the 

$lott  interweaving   in  the   case  of  the   present  play  is   perhaps 

Shakespeare's  greatest  triumph  of  constructive  skill.     The 

two  stories  are  made  to  rest  upon  the  same  fundamental  idea — 

compare     that  of  undutifulness   to   old   age:   what  Lear's  daughters 

i.  i,  fin.       actually  do  is  that  which  is  insinuated  by  Edmund  as  his 

false  charge  against  his  brother. 

i.ii.  76,  &c.  I  have  heard  him  oft  maintain  it  to  be  fit,  that,  sons  at  perfect  age, 
and  fathers  declining,  the  father  should  be  as  ward  to  the  son,  and  the 
son  manage  his  revenue. 

So  obvious  is  this  fundamental  connection  between  the  main 
and  the  underplot,  that  our  attention  is  called  to  it  by  a 


PARALLELISM  OF  MAIN  AND   UNDERPLOT.      207 

personage  in  the  play  itself  :  '  he  childed  as  I  father'd,'  is  CHAP.  X. 
Edgar's  pithy  summary  of  it  when  he  is  brought  into  contact 
with  Lear.     But  in  this  double   tragedy,   drawn  from  the  The  main 
two  families   of  Lear  and  of  Gloucester,  the   chief  bond  and  under- 

.  ,  •         •       i         i  i  •  i_  plot  parallel 

between  its  two  sides  consists  in  the  sharp  contrast  which  an/COJl. 

extends  to  every  detail  of  the  two  stories.     In  the  main  plot  trusted 

we  have  a  daughter,  who  has  received  nothing  but  harm  from  ot™U^l~ 

her  father,  who  has  unjustly  had  her  position  torn  from  her 

and  given  to  undeserving  sisters  :  nevertheless  she  sacrifices 

herself  to  save  the  father  who  did  the  injury  from  the  sisters 

who  profited  by  it.    In  the  underplot  we  have  a  son,  who  has 

received  nothing  but  good  from  his  father,  who  has,  contrary 

to  justice,  been  advanced  by  him  to  the  position  of  an  elder 

brother  whom  he  has  slandered  :  nevertheless,  he  is  seeking 

the  destruction  of  the  father  who  did  him  the  unjust  kindness, 

when  he  falls  by  the  hand  of  the  brother  who  was  wronged 

by  it.     Thus  as  the  main  and  underplot  go  on  working  side 

by  side,  they  are  at  every  turn  by  their  antithesis  throwing  up 

one  another's  effect  ;  the  contrast  is  like  the  reversing  of  the 

original  subject  in  a  musical   fugue.     Again,  as   the  main  Tkeunder- 

plot  consisted  in  the  initiation  of  a  problem  and  its  solution,  j°lha^u6 

so  the  underplot  consists  in  the  development  of  an  intrigue  Action: 

and  its  consequences.     The  tragedy  of  the  Gloucester  family 

will,  if  stated  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  father,  correspond 

in    its    parts    with    the    tragedy   in    the    family   of    Lear. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  position  of  the 

father  is  different  in  the  two  cases  ;  Gloucester  is  not,  as  Lear, 

the  agent  of  the  crime,  but  only  a  deceived  instrument  in  the 

hands  of  the  villain  Edmund,  who  is  the  real  agent  ;  if  the 

proper  allowance  be  made  for  this  difference,  it  will  be  seen 

that  the  three  tragedies  which  make  up  the  consequences  of  involving 

Lear's  error  have  their  analogies  in  the  three  tragedies  which 


flow   from   the   intrigue   of  Edmund.     First,  we   have   I\IQ  parallel 
nemesis  on  Gloucester,  and  this,  in  analogy  with  the  nemesis  ^fthe  main 
on  Lear,  consists  in  receiving  nothing  but  evil  from  the  son  plot. 


208 


KING  LEAR. 


CHAP.  X. 

(0  Tragedy 
of  Glou- 
cester. 
(^Tragedy 
of  Edgar. 
(^Tragedy 
of  Ed- 
mund. 


Complexity 
of  plot  not 
inconsist- 
ent -with 
simplicity 
of  move- 
ment. 


he  has  so  hastily  advanced,  and  nothing  but  good  from  the 
other  son  whom,  he  comes  gradually  to  feel,  he  has  unin- 
tentionally wronged.  In  the  next  place  we  have  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  innocent  Edgar.  Then,  as  we  before  saw  a  third 
tragedy  in  the  way  in  which  the  power  conferred  upon 
Goneril  and  Regan  is  used  to  work  out  their  destruction,  so 
in  the  underplot  we  find  that  the  position  which  Edmund  has 
gained  involves  him  in  intrigues,  which  by  the  development  of 
the  play  are  made  to  result  in  a  nemesis  upon  his  original 
intrigue.  And  it  is  a  nemesis  of  exquisite  exactness  :  for  he 
meets  his  death  in  the  very  moment  of  his  success,  at  the 
hands  of  the  brother  he  has  maligned  and  robbed,  while 
the  father  he  has  deceived  and  sought  to  destroy  is  the 
means  by  which  the  avenger  has  been  brought  to  the  scene. 

We  have  gone  far  enough  into  the  construction  of  the  plot 
to  perceive  its  complexity  and  the  principal  elements  into 
which  that  complexity  can  be  analysed.  Two  separate  systems, 
each  consisting  of  an  initial  action  and  three  resulting 
tragedies,  eight  actions  in  all,  are  woven  together  by  common 
personages  and  incidents,  by  parallelism  of  spirit,  and  by 
movement  to  a  common  climax ;  not  to  speak  of  lesser 
Link  Actions  which  assist  in  drawing  the  different  stories 
closer  together.  As  with  plot  generally,  these  separate  ele- 
ments are  fully  manifest  only  to  the  eye  of  analysis;  in 
following  the  course  of  the  drama  itself,  they  make  them- 
selves felt  only  in  a  continued  sense  of  involution  and  har- 
monious symmetry.  It  is  with  passion,  not  with  plot,  that 
the  present  study  is  concerned;  and  the  train  of  passion 
which  the  common  movement  of  these  various  actions  calls 
out  in  the  sympathy  of  the  reader  is  as  simple  as  the  plot 
itself  is  intricate.  In  the  case  both  of  the  main  plot  and 
the  underplot  the  emotional  effect  rises  in  intensity;  more- 
over at  this  .central  height  of  intensity  the  two  merge  in  a 
common  Climax.  The  construction  of  the  play  resembles,  if 
such  a  comparison  may  be  allowed,  the  patent  gas-apparatus, 


GRADUAL    ONCOMING  OF  MADNESS  IN  LEAR.     209 

which    secures   a   high   illuminating  power   by  the   simple  CHAP.  X. 
device  of  several  ordinary  burners  inclined  to  one  another  at     - 
such  an  angle  that  the  apexes  of  their  flames  meet  in  a  point. 
So  the  present  play  contains  a  Centrepiece  of  some  three  from  ii.  iv. 
scenes,  marked  off  (at  least  at  the  commencement)  decisively,  vf^ittuhe 
in  which  the  main  and  underplot  unite  in  a  common  Climax,  interrup-  ^ 
with  special  devices  to  increase  its  effect  ;  the  diverse  interests  {jj01^  "* 
to  which  our  sympathy  was  called  out  at  the  commencement,  The  differ- 

and  which  analvsis  can  keep  distinct  to  the  end,  are  focussed,  ent*ra\ns 

f  J  oj  passion 

so  far  as  passion  is  concerned,  in  this  Centrepiece,  in  which  focussedin 
human  emotion  is  carried  to  the  highest  pitch   of  tragic  a  ce.ntral 
agitation  that  the  world  of  art  has  yet  exhibited. 

The  emotional  effect  of  the  main  plot  rises  to  a  climax  in  The  pas- 
the  madness  of  Lear.     This,  as  the  highest  form  of  human  sion.s  °^e 

main  plot 

agitation,  is  obviously  a  climax  to  the  story  of  Lear  himself,  gather  to  a 


It  is  equally  a  climax  to  the  story  of  Kent  and  Cordelia,  who 
suffer  solely  through  their  devoted  watching  over  Lear,  and  themadness 
to  whom  the  bitterest  point  in  their  sufferings  is  that  they  feel  °f  Lear- 
over  again  all  that  their  fallen  master  has  to  endure.  Finally, 
in  the  madness  of  Lear  the  third  of  the  three  tragedies,  the 
Goneril  and  Regan  action,  appears  throughout  in  the  back- 
ground as  the  cause  of  all  that  is  happening.  If  we  keep  our 
eye  upon  this  madness  of  Lear  the  movement  of  the  play 
assumes  the  form  we  have  so  often  had  to  notice  —  the 
regular  arch.  The  first  half  of  the  arch,  or  rise  in  emotional 
strain,  we  get  in  symptoms  of  mental  disturbance  preparing 
us  for  actual  madness  which  is  to  come.  It  is  important  to 
note  the  difference  between  passion  and  madness  :  passion  is 
a  disease  of  the  mind,  madness  is  a  disease  extending  to  the 
mysterious  linking  of  mind  and  body.  At  the  commence- 
ment Lear  is  dominated  by  the  passion  of  imperiousness,  an 
imperiousness  born  of  his  absolute  power  as  king  and  father  ; 
he  has  never  learned  from  discipline  restraint  of  his  passion, 
but  has  been  accustomed  to  fling  himself  upon  obstacles  and 
see  them  give  way  before  him.  Now  the  tragical  situation  is 

p 


210  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  prepared  for  him  of  meeting  with  obstacles  which  will  not 
give  way,  but  from  which  his  passion  rebounds  upon  himself 
with  a  physical  shock.  As  thus  opposition  follows  opposition, 
we  see  waves  of  physical,  that  is  of  hysterical,  passion,  sweep- 
ing over  Lear,  until,  as  it  were,  a  tenth  wave  lands  him  in  the 
full  disease  of  madness. 

i.  iv.  The  first  case  occurs  in  his  interview  with  Goneril  after  that 

which  is  the  first  check  he  has  received  in  his  new  life,  the 
insolence  shown  to  h!s  retinue.  Goneril  enters  his  presence 
with  a  frown.  The  wont  had  been  that  Lear  frowned  and  all 
cowered  before  him :  and  now  he  waits  for  his  daughter  to 
remember  herself  with  a  rising  passion  ill  concealed  under 
the  forced  calmness  with  which  he  enquires,  '  Are  you  our 
daughter  ? '  '  Doth  any  here  know  me  ? '  But  Goneril,  on 
the  contrary,  calmly  assumes  the  position  of  reprover,  and 
details  her  unfounded  charges  of  insolence  against  her  father's 
sober  followers,  until  at  last  he  hears  himself  desired 
By  her,  that  else  will  take  the  thing  she  begs, 
to  disquantity  his  train.  Then  Lear  breaks  out : 

Darkness  and  devils  ! 

Saddle  my  horses;  call  my  train  together. 
Degenerate  bastard  !  I  '11  not  trouble  thee  : 
Yet  have  I  left  a  daughter. 

In  a  moment  the  thought  of  Cordelia's  '  most  small  fault'  and 
how  it  had  been  visited  upon  her  occurs  to  condense  into  a 
single  pang  the  whole  sense  of  his  folly ;  and  here  it  is  that 
the  first  of  these  waves  of  physical  passion  comes  over  Lear, 
its  physical  character  marked  by  the  physical  action  which 

accompanies  it : 
i.  iv.  292.  O  Lear,  Lear,  Lear ! 

Beat  at  this  gate,  that  let  thy  folly  in,     [Striking  his  head. 
And  thy  dear  judgement  out. 

i.  v.  It  lasts  but  for  a  moment :    but  it  is  a  wave,  and  it  will 

return.  Accordingly  in  the  next  scene  we  see  Lear  on  his 
journey  from  one  daughter  to  the  other.  He  is  brooding 


GRADUAL  ONCOMING  OF  MADNESS  IN  LEAR.     211 

over  the  scene  he  is  leaving  behind,  and  he  cannot  disguise  a  CHAP.  X. 

shade  of  anxiety,  in  his  awakened  judgment,  that  some  such     

scene  may  be  reserved  for  him  in  the  goal  to  which  he  is 
journeying.  He  is  half  listening,  moreover,  to  the  Fool,  who 
harps  on  the  same  thought,  that  the  King  is  suffering  what  he 
might  have  expected,  that  the  other  daughter  will  be  like  the 
first : — until  there  comes  another  of  these  sudden  outbursts  of 
passion,  in  which  Lear  for  a  moment  half  foresees  the  end 
to  which  he  is  being  carried. 

O,  let  me  not  be  mad,  not  mad,  sweet  heaven  I  i.  v.  49. 

Keep  me  in  temper  :  I  would  not  be  mad ! 

Imperiousness  is  especially   attached   to   outward  signs  of 
reverence  :  it  is  reserved  for  Lear  when  he  arrives  at  Regan's  ii-  iv.  4. 
palace  to  find  the  messenger  he  has  sent  on  to  announce  him 
suffering  the  indignity  of  the  stocks.     At  first  he  will  not  be- 
lieve that  this  has  been  done  by  order  of  his  daughter  and  son. 

Kent.  It  is  both  he  and  she;  13. 

Your  son  and  daughter. 
Lear.     No. 
Kent.     Yes. 
Lear.     No,  I  say. 
Kent.     I  say,  yea. 
Lear.     No,  no,  they  would  not. 
Kent.     Yes,  they  have. 
Lear.     By  Jupiter,  I  swear,  no. 
Kent.     By  Juno,  I  swear,  ay. 
Lear.  They  durst  not  do 't ; 

They  could  not,  would  not  do 't  ;  'tis  worse  than  murder, 

To  do  upon  respect  such  violent  outrage. 

But  he  has  to  listen  to  a  circumstantial  account  of  the  insult, 
and,  further,  reminded  by  the  Fool  that 

Fathers  that  wear  rags 

Do  make  their  children  blind, 

he  comes  at  last  to  realise  it  all, — and  then  there  sweeps  over 
him  a  third  and  more  violent  wave  of  hysterical  agitation. 

O,  how  this  mother  swells  up  toward  my  heart !  56. 

Hysterica  passio,  down,  thou  climbing  sorrow, 
Thy  element 's  below ! 

P   2 


212  KING  LEAF. 

CHAP.  X.  He  has  mastered  the  passion  by  a  strong  effort :  but  it  is  a 
..  .  wave,  and  it  will  return.     He  has  mastered  himself  in  order 

to  confront  the  culprits  face  to  face:  his  altered  position  is 
brought  home  to  him  when  they  refuse  to  receive  him.  And 
the  refusal  is  made  the  worse  by  the  well-meant  attempt  of 
Gloucester  to  palliate  it,  in  which  he  unfortunately  speaks 
of  the  '  fiery  quality '  of  the  duke. 

Lear.     Vengeance  !  plague !  death  !  confusion  ! 
Fiery  ?    what  quality  ? 

Nothing  is  harder  than  to  endure  what  one  is  in  the  habit  of 
inflicting  on  others ;  it  was  Lear's  own  '  fiery  quality '  by 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  scorch  all  opposition  out 
of  his  way ;  now  he  has  to  hear  another  man's  '  fiery  quality ' 
quoted  to  him.  But  this  outburst  is  only  momentary;  the 
very  extremity  of  the  case  seems  to  calm  Lear,  and  he  begins 
himself  to  frame  excuses  for  the  duke,  how  sickness  and 
infirmity  neglect  the  '  office '  to  which  health  is  bound — until 
his  eye  lights  again  upon  his  messenger  sitting  in  the  stocks, 
and  the  recollection  of  this  deliberate  affront  brings  back 
again  the  wave  of  passion. 

122.  O  me,  my  heart,  my  rising  heart!    but,  down! 

Lear  had  a  strange  confidence  in  his  daughter  Regan.  As 
we  see  the  two  women  in  the  play,  Regan  appears  the  more 
cold-blooded  ;  nothing  in  Goneril  is  more  cruel  than 
Regan's 

204-  I  pray  you,  Father,  being  weak,  seem  so ; 

or  her  meeting  Lear's  '  I  gave  you  all '  with  the  rejoinder, 
253.  And  in  good  time  you  gave  it. 

But  there  was  something  in  Regan's  personal  appearance 
that  belied  her  real  character ;  her  father  says  to  her  in  this 
scene : 

173.  Her  eyes  are  fierce,  but  thine 

Do  comfort  and  not  burn. 


GRADUAL   ONCOMING  OF  MADNESS  IN  LEAR.     213 

Judas  betrayed  with  a  kiss,  and  Regan  persecutes  her  father  CHAP.  X. 
in  tears.   But  Regan  has  scarcely  entered  her  father's  presence 
when  the  trumpet  announces  the  arrival  of  Goneril,  and  Lear  185. 
has  to  see  the  Regan  in  whom  he  is  trusting  take  Goneril's  19?- 
hand  before  his  eyes  in  token  that  she  is  making  common 
cause  with  her.    When  following  this  the  words  '  indiscretion/ 
*  dotage,'  reach  his  ear  there  is  a  momentary  swelling  of  the 
physical  passion  within  : 

O  sides,  you  are  too  tough ;  200. 

Will  you  yet  hold? 

He  has  mastered  it  for  the  last  time:  for  now  his  whole 
world  seems  to  be  closing  in  around  him ;  he  has  committed 
his  all  to  the  two  daughters  standing  before  him,  and  they  from  233. 
unite  to  beat  him  down,  from  fifty  knights  to  twenty-five, 
from  twenty-five  to  ten,  to  five,  until  the  soft-eyed  Regan 
asks,  '  What  need  one  ? '  A  sense  of  crushing  oppression 
stifles  his  anger,  and  Lear  begins  to  answer  with  the  same 
•calmness  with  which  the  question  had  been  asked  : 

O,  reason  not  the  need  :  our  basest  beggars 

Are  in  the  poorest  thing  superfluous  : 

Allow  not  nature  more  than  nature  needs, 

Man's  life's  as  cheap  as  beast's:   thou  art  a  lady; 

If  only  to  go  warm  were  gorgeous, 

Why,  nature  needs  not  what  thou  gorgeous  wear'st, 

Which  scarcely  keeps  thee  warm.     But,  for  true  need,— 

He  breaks  off  at  finding  himself  actually  pleading :  and  the 
blinding  tears  come  as  he  recognises  that  the  kingly  passion 
in  which  he  had  found  support  at  every  cross  has  now 
deserted  him  in  his  extremity.  He  appeals  to  heaven  against 
the  injustice. 

You  heavens,  give  me  that  patience,  patience  I  need! 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age ;   wretched  in  both  ! 
If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts 
Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 


214  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  To  bear  it  tamely ;    touch  me  with  noble  anger, 

— —  And  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops, 

Stain  my  man's  cheeks ! 

The  prayer  is  answered ;  the  passion  returns  in  full  flood, 
and  at  last  brings  Lear  face  to  face  with  the  madness  which 
has  threatened  from  a  distance. 

No,  you  unnatural  hags, 
I  will  have  such  revenges  on  you  both, 
That  all  the  world  shall— I  will  do  such  things,— 
\Vhat  they  are,  yet  I  know  not ;   but  they  shall  be 
The  terrors  of  the  earth.     You  think  I  '11  weep ; 
No,  I  '11  not  weep  : 

I  have  full  cause  of  weeping ;   but  this  heart 
Shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws, 
Or  ere  I  '11  weep.    O  fool,  I  SHALL  go  mad ! 

ii.  iv.  290.       As  Lear  with  these  words  rushes  out  into  the  night,  we 

The  storm  j^^  tne  ^rst  souncj  of  fae  stOrm — the  storm  which  here,  as 
marks  off 

the  Centre-  in  Julius  Ccesar,  will  be  recognised  as  the  dramatic  back- 
%la  °^the  £round  to  tne  tempest  of  human  emotions ;  it  is  the  signal 
that  we  have  now  entered  upon  the  mysterious  Centrepiece 
of  the  play,  in  which  the  gathering  passions  of  the  whole 
drama  are  to  be  allowed  to  vent  themselves  without  check  or 
bound.  And  it  is  no  ordinary  storm :  it  is  a  night  of  bleak 
winds  sorely  ruffling,  of  cataracts  and  hurricanoes,  of  curled 
waters  swelling  above  the  main,  of  thought-executing- fires,, 
and  oak-cleaving  thunderbolts  ;  a  night 

iii.  i.  12,  wherein  the  cub-drawn  bear  would  couch, 

&c.  The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf 

Keep  their  fur  dry. 

And  all  of  it  is  needed  to  harmonise  with  the  whirlwind  of 
human  passions  which  finds  relief  only  in  outscorning  its  fury. 
The  purpose  of  the  storm  is  not  confined  to  this  of  marking 
the  emotional  climax :  it  is  one  of  the  agencies  which  assist 
in  carrying  it  to  its  height.  Experts  in  mental  disease  have 
noted  amongst  the  causes  which  convert  mere  mental  excite- 
ment into  actual  madness  two  leading  ones,  external  physical 
shocks  and  imitation.  Skakespeare  has  made  use  of  both  in 


CLIMAX  AND  DECLINE  OF  LEAR'S  MADNESS.     215 

the  central  scenes  of  this  play.    For  the  first,  Lear  is  exposed  CHAP.  X. 
without  shelter  to  the  pelting  of  the  pitiless  storm,  and  he  ..  ~ — 
waxes  wilder  with  its  wildness.     Again  when  all  this  is  at  its  111*.  \\t  &c. 
height  he  is  suddenly  brought  into  contact  with  a  half-naked  iii.iv,from 
Tom  o'Bedlam.     This  gives  the  final  shock.     So  far  he  had  39* 
not  gone  beyond  ungovernable  rage ;  he  had  not  lost  self- 
consciousness,  and   could   say,  '  My  wits  begin  to  turn ' ; 
but  the  sight  of  Edgar  completely  unhinges  his  mind,  and  ill.  iv.  66. 
hallucinations  set  in  ;    a  moment  after  he  has  seen  him  the 
spirit  of  imitation  begins  to  work,  and  Lear  commences  to 
strip  off  his  clothes.     Thus  perfect  is  the  regular  arch  of 
effect  which  is  connected  with  Lear's  madness.     We  have  its 
gradual  rise  in  the  waves  of  hysterical  passion  which  ebbed 
after  they  had  flowed,  until,  at   the   point   separating  the 
Centrepiece  from  the  rest  of  the  play,  Lear's  *  O  fool  I  shall 
go  mad '  seems  to  mark  a  change  from  which  he  never  goes 
back.     Through  these  central  scenes  exposure  to  the  storm  is 
fanning  his  passion  more  and  more  irretrievably  into  mad- 
ness ;  at  the  exact  centre  of  all,  imitation  of  Edgar  comes  to  iii.  Hi.  39. 
make  the  insanity  acute.     After  the  Centrepiece  Lear  dis-  Decline 
appears  for  a  time,  and  when  we  next  see  him  agitation  has  afee}^Lece 
declined  into  what  is  more  pathetic :  the  acute  mania  has/™//*  vio- 
given  place  to  the  pitiful  spectacle  of  a  shattered  intellect ;  £*'  n£d~ 
there  is  no  longer  sharp  suffering,  but  the  whole  mind  is  shattered 
wrecked,  gleams  of  coherence  coming  at  intervals  to  mark  ™tellect- 
what  a  fall  there  has  been;  the  strain  upon  our  emotions  1V' u'    *' 
sinks  into  the  calm  of  hopelessness. 

He  hates  him  much  .      ya  jjja  314. 

That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer. 

But  who  is  this  madman  with  whom  Lear  meets  at  the  Thepas- 
turning-point  of  the  play  ?     It  is  Edgar,  the  victim  of  the  s^e^e 
underplot,  whose  life  has  been  sought  by  his  brother  and  gather  to  a 

father  until  he  can  find  no  way  of  savins:  himself  but  the  c™*mon  . 

J  *  Climax  in 

disguise   of  feigned   madness.      This  feigned    madness    of  the  madness 

of  Edgar. 


216  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  Edgar,  as  it  appears  in  the  central  scenes,  serves  as  emotional 

climax  to  the  underplot,  just  as  the  madness  of  Lear  is  the 

emotional  climax  of  the  main  plot.  Edgar's  madness  is 
obviously  the  climax  to  the  tragedy  of  his  own  sufferings, 
but  it  is  also  a  central  point  to  the  movement  of  the  other 
two  tragedies  which  with  that  of  Edgar  make  up  the  under- 
plot. One  of  these  is  the  nemesis  upon  Gloucester,  and  this, 
we  have  seen,  is  double,  that  he  receives  good  from  the  son 
he  has  wronged  and  evil  from  the  son  he  has  favoured.  The 

iii  iv.  170.  turning-point  of  such  a  nemesis  is  reached  in  the  Hovel 
Scene,  where  Gloucester  says  : 

I'll  tell  thee,  friend, 
I  am  almost  mad  myself:    I  had  a  son, 
Now  outlaw'd  from  my  blood ;   he  sought  my  life, 
But  lately,  very  late :    I  loved  him,  friend  : 
No  father  his  son  dearer:   truth  to  tell  thee, 
This  grief  hath  crazed  my  wits ! 

He  says  this  in  the  presence  of  the  very  Edgar,  disguised 

under   the   form  of  the  wretched   idiot   he   hardly   marks. 

Edgar  now  learns  how  his  father  has  been  deceived ;  in  his 

heart  he  is  re-united  to  him,  and  from  this  point  of  re-union 

springs  the   devotion   he   lavishes  upon   his   father  in   the 

compare     affliction  that  presently  falls  upon  him.     On  the  other  hand, 

in.  in.  15.  tnat  which  DrmgS  Gloucester  to  this  Hovel  Scene,  the  attempt 

iii.  iii.  22 ;  to  save  the  King,  is  betrayed  by  Edmund,  who  becomes 

in.  vn.       thereby   the    cause  of  the  vengeance  which   puts   out   his 

father's  eyes.     Thus  from  this  meeting  of  the  mad  Edgar 

with  the  mad  Lear  there  springs  at  once  the  final  stroke  in 

the  misery  Gloucester  suffers  from  the  son  he  has  favoured, 

and  the  beginning  of  the  forgiving  love  he  is  to  experience 

from  the  son  he  has  wronged  :  that  meeting  then  is  certainly 

the  central  climax  to  the  double  nemesis  which  makes  up  the 

Gloucester  action.     The  remaining  tragedy  of  the  underplot 

embraces   the   series   of  incidents    by   the  combination  of 

which  the  success  of  Edmund's  intrigue  becomes  gradually 

converted  into  the  nemesis  which   punishes  it.     Now   the 


A  DOUBLE  CLIMAX.  217 

squalid   wretchedness   of   a    Bedlamite,   together    with    the  CHAP.  X. 

painful  strain  of  supporting  the  assumed  character  amidst     - 

the  conflicting  emotions  which  the  unexpected  meeting  of 
the  Hovel  Scene  has  aroused,  represent  the  highest  point  to 
which  the  misery  resulting  from  the  intrigue  can  rise.  At 
the  same  time  the  use  Edgar  makes  of  this  madness  after 
hearing  Gloucester's  confession  is  to  fasten  himself  in  attend-  iv.  i,  &c. 
ance  upon  his  afflicted  father,  and  proves  in  the  sequel  the 
means  by  which  he  is  brought  to  be  the  instrument  of  the 
vengeance  that  overtakes  Edmund.  The  central  climax  of 
a  tragedy  like  this  of  intrigue  and  nemesis  cannot  be  more 
clearly  marked  than  in  the  incident  in  which  are  combined 
the  summit  of  the  injury  and  the  foundation  of  the  retribu- 
tion. Thus  all  three  tragedies  which  together  make  up 
the  resultant  of  the  intrigue  constituting  the  underplot  reach 
their  climax  of  agitation  in  the  scene  in  which  Lear  and 
Edgar  meet. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  Centrepiece  of  the  play  is  occupied  TheCentre- 
with  the  contact  of  two  madnesses,  the  madness  of  Lear  and  ^'^  aor 
the  madness  of  Edgar ;    that  of  Lear  gathering  up  into  a  by  the  ad- 
climax  trains  of  passion  from  all  the  three  tragedies  of  the  d^l°Fo°/l. 
main  plot,  and  that  of  Edgar  holding  a  similar  position  to  the  a  trio  of 
three  tragedies  of  the  underplot.     Further,  these  madnesses  madness' 
do   not   merely  go   on   side  by  side;    as   they  meet  they 
mutually   affect   one   another,  and  throw  up   each   other's 
intensity.     By  the  mere  sight  of  the  Bedlamite,  Lear,  already 
tottering  upon  the  verge  of  insanity,  is  driven   really  and 
incurably  mad ;  while  in  the  case  of  Edgar,  the  meeting  with 
Lear,  and  through  Lear  with  Gloucester,  converts  the  burden 
of  feigning  idiocy  from  a  cruel  stroke  of  unjust  fate  into  a  " 
hardship  voluntarily  undergone  for  the  sake  of  ministering  to 
a  father  now  forgiven  and  pitied.     And  so  far  as  the  general 
effect  of  the  play  is  concerned  this  central  Climax  presents  a 
terrible  duet  of  madness^  the  wild  ravings  and  mutual  inter- 
workings  of  two  distinct  strains  of  insanity,  each  answering 


218  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  and  outbidding  the  other.  The  distinctness  is  the  greater  as 
the  two  are  different  in  kind.  In  Lear  we  have  the  madness 
of  passion,  exaggeration  of  ordinary  emotions;  Edgar's  is- 
the  madness  of  idiocy,  as  idiocy  was  in  early  ages  when  the 
cruel  neglect  of  society  added  physical  hardship  to  mental 
affliction.  In  Edgar's  frenzy  we  trace  rapid  irrelevance 
with  gleams  of  unexpected  relevance,  just  sufficient  to  partly 
answer  a  question  and  go  off  again  into  wandering ;  a  sense 
of  ill-treatment  and  of  being  an  outcast;  remorse  and 
thoughts  as  to  close  connection  of  sin  and  retribution ;  visions 
of  fiends  as  in  bodily  presence ;  cold,  hunger  :  these  alter- 
nating with  mere  gibberish,  and  all  perhaps  within  the 
compass  of  a  few  lines. 

iii.  iv.  51.  Who  gives  anything  to  poor  Tom  ?  whom  the  foul  fiend  hath  led 
through  fire  and  through  flame,  and  through  ford  and  whirlipool,  o'er 
bog  and  quagmire ;  that  hath  laid  knives  under  his  pillow,  and  halters 
in  his  pew  ;  set  ratsbane  by  his  porridge;  made  him  proud  of  heart,  to 
ride  on  a  bay  trotting-horse  over  four-inched  bridges,  to  course  his  own 
shadow  for  a  traitor.  Bless  thy  five  wits !  Tom  's  a-cold, — O,  do  de, 
do  de,  do  de.  Bless  thee  from  whirlwinds,  star-blasting,  and  taking  ? 
Do  poor  Tom  some  charity,  whom  the  foul  fiend  vexes :  there  cou.d 
I  have  him  now, — and  there,— and  there  again,  and  there. 

But  this  is  not  all.  When  examined  more  closely  this 
Centrepiece  exhibits  not  a  duet  but  a  trio  of  madness ;  with 
the  other  two  there  mingles  a  third  form  of  what  may  be 
called  madness,  the  professional  madness  of  the  court  fool. 
Institution  This  court  fool  or  jester  is  an  institution  of  considerable 
of  the  court  interest.  ft  seems  to  rest  upon  three  mediaeval  and  ancient 
notions.  The  first  is  the  barbarism  of  enjoying  personal 
defects,  illustrated  in  the  large  number  of  Roman  names 
derived  from  bodily  infirmities,  Varus  the  bandy-legged,  Bal- 
bus  the  stammerer,  and  the  like  ;  this  led  our  ancestors  to 
find  fun  in  the  incoherence  of  natural  idiocy,  and  finally 
made  the  imitation  of  it  a  profession.  A  second  notion 
underlying  the  institution  of  a  jester  is  the  connection  to  the 
ancient  mind  between  madness  and  inspiration;  the  same 


INSTITUTION  OF  THE  COURT  FOOL.  219 

Greek  word  entheos  stands  for  both,  and  to  this  day  the  idiot  CHAP.  X. 
of  a  Scotch  village  is  believed  in  some  way  to  see  further 
than  sane  folk.  A  third  idea  to  be  kept  in  mind  is  the 
mediaeval  conception  of  wit.  With  us  wit  is  weighed  by  its 
intrinsic  worth ;  the  old  idea,  appearing  repeatedly  in  Shake- 
speare's scenes,  was  that  wit  was  a  mental  game,  a  sort  of 
battledore  and  shuttlecock,  in  which  the  jokes  themselves 
might  be  indifferent  since  the  point  of  the  game  lay  in  keep- 
ing it  up  as  smartly  and  as  long  as  possible.  The  fool, 
whose  title  and  motley  dress  suggested  the  absence  of 
ordinary  sense  or  propriety,  combines  in  his  office  all  three 
notions :  from  the  last  he  was  bound  to  keep  up  the  fire  of 
badinage,  even  though  it  were  with  witless  nonsense ;  from 
the  second  he  was  expected  at  times  to  give  utterance  to 
deep  truths ;  and  in  virtue  of  the  first  he  had  license  to  make 
hard  hits  under  protection  of  the  'folly'  which  all  were 
supposed  to  enjoy. 

He  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart, 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob. 

The  institution,  if  it  has  died  out  as  a  personal  office  attached  The  insti- 
to  kings  or  nobles,  has  perhaps  been  preserved  by  the  nation  Copied  t 
as  a  whole  in  a  form  analogous  to  other  modern  institutions : 
the  all-embracing  newspaper  has  absorbed  this  element  of 
life,  and  Mr.  Punch  is  the  national  jester.  His  figure  and  face 
are  an  improvement  on  the  old  motley  habit ;  his  fixed  num- 
ber of  pages  have  to  be  filled,  if  not  always  with  wit,  yet  with 
passable  padding :  no  one  dare  other  than  enjoy  the  compli- 
ment of  his  notice,  under  penalty  of  showing  that  '  the  cap 
has  fitted';  and  certainly  Mr.  Punch  finds  ways  of  conveying 
to  statesmen  criticisms  to  which  the  proprieties  of  parliament 
would  be  impervious.  The  institution  of  the  court  fool  is 
eagerly  utilised  by  Shakespeare,  and  is  the  source  of  some 
of  his  finest  effects  :  he  treats  it  as  a  sort  of  chronic  Comedy, 
the  function  of  which  may  be  described  as  that  of  trans- 


220  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  lating  deep  truths  of  human  nature  into  the  language  of 
laughter. 

In  applying,  then,  this  general  view  of  the  court  fool  to  the 
present  case  we  must  avoid  two  opposite  errors.     We  must 
not  pass  over  all  his  utterances  as  unmeaning  folly,  nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  must  we  insist  upon  seeing  a  meaning  in 
everything  that  he  says:   what  truth  he  speaks  must  be  ex- 
pected to  make  its  appearance  amidst  a  cloud  of  nonsense. 
Thefunc-    Making  this  proviso  we  may  lay  down  that  the  function  of 
Fool  in  ^  tne  Fool  m  King  Lear  is  to  keep  vividly  before  the  minds  of 
'Lear  is  to   the  audience  (as  well  as  of  his  master)  the  idea  at  the  root 
us  the         °f  tne  mam  plQt — tnat  unstable  moral  equilibrium,  that  un- 
original      natural  distribution  of  power  which  Lear  has  set  up,  and  of 
which  the  whole  tragedy  is  the  rebound.     In  the  first  scene 
i.  iv.          in  which  he  appears  before  us  he  is,  amid  all  his  nonsense, 
harping  upon  the  idea  that  Lear  has  committed  the  folly  of 
trusting  to  the  gratitude  of  the  ungrateful,  and  is  reaping  the 
inevitable  consequences.    As  he  enters  he  hands  his  cox- 
comb, the  symbol  of  folly,  to  the  King,  and  to  Kent  for 
taking  the  King's  part.     His  first  jingling  song, 

Have  more  than  them  showest, 
Speak  less  than  thou  knowest, 
Lend  less  than  thou  owest,  &c., 

is  an  expansion  of  the  maxim,  Trust  nobody.  And  however 
irrelevant  he  becomes,  he  can  in  a  moment  get  back  to  this 
root  idea.  They  tell  him  his  song  is  nothing : 

Fool.  Then  'tis  like  the  breath  of  an  unfee'd  lawyer  ;  you  gave  me 
nothing  for  't.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  nothing,  nuncle  ? 

Lear.     "Why,  no,  boy ;  nothing  can  be  made  out  of  nothing. 

Fool  [to  Kent\.  Prithee,  tell  him,  so  much  the  rent  of  his  land  comes 
to  :  he  will  not  believe  a  fool. 

i.  i.  92.  '  Nothing  will  come  of  nothing '  had  been  the  words  Lear 
had  used  to  Cordelia;  now  he  is  bidden  to  see  how  they 
have  become  the  exact  description  of  his  own  fortune.  No 
wonder  Lear  exclaims,  '  A  bitter  fool ! ' 


FUNCTION  OF  THE  FOOL  IN  THIS  PL  A  Y.      221 

Fool.    Dost  thou  know  the  difference,  my  boy,  between  a  bitter  fool  CHAP.  X. 

and  a  sweet  one  ?  

Lear.     No,  lad  ;  teach  me. 

Fool.  That  lord  that  counsell'd  thee 

To  give  away  thy  land, 
Come  place  him  here  by  me, 

Do  thou  for  him  stand : 
The  sweet  and  bitter  fool 
Will  presently  appear ; 
The  one  in  motley  here, 

The  other  found  out  there. 
Lear.     Dost  thou  call  me  fool,  boy? 

Fool.  All  thy  other  titles  thou  hast  given  away ;  that  thou  wast 
born  with. 

Again  and  again  he  turns  to  other  topics  and  comes  suddenly 
back  to  the  main  thought. 

Fool.     Prithee,  nuncle,  keep  a  schoolmaster  that  can  teach  thy  fool  i.  iv.  195. 
to  lie  :  I  would  fain  learn  to  lie. 

Lear.     An  you  lie,  sirrah,  we  '11  have  you  whipped. 

Fool.  I  marvel  what  kin  thou  and  thy  daughters  are  :  they  '11  have 
me  whipped  for  speaking  true,  thou  'It  have  me  whipped  for  lying ; 
and  sometimes  I  am  whipped  for  holding  my  peace.  I  had  rather  be 
any  kind  o1  thing  than  a  fool :  and  yet  I  would  not  be  thee,  nuncle ; 
thou  hast  pared  thy  wit  o'  both  sides,  and  left  nothing  i'  the  middle  : 
here  comes  one  o'  the  parings. 

It  is  Goneril  who  enters,  and  who  proceeds  to  state  her  case  i.  iv.  207. 
in  the  tone  of  injury,  detailing  how  the  order  of  her  house- 
hold state  has  been  outraged,  but  ignoring  the  source  from 
which  she  has  received  the  power  to  keep  up  state  at  all : 
what  she  has  omitted  the  Fool  supplies  in  parable,  as  if  con- 
tinuing her  sentence — 

For,  you  trow,  nuncle, 
The  hedge-sparrow  fed  the  cuckoo  so  long, 
That  it's  had  it  head  bit  off  by  it  young, 

and  then   instantly  involves   himself  in  a   cloud  of  irrele- 
vance, 

So,  out  went  the  candle,  and  we  were  left  darkling. 

In  the  scene  which  follows,  the  Fool  is  performing  a  variation  i  y. 
on  the  same  theme :    the  sudden  removal  from  one  sister 


222  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  to  the   other  is   no  real  escape   from   the    original  foolish 

situation. 

i.  v.  8.  Fool.    If  a  man's  brains  were  in 's  heels,  were  't  not  in  danger  of 

kibes  ? 

Lear.    Ay,  boy. 

Fool.    Then,  I  prithee,  be  merry  ;  thy  wit  shall  ne'er  go  slip-shod. 

To  say  that  Lear  is  in  no  danger  of  suffering  from  brains  in 
his  heels  is  another  way  of  saying  that  his  flight  is  folly.  He 
goes  on  to  insist  that  the  other  daughter  will  treat  her  father 
'kindly,'  that  'she's  as  like  this  as  a  crab's  like  an  apple.' 
His  laying  down  that  the  reason  why  the  nose  is  in  the 
middle  of  the  face  is  to  keep  the  eyes  on  either  side  of  the 
nose,  and  that  the  reason  why  the  seven  stars  are  no  more 
than  seven  is  '  a  pretty  reason — because  they  are  not  eight/ 
suggests  (if  it  be  not  pressing  it  too  far)  that  we  must  not 
look  for  depth  where  there  is  only  shallowness — the  mistake 
Lear  has  made  in  trusting  to  the  gratitude  of  his  daughters. 
And  the  general  thought  of  Lear's  original  folly  he  brings 
out,  true  to  the  fool's  office,  from  the  most  unlikely  be- 
ginnings. 

i.  v.  26.  Fool.     Canst  tell  how  an  oyster  makes  his  shell? 

Lear.     No. 

*  Nor  I  neither/  answers  the  Fool,  with  a  clown's  impudence ; 
'  but/  he  adds,  *  I  can  tell  why  a  snail  has  a  house/ 

Lear.     Why? 

Fool.     Why,  to  put  his  head  in  ;  not  to  give  it  away  to  his  daughters. 

ii.  iv.  i-     All  through  the  scene  in  front  of  the  stocks  the  Fool  is  harp- 
I28>  ing  on  the  folly  of  expecting  gratitude  from  such  as  Goneril 

and  Regan.  It  is  fathers  who  bear  bags  that  see  their  children 
kind  j  the  wise  man  lets  go  his  hold  on  a  great  wheel  running 
down  hill,  but  lets  himself  be  drawn  after  by  the  great  wheel 
that  goes  up  the  hill ;  he  himself,  the  Fool  hints,  is  a  fool  for 
staying  with  Lear ;  to  cry  out  at  Goneril  and  Regan's  be- 
haviour is  as  unreasonable  as  for  the  cook  to  be  impatient 
with  the  eels  for  wriggling ;  to  have  trusted  the  two 


A   TREBLE  CLIMAX.  223 

daughters  with  power  at  all  was  like  the  folly  of  the  man  that,  CHAP  X. 
'  in  pure  kindness  to  his  horse,  buttered  his  hay.' 

The  one  idea,  then,  stationary  amidst  all  the  Fool's  gyrations 
of  folly  is  the  idea  of  Lear's  original  sin  of  passion,  from  the 
consequences  of  which  he  can  never  escape ;  only  the  idea  is  but  in  an 
put,  not  rationally,  but  translated  into  an  emotional  form  f"^*0™* 
which  makes  it  fit  to  mingle  with  the  agitation  of  the  central  adapted  to 
scenes.   The  emotional  form  consists  partly  in  the  irrelevance  // 
amid  which  the  idea  is  brought  out,  producing  continual  Centre- 
shocks  of  surprise.     But  more  than  this  an  emotional  form  \^uce' 
given  to  the  utterances  of  the  Fool  by  his  very  position  with 
reference  to  Lear.     There  is  a  pathos  that  mingles  with  his  iii.  i.  16 ; 
humour,  where  the  Fool,  a  tender  and  delicate  youth,  is  found  ^"'gg  /^ 
the  only  attendant  who  clings  to  Lear  amid  the  rigour  of  the  iv/8o/i5o. 
storm,  labouring  with  visibly  decreasing  vigour  to  out-jest 
his  master's  heart-struck  injuries,  and  to  keep  up  holiday 
abandon   amidst   surrounding   realities.     Throughout  he  is  i.  iv.  107 ; 
Lear's  best  friend,  and  epithets  of  endearment  are  continually  l**'^68' 
passing  between  them:   he  has  been  Cordelia's  friend  (as 
Touchstone  was  the  friend  of  Rosalind),  and  pined  for  Cor-  i.  iv.  79. 
delia  after  her  banishment.     Nevertheless  he  is  the  only  one 
who  can  deliver  hard  thrusts  at  Lear,  and  bring  home  to  him, 
under  protection  of  his  double  relation  to  wisdom  and  folly, 
Lear's  original  error  and  sin.     So  faithful  and  so  severe,  the 
Fool  becomes  an  outward  conscience  to  his  master  :  he  keeps 
before  Lear  the  unnatural  act  from  which  the  whole  tragedy 
springs,  but  he  converts  the  thought  of  it  into  the  emotion  of 
self-reproach. 

Our  total  result  then  is  this.  The  intricate  drama  of  King  Summary. 
Lear  has  a  general  movement  which  centres  the  passion  of 
the  play  in  a  single  Climax.  Throughout  a  Centrepiece  of  a 
few  scenes,  against  a  background  of  storm  and  tempest  is 
thrown  up  a  tempest  of  human  passion — a  madness  trio,  or 
mutual  play  of  three  sorts  of  madness,  the  real  madness  of 
passion  in  Lear,  the  feigned  madness  of  idiocy  in  Edgar,  and 


•J 

224  KING  LEAR. 

CHAP.  X.  the   professional   madness   of  the    court   fool.      When   the 

'      elements  of  this  madness  trio  are  analysed,  the  first  is  found 

to  gather  up  into  itself  the  passion  of  the  three  tragedies 
which  form  the  main  plot ;  the  second  is  a  similar  climax  to 
the  passion  of  the  three  tragedies  which  make  up  the  under- 
plot ;  the  third  is  an  expression,  in  the  form  of  passion,  of  the 
original  problem  out  of  which  the  whole  action  has  sprung. 
Thus  intricacy  of  plot  has  been  found  not  inconsistent  with 
simplicity  of  movement,  and  from  the  various  parts  of  the 
drama  the  complex  trains  of  passion  have  been  brought  to  a 
focus  in  the  centre. 


XI. 


' OTHELLO*  AS  A  PICTURE  OF  JEALOUSY 
AND  INTRIGUE. 

A  Study  in  Character 
and  Plot. 


I 


N  no  play  of  Shakespeare  is  the  organic  connection  be-  CHAP.  XI. 

tween  Character  and  Plot  so  simply  and  so  emphatically  . 

marked  as  in  the  play  of  Othello.     Viewed  from  the  side  of  Of  Charac- 
Character,  its  personages  fall   into   a   magnificent  piece  °ffJZf"f 
Grouping  around  the  passion  of  Suspicious  Jealousy '.    When  othdlo. 
we  turn  to  analyse  the  Plot,  this  is  found  to  be  a. network 
of  Intrigue — the  mode  of  action  in  which  Jealousy   most 
naturally  finds  vent ;  and  the  intrigues,  however   elaborate, 
are  by  the  movement  of  the  plot  drawn  to  a  simple  culmina- 
tion  which  remains  for  all  literature  the  typical  climax  of 
tragic  jealousy. 

The  leading  personages  in  Othello  are,  in  character,  varia-  Character- 
tions   of  a   single    passion,    suspicious  jealousy,    and   their 

position  in  the  play  is  exactly  determined  by  their  relation  upon 

Jealousy. 

1  It  is  important  to  remember  that  in  Shakespearean  English  the  word 
'jealousy'  conies  nearer  in  meaning  to  'suspicion'  than  in  modern 
usage.  Compare  Oth.  iii.  iii.  198:  'not  jealous  nor  secure;'  or 
Henry  V,ii.  ii.  126: 

O,  how  hast  thou  with  jealousy  infected 
The  sweetness  of  affiance ! 

Compare  Scotch  usage  :  '  They  jaloused  the  opening  of  our  letters  at 
Fairport.'     (Antiquary,  chapter  xxiv.) 

Q 


226  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  to  this   passion.     Othello  himself  represents  jealousy   in   a 
trusting  nature : 

one  not  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme. 

lago  sees  truly  that  his  leader's ' unbookish  jealousy*  must 
construe  things  wrong ;  how  unbookish  it  is  would  be  suffi- 
ciently proved  by  the  wearisome  iteration  with  which  he 
applies  the  epithet  'honest'  to  lago.  On  the  contrary, 
lago's  is  the  jealousy  of  a  nature  that  believes  in  nothing ; 
ii.  i.  in  his  soliloquies  he  lets  it  appear  that  he  suspects  both 

3°4>  3J6;  Othello  and  Cassio  to  have  tampered  with  his  wife,  and  this 
obviously  baseless  jealousy  is  largely  the  motive  of  lago's 
action,  as  the  jealousy  of  other  persons  is  mainly  the  instru- 
ment with  which  he  works.  Both  his  subordinate  agents  hold 
their  place  in  the  play  by  the  same  thread  of  connection.  In 
Roderigo  we  have  the  ordinary  jealousy  of  a  love  intrigue 
utilised  by  the  skill  of  lago;  and  where  the  virtue  of 
Desdemona  makes  lago's  scheme  too  transparent  in  its 
ii.  i.  215.  weakness,  it  is  only  by  working  on  Roderigo's  jealousy  of 
Cassio  that  the  plotter  is  able  to  retain  his  tool.  Bianca 
strikes  a  yet  lower  key — the  jealousy  of  a  vulgar  liaison. 
Her  connection  is  with  only  a  single  phase  of  the  action, 
the  misunderstanding  in  the  matter  of  the  handkerchief.  For 
this  link  in  the  plot  it  is  merely  necessary  for  her  to  appear 
at  two  points  :  at  the  first  it  is  jealousy  that  brings  her  to  look 
for  Cassio,  and  reproach  him  for  long  absence — when  he 
gives  her  the  handkerchief ;  and  it  is  jealousy  that  brings  her 
again  to  fling  it  back  at  him  in  the  sight  of  the  concealed 
Othello.  Finally,  Cassio  and  Desdemona  are  prominent  in 
the  play  by  the  utter  absence  of  the  passion.  This  appears 
ii.  iii.  12-  negatively  in  Cassio;  for  example,  when  lago,  inviting  him 
33'  to  the  drinking-bout,  insinuates  that  Desdemona  even  is 

susceptible,  Cassio  in  sheer  simplicity  misunderstands  all  he 
says.  In  Desdemona  the  absence  of  jealousy  and  suspicion 
amounts  to  a  phenomenon,  and  when  we  come  to  trace  the 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  227 

story  we  shall  see  how  it  is  her  simplicity  which  is  for  ever  CHAP.  XI. 
betraying  her.     Such  are  the  varieties  of  form,  positive  and 
negative,  which  jealousy  assumes  in  these  various  personages, 
and  they  thus  blend  themselves  into  a  character-group  round 
this  passion  as  the  central  point  of  view. 

What  Jealousy  is  to  the  Character  of  this  play  Intrigue  is  Plot 
to  its  Plot.  Shakespeare's  plots  are,  almost  without  exception, 
distinguished  by  their  complexity :  the  fulness  of  life  he  has 
drawn  within  the  field  of  his  drama  can  have  design  given 
to  it  only  by  a  plan  of  system  within  system.  He  keeps 
going  side  by  side  several  different  stories,  or  interests,  or 
technically,  'actions/  and  the  triumph  of  his  plot-handling  is 
the  exquisite  symmetry  between  these  different  drifts  of  events, 
and  the  way  in  which  they  move  on  to  a  common  consumma- 
tion. The  analysis  of  such  plot  falls  into  two  divisions : 
Economy  views  the  play  as  a  whole,  and  the  relation  of  its 
various  parts  to  one  another ;  Movement  traces  the  develop- 
ment of  the  total  effect  through  the  successive  scenes,  from 
imperfect  to  complete.  Whether  we  review  the  Economy  or 
the  Movement  one  idea  is  found  to  animate  the  present 
play.  Its  plot  presents  a  number  of  separate  intrigues  or 
other  '  actions/  gradually  by  the  course  of  the  play  merged 
in  one,  which  rushes  on  to  a  tragic  consummation  of  Jealousy, 
and  a  reaction  of  Nemesis  on  the  Intriguer. 

I   distinguish   in   the   play   eight   of  these  '  actions/   or 
separate  trains  of  incident. 

The  first,  and  slightest,  is  the  illicit  liaison  between  Bianca  Economy 
and  Cassio.     It  appears  in  no  more  than  four  incidents  of  the  Off£e 
story ;  twice  Bianca  appears  to  reproach  her  lover ;  once  the  Three 
tie  between  the  two  is  made  a  subject  of  conversation  between  f%'*°™a' 
Cassio  and  lago,  in  order  that  the  by-play  of  this  conversa-  iii.  iv.  169; 
tion  may  be  seen  by  and  deceive  the  concealed  Othello ;  and  j^l^g?2' 
yet  again  accident  brings  Bianca  to  the  spot  where  her  lover  v.  i.  73! 
has  just  fallen  wounded.     Yet  slight  as   this  liaison   is, — a 
mere  matter  of  course  for  an  Italian  gentleman  of  that  corrupt 

Q  2 


228  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XL  age, — Shakespeare  must  needs  give  it  a  touch  of  individuality. 
He  has  reversed  the  usual  relations  of  mistress  and  lover ; 
the  pretty  Bianca,  who  no  doubt  has  been  cruel  to  many 
adorers  in  her  time,  has  now  to  feel  the  slights  of  the  still 
more  handsome  Cassio ;  she  is  the  one  genuinely  in  love, 
and  it  is  Cassio  who  se  laisse  aimer.  Moreover,  it  is  a 
tragic  action ;  for  though  the  two  know  no  evil  in  the  bond 
which  has  united  them,  yet  it  comes  to  an  end  with  the 
arrest  of  Bianca  on  the  false  suspicion  of  murdering  her 
lover,  and  as  she  is  borne  off  in  custody  she  has  to  hear 
from  the  wife  of  lago  the  plain  language  which  conveys  the 
honest  matron's  opinion  of  loose  life. 

Roderigo,  The  second  action  is  Roderigo's  pursuit  of  Desdemona. 
No  name  can  be  given  to  it  worthier  than  'pursuit/  Rode- 
rigo  is  merely  a  Venetian  youth  without  parts  or  character, 
a  typical  man  about  town,  one  who  is  no  fool,  as  he  thinks, 
yet  has  just  wit  enough  to  be  used  by  lago  for  his  own 
purposes.  He  has  in  due  course  fallen  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  the  great  beauty  of  Venice.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
remark  that  the  passion  is  all  on  one  side.  There  is  nothing 
to  show  that  Desdemona  so  much  as  knows  of  Roderigo's 
existence;  certain  it  is  that  she  never  once  speaks  to  him, 

i.  i.  95.  nor  he  to  her,  in  the  whole  play.  Roderigo  had  indeed  got 
as  far  as  Desdemona's  father,  but  only  to  be  warned  off  the 
premises  as  one  not  fit  to  pay  addresses  to  Brabantio's 
daughter.  It  is  true  that  the  shock  of  Desdemona's  elope- 
ment with  Othello,  announced  to  her  father  by  Roderigo, 
throws  him  for  a  time  into  the  arms  of  Brabantio,  but  only 
on  the  principle  that  misfortune  makes  strange  bedfellows ; 
and  we  must  understand  it  only  as  a  measure  of  Brabantio's 
disgust  at  Othello,  that  he  turns  to  Roderigo  with  the  words, 

1  i.  176.  «O,  would  you  had  had  her ! '  The  whole  of  this  action  is 
simply  a  piece  of  amorous  hunting.  Yet  it  has  a  tragic 
dignity  given  to  it,  for  it  costs  poor  Roderigo  his  life. 

Third  in  order  I  place  that  which  is  the  main  action  of 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  229 

the  whole  play, — the  love  of  Othello  and  Desdemona.     Not  CHAP.  XI. 

only   does  this  remain  as  one  of  the  world's  most  tragic  n 

.  Othello  and 

Stories —  Desdemona. 

O,  the  pity  of  it !  the  pity  of  it ! 

but  it  further  stands  out  as  one  of  the  great  fundamental 
types  of  love.  It  is  the  love  that  attracts  contraries  into  the 
closest  of  bonds.  Desdemona  is  above  all  things  the '  gentle' 
Desdemona — 

A  maiden  never  bold ; 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 

Blush'd  at  herself. 

She  is  essentially  domestic : 

So  opposite  to  marriage  that  she  shunn'd 
The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation. 

Yet  she  is  drawn  to  the  '  thick-lipped/  '  sooty '  Moor,  who  is 
in  Venetian  eyes  the  type  of  ugliness,  the  battered  soldier 
whose  only  charms  are  his  scars  from  disastrous  chances  and 
moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field,  and  the  '  rude  speech ' 
which  tells  of  them. 

For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith, 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field, 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle. 

True,  he  is  the  great  warrior  of  his  age,  whose  genius 
haughty  Venice  is  glad  to  purchase.  And  the  quiet  life 
•drinks  in  the  story  of  the  life  of  action,  until  the  opposites  run 
together  with  a  shock,  and  Desdemona  is  the  one  to  speak  i.  iii.  164. 
the  first  word  of  wooing.  Yet,  opposites  though  they  be, 
they  have  one  heritage  in  common,  which  plays  a  great  part 
in  their  characters  and  their  fate.  Their  common  quality  is 
utter  simplicity.  Like  Siegfried,  who  had  learned  everything 
but  how  to  fear,  so  Othello  with  all  his  knocking  about  the 
world  has  never  learned  how  to  suspect.  Desdemona  thinks 


230  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  that  the  sun  where  Othello  was  born  had  drawn  from  him  all 
such  humours  as  jealousy;  and  must  not  we  think  so  too 

ii.iii.6,&c.  when  we  find  him  throughout  the  play  treating  lago  as  his 
type  of  honesty?  And  a  like  absence  of  suspiciousness 
betrays  Desdemona  into  acts  that  look  equivocal.  If  we 
knew  nothing  of  the  plot,  we  should  feel  a  note  of  danger  in 
her  enthusiastic  sympathy : 

My  lord  shall  never  rest; 

I  '11  watch  him  tame,  and  talk  him  out  of  patience ; 
His  bed  shall  seem  a  school,  his  board  a  shrift; 
I  '11  intermingle  everything  he  does 
With  Cassio's  suit. 

When  language  has  been  used  to  her  that  there  is  no  mis- 
understanding, she  asks  her  attendant : 

Dost  thou  in  conscience  think, — tell  me,  Emilia, — 
That  there  be  women  do  abuse  their  husbands 
In  such  gross  kind  ? 

It  is  like  seething  a  kid  in  its  own  mother's  milk  when  lago- 
trades  upon  this  simple  unsuspiciousness  in  order  to  rouse  a 
fiend  of  jealousy.  Yet  it  is  only  too  easily  intelligible.  To 
such  simplicity  of  nature  human  character  appears  only 
simple;  men  must  be  classified  as  sheep  or  goats;  there  is 
good  and  evil  only,  without  fine  shadings  or  neutral  colours, 
•without  compromises  or  allowances.  Let  Desdemona  once 
appear  guilty,  and  all  the  whiteness  of  her  soul  is  the  white 
hypocrisy  that  makes  the  black  all  the  blacker.  So  the  true 
love  of  Othello  and  Desdemona  ends  in  murder  and  suicide  : 
though  even  these  are  scarcely  more  terrible  than  for  such  a 
love  to  end  in  jealousy. 

All  these  three  actions  are  trains  of  affairs  moving  on  side 
by  side  when  the  play  opens.  We  now  come  to  four  actions 
which  are  conscious  intrigues,  all  carried  on  by  the  master- 
Four  In-  plotter  lago.  The  first  is  lago's  intrigue  against  Roderigor 
which  is  as  simple  as  intrigue  can  be ;  it  is  merely  the 
sharper's  planning  to  get  all  the  money  he  can  out  of  his 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  231 

dupe  and  then  get  rid  of  him.     When  Desdemona  is  married  CHAP.  XI. 

beyond  the  possibility  of  undoing,  lago  tells  the  disappointed 

suitor,  '  I  could  never  better  stead  thee  than  now/  i.  iii.  344. 

Put  money  in  thy  purse ;  follow  thou  the  wars ;  defeat  thy  favour 
with  an  usurped  beard ;  I  say,  put  money  in  thy  purse.  It  cannot  be 
that  Desdemona  should  long  continue  her  love  to  the  Moor, — put 
money  in  thy  purse, — nor  he  his  to  her :  it  was  a  violent  commence- 
ment, and  thou  shalt  see  an  answerable  sequestration  : — put  but  money 
in  thy  purse.  These  Moors  are  changeable  in  their  wills  : — fill  thy 
purse  with  money : — the  food  that  to  him  now  is  as  luscious  as  locusts, 
shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as  coloquintida.  She  must  change  for 
youth  :  when  she  is  sated  .  .  .  she  must  have  change,  she  must :  there- 
fore put  money  in  thy  purse. 

So  Roderigo  cheers  up  and  goes  to  sell  his  land,  while  lago 
soliloquises : 

Thus  do  I  ever  make  my  fool  my  purse. 

When  the  orange  has  been  sucked  dry  it  is  naturally  thrown 
away,  and  so  in  the  fifth  act  lago  soliloquises : 

Live  Roderigo,  V.  i.  14. 

He  calls  me  to  a  restitution  large 
Of  gold  and  jewels  that  I  bobbed  from  him, 
As  gifts  to  Desdemona; 
It  must  not  be. 

Accordingly,  when  other  means  have  failed,  he  seizes  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  stabbing  Roderigo.  The  whole 
affair  is  quite  simple. 

Against  Cassio  lago  has,  not  one,  but  two,  distinct  in- 
trigues, animated  by  two  separate  motives.  lago's  first 
grudge  is  that  all  the  interest  he  had  made  among  the  great 
ones  of  Venice  had  been  insufficient  to  gain  him  the  post  of 
Othello's  lieutenant,  which  had  instead  fallen  to  a  foreigner. 

And  what  was  he? 

Forsooth,  a  great  arithmetician, 

One  Michael  Cassio,  a  Florentine, 

A  fellow  almost  damned  in  a  fair  wife ; 


232  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  That  never  set  a  squadron  in  the  field, 

Nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knows 

More  than  a  spinster;  unless  the  bookish  theoric, 

Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 

As  masterly  as  he :  mere  prattle,  without  practice, 

Is  all  his  soldiership.     But  he,  sir,  had  the  election : 

And  I,  of  whom  his  eyes  had  seen  the  proof 

At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus  and  on  other  grounds 

Christian  and  heathen,  must  be  be-leed  and  calmed 

By  debitor  and  creditor:  this  counter-caster, 

He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 

And  I— God  bless  the  mark !— his  Moorship's  ancient. 

Disappointed  rivalry,  pressure  of  debts,  the  combined  pre- 
judices of  practical  man  against  doctrinaire  and  of  Venetian 
against  Florentine,  make  up  a  formidable  motive  for  action 
in  a  nature  such  as  lago's.  Accordingly  he  has  studied  the 
new-comer  until  he  has  found  the  weak  side  by  which  he  may 

ii.  iii.  34-  be  betrayed.  This  weak  side,  it  is  worth  noting,  is  not  the 
moral  vice  of  intemperance  so  much  as  the  physical  weakness 
of  stomach  which  makes  a  small  dose  of  alcohol  produce 
upon  Cassio  the  effect  that  excess  produces  on  other  men. 
Cassio  drinks  most  unwillingly,  and  in  circumstances  which 
made  refusal  almost  impossible ;  but  the  poison  acts  on  him 
instantly,  and  he  is  betrayed  into  unmilitary  conduct  which 
lago  adroitly  magnifies  into  a  brawl.  So  his  purpose  is 
gained,  and  a  little  past  the  middle  of  the  play  lago  hears  the 

iii.  iii.  478.  welcome  words, '  Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant.'  But  it  is  only 
after  this  point  that  we  are  allowed  to  see  a  wider  and  more 
fundamental  antagonism  between  Cassio  and  the  villain  of 
our  play.  lago  in  the  fifth  act  mutters  : 

If  Cassio  do  remain, 
He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life 
That  makes  me  ugly  .  .  . 

It  is  the  primitive  feud  of  light  and  darkness,  reinforced  by  a 
ii.  i.  316.    suspicion — for  lago  turns  his  foul  suspicions  in  all  impossible 
directions — that  Cassio  has  played  him  false  with  Emilia, 
that  brings  lago  to  the  conclusion  that  Cassio  must  die. 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  233 

The  same  antagonism  of  light  and  darkness  makes  lago  CHAP.  XI. 
hate  the  Moor,  and  there  is  the  same  additional  motive  of .  ~ 
suspicions,  grounded  on  nothing  but  his  own  foul  thoughts,  ii^'^- 
that  by  Othello  also  he  has  been  wronged  in  his  wedded  *v-  "•  J45- 
life. 

Emilia.     The  Moor's  abused  by  some  most  villainous  knave. 

Some  such  squire  he  was 

That  turned  your  wit  the  seamy  side  without, 
And  made  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  Moor. 

lago  has  said  of  this  in  soliloquy  : — 

I  know  not  if't  be  true; 
Cut  I,  for  mere  suspicion  in  that  kind, 
"Will  do  as  if  for  surety. 

By  the  end  of  the  next  act  the  feeling  has  grown  the  stronger 

by  brooding: — 

— the  thought  whereof 

Doth,  like  a  poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards; 
And  nothing  can  or  shall  content  my  soul 
Till  I  am  even'd  with  him,  wife  for  wife, 
Or,  failing  so,  yet  that  I  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong 
That  judgment  cannot  cure. 

Here   again   are   fine   materials   for   an   intrigue,  and   this 
constitutes  one  of  the  main  actions  in  our  plot. 

We  have  now  before  us  three  trains  of  circumstances 
moving  on  independently  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  and  four 
€vil  intrigues  added  to  them  by  the  villainy  of  lago :  in  all 
seven  'actions/  each  an  intelligible  whole,  which  can  be 
traced  separately  through  the  details  of  the  story  in  the  way 
in  which  an  historian  distinguishes  movements  and  tendencies 
underlying  the  complex  events  of  human  life.  It  may  assist 
clearness  to  recapitulate  and  number  these  actions: — 

1.  Bianca's  liaison  with  Cassio. 

2.  Roderigo's  pursuit  of  Desdemona. 

3.  The  love  of  Othello  and  Desdemona. 


234  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XL       4-  lago's  intrigue  against  Roderigo. 

5.  lago's  intrigue  to  gain  Cassio's  place. 

6.  lago's  intrigue  to  get  rid  of  Cassio  altogether. 

7.  lago's  intrigue  to  destroy  the  happiness  of  Othello  and 

Desdemona. 

But  the  dramatic  interest  of  Economy  finds  its  highest 
satisfaction  in  watching  these  separate  actions  become  united ; 
in  seeing  how,  by  a  series  of  dramatic  devices,  one  after 
another  they  are  drawn  together,  and  merged  in  one  common 
movement  to  a  goal  of  tragic  ruin. 

Economic  The  first  of  these  devices  is  that  lago,  having  it  as  a  fixed 
dlitikin<r  the  PurPose  to  arouse  jealousy  in  the  guileless  Othello,  hits  at 
actions  last  upon  Cassio  as  the  one  to  be  made  the  object  of  these 
together.  suspicions.  We  are  allowed  to  see  this  idea  gradually  dawn 
upon  lago. 

i.  iii.  398.  Cassio's  a  proper  man  :  let  me  see  now: 

How,  how  ? — Let 's  see : — 

After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello's  ear 
That  he  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 
He  hath  a  person  and  a  smooth  dispose 
To  be  suspected,  framed  to  make  women  false. 

When  lago  proceeds  to  act  upon  this  notion  he  gains  the 
economic  advantage  of  making  his  evil  machinations  against 
Othello  serve  as  the  instrument  of  his  evil  purpose  to  ruin 
Cassio;  in  other  words,  Nos.  6  and  7  of  our  actions  are 
now  merged  in  one. 

In  carrying  out  this  double  scheme  of  ruining  Cassio  and 
Othello  at  once,  by  making  the  one  the  object  of  the  other's 
jealousy,  accident  suggests  to  lago  a  further  device,  which 
produces  further  amalgamation  of  our  different  actions. 
Cassio's  ruin  has  already  been  so  far  compassed  that  he  has 
been  cast  from  office,  and  is  seeking  restoration;  the 
ii.  iii.  250.  momentary  appearance  of  Desdemona  on  the  scene  suggests 
to  lago  that  Cassio  should  be  led  to  use  Desdemona's 
intervention  in  his  behalf.  It  will  be  easy  to  misinterpret 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  235 

her  warmhearted  intervention  as  dictated  by  more  than  good-  CHAP.  XL 

nature.     By  this  simple  device  the  whole  force  of  the  love     

between  Desdemona  and  her  lord  is  utilised  to  help  forward 
the  evil  intrigue  against  Cassio,  which  we  have  seen  to  be  at 
the  same  time  an  intrigue  against  Othello's  happiness.  Thus 
now  No.  3  of  our  actions  is  united  with  Nos.  6  and  7  in  one 
common  drift. 

Two  more  devices  serve  to  draw  in  Roderigo's  pursuit  of 
Desdemona,  and  make  this  part  of  the  general  attack  upon 
Cassio.  Cassio  is  made  the  object  of  Roderigo's  jealousy, 
but — that  there  may  not  be  too  much  sameness  in  the  devices 
of  this  drama — the  suggestion  this  time  is,  not  that  Cassio 
loves  Desdemona,  which  to  Roderigo  would  seem  a  matter 
of  course,  but  that  Desdemona  loves  Cassio.  ii.  i,  from 

220. 

lago.     .  .  .  Desdemona  is  directly  in  love  with  him. 

Rod.     With  him  !  why,  'tis  not  possible. 

lago.  Lay  thy  finger  thus,  and  let  thy  soul  be  instructed.  Mark  me 
with  what  violence  she  first  loved  the  Moor,  but  for  bragging  and 
telling  her  fantastical  lies  :  and  will  she  love  him  still  for  prating  ?  let 
not  thy  discreet  heart  think  it.  Her  eye  must  be  fed  ;  and  what  delight 
shall  she  have  to  look  on  the  devil  ? 

He  proceeds  to  dilate  on  Cassio's  advantages  of  person : 

The  knave  is  handsome,  young,  and  hath  all  those  requisites  in  him 
that  folly  and  green  minds  look  after :  a  pestilent  complete  knave ;  and 
the  woman  hath  found  him  already. 

Rod.  I  cannot  believe  that  in  her ;  she 's  full  of  most  blessed  con- 
dition. 

lago.    Blessed  fig's  end ! 

Roderigo  is  soon  sufficiently  indoctrinated  with  this  suspicion 
to  make  him  bear  his  part  in  the  comedy  which  is  to  present 
Cassio  as  a  brawler,  and  hurl  him  from  his  office.  But  when 
this  is  accomplished  the  jealous  suspicions  still  live,  and  a 
second  bit  of  ingenuity  on  lago's  part  utilises  them  to  assist 
his  deeper  scheme  against  Cassio.  A  commission  has  arrived 

from  Venice  :  affairs  in  Cyprus  no  longer  need  Othello,  the  iv.  ii,  from 

225. 


236  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  Senate  consider  Cassio  sufficient  for  this  government  while 
the  great  general  goes  forward  to  the  war  in  Mauretania. 
lago  adroitly  suggests  to  the  love-sick  Roderigo  that  Othello 
will  take  Desdemona  away  with  him,  and  that  there  is  only 
one  way  of  preventing  this  : — 

.  .  .  unless  his  abode  be  lingered  here  by  some  accident :  wherein 
none  can  be  so  determinate  as  the  removing  of  Cassio. 

Rod.     How  do  you  mean,  removing  of  him  ? 

lago.  Why,  by  making  him  uncapable  of  Othello's  place;  knocking 
out  his  brains. 

Rod.     And  that  you  would  have  me  to  do  ? 

Roderigo  this  time  needs  a  good  deal  of  persuading  ;  but 
when  he  does  give  consent  we  have  the  whole  force  of  his 
passion  for  Desdemona  working  into  lago's  intrigues  against 
Cassio.  That  is  to  say,  No.  2  of  our  scheme  of  actions  is 
now  seen  to  co-operate  with  Nos.  5  and  6. 

But  this  No.  6  (the  attempt  to  make  Cassio  a  victim  of 
Othello's  jealousy)  has  already  been  seen  to  have  amal- 
gamated with  two  other  actions,  Nos.  3  and  7.  We  have 
thus  five  of  our  separate  trains  of  incidents — Nos.  2,  3,  5,  6,  7 
— now  merged  in  one,  and  assisting  each  other's  course. 
But  further:  the  same  devices  which  succeeded  in  drawing 
in  Roderigo  as  a  force  against  Cassio  have  at  the  same  time 
been  assisting  another  purpose  in  the  play — lago's  scheme 
of  getting  money  out  of  his  dupe  Roderigo  ;  for  lago  sees 

v.  i.  15.  clearly  that,  once  Roderigo  despairs  of  success,  all  his  own 
pecuniary  chances  are  gone,  and  indeed  he  may  be  called 
upon  to  make  restitution.  So  the  action  we  have  numbered 
as  No.  4  is  now  seen  to  be  working  in  the  same  direction  as 
the  other  five.  There  remains  only  one  more — the  affair  of 

iii.iv;iv.i.  Bianca  and  Cassio.  Every  reader  will  remember  how  this 
paltry  bit  of  low  life  crosses  the  main  tragedy  at  just  the 
point  where  it  can  serve  as  an  unintended  link  in  a  terrible 
chain  of  events.  Desdemona' s  handkerchief,  dropped,  given 
to  Bianca  to  be  altered,  brought  back  by  her  in  a  moment  of 


ECONOMY  OF  THE  PLOT.  237 

suspicion,  is  made  by  the  contrivance  of  the  plotter  to  seem  CHAP.  XI. 
like  a  final  proof  of  Desdemona's  abandoned  passions.     This 
handkerchief  device  has  drawn  in  action  No.  i  into  the  drift 
of  the  rest ;  and  all  the  actions  of  our  scheme,  from  i  to  7, 
are  now  blended  in  a  single  stream  of  movement. 

Every  reader  who  has  in  the  smallest  degree  developed 
interest  in  plot  must  appreciate  this  triumph  of  dramatic 
economy,  by  which  so  many  separate  trains  of  action  are,  by 
a  touch  here  and  there  of  a  great  contriver,  made  to  coalesce 
with  one  another  and  unite  their  forces,  so  that  the  author 
can  reduce  in  amount  the  demand  he  has  to  make  upon  evil 
contrivance,  and  can  show  himself  thrifty  in  making  each 
device  produce  the  maximum  of  results.  But  if  the  reader  The 
does  not  appreciate  it,  there  is  one  in  the  play  who  does,  f 
and  that  is  the  arch-villain  himself:  for  what  is  it  but  Zgtstcdin 
rhapsody  on  dramatic  economy  which  lago  gives  us  when, 
after  hitting  upon  the  idea  of  utilising  Desdemona  to  plead 
for  Cassio,  he  reflects  that  the  very  counsel  he  has  given  with 
a  view  to  his  dark  purposes  is  the  counsel  which  an  honest 
adviser  would  have  given  to  Cassio  for  his  own  sake  ? 

And  what's  he  then  that  says  I  play  the  villain?  ii.  \\\,  342. 

When  this  advice  is  free  I  give,  and  honest, 

Probal  to  thinking,  and  indeed  the  course 

To  win  the  Moor  again  ?     For  'tis  most  easy 

The  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 

In  any  honest  suit :   she  's  framed  as  fruitful 

As  the  free  elements.     And  then  for  her 

To  win  the  Moor — were 't  to  renounce  his  baptism, 

All  seals  and  symbols  of  redeemed  sin, 

His  soul  is  so  enfetter'd  to  her  love, 

That  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list, 

Even  as  her  appetite  shall  play  the  god 

With  his  weak  function.     How  am  I  then  a  villain 

To  counsel  Cassio  to  this  parallel  course, 

Directly  to  his  good  ?     Divinity  of  hell ! 

When  devils  will  the  blackest  sins  put  on, 

They  do  suggest  at  first  with  heavenly  shows, 

As  I  do  now :   for  whiles  this  honest  fool 


238  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  Plies  Desclemona  to  repair  his  fortunes 

And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 
I  '11  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, 
That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body's  lust ; 
And  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  good, 
She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 
So  will  I  turn  her  virtue  into  pitch, 
And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. 

No  one  will  suppose  that  lago  has  any  other  interest  in 
reducing  the  amount  of  evil  in  the  world  beyond  this  economic 
interest  of  watching  one  device  produce  two  effects,  and 
leaving  the  hostile  forces  of  goodness  to  work  his  ends 
without  his  troubling  to  draw  upon  his  own  resources  of 
evil. 

We  have  counted  seven  actions,  and  seen  them  unite  in  a 
Reaction:    tragic  catastrophe.     The  scheme  of  the   play  includes   an 
ei'ont^  action,  or  rather,  reaction ;  the  recoil  of  this  cata- 
strophe upon  lago  himself.     What  is   the    source   of  this 
nemesis  upon  lago  ?     In  part  it  arises  from  accident :  his 
final    intrigue   against   Cassio    is    only  partially  successful, 
Cassio  being  wounded,  but  not  killed.     But  Cassio  comes 
only  to  complete  the  retribution  upon  the  villain  of  the  play, 
which  has  begun  before  his  arrival,  and  in  another  and  un- 
v.  ii,  from  suspected   quarter.     It   is   Tago's   own  wife   Emilia   whose 
1^'  quick  woman's  wit  is  the  first  to  pierce  the  web  of  intrigue, 

and  stimulated  by  sight  of  her  murdered  mistress  she  gives 
her  suspicions  vent,  though  at  the  point  of  her  husband's  sword. 
The  principle  underlying  this  nemesis  is  one  of  the  pro- 
foundest  of  Shakespeare's  moral  ideas — that  evil  not  only 
corrupts  the  heart,  but  equally  undermines  the  judgment. 
To  lago  is  applicable  the  biting  sentence  of/um'us :  '  Virtue 
and  simplicity  have  so  long  been  synonymous  that  the  reverse 
of  the  proposition  has  grown  into  credit,  and  every  villain 
fancies  himself  a  man  of  ability.'  It  is  because  he  knows 
himself  unfettered  by  scruples  that  lago  feels  himself  infallible, 


MOVEMENT  OF  THE  PLOT.  239 

and  considers  honest  men  fools  ;  he  never  sees  how  his  foul  CHAP.  XI. 
thoughts  have  blinded  his  perceptive  powers,  and  made  him  ~ 
blunder  where  simple  men  would  have  gone  straight.  True, 
he  brings  infinite  acufceness  to  bear  upon  the  details  of  his 
intrigues ;  but  he  never  perceives,  what  the  reader  sees  at  a 
glance,  that  the  whole  ground  of  his  action  in  these  intrigues 
— his  suspicions  that  Emilia  h.is  been  tampered  with  by 
Cassio  and  Othello — is  a  stupid  mistake,  which  no  one  with 
any  wholesome  knowledge  of  human  nature  would  make. 
And  the  same  want  of  insight  into  honest  human  nature, 
which  made  him  set  up  his  atrocious  schemes,  is  the  cause 
now  of  their  failure.  He  thought  he  had  foreseen  everything : 
it  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  wife  might  betray  him  with 
nothing  to  gain  by  such  betrayal,  simply  from  affection  and 
horror. 

I  care  not  for  thy  sword ;   I  '11  make  thee  known, 
Though  I  lost  twenty  lives. — Help !  help,  ho  !  help ! 
The  Moor  hath  kill'd  my  mistress! 

In  vain  lago  seeks  to  stop  her  mouth  ;  a  few  words  put  all 
the  suspicious  circumstances  together,  until  in  rage  and  spite 
lago  stabs  Emilia,  though  the  blow  seals  his  own  ruin. 
This  detail  is  a  fresh  touch  in  the  perfection  of  the  nemesis 
upon  lago  :  in  a  sense  different  from  what  he  intended  he  is 
now  *  evened '  wkh  Othello,  '  wife  for  wife/  The  nemesis 
draws  items  of  equal  retribution  from  all  the  intrigues  of 
lago.  It  was  on  account  of  Emilia  that  he  played  the  villain, 
and  it  is  Emilia  who  betrays  him.  He  had  made  a  tool  of 
Roderigo,  and  the  contents  of  the  dead  Roderigo's  pockets  v.  ii.  308. 
furnish  the  final  links  of  evidence  against  him.  His  main 
purpose  was  to  oust  Cassio  both  from  office  and  life  :  Cassio 
lives  to  succeed  Othello  as  Governor,  and  make  his  first  v.  ii.  367. 
official  act  the  superintendence  of  lago's  torturing. 


I  turn  to  the  other  side  of  plot  interest— Movement:  the  Movement 
life  and  development  of  the  play  through  the  succession 


\ 


240  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  scenes,  as  distinguished  from  the  dissection  of  its  component 

parts  when  it  is  considered  as  a  whole.     In  this  drama  the 

movement  is  as  simple  as  the  economic  analysis  is  complex. 

Hardly  in  any  other  play  have  we  so  direct  a  motive  force  as 

lago  is  here;  and  the  stages  into  which  the  development  of  the 

whole  falls  are  both  few  and  clear ;  moreover,  the  successive 

soliloquies  of  lago  are  the  author's  own  index  to  the  gathering 

Its  turn-     fulness  of  the  development.     We  may  note  the  usual  turning- 

ing points.  points  m  the  general  action.     In  the  middle  of  the  middle 

act  comes  the  central  turning-point,  with  the  words : 

iii.  iii.  90.  Excellent  wretch  !     Perdition  catch  my  soul, 

But  I  do  love  thee!    and  when  I  love  thee  not, 
Chaos  is  come  again. 

The  tide  of  Othello's  love  has  reached  its  height,  and  from 
here  the  ebb  begins.  And  of  course  it  is  in  the  fifth  act  that 
we  get  the  outer  change,  or  '  catastrophe/  where  the  tragic 
consummation  gives  place  to  the  reaction  upon  lago. 
Stage  of  The  first  act  is  not  so  much  the  commencement  of  the 
tion™  movement  as  a  preparation  for  it.  It  is  devoted  to  bringing 
out  the  situation  of  the  various  parties  at  the  opening  of  the 
story.  This  is  just  what  a  classical  dramatist,  tied  by  the 
unities,  would  merely  assume,  and  bring  it  out  by  incidental 
reference.  Shakespeare,  on  the  contrary,  often  puts  his  most 
vivid  dramatic  setting  into  the  preparatory  phase  of  his 
action  (witness  the  first  acts  of  Lear  and  Henry  F.);  and 
here  the  marriage  of  Othello  and  Desdemona  is  made  known 
with  passionate  emphasis.  Moreover,  the  casting-off  of  his 
daughter  by  Brabantio,  and  her  resolution  to  accompany  her 
husband  to  the  war,  serve  to  isolate  our  hero  and  heroine 
from  their  previous  surroundings ;  they  have  no  world  now 
but  their  mutual  love,  and  when  that  is  invaded  it  means 
ruin.  The  motive  force  of  the  action,  again,  appears  in 
this  act  only  in  an  embryonic  stage ;  lago  exhibits  his 
animus  against  Othello  and  Cassio,  and  begins  to  feel  about 
for  plots  and  instruments;  the  final  words  of  his  soliloquy 


MOVEMENT  OF  THE  PLOT.  241 

mark   well    the    embryonic    character    of  his    purposes    at  CHAP.  XI. 
present : 

I  have't.    It  is  engendered.     Hell  and  night 

Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world's  light. 

Nevertheless,  this  act  of  preparation  culminates  in  a  note  of 
warning  which  points  to  the  coming  development,  when 
Brabantio,  made  quick-sighted  by  sorrow,  cries  to  his  un- 
welcome son-in-law : 

Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see : 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

The  second  act  presents  the  plot  in  transition  stage.     One  Stage  of 
hundred   and  eighty  lines   of  it  are   given  to   a   dramatic  'lransltwn' 
interval,  made  by  the  transference  of  the  parties  from  Venice 
to  Cyprus.     Desdemona  is  here  separated  from  her  husband, 
and  the  interest  of  plot  yields  to  other  effects  :  the  spectacular 
effect  of  the  storm  (which  wrecks  the  enemy's  fleet  and  leaves 
Othello  free  when  he  arrives  for  home  affairs),  the  pageant 
of  arrival,  and  the  thrust  and  parry  of  wit  when  lago  is  seen 
in  the  unwonted  character  of  a  lady's  man.     We  get  back  to  ii.  i.  168. 
business  in  the  soliloquy  in  which  lago  mocks  Cassio's  courtly 
bearing  to  Desdemona : 

'Tis  so,  indeed :  if  such  tricks  as  these  strip  you  out  of  your 
lieu  tenantry,  it  had  been  better  you  had  not  kiss'd  your  three  fingers 
so  oft.  .  .  .  Very  good ;  well  kissed  !  an  excellent  courtesy !  'tis  so, 
indeed. 

Now  the  separate  intrigues  become  apparent,  and  are  being 
loosely  drawn  together.  Even  in  the  first  scene  lago  has 
made  Roderigo  jealous,  and  suggested  that  he  should  pick  a 
quarrel  with  the  touchy  Cassio ;  but  his  purposes  are  still  only 
forming,  and  his  last  words  in  the  scene  are : 

'Tis  here,  but  yet  confused: 
Knavery's  plain  face  is  never  seen  till  used. 

Then  comes  Othello's  proclamation  of  a  festival,  and  with  it  ii.  ii. 

R 


242  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XL  lago's  idea  of  making  Cassio  drunk ;  the  action  has  now 
made  progress,  and  the  lesser  intrigue  against  Cassio  is  suc- 
cessful. But  the  moment  of  its  success  is  the  great  moment 
of  advance  in  the  movement,  when  the  scene,  already  busy 

ii.  iii.  249.  enough,  culminates  in  an  emotional  shock.  Othello,  with 
gentle,  regretful  firmness,  has  just  spoken  the  memorable 
words  of  dismissal : 

Cassio,  I  love  thee : 
But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine — 

when  we  have  the  stage-direction :  '  Re-enter  DESDEMONA, 
attended.'  Othello  is  in  an  instant  transformed  : 

Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  raised  up ! 
I'll  make  thee  an  example. 

By  this  unexpected  appearance  of  Desdemona  not  only  has 
the  love  of  Othello  become  a  force  that  tells  against  Cassio, 
but  the  master-thought  is  flashed  into  lago's  mind  of  utilising 
Desdemona' s  intervention, — the  device  which  more  than  any 
other  carries  forward  the  plot.  He  at  once  suggests  this 
to  Cassio,  and,  as  soon  as  he  is  alone,  bursts  into  the 
exultation  already  quoted.  His  scheme  he  now  feels  com- 
plete; and  in  concluding  this  second  act  he  speaks  not  of 
planning,  but  of  acting. 

The  plot          In  the  third  and  fourth  acts  the  plot  is  working.     We  may 

working.     note  four  stages.     The  first  is  the  famous  Suggestion  Scene. 

iii.  iii.  lago's  skill  in  this  is  a  skill  that  soars  above  analysis.  It  is 
easy  to  note  the  indirectness  and  affected  unwillingness  of 
his  hints ;  how  he  dares  to  sail  close  to  the  wind,  admitting 

145.  his  own  tendency  to  over-suspiciousness,  and  even,  when 

Othello  begins  to  boil  over,  warning  him  against  jealousy : 

— the  green-eyed  monster  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  feeds  on. 
•f 

Or  how  he  covers  the  weakness  of  his  actual  case  against 

193.  Desdemona  until  Othello  is  frantic  with  suspense,  and  would 


MOVEMENT  OF  THE  PLOT.  243 

sooner  hear  evil  than  hear  nothing ;  how  he  recalls  Brabantio's  CHAP.  XI. 
warning,    and    makes    Othello's    sure    ground    of    trust —  20^~^~ 
Desdemona's  strange  preference  for  himself — a  suggestion 
of  rank  will  and  intemperate  nature.     When  the  suffering 
Othello  turns  upon  Iag< 


If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 
Never  pray  more ;    abandon  all  remorse — 

lago  flings  up  office  and  everything,  thus  utilising  Othello's  375- 
outburst  in  order  to  speak  from  the  standpoint  of  injured 
friendship.     Finally,  when  the  whole  is  complete,  and  Othello 
breaks  into  an  oath  of  vengeance,  the  astute  plotter  allows  462- 
himself  to  be  swept  away  by  the  tempest  he  has  raised,  and 
kneeling  down  includes  himself  in  Othello's  vow. 

In  the  second  stage,  the  intermingling  of  the  various  iii.  iv. 
intrigues  produces  a  fine  piece  of  dramatic  irony.  Desdemona 
is  questioned  as  to  the  handkerchief,  and  seeking  to  evade 
the  question — for  she  knows  not  what  has  become  of  it — 
she  hits  upon  an  unhappy  '  happy  thought/  which  leads  her 
on  to  pour  oil  on  fire : 

Des.     This  is  a  trick  to  put  me  from  my  suit : 

Pray  you,  let  Cassio  be  received  again.  ' 
Oth.     Fetch  me  the  handkerchief:  my  mind  misgives. 
Des.    Come,  come ; 

You'll  never  meet  a  more  sufficient  man. 
Oth.     The  handkerchief! 

DCS.  I  pray,  talk  me  of  Cassio. 

Oth.     The  handkerchief! 
Des.  A  man  that  all  his  time 

Hath  founded  his  good  fortunes  on  your  love, 

Shared  dangers  with  you, — 
Oth.     The  handkerchief! 
Des.     In  sooth,  you  are  to  blame. 
Oth.     Away ! 

In  the  third  stage  ocular  evidence  is  furnished  to  Othello,  iv.  i. 
when  lago  in  his  presence  draws  gestures  of  amused  contempt 
by  his  talk  of  Bianca,  and   Othello   applies  them   all   to 

R   2 


244  OTHELLO. 

CHAP.  XI.  Desdemona ;  and  further,  by  an  accident  that  not  even  lago 
could  have  contrived,  Bianca  comes  at  the  moment  and  flings 
down  the  very  handkerchief  itself  at  the  feet  of  Cassio.  The 
arrival  of  the  Commission  installing  Cassio  in  Othello's  place 
draws  from  the  still  unsuspicious  Desdemona  a  cry  of  joy, 
and  brings  the  blow  on  her  cheek  that  shocks  all  the  court, 
making  the  overt  act  from  which  there  can  be  no  turning 

iv.  ii.  back.  Accordingly  the  fourth  stage  merely  displays  a 
jealousy  strong  enough  to  transmute  impediments  into  stimu- 
lants ;  reading  Emilia's  honest  indignation  as  a  procuress's 
brazen-facedness,  and  interpreting  Desdemona's  innocent 

The  beauty  as  making  the  deeper  sin.     Then  comes  the  tragic 

Climaxand  consummatiOn,   the    achievement    of    the    minor    intrigues 
Reaction.  ' 

serving  as  relief  scenes  between  the  long-drawn  agonies  of 

the  main  tragedy.     The  final  scene  of  the  fourth  act  has  been 
a  dramatic  foreshadowing  of  the  end,  in  the  sad   song   of 
death  that  will  haunt  Desdemona  as  she  prepares  for  bed  on 
v.  ii.  the  fatal  night.     The  Murder  Scene  freezes  us  with  its  awful 

calmness :  Othello's  belief  in  his  wife's  guilt  is  deep  enough 
to  give  his  act  the  deliberateness  of  Justice. 

If  you  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime 
Unreconciled  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace, 
Solicit  for  it  straight  .  .  . 
I  would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit. 

Desdemona's  protestations  of  innocence  are  met  with — 

Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 
Take  heed  of  perjury ;  thou  art  on  thy  death-bed. 

And  this  is  just  the  note  of  the  tragic  discord  which  is 
carried  into  the  equally  tragic  resolution,  when  Emilia  and 
the  rest  have  poured  in,  and  explanation  is  dawning 

O,  I  were  damned  beneath  all  depth  in  hell, 
But  that  I  did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity. 

Othello  has  pronounced  his  own  doom  in  these  words,  and 


MOVEMENT  OF  THE  PLOT.  245 

when  Emilia  has  sealed  her  tidings  with  her  blood,  Othello  CHAP.  XI. 
feels  this  more  than  any  of  those  who  look  on  horror-struck : 

This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 
And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it. 

The  movement  has  been  carried  from  first  preparation  to 
tragic  consummation;  but  there  is  still  the  reaction  as  a 
final  stage  wherein  we  may  recover  ourselves  in  artistic  sense 
of  satisfaction.  Nemesis  is  satisfied  over  lago,  caught  help- 
lessly in  toils  of  his  own  over-astute  blundering.  And  there 
is  time  for  Othello  to  die  calmly  on  his  own  sword,  amid  his 
enemies'  recognition  of  his  '  great  heart,'  and  having  survived 
his  shock  of  discovery  long  enough  to  do  justice  even  to 

himself. 

Speak  V.  ii.  342. 

Of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well ; 
Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme  ;    of  one  whose  hand, 
Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a  pearl  away 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe. 


CH.  XII. 

The  super- 
natural a 
difficulty 
in  art. 
Three 
modes  of 
treatment. 


XII. 

How  THE  TEMPEST  is  A 
DRAMA  OF  ENCHANTMENT. 


A  Study  in  Dramatic 
Colouring. 


Q  HAKESPEARE'S  play,  The  Tempest,  is,  on  the  face  of  it, 
vT5  a  story  of  Enchantment.  But  this  Enchantment,  like  all 
other  forms  of  the  supernatural  and  to  a  greater  degree  than 
most  of  them,  constitutes  one  of  the  standard  difficulties  in  dra- 
matic art.  A  foundation  task  of  the  artist  is  to  give  creative 
reality  to  his  story.  But  we  realise  through  our  memories, 
our  sympathies,  our  experience :  now  Enchantment  is  a 
thing  wholly  outside  our  experience,  it  has  no  associations  of 
memory  interweaved  with  it,  nor  has  it  ever  appealed  to  our 
sympathies  in  real  life.  The  artist  who  dramatises  a  super- 
natural story  is  perpetually  facing  the  practical  difficulty — 
how  to  bridge  over  the  gulf  between  his  supernatural  matter 
and  the  experience  of  his  hearers  or  readers.  There  are 
three  modes  of  treatment  open  to  a  dramatist  by  which  he 
may  meet  such  a  difficulty.  First,  he  may  derationalise,  or 
remove  as  far  as  possible  from  commonplace  experience,  the 
general  surroundings  amidst  which  the  supernatural  is  to 
appear.  Again,  he  may  rationalise  the  supernatural  element 
itself,  that  is,  give  it  as  many  points  of  contact  as  possible 
with  thought  and  experience.  Yet  again,  he  may  give 
further  support  to  the  supernatural  element  by  uniting  with  it 
as  much  as  possible  of  what  is  nearest  akin  to  it  in  the 
world  of  reality.  All  three  modes  of  treatment  are  combined 
in  Shakespeare's  handling  of  Enchantment  in  the  present  play. 


DRAMATIC  BACKGROUND  OF  NATURE.         247 

To  begin  with,  Shakespeare  has  prepared  a  suitable  back-  CH.  XII. 
ground  for  his  drama  of  enchantment  by  removing  its  scene 
to  a  distance  from  busy  town  life,  and  loading  it  with  sug-  tionalisa- 
gestions  of  pure  external  nature — the  accepted  haunt  of  the  tion- 
supernatural :   while  associations  of  artificial  civilisation  are  ground  of 
rigidly  excluded.     The  scene  is  a  desert  island,  impressing  *%a*ftre' 
itself  at  first  as  uninhabitable,  and  almost  inaccessible,  the  island, 
secret  of  a  few  sailors,  and  of  ocean  currents  that  convey  men  ij-  i-.S-rS2 
to  it  '  by  accident  most  strange/  '  by  providence  divine/  '  by  passim, 
bountiful  fortune/     It  is  guarded  by  a  belt  of  fierce  storms 
that  have  given  a  name  to  the  play ;  and  by  a  further  barrier 
of  forbidding  cliffs  that  o'er  their  wave-worn  basis  bow,  huge 
enough  to  contain  deep  nooks  in  which  a  king's  ship  may  lie 
hid.   Yet  the  island  is  of  wondrous  charm  when  the  boundary 
is  once  passed :   it  is  of  a  *  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate  tem- 
perance ' ;  '  the  air  breathes  most  sweetly ' ;  the  grass  looks  loaded  with 
'  lush  and  lusty ' ;  '  there  is  everything  advantageous  to  life/  0^^^f 
All  the  elements  of  life  on  the  island  belong  to  outdoor  nature. 
nature.   For  dwellings  we  find  a  cell  weatherfended  by  a  line- 
grove  ;  the  very  prisons  are  the  prisons  of  nature — the  rift  of 
a  cloven  pine,  the  knotty  entrails  of  an  oak.     Labour  on  the 
island  is  to  fetch  in  wood  for  firing,  or  make  dams  for  fish ; 
education  is  learning  how  to  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how 
the  less,  that  burn  by  day  and  night ;  for  food  there  are  fresh- 
brook  muscles,  wither' d   roots,  and   husks   of  acorns.     By 
accident   some   artificial  wealth  has  found  its  way  to  the 
island — store  of  glistering  apparel — but  it  is  used  only  as  stale  iv.  i.  187. 
to  catch  thieves  :  when,  however,  the  islanders  boast  of  their 
treasures  it  is  the  treasures  of  nature : 


I  prithee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmoset;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberts,  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  scamels  from  the  rock. 


248  THE    TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.    If  there  are  drawbacks  to  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  they 

mt  — are  bushless  and  shrubless  deserts,  or  the  over-luxuriance  of 

iv/i!i8o;;nature>  tne  toothed  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss  and 
iii.  iii.  3.  thorns  of  the  tropical  jungle.  It  is  just  such  scenery  that 
tradition  has  linked  with  fairy  life,  and  in  the  island  we  hear 
songs  and  conversations  which  fill  into  the  scene  its  in- 
v.  i.  33.  visible  inhabitants.  Its  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes  and 
groves  have  each  its  band  of  elves;  the  long  reaches  of 
yellow  sands  are  a  playground  for  the  fairies,  who  now  chase 
the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  now  fly  him  when  he  comes  back, 
or  take  hands  and  foot  it  featly  here  and  there,  while  the 
wild  waves  hush  themselves  to  be  spectators l  of  that  dance, 
sweet  sprites  hum  the  music,  and  cheerful  farmyard  sounds 
of  barking  dogs  and  crowing  cocks  come  in  pat  for  the 
chorus.  Remoteness  from  ordinary  busy  life  is  just  the 
impression  the  island  makes  on  the  courtiers  who  behold  it. 
ii.  i.  143.  It  sets  Gonzalo  thinking  of  a  golden  age  when  civilisation 
should  not  be  known  :  no  traffic  nor  name  of  magistrate, 
no  riches,  poverty,  or  service,  no  use  of  metal,  corn,  or 
wine,  or  oil,  no  treason  nor  need  for  weapons,  but  nature 
should  pour  forth  of  its  own  kind  all  foison,  all  abundance, 
to  feed  the  innocent  people.  And,  while  suggestions  of 
nature  are  scattered  broadcast  through  every  scene,  they  are 
Masque  of  gathered  to  a  climax  in  the  MASQUE  of  the  fourth  act,  which 
^as  ^Or  *ts  functi°n  t°  P°ur  forth  a  prodigal  accumulation 
of  nature-wealth.  In  form  it  is  a  meeting  of  mythical 
deities;  but  the  language  presents  them  as  embodiments 
of  the  different  elements  of  landscape.  Ceres  is  addressed 
as  the  owner  of 

Rich  leas 

Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats,  and  pease; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep ; 

1  i.  ii.  379.     I  take  the  punctuation  of  the  Leopold  edition  which 
makes  '  the  wild  waves  whist '  parenthetical. 


DRAMA  TIC  BA  CKGR  0  UND   OF  NA  TURE.         249 

Thy  banks  with  pioned  and  twilled  brims,  Cn.  XII. 

Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims, 

To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns  ;  and  thy  broom-groves 

Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 

Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard  ; 

And  thy  sea-marge,  sterile  and  rocky-hard, 

Where  thou  thyself  dost  air. 

To  her  is  added  Iris,  of  the  rainbow  hue,  diffusing  honey- 
drops  on  the  flowers,  and  crowning  with  her  blue  bow  the 
bosky  acres  and  the  unshrubb'd  down — a  rich  scarf  for  the 
proud  earth.  These  unite  with  Juno,  Queen  of  Heaven — 
the  sky  in  its  softer  moods — to  invoke  marriage  blessings 
on  the  wedded  couple:  but  these  are  seen  to  be  blessings 
of  nature. 

Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty, 
Barns  and  garners  never  empty, 
Vines  with  clustering  bunches  growing, 
Plants  with  goodly  burthen  bowing ; 
Spring  come  to  you  at  the  farthest 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest ! 

That  water  as  a  feature  of  scenery  may  not  be  omitted,  an 
invocation  follows  to  the 

Nymphs,  call'd  Naiads,  of  the  windring  brooks, 
With  your  sedg'd  crowns  and  ever-harmless  looks; 

these  mingle  with  the  '  sun-burnt  sicklemen  of  August  weary ' 
in  a  dance  of  harvest  home,  and  so  complete  the  Masque  as 
a  symphony  of  all  joys  of  landscape,  lulling  us  to  pastoral 
repose  with  its  flow  of  sleepy  verse. 

The  effect  is  carried  on  from  still  life  to  the  inhabitants  of  Mi 
the  island.  If  ever  a  '  child  of  nature '  has  been  painted  it  is 
Miranda.  Brought  up  from  infancy  on  the  island  without 
ever  seeing  one  of  her  sex,  she  has  been  formed  by  nature 
alone ;  analysis  can  discover  in  her  only  the  elementary  fea- 
tures of  female  character,  unconditioned  by  social  forms  or 
by  individuality ;  she  might  almost  be  called  a  desert  island  of 
humanity.  The  most  distinctive  note  of  Miranda  is  a  sim- i.  H;  iii. 
plicity  that  acts  like  a  charm,  and,  in  the  wooing  scenes,  l>  &c> 


250  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.  needs  the  best  acting  to  distinguish  it  from  forwardness ; 
it  becomes  a  child-like  naivete  of  admiration  when  she  first 
has  the  chance  of  seeing  *  how  beauteous  mankind  is/  Yet 
there  is  in  her  plenty  of  womanly  strength :  capacity  for  the 
most  vivid  appreciation  of  nature  in  the  storm,  and  the  '  very 
virtue  of  compassion '  for  those  suffering  in  it ;  she  exhibits 
an  equally  quick  and  intelligent  play  of  emotion  as  she  follows 
her  father's  story,  and  still  more  at  the  end  of  the  scene, 
where  she  is  distracted  between  two  tendernesses.  For 
beauty,  Miranda  is  almost  a  definition  of  ideal — '  created  of 
every  creature's  best/  And  her  creed  seems  to  be  a  simple 
faith  in  beauty :  even  the  '  brave  vessel '  she  doubts  not  con- 
tains '  noble  creatures  in  her/  and  this  instinctive  confidence 
that  a  fair  outside  must  mean  fairness  within  leaps  forth  to 
defend  Ferdinand  when,  in  the  glory  of  his  youthful  beauty, 
he  stands  accused  of  treachery. 

There  's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple  : 

If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house, 

Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with  't. 

Caliban  a  At  the  opposite  pole  from  Miranda,  yet  equally  with  her 
'sav'™1  linkecl  to  tne  idea  of  nature,  stands  Caliban,  the  natural 
savage,  or  wild  man  of  the  woods :  we  shall  see  later  on 
that  this  does  not  exhaust  the  description  of  Caliban,  but 
this  is  undoubtedly  one  aspect  of  him.  And  in  connection 
with  this  Shakespeare  has  thrown  in  an  effect  of  a  very  special 
kind,  one  which,  when  we  consider  the  date  of  the  play, 
seems  almost  a  flash  of  prophecy.  The  name  '  Caliban ' 
1.11.321.  is  an  anagram  for  'cannibal';  and  in  a  single  dialogue  be- 
tween Caliban  and  Prospero  we  have  painted,  in  successive 
clauses,  the  whole  history  of  the  relations  between  savage 
races  and  civilisation,  wherever  at  least  that  civilisation  has. 
not  been  reinforced  by  the  elevating  power  of  religion.  First, 
we  have  the  wrongs  of  the  savage,  and  his  dispossession  by 
the  white  man : 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother, 

"Which  thou  takest  from  me. 


ENCHANTMENT  RATIONALISED.  251 

Next,  we  see  the  early  and  pleasant  relations  between  the  CH.  XII. 
two ;  the  white  man  pets  the  savage  almost  like  an  animal. —    

When  thou  earnest  first, 

Thou  strokedst  me  and  maclest  much  of  me,  wouldst  give  me 
Water  with  berries  in't — 

There  is  an  interchange  of  good  offices,  education  on  the 
one  side,  on  the  other  reverence  and  gifts  of  natural  riches : 

[Thou  wouldest]  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
That  burn  by  day  and  night :    and  then  I  lov'd  thee 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle, 
The  fresh  springs,  brine-pits,  barren  place  and  fertile. 

But  soon  there  appears  a  moral  gulf  between  the  two  thai 

forbids  equal  intercourse :  „,,       .. 

Thy  vile  race, 

Though  thou  didst  learn,  had  that  in't  which  good  natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with. 

There  is  nothing  for  it  but  the  forced  domination  of  the 

white  man : 

Therefore  wast  thou 

Deservedly  confined  into  this  rock, 
Who  hadst  deserved  more  than  a  prison. 

So  that  the  gift  of  civilisation  is  turned  into  a  curse : 

You  taught  me  language;  and  my  profit  on't 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse ! 

And  a  later  scene  completes  the  analogy,  and  exhibits  ii.  ii. 
civilisation  introducing  one  undeniably  new  gift  into  savage 
life — the  gift  of  intoxicating  drink  1  In  this  way  Caliban 
presents  the  aborigines  of  nature  crushed  beneath  the  ad- 
vance of  artificial  life.  Yet  the  impartial  dramatist  finds  an 
attractiveness  even  for  him.  Beside  Caliban,  the  dregs  of 
natural  life,  he  places  the  drunken  sailors,  the  dregs  of 
civilisation :  and  as  Caliban  kneels  to  Stephano  we  feel  that 
the  savage  is  the  nobler  of  the  two,  for  he  has  not  exhausted 
his  faculty  of  reverence. 

So  far  we  have  been  occupied  with  the  remote  nature  that  ^  ff*    /" 


252  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.    is  proper  as  a  dramatic  background  for  enchantment.     But 

rational      a  £reat  mass  °*  details  ^s  occupied  in  presenting  the  enchant- 

ised.  ment  itself;  and  so  fully  is  it  displayed  that  it  is  rationalised, 

this  thing  of  the  supernatural  seeming  here  to  fall  into  laws 

Laws  of     of  its  own,  and  take  consistency  as  a  system.     Enchantment, 

inent.   Ar-  m  one  °*  *ts  aspects,  is  felt  as  the  arbitrary  suspension  of  the 

bitrary        link  between  cause  and  effect.     On  the  one  hand  a  train  of 

causes  is  in  full  array,  yet  the  effects  refuse  to  follow:  the 

voyagers  plunge  from    the    burning  ship  into  the    boiling 

ocean,  yet 
I  ii    2I*  not  a  hair  perish  d  : 

On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  fresher  than  before. 

On  the  other  hand,  beside  these  effectless  causes  we  see 
i.  ii.  466.  causeless  effects :  the  warrior  in  his  full  strength  drawing 

his  sword  to  strike,  yet  '  charm'd  from  moving,'  his  '  spirits, 
The  casual  as  in  a  dream,  all  bound  up.'  Again,  we  see  the  casual 

becoming  permeated  by  design.     The  distracted  scrambling 

of  the  shipwrecked  courtiers  on  shore,  each  saving  himself 
i.  ii.  219-  as  he  can,  we  see  as  the  'disposing '  by  Ariel  of  actors,  each 
2 37-  to  take  his  proper  part  in  a  drama  of  which  he  is  unconscious. 

Still  more  is  this  aspect  of  enchantrrient  illustrated  in  the 

expulsion  of  Prospero  from  Milan. 

i.  ii.  144.  They  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark, 

Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea ;   where  they  prepared 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;   the  very  rats 
Instinctively  had  quit  it :  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us,  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

What  is  the  outcome  of  this  multiplication  of  possibilities 
of  destruction?  The  exposed  victims  are  found  drifting  to 
the  exact  spot,  to  which  years  after  their  persecutors  will 
i.  ii.  178.  drift  at  the  precise  moment  of  Prospero's  power : — a  contrived 
accumulation  of  chances  eventuates  in  design.  Yet,  again, 


ENCHANTMENT  RA  TIONALISED.  253 

a  third  aspect  of  enchantment  is  seen  in  the  partial  breaking   CH.  XII. 

down  of  the  barrier  between  mind  and  matter :  in  the  island 

The  barrier 
thought  and  the  external  world  can  at  times  act  upon  one  between 

another   without   any    medium    of   communication.     When  mind  and 
Ferdinand  is  musing  alone  on  his  father's  loss,  a  voice  from  breaking 
the  unseen  suddenly  answers  him,  and  sets  his  doubts  at  down. 
rest ;   so,  when  the  revellers  cannot  recall  the  tune  of  their le  "'  39 
catch,  it  is  played  for  them  on  an  invisible  pipe  and  tabor,  iii.  ii.  133. 
Very  noticeable  under  this  head  is  the  conclusion  of  the 
Masque.     In  the  midst  of  the  spectacle  which  Prospero  has 
called  up  for  his  children  his  mind  happens  to  revert  to  the 
forgotten  conspiracy : — the  unspoken  thought  is  enough  for 
the  spirit-actors,  and  'to  a  strange,  hollow  and   confused 
noise,  they  heavily  vanish/     Of  enchantment  like  this,  the 
consequences  on  those  who  suffer  it  are  just  what  we  might 
expect.     For  this  linking  of  cause  and  effect,  this  Maw  of 
uniformity/  is   the   foundation   upon   which   the   edifice   of 
reason  is  built ;  it  is  to  the  scientific  thinker  what  his  creed 
is  to  the  man  of  religion.     And  the  helpless  despair  of  the 
religionist,   whose   creed   has   been    shattered,    is    the   only 
parallel  for  the  hopeless  bewilderment  'of  wanderers  in  the 
island  when  their  confidence  in  natural  order  has  broken 
down :   they  suffer  '  ecstasy/  the  *  subtilties  of  the  isle '  will 
not  Met  them  believe  things  certain';  their  'brains  are  use- v.  i.  60,  80, 
less,  boil'd  within  their  skull';  the  'tide'  of  understanding  I2*' 
has  ebb'd,  and  left  the  shore  of  reason  foul  and  muddy. 

In  handling  enchantment  one  point  of  art  will  be  to  mark  Passage 
the  process  of  passing  from  the  real  to  the  supernatural. ™" ie 
The  usage  of  some  artists  makes  this  passage  a  very  gradual  super 
one;  notably  Goethe,  in  his   Walpurgis  Night,  takes  us  by 
numerous  and  almost  imperceptible  stages  from  a  scene  of 
spring  evening  into  the  very  heart  of  magic.     Shakespeare's 
play  recognises  only  a  single  transition  stage  between  reality 
and    enchantment — music,   strangely    linked    with    dreamy 
slumber. 


ir- 
ncitural. 


254  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.  The  isle  is  full  of  noises, 

Sounds  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not 

iii.  ii.  144.  Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 

Will  hum  about  mine  ears,  and  sometime  voices 
That,  if  I  then  had  waked  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again:    and  then,  in  dreaming, 
The  clouds  methought  would  open  and  show  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that,  when  I  waked, 
I  cried  to  dream  again. 

The  sleepy  atmosphere  seems  a  fixed  quality  of  the  climate, 
dulling  the  critical  faculty  that  might  question  the  visionary 
appearances.  The  music,  however,  that  breaks  out  from 
time  to  time  is  always  an  immediate  herald  of  some  super- 
natural effect:  it  is  through  this  gate  alone1  that  we  pass 
out  into  the  world  of  enchantment. 

Agencies          Agents  from  the  spirit  world  are  the  instrument  with  which 
pernatural  tne  magician  works  his  will;    and  his  power  of  inflicting 
ii.  ii.  3 ;      harm   on  his   enemies   becomes   enhanced   when   the   very 
i^a  *6  '  *V  instrument  °f  punishment  can  add  its  own  quota  of  malice. 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me; 
Sometime  like  apes  that  mow  and  chatter  at  me, 
And  after  bite  me  ;   then  like  hedgehogs  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  barefoot  way,  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  footfall ;   sometime  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders  who  with  cloven  tongues 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness. 

The  spirits  may  be  invisible,  and  thus  distance  from  the 
enchanter  is  no  protection : 

His  spirits  hear  me, 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse. 

Or  they  can  take  shapes,  passing  in  monstrosity  travellers' 
tales  of  mountaineers  dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  or  men  whose 
heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders;  and  they  can 
increase  the  uncanniness  by  the  inexplicable  uncertainty  of 

1  It  is  not  directly  mentioned  in  the  case  of  the  spirits  that  chase  the 
drunken  sailors ;  but  I  presume  '  a  noise  of  hunters '  includes  a  blast  of 
horns,  [iv.  i.  256.] 


ENCHANTMENT  AS  HUMANISED  NATURE.     255 

their  behaviour,  inviting  to  a  supernatural  banquet  with  CH.  XII. 
gentle  actions  of  salutation,  and  again  with  mops  and  mows 
dancing  out  with  it  ere  the  courtiers  have  had  time  to 
partake.  Sometimes  in  the  form  of  hounds  they  'hunt' 
their  victim,  lengthening  his  torture  by  the  chance  they  give 
him  of  flight ;  while,  as  a  climax  of  torture,  there  is  always 
held  in  reserve  the  horror  of  transformation. 

[We  shall]  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villanous  low. 

But  the  most  important  point  in  connection  with  this  use  of 
spirit  agency  is  the  wide  command  it  suggests  of  the  powers 
of  nature.  As  modern  science  sees  law  pervading  all  things, 
so  ancient  magic  placed  every  department  of  nature  under 
different  orders  oi  spirits,  and  to  have  learnt  the  art  of 
controlling  spirits  is  to  be  able  to  play  upon  the  whole 
gamut  of  nature-forces.  Such  is  the  '  rough  magic '  which 

Prospero  boasts. 

By  [your]  aid,  V.  i.  40. 

Weak  masters  though  ye  be,  I  have  bedimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinous  winds, 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azured  vault 
Set  roaring  war  :    to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  fire,  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt ;    the  strong-based  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 
The  pine  and  cedar :    graves  at  my  command 
Have  waked  their  sleepers,  oped  and  let  'em  forth 
By  my  so  potent  art 

There  is  yet  an  aspect  of  enchantment  to  be  noted,  one  Enchant- 
which  in  The  Tempest  is  so  developed  as  to  become  a  leading  ^"f^/. 
interest  of  the  play.     It  is  a  function  of  magic  to  humanise  ised 
the   external  universe,  and  we   have  just   seen   personality m 
given  to  some  of  the  minor  forces  of  nature  in  the  spirits 
employed  by  Prospero.     But  the  grand  division  of  nature 
has  always   been   that    into  the  'four  elements'  of  Earth, 
Air,  Fire,  Water ;  and  poetic  imagination  has  loved  to  endow 
these  with  human  tempers  and  sympathies,  and  an  occasional 


256 


THE   TEMPEST. 


CH.  XII.   appearance  of  human  will.     To  a  certain  degree  language 

-  •      itself  retains  traces  of  such  humanising  of  the  elements,  as 

when  we  talk  of  a  gust  of  passion,  raging  fire,  greedy  ocean, 

an   earthy   disposition,    a    fiery   temper;    enchantment   can 

complete  the  process,  and  give  us  fully  developed  Elemental 

Elemental  Beings—  Sylphs  of  Air,  Naiads  of  Water,  Salamanders  of 
Bcmgs. 


,  Gnomes  of  Earth.  The  employment  of  these  Elemental 
Beings  is  one  of  the  common-places  of  magic.  But  Shake- 
speare in  using  it  has  stamped  it  with  his  own  originality. 
He  has  not  given  us  the  orthodox  four  orders  of  spirits, 
nor  has  he,  like  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  his  Monastery,  framed 
a  being  compounded  of  all  four  elements.  But,  in  giving 
us  two  Elemental  Beings  he  has  been  able  to  suggest  a 
deep  analogy  between  human  nature  and  the  four  elements 
—  how  these  have  their  division  into  upward-tending  and 
downward-tending,  just  as  man  has  his  higher  and  his  lower 
nature.  Shakespeare  has  made  Ariel  an  Elemental  Being 
of  the  higher  order,  identified  with  the  upward-tending 
elements  of  Air  and  Fire,  and  with  the  higher  nature  of 
man;  and  he  has  made  Caliban  an  Elemental  Being  of  the 
lower  order,  identified  with  the  downward-tending  elements 
of  Earth  and  Water,  and  the  lower  nature  of  man. 

The  identification  is  too  detailed  to  be  fanciful.     The  very 

name   of  Ariel  is   borrowed   from   air>   and   he  is  directly 
fed  with     addressed  :   '  Thou,  which  art  but  air.'     The  identification 
a*™nd       wjtn  fire  is  not  less  complete  :  when  describing  the  lightning 
.  Ariel  does  not  say  that  he  set  the  ship  a-fire,  but  that  the 

V.  1.    2  1  ,    1* 

ii.  189-304.  ship  was  '  all  a-fire  with  me  : 

Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
/  flamed  amazement  :  sometime  /'Id  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places. 

We  can  see  in  him  just  the  qualities  of  air  and  fire.  He  is 
invisible,  but,  like  the  lightning,  can  take  shape  as  he  acts. 
Like  air  and  fire  he  can  penetrate  everywhere,  treading  the 
ooze  of  the  salt  deep,  running  upon  the  sharp  wings  of  the 


Ariel  up- 


ELEMENTAL  BEINGS.  257 

north,  doing  'business  in  the  veins  of  earth  when  it  is  CH.  XII. 
baked  with  frost.  His  natural  speech  is  music,  or  waves  of 
air.  His  ideas  are  the  ideas  associated  with  the  atmosphere 
— liberty  and  omnipresence :  to  be  '  free  as  mountain  winds/ 
to  fly  on  the  bat's  back  merrily,  couch  in  the  cowslip's 
bell,  live  under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 
Like  the  atmosphere  he  reflects  human  emotions  without 
feeling  them. 

Ariel.     If  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections  v.  i.  17. 

Would  become  tender. 

Prospero.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit? 

Ariel.     Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

The  analogy  extends  to  character.     Even  a  character  can 
be  found  for  the  atmosphere:   in  place  of  our  motive  and 
passion  it  substitutes  caprice — *  the  wind  bloweth  where  it 
listeth/     So  Ariel  is  '  moody/  or  full  of  moods :   and  one  i  ii.  244. 
of  the  most   difficult  incidents    of   the   play — the    quarrel  i.  ii.  237- 
between  Prospero  and  Ariel — takes  coherency,  if  we  see  in  3°4* 
it   Prospero  governing   this  incarnation  of  caprice  by  out- 
capricing  him ;    there   is   an  absence  of  moral  seriousness 
throughout,  and  a  curious  irony,  by  which  Prospero,  under 
the  guise  of  invective,  is  bringing  out  Ariel's  brave  endur- 
ance and  delicate  refinement,  and  in  the  form  of  threats 
gives  his  rebellious  subject  more  than   he   had   asked   for. 
Finally,  a  single  passage  is  sufficient  to  connect  Ariel  with  i.  ii.  270. 
the   upward   tendencies    of  human    nature.     We   hear  the 
reason  of  his  cruel  sufferings  at  the  hands  of  Sycorax. 

For  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  her  earthy  and  abhorr'd  commands, 
Refusing  her  grand  hests,  she  did  confine  thee, 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 
And  in  her  most  unmitigable  rage, 
Into  a  cloven  pine. 

Nothing  could  more  clearly  paint  the  instincts  of  light 
oppressed  by  the  power  of  darkness  until  the  deliverer 
comes. 

s 


2*8  THE    TEMPEST. 


CH.  XII.       Over  against  Ariel,  an   Elemental  Being   of  the   higher 
~  order,  is  set  an  Elemental  being  of  the  lower  order,  Caliban. 

downward-  Caliban  approaches  near  enough  to  humanity  to  stand,  as 
tending,       we  have  seen,  for  the  natural  savage ;  but  his  origin — from 
with  earth  tne  Devil  and  the  Island  Witch  J — forbids  us  to  rank  him  as 
and  water,  human.     And  marks  are  not  wanting  of  his  identification 
with  the  downward-weighing  elements  of  earth  and  water, 
i.  ii.  314.     He   is  directly  addressed   by  Prospero    as,    'Thou   Earth, 
thou ' ;    and  terms  like  '  monster/  '  moon-calf/  '  dispropor- 
tioned  shape/  so  constantly  applied  to  him,  just  express  the 
uncouthness  traditionally  associated  with  the  Earth-Gnome. 
The  connection  with  the  element  of  water  is  not  so  clear. 
Yet  what  else  can  be  the  significance  of  Shakespeare's  per- 
petually attaching  the  idea  fish  to  his  personal  appearance  ? 
ii.  ii.          Wherever  he  is  seen  for  the  first  time — by  Trinculo,  and 
in  the  last  scene  of  all  by  the  whole  body  of  courtiers — 
the  sight  of  him  provokes  exclamations  of  '  fish/  and  doubts 
whether  he  is  fish  or  man ;   epithets,   '  fish-monster/  '  de- 
boshed  fish/  are  showered  upon  him,  and  prolonged  joking 
on  the  same  idea  is  maintained  while  he  is  in  presence2. 
When  Trinculo  calls  him  'half  a  fish  and  half  a  monster/ 
the  identification  with  Elemental  Beings  of  both  Water  and 
Earth  is  complete.     And  he  is  only  too  evidently  identified 
with  the  lower  side  of  human   nature.     How  animal  he  is 
the  words  describing  his  birth  will  sufficiently  suggest : 

i-  ".  282.  _the  son  that  she  did  Utter  here, 

A  freckled  whelp,  hag- born. 

i.  ii.  349.    He  not  only  indulges  the  lowest  passions,  but  gloats  over 
them.     And  he  is  incapable  of  rising  above  them  : 

1  This  is  distinctly  said  in  i.  ii.  319.     Perhaps  this  is  the  'one  thing 
\vhich  she  did '  for  which  the  sailors  would  not  take  her  life  (i.  ii.  266). 

2  No  such  expressions  are  used  by  Stephano  on  his  first  introduction 
to  Caliban  in  ii.  ii.     But  it  must  be  remembered  that  what  he  sees  is  not 
Caliban,  but  Caliban  and  Trinculo  mixed  together  under  the  same  gaber- 
dine :  hence  he  talks  of  a  four-leg'd  monster. 


REALITY  AKIN  TO  ENCHANTMENT*  259 

Abhorred  slave,  CH.  XII 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  wilt  not  take,  

Being  capable  of  all  ill. 

It  is  true  that  we  do  not  in  the  play  itself  see  Caliban 
performing  superhuman  feats  such  as  distinguish  Ariel.  "  But 
it  must  be  remembered  that  Ariel  exercises  these  powers 
only  in  the  service  of  Prospero ;  and  the  corresponding 
source  from  which  Caliban  would  derive  his  wonder-working 
strength — his  mother  Sycorax — is  dead  before  the  play  i.  ii.  279. 
opens.  This  Sycorax  introduces  into  the  drama  Witchcraft,  Witch- 
as  a  dark  counterpart  to  the  enchantment  of  Prospero  that 
works  for  good.  Like  Prospero,  she  has  been  conveyed  by 

force   to   the  island,  and  she  has  ruled  it  by  her   charms  *•  "•  f  58> 
J  270,  &c. 

before  he  arrives.     She  uses  as  her  instruments  malignant  j  .. 

things  of  nature — wicked  dew  brushed  with   black  raven's  340 ;  ii.  ii. 
feather    from    unwholesome    fen ;    her    charms    are    toads,  I;  &c* 
beetles,  bats — creatures  that  hate  the  light;  her  son's  curse 
is  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up  from  bog  and  fen  and 
flat.     She  has  an  ugliness  which  is  deformity  alike  of  body 
and  mind 

—  with  age  and  envy  grown  into  a  hoop; 

and — if  the  reading  be  correct — the  epithet,  '  blue-eyed  hag/  i.  ii.  269. 
may  suggest  that  worst  ugliness  which  comes  of  corrupted 
beauty.  This  addition  of  Sycorax  as  a  foil  to  Prospero 
completes  the  balance  of  good  and  evil,  of  light  and  dark ; 
and  a  moral  tinge  is  cast  over  the  purely  imaginative  matter 
of  the  play,  especially  suitable  in  a  drama  which  has  to 
connect  enchantment  with  the  providential  government  of 
the  world. 

Two  of  the  modes  of  treatment  by  which  an  artist  seeks  (3;  Addi- 
to  reduce  the  strain  made  upon  our  imaginative  faculty  by  ^al/ty 
the  introduction  of  a  supernatural  element  into  fiction  have  akin  to 
now  been  illustrated.     But  when  a  suitable  background  has 
been  prepared  for  Enchantment,  and  when  all  that  is  possible 
has  been  done  tb  give  a  rational  aspect  to  that  which  is 

s  2 


260  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.  outside  reason,  it  still  remains  to  give  increased  reality  to  the 
story  by  exhibiting  the  supernatural   element  as  intimately 
associated  with  phases  of  common  life  that  already  possess  a 
hold  upon  our  sympathies.     Where  then  are  to  be  found 
elements  of  common  life  that  have  kinship  with  enchant- 
ment ?     May  not  one  of  them  be  seen  in  what  is  described 
Love  at       by  the  phrase,  '  love  at  first  sight/  which,  as  if  miraculously, 
Story  q      trans^orms  tne  lovers  to  one  another's  eyes  by  the  mere 
Ferdinand  shock  of  their  first  meeting  ?     Ordinary  parlance  suggests  as 
"randa  *"      mucn  when  it  describes  such  lovers  as  '  smitten '  with  one 
another, — touched  with  an  enchanter's  wand,  causing  them 
to  see  in  each  other  visions  of  perfection  not  perceptible  to 
ordinary  beholders.     At  all  events,  this  is  the  idea  which 
i.  ii.  375  ;    gives  unity  to  the  Story  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda;  it  is  not 
i^v!j  r-2  mereb'  one  °f  tne  hundred  love  stories  of  the  Elizabethan 
drama,  but  it  is  an  ideal  study  of  '  love  at  first  sight,'  com- 
plete in  all  its  stages.     First  we  have  the  lovers  prepared  for 
their  meeting.     Miranda  awakes  out  of  a  charmed  sleep  to 
behold  Ferdinand  for  the  first  time : 

Prospero.     The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance 

And  say  what  thou  seest  yond. 
Miranda.  What  is't?  a  spirit? 

So  Ferdinand  is  drawn  to  the  spot  by  supernatural  music, 

until  he  sees — 

Most  sure,  the  goddess 

On  whom  these  airs  attend. 

The  mutual  shock  follows.  'At  the  first  sight  they  have 
changed  eyes,'  says  the  delighted  Prospero,  and  Ferdinand 
confesses : 

The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 

My  heart  fly  to  your  service;    there  resides, 

To  make  me  slave  to  it. 

Accident  favours  the  immediate  betrayal  of  their  feelings : 

Miranda.  This 

Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw,  the  first 
That  e'er  sighed  I  for  .... 


REALITY  AKIN  TO  ENCHANTMENT.  261 

Ferdinand  forgets  his  own  danger  to  exclaim  :  CH.  XII. 

O,  if  a  virgin, 

And  your  affection  not  gone  forth,  I  '11  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples. 

Trouble  follows  to  bind  them  closer  and  closer  together,  and 
Miranda  steals  away  to  the  log-house  to  cast  the  gleam  of 
her  sympathy  and  pretty  fancies  over  Ferdinand's  ignoble 
service,  until  it  is  '  fresh  morning  with  him  when  she  is  by  at 
night/  Finally  the  cloud  of  trouble  rolls  away,  and  the 
incidents  of  the  Masque  and  the  game  of  chess  give  us 
glimpses  into  the  pure  intercourse  of  a  lovers'  paradise. 

Similarly,   the   comic   side   of   common    life   contains   a  Intoxica- 
counterpart   to   enchantment   in   intoxication,  that   fills    ' 
victim  with  delusions  alike  of  heart  and  of  head.     And  it  is  to  En- 
this  which  gives  unity  to  the  Underplot  of  the  Butler  and  '%%£***' 
Jester ;  the  bottle  saved  from  the  wreck  dominates  it  through-  Under- 
out.     Moreover,   while  intoxication  might  be  presented  in^ 
many  different  aspects — as  loathsome,  as  wicked,  as  gro-  j*;  ^  ***• 
tesque,  as  dangerous — here  its  transforming  power  is  dwelt  165 ;  v.  i. 
upon.     Caliban  is  transformed  into  a  worshipper,  with  the  25  ' 
drunken  butler  for  his  god.     Stephano  pours  wine  down  the 
throat  of  the  supposed  dead  moon-calf,  and,  by  a  fine  stroke 
of  detail,  Shakespeare  makes  Caliban,  at  this  first  taste  of 
alcohol,  break  from  prose  into  blank  verse,  which  he  main- 
tains through  the  scene : 

These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites ; 
That 's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor. 

Another  pull  at  the  bottle,  and  the  apotheosis  of  Stephano  is 
far  advanced : 

Caliban.     Hast  thou  not  dropp'd  from  heaven? 
Stephano.     Out  o'  the  moon,  I  do  assure  thee :  I  was  the  man  i'  the 
moon  when  time  was. 

Caliban.    I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  I  do  adore  thee. 

Another  draught  and  he  is  kissing  his  god's  foot,  and 
devoting  himself  to '  his  service ;  a  few  more,  and  he  is 


262  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XII.  dancing    on    the    threshold    of    a    new    dispensation.     So 

Stephano  is  transformed  into  a  king,  and  disposes  the  spoils 

of  the  clothes-line;  Trinculo  into  an  expectant  viceroy;  all 
three  into  an  expeditionary  force  on  the  point  of  achieving  a 
conquest : 

So  full  of  valour  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces,  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet. 

With  drunken  infirmity  of  purpose  they  pursue  their  project, 
and  are  diverted  by  easy  lures  of  Ariel  into  the  paths  of 
destruction;  drunk  they  appear  at  the  close  under  their 
punishment;  and  the  last  stroke  in  the  comic  underplot  is 
the  awakening  of  Caliban  out  of  his  enchantment : 

What  a  thrice-double  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god. 

It  is  such  treatment  as  this  which  Shakespeare  has  applied 
to  The  Tempest  that  entitles  it  to  be  called  a  Drama  of 
Enchantment.  The  term  does  not  merely  mean  a  story  of 
ordinary  life  in  which  superhuman  beings  are  allowed  to 
interpose :  the  world  of  this  play  is  penetrated  through  and 
through  by  the  supernatural ;  from  the  supernatural  it  takes 
Dramatic  its  tone  and  colour.  The  very  scene,  insulated  like  a  magic 
o  curing,  cjrcjej  js  excluded  from  the  commonplace,  and  is  confined  to 
that  remoteness  of  nature  in  which  distance  from  the  real 
presents  itself  as  nearness  to  the  unseen.  On  the  enchanted 
island  there  is  nothing  to  break  the  spell  by  a  suggestion  of 
every-day  experience,  and  the  atmosphere  is  electrical  with 
enchantment;  while  the  inhabitants,  untouched  by  social 
influences,  are  formed  equally  by  nature  and  magic.  As  the 
story  moves  before  us,  the  laws  of  nature — the  basis  of  our 
sense  of  reality — appear  suspended,  and  it  is  the  unnatural 
which  presents  itself  as  a  thing  of  law.  When  at  last 
personages  of  familiar  experience  are  introduced  they  fall 
wholly  under  the  mysterious  influence,  and  their  realism — 
their  tender  loving  and  brutal  carousing — only  serves  to 


DRAMATIC  COLOURING.  263 

remind  us  how  much  of  real  life  is  permeated  by  Enchant-  CH.  XII. 
ment.  It  only  remains  to  add  how  a  single  passage  goes 
beyond  the  field  of  the  story,  and  flashes  the  dominant 
colour  of  the  play  upon  human  life  as  a  whole,  hinting  in 
powerful  language  that  real  life  is  the  greatest  enchantment 
of  all.  The  Masque  of  Spirits  has  vanished  into  air, — into 
thin  air  : 

And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision,  iv.  i.  150. 

The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 

The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 

Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 

And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 

Leave  not  a  rack  behind  ! 


XIII. 

How  THE  ENCHANTMENT  OF  THE  TEMPEST 
PRESENTS  PERSONAL  PROVIDENCE. 

A  Study  in  Central  Ideas. 

Cir.  XIII.  *nr*HE  criticism  that  addresses  itself  to  the  function  of  inter- 
~  JL  preting  literature  was  early  attracted  to  the  discovery 
Ceiitral  of  Central  Ideas  in  plays  and  poems.  The  treatment,  how- 
Ideas.  ever,  has  not  always  been  favourably  received.  For  one 
thing,  critics  were  found  not  to  agree  in  their  results :  and, 
when  different  suggestions  were  put  forward,  each  as  a  com- 
plete explanation  of  the  same  work,  the  suspicion  naturally 
would  arise  that  the  interpreters  had  put  into  the  plays  the 
ideas  which  they  professed  to  bring  out  of  them.  Moreover, 
a  hasty  use  of  terms  led  to  the  confusion  between  a  '  central 
idea '  and  a  mere  lesson,  or  reflection,  derivable  (with  fifty 
others)  from  the  course  of  a  story,  in  the  way  in  which  an 
accomplished  preacher  will  draw  the  whole  gospel  out  of 
half  a  clause.  Thus  the  theory  of  Central  Ideas  has  been 
discredited :  yet  surely  the  presumption  is  in  its  favour.  The 
existence  of  some  harmony  binding  together  all  varieties  of 
detail  into  a  unity  is  a  fundamental  conception  of  art :  the 
only  further  question  is  whether,  for  any  particular  play, 
this  unity  can  be  formulated  in  words.  In  contending,  as 
I  am  in  the  present  work,  for  a  strictly  inductive  treatment 
of  literature,  I  would  point  out  that  the  question  of  Central 
Ideas  is,  at  all  events,  one  that  admits  of  definite  treatment. 


THEORY  OF  CENTRAL  IDEAS.  265 

A  central  idea,  to  be  worthy  of  the  name,  must  be  based,  not  CH.  XIII. 
upon  the  authority  of  the  expounder,  nor  even  on  the  beauty 
of  the  idea  itself,  but  entirely  upon  the  degree  in  which  it 
associates  itself  with  the  details  of  which  the  play  is  made 
up— a  matter  which  admits  of  accurate  examination.  It  is, 
in  fact,  a  scientific  hypothesis,  and  the  details  are  the  phe- 
nomena which  the  hypothesis  has  to  explain;  none  of  these 
details  must  be  outside  the  proposed  unity,  all  of  them  must 
have  a  function  in  connection  with  it,  and  the  degree  to 
which  any  phase  of  the  whole  is  developed  must  be  in  pro- 
portion to  the  closeness  or  remoteness  of  its  bearing  upon 
the  central  idea. 

From  this  definition  it  is  clear  that  an  approach  to  such 
a  central  idea  for  The  Tempest  may  be  found  in  the  En- 
chantment described  in  the  preceding  study,  which  connects 
itself  with  all  parts  of  the  play.  In  analysing  such  con- 
nection it  is  well  to  draw  a  distinction  between  direct  and 
indirect  bearing.  The  greater  part  of  a  work  of  art  may  be 
expected  to  connect  itself  directly  with  its  central  idea. 
But  there  may  be  some  portions,  the  bearing  of  which  on 
the  central  idea  itself  may  not  seem  clear;  but  these  upon 
examination  will  be  found  to  have  the  closest  connection 
with  some  other  notion,  which  notion  is  in  its  turn  closely 
related  to  the  central  idea,  throwing  it  out  by  contrast,  or 
importing  some  kindred  conception,  without  which  the 
central  idea  would  be  deficient  in  intelligibility  or  interest. 
So,  in  the  play  under  consideration,  the  great  mass  of 
details  has  been  seen  to  be  occupied  in  presenting  Enchant- 
ment. Another  set  of  details,  numerous  and  scattered 
through  every  scene,  group  themselves  around  the  idea  of 
remote  nature  needed  as  a  suitable  background  for  the 
Enchantment.  Once  more,  the  underplot — that  is,  the  Story 
of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda,  and  the  Story  of  Caliban  with 
the  Sailors — was  seen  to  have  a  bearing,  though  an  indirect 
bearing,  upon  the  same  fundamental  notion,  the  function  of 


266 


THE  TEMPEST. 


CH.  XIII. 


Central 
idea  for 
The 

Tempest : 
Enchant- 
ment pre- 
senting 
Personal 
Providence. 

Providence 
as  a 

dramatic 
motive. 


this  underplot  being,  not  to  depict  Enchantment,  but  to 
introduce  some  elements  of  real  life  closely  akin  to  En- 
chantment. It  is  surely  no  weakening  of  the  theory  of 
Central  Ideas,  but  the  reverse,  that  the  underplot  should 
appear,  not  to  repeat  the  central  idea  itself,  but  to  display 
its  counterpart  in  a  different  medium.  Such  treatment  is 
just  what  we  should  expect  from  the  analogy  of  the  other 
arts :  thus  to  relieve  imagination  with  ordinary  experience, 
to  throw  up  enchantment  by  a  contrast  of  real  life,  seems  as 
natural  as  to  set  off  vivid  colouring  by  neutral  tints,  or  to 
use  a  scherzo  for  separating  an  adagio  from  a  march.  Putting 
all  these  considerations  together  we  may  see  that,  not  only 
is  the  play  full  in  a  general  sense  of  Enchantment,  but 
further  that  the  distribution  of  its  parts  corresponds  with 
their  bearing  on  this  fundamental  notion. 

But  Enchantment  would  seem  the  central  idea  of  the 
play  only  if  we  confined  our  attention  to  the  matter  of  which 
it  is  made  up :  when  we  proceed  to  take  in  the  drift  of  the 
action  and  movement  we  see  that  the  unity  of  the  whole 
may  be  formulated  in  a  more  compact  manner  thus: — the 
presentation  of  Enchantment  as  an  engine  of  Personal  Pro- 
vidence. A  double  bond  weaves  the  parts  of  this  play  into 
a  whole  :  its  action  is  occupied  equally  in  throwing  up  a 
picture  of  Enchantment,  and  in  working  out  ideas  of  Pro- 
vidence, while  every  single  detail  has  an  active  function  in 
elaborating  one  or  both  of  these. 

Providence  is  a  leading  motive  in  fiction;  indeed,  every 
dramatist  is  not  only  a  creator,  but  also  the  providence  that 
moulds  events  in  the  sphere  of  his  creation.  This  is  partly 
recognised  in  the  common  phrase,  Poetic  Justice  :  but  the 
term  is  not  wide  enough  to  cover  the  practice  of  artists  in 
their  moral  government  of  the  world  of  fiction.  Poetic 
Justice  has  a  great  function  to  perform  in  making  retribution 
artistic,  or,  where  the  term  retribution  will  not  apply,  in 
tracing  an  artistic  harmony  between  character  and  fate. 


PROVIDENCE  AS  A    DRAMATIC  MOTIVE.        267 

But  great  part  of  life,  whether  in  reality  or  fiction,  lies  out-  CH.  XIII. 
side  the  sphere  of  justice  ;  nay,  it  often  impresses  our  sym- 
pathies, and  thus  becomes  matter  for  art-treatment,  by  its 
very  opposition  to  our  conception  of  justice.  What  else  is 
implied  in  the  fundamental  conception  of  tragedy  ?  Tragedy, 
of  course,  includes  retribution,  but  it  becomes  most  dis- 
tinctively tragic  where  retribution  is  not :  where  not  only 
Lear  pays  the  penalty  of  his  errors,  but  the  innocent 
Cordelia  suffers  with  him,  where  honest  Othello  endures 
more  agony  than  lago  is  capable  of,  where  rescue  comes  too 
late  to  save  Antigone  from  her  martyrdom.  Were  this 
not  so  there  would  be  a  gulf  between  nature  and  art:  the 
negation  of  Poetic  Justice  has  been  one  of  the  inspirations  of 
poetry  in  every  age. 

How  oft  is  it  that  the  lamp  of  the  wicked  is  put  out? 

That  their  calamity  cometh  upon  them  ? 

That  God  distributeth  sorrows  in  his  anger? 
That  they  are  as  stubble  before  the  wind, 

And  as  chaff  that  the  storm  carricth  away  ?  .  .  .  . 
One  dieth  in  his  full  strength, 
Being  wholly  at  ease  and  quiet : 
His  breasts  are  full  of  milk, 
And  the  marrow  of  his  bones  is  moistened. 

And  another  dieth  in  bitterness  of  soul, 

And  never  tasteth  of  good. 

They  lie  down  alike  in  the  dust, 

And  the  worm  covereth  them. 

What  the  lyric  poet  describes  and  meditates  upon,  the  dra- 
matist pourtrays  in  action ;  and  thus  no  term  less  wide  than 
'  Providence  '  will  convey  his  handling  of  moral  government. 
Any  principle  which  the  course  of  the  universe  suggests  to 
thinkers  has  a  right  to  be  reflected  in  fiction,  with  the  em- 
phasis of  artistic  setting.  Now  the  dramatist  will  show  com- 
binations of  evil  overthrown  in  a  moment  by  the  irony  of 
fate;  now,  exhibiting  the  best  effort  met  by  overpowering 
external  antagonism,  or  overthrown  by  the  smallest  of  flaws 
within  itself,  he  will  appeal  to  our  sense  of  pathos.  What- 


268 


THE   TEMPEST. 


CH.  XIII. 


In  The 

Tempest: 
Personal 
Providence 


V.  1.  201- 


Opening 
Scene  a 
prologiie. 


ever  other  impressions  underlie  the  spectacle  of  human  issues 
will  be  added;  and,  if  these  principles  seem  mutually  con- 
tradictory, it  is  the  business  of  philosophy  to  systematise, 
poetry  may  choose  to  stop  short  at  pourtraying. 

When  these  general  considerations  are  applied  to  The 
Tempest  we  shall  find  a  peculiarity  that  separates  this  from 
all  other  plays  of  Shakespeare.  The  course  of  human 
events  leaves  upon  thinkers  two .  impressions,  different  but 
not  inconsistent.  All  spectators  behold  the  chaos  of  chance 
giving  place  to  order,  and  see  the  emergence  of  moral  laws. 
But  some  thinkers  go  further,  and  trace  in  what  happens 
the  guidance  of  a  Personal  Providence,  never  losing  touch 
of  the  issues  of  life,  though  hiding  himself  till  he  appears  in 
striking  displays  of  his  will.  So  Shakespeare's  dramas  as  a 
whole  make  up  a  world  in  which  moral  law  is  for  ever  being 
displayed.  But  in  this  one  play  of  The  Tempest  something 
more  has  been  done.  The  whole  course  of  circumstances 
is  controlled  by  Prospero,  who  is  for  the  purpose  endowed 
with  the  power  of  enchantment.  Now  enchantment  is, 
within  its  sphere,  omnipotence  :  thus  within  the  field  of  the 
play  Prospero  has  been  made  the  Providence  which  irre- 
sistibly controls  the  issues  of  events.  Of  course  the  mere 
sense  of  an  overruling  providence,  such  as  Gonzalo  ex- 
presses, may  be  paralleled  from  many  other  plays,  as 
simply  the  opinion  of  an  individual  personage.  But  in 
The  Tempest  it  is  the  dramatic  machinery  itself  that  unveils 
to  us  the  governing  power  of  its  universe  in  the  magically- 
endowed  Prospero.  If  then  we  review  the  successive  in- 
cidents of  this  play  as  they  unfold  themselves,  we  shall  be 
seeing,  under  Shakespeare's  guidance,  the  different  aspects 
of  Personal  Providence. 

The  opening  scene  is  of  the  nature  of  a  prologue :  in  the 
incident  of  the  storm  and  shipwreck,  with  its  tossings  to  and 
fro  of  sharp  rough  dialogue,  we  are  passing  from  the  outer 
world  into  the  magic  region  within  which  Prospero  reigns 


PERSONAL  PROVIDENCE.  269 

omnipotent.     With  the  majestic  blank  verse  of  the  second  Cir.  XIII. 
scene  we  find  ourselves  upon  the  island,  and  are  met  by  .  ." 
an  unexpected  effect :    a  note  of  trouble  opens  Prospero's  Sorrows 
triumph,  and  he  commences  his  glory  of  playing  Providence  °fPr°- 
by  having  to  console  the  being  he  loves  best  in  the  world, 
who  is  heartstruck  at  the  ravages  of  the  storm.     So  he  who 
would  sway  the  moral  government  of  the  universe  must  be 
prepared  to  bear  upon  his  soul  the  weight  of  all  the  troubles 
and  sufferings  of  the  innocent  inherent  to  the  very  machinery 
of  government,  all  the  questionings  and  heart-searchings  of 
the  reverent  while  the  designs  of  Providence  are  dark.     As 
Prospero  speaks  his  words  of  consolation  another  aspect  of  a  Providence 
Personal  Providence  is  called  up  :  *straiiii?~ 

The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd  i.  ii.  26. 

The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thce, 

I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 

So  safely  order'd,  that  there  is  no  soul — 

No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair 

Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel. 

A  judgment  is  abroad  that  is  to  strike  princes  and  revolu- 
tionise kingdoms,  yet  is  under  restraint  that  it  touch  not  the 
simplest  individual  who  crosses  its  path. 

The  greater  part  of  this  long  second  scene  is  outside  the  Movement 
scenic  unity  of  the  play.     It  will  be  noted  that  in  this  one  5£g£%£ 
play  Shakespeare  has  followed  the  classic  unities  of  time  and  outside 
place ;  not  traversing  the  long  period  of  time,  and  touching  tim-fv 
the  variety  of  locality  usual  to  a  romantic  drama,  but  con-  j  ^  32_ 
fining  the  action  to  a  single  island  and  a  single  day, — an  374- 
arrangement   peculiarly  harmonious  with  the   central   idea, 
as  if  marking  off  the  charmed  circle  within  which  alone  the 
enchanter's  power  prevails.     But  it  usually  is  found  in  plays 
of  the  classic  type  that  a  few  incidents  of  the  story,  prevented 
by  their  distance  of  time  and  place  from  being  acted,  are 
introduced  into  the  play  by  means  of  narrative.     So  in  the 
present  case,  when  the  keynote  of  the  action  has  been  struck 
by  the  brief  dialogue  between  Prospero  and  Miranda,  the 


270 


THE   TEMPEST. 


CH.  XIII. 


Prosperous 
Story : 
genesis  of 
his  provi- 
dential 
position. 
33-186. 


Dramatic 
Prepara- 
tion. 


ArieTs 
Story : 
Mercy. 
187-304. 


action  stands  still  for  more  than  three  hundred  lines,  and  the 
interval  is  used  to  give  us  back-glances  into  the  past.  First 
Prospero  tells  his  daughter  the  story  of  his  life;  and  it  is 
worth  noting  how  he  lays  his  magic  mantle  aside,  as  if  to 
mark  the  suspension  of  the  enchantment,  which  is  the  unity 
of  the  play.  This  story  of  Prospero  is  no  part  of  his  playing 
Providence,  but  gives  the  genesis  of  the  situation  which 
makes  him  a  Providence  for  the  island.  We  see  the  price 
he  has  had  to  pay  for  his  magic  power :  a  life  devoted  to 
study,  the  surrender  of  the  world  and  its  prizes,  tragic  suffer- 
ing for  himself  and  his  child  on  the  open  sea,  twelve  years  of 
solitary  toil  in  the  island  to  master  his  art,  amid  privations 
and  constant  watchfulness,  where  a  .moment's  inattention 
would  leave  him  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  spirits  he  has 
raised.  With  all  this  strange  accidents  must  concur,  such  as 
the  preservation  of  the  rotten  boat ;  and  there  is  the  waiting 
of  a  whole  lifetime  for  a  single  moment  of  opportunity : 

By  my  prescience 

I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star,  whose  influence 
If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop. 

The  action  still  remains  stationary  while  the  dialogues 
with  Ariel  and  with  Caliban  continue  to  review  the  past. 
These  illustrate  the  dramatic  effect  of  '  preparation ' :  just  as 
the  musician  will  let  us  hear  at  the  beginning  of  his  piece  a 
hint  of  the  theme  which  is  to  dominate  the  close,  so  drama- 
tists prepare  for  their  main  effects  by  introducing  them  in  a 
modified  form  at  an  earlier  stage.  Prospero  in  the  sequel  is 
to  control  the  fate  of  his  human  friends  and  enemies  :  these 
early  sections  survey  his  providential  sway  over  the  world  of 
spirits  during  his  long  years  in  the  island.  Mercy  and 
judgment,  the  two  chief  works  of  providence,  have  been 
exercised  on  Ariel  and  on  Caliban.  Ariel  so  bright  and 
loving,  suffering  cruel  tortures  such  as  made  wolves  howl, 


PERSONAL  PROVIDENCE:    ITS  GENESIS.        271 

and  penetrated  the  breasts  of  ever-angry  bears,  all  because  CH.  XIII. 
his  delicacy  shrank  from  the   earthy  abominations   of  the 
hideous    witch — to    have    delivered    such   a    sufferer   when 
Sycorax  was  dead,  and  there  was  none  but  Prospero  to  undo 
the  charm,  this  is  the  very  luxury  of  mercy.     And  the  luxury 
of  punishment  is  a  phrase  hardly  out  of  place  when  used  in 
connection  with  Caliban.     A  creature  humanised  from  his  Caliban's 
brutality  by  the  assiduous  care  of  Prospero,  and  brought  by  Sf°^nent 
him  within  his  family  circle,  who  has  repaid  such  benefits  321-374. 
with  attempted  foulness,  which  he  still  chuckles  to  think  of, 
and  for  which  the  only  repentance  he  shows  is  bitter  dis- 
appointment at  his  unsuccess — in  dealing  with  him  there  is  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  in  the  possession  of  irresistible  torture  : 

Shrug'st  thou,  malice  ? 
If  thou  neglect'st  or  dost  unwillingly 
\Vhat  I  command,  I'll  rack  thee  with  old  cramps, 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches,  make  thee  roar 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din. 
Cal.  No,  pray  thee. 

[Aside]  I  must  obey :  his  art  is  of  such  power, 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

The  suspended  action  begins  to  move  forward  again  as  Movement 
Ferdinand  is  drawn  by  Ariel's  music  into  the  scene.     The  £2/s"je  Of 
episode   of  Ferdinand   and    Miranda    has   an    independent  Ferdinand 
interest  of  its  own  in  its  bearing  upon  the  central  idea.     It  a^l^at~ 
must  be  remembered  that  providence,  as  a  dramatic  motive,  1  ii.  375. 
must  always  be  artistic  shaping  of  events :  it  may  be  so  by 
giving  artistic  setting  to  some   moral  interest,    or    it   may 
consist  in  the  exercise  of  purely  artistic   handling   on   the 
control  of  events.     Now  it  is  one  of  the  instincts  of  the 
imagination  to  work  out  the  welfare  of  the  attractive,  and 
poetic  providence  could  not  have  a  more  congenial  task  than 
in  moving  the  course  of  incidents  so  as  to  draw  together  two 
lovers  so  rich  in  gifts  of  youth  and  beauty  as  Ferdinand  and 
Miranda.     Yet  here  also  a  moral  touch  is  added  when  we 


272  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  see  how  Prosperous  unlimited  power  uses  trouble  in  order  to 
procure  the  happiness  of  the  lovers  and  make  it  greater. 
The  progress  of  the  episode,  as  it  mingles  with  the  other 
scenes,  is  suggestive  on  the  subject  of  Personal  Providence 
at  every  stage.  Prosperous  aside, 

i.  ii.  450.  This  swift  business 

I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning 
Make  the  prize  light, 

may  be  taken  as  the  unfolding,  before  the  event,  of  a  provi- 
dential purpose  such  as  in  real  life,  after  the  event,  is  some- 
times   seen   to   explain    some    phase    of    dark    experience. 
Suggestive  a^ain  is  the  harshness  under  which  Prospero  is 
veiling  his  schemes  of  happiness,  and  which  has  the  effect  of 
displaying  Miranda  in  the  full  beauty  of  her  soul  as  she  seeks 
iii.  i.          to  mediate  between  father  and  lover.     And  very  suggestive  is 
the  stolen  visit  of  Miranda  to  the  log-house,  with  '  Prospero 
above  ' — to  use  the  stage-phrase — watching  the  two  lovers 
carry  forward  his  plans,  while  they  fancy  they  are  escaping 
his  notice,  and  Miranda  feels  compunction  for  disobedience. 
iv.  i ;  v.     Then  the  whole  trouble  is  seen  by  Ferdinand  as  no  more 
1  <"2>  than  a  trial  of  his  love,  which  has  strangely  stood  the  test ;  and 

the  episode  at  last  merges  itself  in  the  main  plot,  and  becomes 
the  chief  link  in  the  universal  restoration  that  crowns  it. 
Main  With  the  second  act  and  the  arrival  of  the  courtiers  the 

Story-.        main  story  is  in  full  progress.     The  elaborate  scene  which 

darker  pro- 
vidential    stands  first  in  that  act  is  devoted  to  one  of  the  darker  and 

mysteries.  more  terrible  mysteries  of  providential  government.  The 
idea  of  Personal  Providence  must  not  be  limited  to  that 
which  a  Christian  would  understand  by  the  term.  The 
ancient  fatalistic  systems  of  thought  would  recognise  an 
occasional  personality  in  the  governing  power  of  the  uni- 
verse— a  malice  in  circumstances  that  enticed  a  sinner  on  in 
his  sin  till  his  punishment  should  be  ripe.  Nor  is  the  notion 
entirely  without  sanction  in  Biblical  thought,  as  where  a 
lying  spirit  is  put  in  the  mouths  of  the  evil  king's  prophets. 


MYSTERIES  OF  PROVIDENTIAL    WORKING.     273 

A  similar  conception  animates  the  incident  now  ensuing :  CH.  XIII. 

Providence   seems   there   to  contrive   for   the   irreclaimable 

evil-doers  a  malicious  vengeance,  that  operates  by  encourage- 
ment to  fresh  crime.  Antonio  and  Sebastian  are  villains  for  Intrigue  of 
whom  no  sympathy  can  be  evoked.  Yet  when  they  reach 
the  sphere  of  Prospero's  power  they  alone  appear  unaffected  tfan. 
by  his  enchantment ;  and  when,  at  a  strain  of  music  from  u<  l' 
Ariel,  all  the  rest  of  the  party  drop  off  in  deep  and  over- 
powering slumber,  they  are  left  unvisited  by  the  quality  of  the 
climate,  staring  at  one  another  as  they  stand  alone  among 
the  sleeping  courtiers  with  mutual  consciousness  of  the 
treason  in  their  hearts.  Then  Antonio,  as  the  bolder  of  the 
two,  begins  bit  by  bit  to  read  into  hard  definite  speech  the 
hideous  suggestiveness  of  the  situation  from  which  his  com- 
panion shrinks,  and  a  providential  concurrence  of  circum- 
stances is  made  to  stand  out,  pointing  to  a  deed  of  murder 
— the  rightful  heir  that  morning  drowned,  the  king  and  his 
faithful  followers  bound  in  leaden  slumber,  the  next  of  kin  in 
regions  distant  ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life.  One  by  one 
Sebastian's  scruples  give  way,  and  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm 
he  embraces  the  project.  All  is  ready — no,  one  thing  has 
been  forgotten,  and  they  'talk  apart/  as  if  shrinking  from 
their  victims  while  they  complete  the  plot  for  their  death.  It 
is  just  at  this  last  moment,  when  they  are  stopping  to  put  a 
final  touch  of  perfection  to  their  scheme,  that  the  turn  in 
events  comes.  The  death-like  stillness  is  broken  by  the 
distant  sighing  of  the  wind ;  it  seems  to  come  nearer,  playing 
with  the  white  hairs  of  the  sleeping  Gonzalo  and  fanning  his 
aged  cheek ;  it  sounds  more  human  in  its  sighing,  it  takes  to 
itself  articulate  words  and  becomes  the  voice  of  Ariel : 

While  you  here  do  snoring  lie,  , 
Open-eyed  conspiracy 

His  time  doth  take. 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care, 
Shake  off  slumber,  and  beware: 

Awake,  awake ! 
T 


274  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  The   sound   has   died   away  again  into   silence ;    the  con- 

spirators  return  on  tiptoe  intoxicated  with  the  excitement  of 

murder ;  they  draw  their  swords  together. 

Antonio.    Then  let  us  both  be  sudden. 
Gonzalo.  Now,  good  angels 

Preserve  the  King ! 

In  an  instant  Gonzalo  has  awoke  and  roused  his  fellows, 
and  all  stand  facing  the  intending  traitors.  A  mocking  fate 
has  led  them  on  to  fully  stain  their  souls  with  purpose  of 
crime,  while  the  crowning  deed  and  prize  has  been  snatched 
from  them. 
Comic  The  next  scene  opens  the  comic  business,  which  continues 

'Provide^.  to  min£le  with  and  relieve  the  Other  incidents-  These  relief 
ii.  ii ;  incidents  are  bound  into  a  whole,  not  only  by  their  develop- 
iv*il'i6  ment  °f tne  enchantment  of  intoxication,  but  equally  by  their 
v.  i.  256.  '  bearing  on  poetic  justice.  Even  sin  has  a  comic  side,  and 
the  resources  of  dramatic  providence  are  sufficient  to  visit  it 
with  comic  nemesis ;  but  for  all  the  comedy  the  spectacle 
none  the  less  brings  out  one  deep  principle  of  moral  govern- 
ment— how  much  force  for  the  punishment  of  evil  is  latent 
in  the  evil  itself.  In  the  present  case  Ariel,  as  the  instrument 
of  retribution,  has  no  need  to  draw  upon  his  stores  of  super- 
natural might :  he  makes  his  victims  furnish  the  force  for 
their  punishment,  he  himself  only  giving  a  touch  of  impulse 
to  their  passions,  or  twisting  their  purposes  in  a  different 
direction.  After  the  first  scene  has  displayed  the  transform- 
ing power  of  alcohol  upon  Caliban,  the  second  scene  opens 
with  a  situation  in  which  already  are  visible  elements  of 
discord.  Stephano,  possessed  of  the  bottle,  is  the  man  in 
power,  and  Caliban's  eyes  are  'set  in  his  head'  with  hero- 
worship.  Trinculo  hars  no  bottle,  and  Caliban  has  no  worship 
for  him ;  a  spirit  of  depreciatory  criticism  is  thus  pitted 
against  the  hero-worship,  and  all  that  Ariel  need  do  when  he 
encounters  the  party  is  to  draw  the  spirit  of  quarrel  to  a  head. 
A  few  words  he  casts  on  the  air  from  his  shroud  of  in- 


MYSTERIES  OF  PROVIDENTIAL    WORKING.      275 

visibility  are  mistaken  for  words  of  Trinculo,  and  the  com-  CH.  XIII. 
rades  are  plunged  in  civil  war.     They  are  united  again  by 
the  project  against  Prospero,  and  inflamed  with  a  martial 
spirit  already  referred  to  in  the  words  of  the  play : 

So  full  of  valour  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet. 

This  drunken  valour  Ariel  harnesses  to  his  purpose,  and 
makes  it  pull  them  to  their  confusion : 

I  beat  my  tabor; 

At  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  prick' d  their  ears, 
Advanced  their  eyelids,  lifted  up  their  noses 
As  they  smelt  music:  so  I  charm'd  their  ears 
That  calf-like  they  my  lowing  followed  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss  and  thorns, 
Which  enter'd  their  frail  shins;  at  last  I  left  them 
I'  the  filthy-mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins. 

Once  more,  their  martial  guise  much  bedraggled,  they  are 
led  on  by  the  indomitable  will  of  Caliban  to  the  very 
threshold  of  Prospero's  cell.  But  even  here  the  magician 
will  not  summon  force  to  his  protection ;  he  simply  appeals 
from  one  form  of  covetousness  to  another,  and,  bidding  Ariel 
strew  glistening  baubles  in  their  path,  waits  to  see  ambition 
diverted  from  its  object  by  cupidity.  Only  when  he  has 
by  such  means  sufficiently  defended  himself,  and  the  con- 
spirators are  engrossed  in  the  division  of  their  spoil,  does 
Prospero,  as  an  extra  effect,  throw  in  the  external  vengeance 
of  cramps  and  dry  convulsions  to  complete  his  discipline  on 
creatures  whose  souls  can  be  reached  only  through  their 
bodies.  The  whole  suggests  an  idea  equally  artistic  and  Provi- 
moral — a  sense  of  economy  in  the  governing  power  of  the 
universe :  the  ends  of  justice  are  secured  \vith  the  least 
expenditure  of  supernatural  force,  a  few  touches  of  direction 
being  sufficient  to  exhibit  evil  working  out  its  own  de- 
struction. 

T  2 


276  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  The  matter  reviewed  brings  us  to  the  last  scene  of  the 
Climax  ^^  act*  "^"8  *s  tne  climax,  the  magician's  nemesis  upon 
the  main  his  human  persecutors.  Judgment  is  one  of  the  great  works 
Nem&fts.  Of  Providence,  and  judgment  translated  into  the  language 
of  art  is  nemesis:  its  force  lies  not  in  the  weight  of 
the  blow  struck,  but  in  the  artistic  links  that  connect  the 
retribution  with  the  sin.  Enchantment  serves  to  make  the 
present  nemesis  ideal :  no  external  force *  appears  from  first 
to  last,  yet  all  the  resources  of  artistic  retribution  are  lavished 
upon  it.  There  is  preparation  of  the  victims  for  the  great 
shock.  The  antithesis  to  a  sense  of  a  Personal  Providence 
is  the  confidence  in  the  uniformity  of  the  order  of  nature ; 
this  confidence  is  sapped  by  the  '  quality  of  the  isle/  with  its 
suggestions  of  mysteries  all  around,  and  still  more  on  the 
threshold  of  the  Nemesis  Scene  by  the  incident  of  the  super- 
natural banquet,  where  moreover  the  '  gentle  actions  of  salu- 
tation' of  the  spirit-attendants  assist  in  giving  a  personal 
reference  to  what  follows.  The  courtiers  have  just  over- 
come their  shrinking  from  the  supernatural,  and  braced 
themselves  to  partake,  when  the  sudden  reversal  takes  place  : 
the  banquet  changes  into  the  horror  of  a  harpy,  and  from 
the  harpy's  ruffled  feathers  looks  forth  the  infant  face  of  Ariel 
to  speak  the  doom. 

You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  Destiny, 

That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world 

And  what  is  in't,  the  never-surfeited  sea 

Hath  caused  to  belch  up  you ;  and  on  this  island 

Where  man  doth  not  inhabit,  you  'mongst  men, 

Being  most  unfit  to  live.     I  have  made  you  mad ; 

And  even  with  such-like  valour  men  hang  and  drown 

Their  proper  selves.  [They  draw  their  swords. 

You  fools  !  I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  Fate :  the  elements, 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd,  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at  stabs 

1  The  word  '  pinch'd '  in  v.  i.  74  I  understand  in  the  light  of '  inward 
pinches'  (three  lines  lower)  and  the  general  context  to  be  metaphorical. 


MYSTERIES  OF  PROVIDENTIAL   IVOR  KING.      277 

Kill  the  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish  CH.  XIII. 

One  dowle  that 's  in  my  plume :  my  fellow-ministers  

Are  like  invulnerable.     If  you  could  hurt, 

Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 

And  will  not  be  uplifted.     But  remember — 

For  that's  my  business  to  you — that  you  three 

From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prosper© ; 

Exposed  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it, 

Him  and  his  innocent  child :  for  which  foul  deed 

The  powers,  delaying,  not  forgetting,  have 

Incensed  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures, 

Against  your  peace.     Thee  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 

They  have  bereft ;  and  do  pronounce  by  me : 

Lingering  perdition,  worse  than  any  death 

Can  be  at  once,  shall  step  by  step  attend 

You  and  your  ways;  whose  wraths  to  guard  you  from — 

Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 

Upon  your  head — is  nothing  but  heart-sorrow 

And  a  clear  life  ensuing. 

It  is  only  a  speech ;  yet,  set  in  its  framework  of  enchantment 
what  sting  of  retribution  does  it  omit  ?  The  guilty  ones  feel 
their  power  of  physical  resistance  mysteriously  paralysed, 
and  that  in  face  of  the  strongest  stimulus  of  external 
mockery ;  they  are  reminded  of  the  loneliness  of  the  island 
from  which  all  help  of  man  is  far ;  what  sense  of  safety  there 
is  in  the  steady  course  of  nature  has  already  been  snatched 
from  them.  In  its  place  a  terrible  Destiny  has  emerged,  of 
which  the  whole  world  is  the  instrument :  its  voice  speaks 
in  the  voice  of  Ariel,  and  fellow-ministers  are  waiting  all 
around  to  become  visible.  Their  whole  past  stands  out 
before  them  as  no  more  than  the  story  of  one  foul  deed 
and  its  avenging;  the  very  sea,  which  they  had  made  the 
innocent  accomplice  of  their  crime,  has  bided  his  time  to 
requite  them,  and  the  shores,  yea,  every  creature,  are  in- 
censed against  them.  For  their  present,  they  hear  hurled 
at  them  the  word  '  mad,'  the  very  sound  of  which  has  power 
to  work  that  which  it  signifies,  and  they  are  told  of  the  self- 
slaughter  to  which  madness  prompts.  Their  future  looms 


278  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  before  them  as  lingering  perdition  stretching  beyond  death, 
and  they  know  its  first  stroke  has  already  been  accom- 
plished in  the  drowning  of  the  king's  son.  All  space  and 
time  seems  to  have  resolved  itself  into  a  trap  of  fate  for 
them  ;  and  there  is  but  one  small  avenue  of  escape  hinted  at 
in  '  heart-sorrow  and  a  clear  life  ensuing/ 

The  nemesis  has  fallen:  and  what  is  its  effect  on  those 
who  suffer  it?  Here  Shakespeare  is  faithful  to  that  wide 
conception  of  dramatic  providence,  which  makes  it  reproduce 
all  the  impressions  that  the  world  of  reality  leaves  upon 
thinkers,  not  alone  those  that  are  pleasing,  but  also  those 
which  disturb.  Shakespeare  is  not  satisfied  with  the  easy 
morality  which  converts  all  its  villains  before  the  fall  of  the 
curtain.  In  the  play,  as  in  actual  fact,  men  are  seen  divided 
into  two  classes :  those  in  whom  evil  is  only  accidental,  to 
be  purged  out  of  them  by  the  discipline  of  experience,  and 
those  in  whom  the  evil  seems  to  be  a  part  of  their  nature, 
and  all  the  working  of  events  upon  them  serves  only  to  drive 
it  deeper  in.  Alonso  is  by  his  doom  driven  to  ecstasies  of 
remorse :  why  ?  because  he  has  before  had  a  heart  that  could 
feel  compunction.  • 
iii.  iii.  95.  O,  it  is  monstrous,  monstrous ! 

Methought  the  billows  spoke  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me,  and  the  thunder, 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronounced 
The  name  of  Prosper :  it  did  bass  my  trespass. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  hard  hearts  of  Antonio  and 
Sebastian  are  carried  forward  in  blind  resistance : 

iii.  iii.  102.  Sebastian.  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

I  '11  fight  their  legions  o'er. 
Antonio.  I'll  be  thy  second. 

Mystery  of  From  first  to  last  there  is  no  note  of  softening  in  them.  The 
play  is  reflecting  a  view  of  the  course  of  the  universe,  which 

amongst  has  troubled  so  many  thinkers — the  conception  of  a  terrible 
dividing-line  amongst  mankind,  on  one  side  of  which  is 
purification  making  purer  and  purer,  on  the  other  side  evil 


V> 

m 
mankind. 


MYSTERIES  OF  PROVIDENTIAL    WORKING.      279 

becoming  hardened  and  more  hard ;    and  there  is  nothing  CH.  XIII. 
in  Shakespeare's  treatment  to  suggest  that  this  double  pro- 
cess stops  short  of  the  climax,  '  He  that  is  righteous  let  him 
be  righteous  still,  and   he  that  is  filthy  let  him  be  filthy 
still/ 

This  nemesis  has  presented  itself  as  a  climax ;  and  yet  The  higher 
there  is  in  reserve  a  higher  climax  still,  when  judgment  re-  CM™%? 
solves  itself  into  mercy.     By  a  graceful  stroke   of  art,  the  v  j  j_33) 
intercession  of  Ariel  is  made  the  occasion  for  accomplishing  and  from 
a  purpose  which  has  long  before  formed  itself  in  Prospero's 
breast  \     Like  day  stealing  upon  night,  sound  understanding 
is  allowed  to  replace  the  distraction  of  the  guilty  sinners,  and 
it  is  a  triumph  of  enchantment  to  cancel  the  wrongs  of  a 
whole  life  in  a  moment  of  time.     So  the  action  has  scope  for 
gratifying  that  which  is  one  of  the  most  passionate  instincts 
of  the  imagination — the  longing  for  an  ultimate  universal  Universal 
restoration,  however  distant,  from  which  none  shall  be  ex-  restoratlon' 
eluded.     If  it  be  asked  how  this  is  reconcilable  with  what  has 
just  been  said  about  the  dividing-line,  I  can  only  answer  that 
Shakespeare  has  been  content  to  let  these  two  aspects  of 
providential  government  stand  side  by  side  in  his  play  un- 
reconciled, precisely  as  philosophic  meditation  on  the  course 
of  the  universe  suggests  the  two  thoughts  without  giving  any 
clue  as  to  their  harmony.     In   The  Tempest  the  universal 
restoration  is  unbroken  by  exception:   not  the   impenitent 
Antonio   and   Sebastian    are   excluded,   nor  the    brutalised 
Stephano  and  Trinculo ;  Alonso  is  restored  to  his  kingdom, 
Ferdinand  and  Miranda,  already  restored  to  one  another,  are 
given  to  the  bereaved  father ;  Ariel  is  restored  to  liberty,  and 
Caliban  to  his  island :  Gonzalo  adds : 

All  of  us  to  ourselves 
When  no  man  was  his  own. 

Nay,  the  restoration  extends  to  things  inanimate,  and  the 

1  This  seems  clear  from  v.  i.  29;  the  whole  speech,  v.  i.  21-30,  seems 
a  justification  of  a  plan  previously  formed,  not  a  change  of  purpose. 


28o  THE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  ship,  which  in  the  opening  scene  we  beheld  sunk  in  the 

stormy  sea,  reappears  in  the  sequel  in  all  her  gallant  trim, 

Mystery  of  her  master  capering  to  behold  her.     There  is  more  than 

dminz°~    restorati°n>  and  Gonzalo  in  his  musing  on  the  strange  ex- 

Good.          perience  catches  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  deepest  providential 

mysteries  —  evil  itself  proved  to  be  the  outer  husk  of  a  higher 

good: 

Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan  that  his  issue 
Should  become  KINGS  of  Naples  ? 

The  Cli-         The  universal  restoration  makes  a  grand  final  chord,  on 
this  drama  of  Providence  may  conclude.     But  must 


the  Per-      there  not  of  necessity  be  in  it  one  note  of  discord  ?     A  goal 

Svid*nc6       °f  happiness  is  found  for  all  the  rest,  but  what  of  the  magician 

himself:     himself?     Though  dukedoms  and  kingdoms  are  in  disposal, 

yet  for  one  who  wields  the  empire  of  enchantment  can  any 

prize  be  found  without  making  the  end  an  anti-climax  for 

him  ?     If  we  examine  the  way  in  which,  as  an  actual  fact, 

Shakespeare  has  treated  this  point,  we  shall  find  dimly  sug- 

gested in  it  a  moral  idea  worthy  even  a  ruler  of  the  universe. 

iv.  i.  fin.     There  comes  a  point  at  which  Prospero's  project  passes  be- 

Sf  v'  L   >T°nd  the  reach  of  failure  : 

At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies  ....... 

My  charms  crack  not,  my  spirits  obey,  and  time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carriage. 

v.  i.  33.  He  pauses  to  take  survey  of  the  unbroken  completeness  of 
his  power,  that  has  every  department  of  nature  under  its 
control,  that  marshals  all  the  elements  to  his  will,  that  is 
obeyed  beyond  the  grave  itself.  And  to  what  does  such  a 
survey  lead  him  ?  He  realises  the  extent  of  his  dominion 

only  to  lay  it  down. 

This  rough  magic 

I  here  abjure  .....  I  '11  break  my  staff, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 
And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound 
I  '11  drown  my  book. 

ciation?  *~  The  human  mind  has  conceived  no  higher  moral  notion  than 


PROVIDENCE  AND  SELF-RENUNCIATION.      281 

self-  renunciation ;  and  where  the  power  is  nearest  to  omni-  CH.  XIII. 
potence  the  renunciation  comes  nearest  to  divine.  Such  a 
climax  is  reserved  for  the  Providence  of  the  enchanted  island, 
who,  while  he  feels  the  fulness  of  his  sway,  empties  himself, 
and  descends  to  simple  human  station.  So  the  last  note  in 
the  play  is  the  human  note  of  parting.  Ariel,  however  re- 
gretted, must  be  dismissed  to  the  elements;  Miranda  must 
follow  the  course  of  nature  in  quitting  her  father  and  cleaving 
to  her  husband;  and  for  Prospero  himself  there  is  in  full 
view  the  greatest  parting  of  all : 

Thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

I  have  thus  endeavoured  to  justify  my  choice  of  a  central  Summary. 
idea  for  The  Tempest,  showing  how  all  the  matter  of  the  play 
falls  into  place  in  such  a  scheme ;  due  regard  being  had  to 
the  general  principle,  that  the  central  idea  must  not  be  ex- 
pected to  connect  itself  with  every  single  detail  directly,  but 
that  it  will  attract  round  it  other  kindred  notions,  each  in  its 
turn  a  centre  for  a  group  of  details.  The  Tempest  bears  the 
closest  examination  as  a  dramatic  study  of  Providence ;  the 
fact  that  we  are  kept  in  contact  with  Prospero's  meditations 
on  his  schemes  of  control  makes  this  Providence  take  a 
personal  form,  while  the  engine  by  which  he  works  his  will  is 
Enchantment.  The  personages  of  the  play  find  their  raison 
d'etre  as  agents  or  victims  of  Providential  Enchantment ; 
their  characters  interpret  themselves  and  show  development, 
they  fall  into  contrasts  and  groupings  according  to  their 
bearing  on  this  fundamental  purpose.  The  incidents,  situa- 
tions and  effects  of  the  play  are  those  of  Enchantment;  its 
movement  is  the  unfolding  of  a  supernatural  scheme  of 
providential  government.  If  we  consider  the  poem  from  the 
side  of  plot  we  see  the  dramatist  here  (and  in  scarcely  any 
other  case)  going  to  the  Classical  Drama  for  his  mode  of 
treatment,  because  its  narrow  unities  are  more  in  keeping 
with  the  confined  circle  of  a  magician's  power;  while  the 


282  7 HE   TEMPEST. 

CH.  XIII.  relation  between  the  main  and  the  underplots  is  precisely  the 

same  as  that  between  the  central  idea  itself  and  the  kindred 

ideas  required  to  give  it  reality  by  associating  it  with  common- 
place experience.  One  remark  only  is  yet  necessary  to  make 
the  analysis  of  the  play  complete;  and  it  is  a  remark  of 
Mechanical  general  application.  In  every  romantic  drama  there  must  of 
^s-becialf6^  necess^7  ^e  a  ^arSe  number  of  mechanical  personages,  intro- 
Gonzalo,  duced  not  for  their  own  sake  but  to  assist  the  presentation  of 
others :  yet,  in  proportion  to  the  space  they  cover  in  the  field 
of  view,  Shakespeare  will  endow  them  with  some  dramatic 
interest.  Their  function  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  Chorus  in 
Ancient  Tragedy,  except  that  they  are  distributed  amor.gst 
the  scenes  of  the  drama  instead  of  being  kept  as  a  body  of 
external  commentators.  Such  personages  are  in  The  Tempest 
to  be  found  in  the  crowd  of  courtiers  led  by  Gonzalo,  and 
the  crowd  of  sailors  led  by  the  boatswain.  Their  part  is 
mainly  to  illuminate  and  reflect  the  various  situations  that 
arise:  outside  the  movement  of  the  play  themselves  they 
furnish  a  point  d'appui  on  which  that  movement  rests.  Thus 
the  busy  opening  scene  has  spice  given  to  it  by  the  clashing 
between  the  wit  of  Gonzalo  and  the  rough  tongue  of  the 
ii.  i.  boatswain.  In  the  island  it  is  the  forced  talk  of  Gonzalo 

that  brings  out  the  marvel  of  the  deliverance  from  the  sea, 
and  the  character  of  the  enchanted  island ;  then  his  passages 
of  irritable  wit  with  Antonio  and  Sebastian  help  to  paint  the 
character  of  the  two  by  suggestion  of  the  antipathy  between 
them  and  honesty.     Gonzalo  takes  the  lead  in  helping  us  to 
iii.  iii.  27,  realise   the  incident  of  the  supernatural  banquet,  and  the 
104,  &c.      condition  of  the  guilty  after  the  blow  has  fallen ;  while,  during 
v.  i,  from    the  long-drawn  finale,  Gonzalo  follows  exactly  the  function 
I20'  of  chorus-leader,  and  reads  into  meaning  every  stage  of  the 

universal  restoration ;  when  its  last  note  is  complete  the  boat- 
alsotottched  swain   and   he   resume   their  passage  of  arms.     Yet  these 
"  mecnamcal  personages  are  not  entirely  outside  the  central 
idea;   the  sailors  have  their  loss  and  recovery  of  the  ship, 


MECHANICAL  PERSONAGES.  283 

and  Gonzalo  has  connection  enough  with  the  original  crime  CH.  XIII. 

to  feel  his  heart  stirred  by  the  final  issue.     Moreover,  his 

personal  character  is  one  well  fitted  to  be  a  stationary  point 

in  a  moving  drama  of  Providence.     He  is  pre-eminently  a 

man  of  an  even  temperament;    good,  but  easy;    like  an 

ancient  chorus,  little  elevated  or  depressed  by  the  storms  of 

circumstance.     He  has  not  been  heroic  to  resist  evil,  though 

finessing  to  reduce  by  his  practical  compassion  the  suffering  it  i.  ii.  161. 

entailed.     But  the  changes  of  fortune  do  little  to  shake  him ; 

he  does  not  forget  his  humour  amid  shipwreck,  he  maintains  i.  i ;  ii.  i. 

laborious  cheerfulness  when  depression  is  all  around ;  treason 

scorns  him  as  merely  a  '  spirit  of  persuasion/  yet  will  do  ii.  i.  235, 

murder  rather  than  face  his  '  upbraidings/     He  has  elected 

to  be  a  spectator  of  life,  so  much  as  may  be,  and  not  an 

actor ;  and  he  is  valuable  in  the  spectacle  of  Providence  from 

the  eye  he  has  to  its  fine  dramatic  effects,  while  as  to  the 

action  his  place  is  that  of  one  who  stands  at  an  equal  distance 

from  the  prizes  of  life  and  from  its  crimes. 


XIV. 
How  'LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST'  PRESENTS  SIMPLE 

HUMOUR   IN   CONFLICT    WITH    VARIOUS    AFFEC- 
TATIONS AND  CONVENTIONALITIES. 

A  further  Study  in 
Central  Ideas. 


CH.  XIV.  /~T^HE  title  of  this  chapter  contains  the  word  'humour/ 
JL     The  word  is  as  varied  and  interesting  as  the  thing  it 

The  word  ...  , 

'humour'   describes.     Starting  from  a  material  signification,  'moisture, 

it  became  early  appropriated  by  the  various  forms  of  moisture 
within  the  human  body — the  blood,  the  phlegm,  the  bile. 
In  this  connection  it  encountered  the  theory  of  mediaeval 
physiology,  which  made  the  particular  tempers  and  dis- 
positions of  men  dependant  upon  the  preponderance  of 
one  or  other  of  these  juices  of  the  body :  if  a  man  was 
'phlegmatic*  in  disposition,  it  was  because  he  had  too 
much  phlegm  in  him,  bright  (arterial)  blood  would  make 
him  '  sanguine/  and  dark  (venous)  blood  '  melancholy '  (or 
black-juiced).  It  was  then  an  easy  transition  for  men's 
'humours'  to  mean  the  bent  of  their  individual  characters, 
and  a  '  humourist '  was  a  painter  of  character.  But  these 
individualities  of  character  in  men  are  a  leading  source  of  the 
ludicrous:  as  the  north-country  proverb  puts  it,  'there's 
nought  so  queer  as  folk.'  Hence  the  word  '  humour'  widens, 
to  include  the  whole  range  of  the  ludicrous.  But  again, 
such  a  wide  range  must  invite  fresh  specialisation,  and  a 
specialisation  has  taken  place  which  I  know  not  how  to 
describe,  unless  by  calling  humour  the  human  interest  in  the 


HUMOUR    VERSUS  AFFECTATION.  285 

ludicrous.,  distinguished  in  the  clearest  manner  from  wit,  CH.  XIV. 
with  its  cold  intellectual  brightness.  In  this  final  sense  of 
humour  the  ludicrous  ean  appear  in  happy  combination 
with  every  passion  of  the  human  heart,  the  tragic  and 
pathetic  not  excepted,  and  the  humour  of  Dickens  and 
Thackeray  is  often  more  nearly  allied  to  tears  than  to 
laughter. 

Shakespeare  illustrates  every  phase  and  variety  of  humour  : 
a  complete  analysis  of  Shakespeare's  humour  would  make  a 
system  of  psychology.     I  have  here  to  deal  with  only  a  single 
one  among  its  countless  varieties,  and  one  which  is  intelligible 
enough.     Humour  is  a  complete  solvent  to  every  form  of  Humour 
affectation.     It  is  a  more  subtle  foe  to  unnaturalness  than  ™0fv"lt  of 
satire  itself,    because   satire   is   on   the   face   of  it  hostile  :  Affectation. 
humour  may  be  keenly  alive  to  the  ludicrous  even  in  that 
with  which  it  is  in  sympathy.     Satire  is  the  wind  in  the  fable, 
and   may  be  met  by  resistance:    humour  is  the  sunshine 
which  succeeds  by  getting  the  traveller  himself  on  its  side. 
Humour  is  thus  the  great  vindicator  of  the  natural  ;  it  is  an 
exquisite  perception  of  the  normal  in  human  affairs  ;  it  is 
common  sense  etherealised  ;  the  readiness  with  which  it  is 
roused  by  every  unreasonable  excess  constitutes  it  a  sort  of 
comic  nemesis.     The  special  interest  which  dominates  the  This  the 
play  Love's  Labour  's  Lost  is  the  bringing  of  humour  into  ^"^ 
contact  with  its  antipathetic,  with  some  train  of  unnatural  the  flay. 
circumstances,  or  the  various  artificial  conventionalities  of  its 
age  :  these  are,  by  the  mere  contact,  exposed  and  shattered. 

The  unnaturalness  to  be  exposed  consists,  first,  in  a  forced  Main 
and  unnatural   social  regimen,  to  which  the  king  and  his  aitacked: 


friends  have  bound  themselves  by  oath  :  theCelibacy 

scheme. 

To  live  and  study  here  three  years,  i.  i, 

.  .  .  not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term,  .  .  . 
And  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside,  .  .  . 
And  then  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night, 
And  not  be  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day. 


286  LOVE'S  LABOUR  'S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.  This  artificial  life  prescribed  by  authority  produces  time- 

serving  and  hypocritical  imitation  amongst  lesser  personages, 

and  we  have  an  underplot   of  Don  Armado,  who,  having 
„     discovered  a  man  violating  the  royal  edict  by  being  found  in 
company  with  a  woman  within  the  precincts  of  the  court, 
shows  his  zeal  by  sending  the  man  to  the  king  for  punish- 
ment, while  of  the  woman  (who  is  a  beauty)  he  undertakes 
Lesser        the  custody  himself.     There  are  further  various  convention- 
'ttomcx       alities  of  the  a&e>  mtroduced  f°r  incidental  effects.     One  is 
posed:        the  euphuism  of  this  Armado.     He  addresses  the  king  in 
fff«'™>  his  letter: 

•1*    1;    11  • 

Great  deputy,  the  welkin's  vicegerent  and  sole  dominator  of  Navarre, 
my  soul's  earth's  god,  and  body's  fostering  patron. 

The  circumstances  under  which  he  discovered  the  guilty  pair, 
were  that — 

besieged  with  sable-coloured  melancholy,  I  did  commend  the  black- 
oppressing  humour  to  the  most  wholesome  physic  of  thy  health-giving 
air. 

When  he  has  had  time  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  pretty 
peasant  girl  who  is  his  captive,  he  affects  the  very  ground, 
which  is  base,  where  her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by  her 
foot,  which  is  basest,  has  trod.  For  a  second  conventionality, 
word-play  and  pedantry  have  their  representative  in  Holo- 
Pedantry,  femes.  In  his  extempore  epitaph  on  the  deer,  he  '  something 
affects  the  letter,  for  it  argues  facility ' : 

iv.  ii.  58.         The  preyful  princess  pierced  and  prick'd  a  pretty  pleasing  pricket ; 

Some  say  a  sore ;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made  sore  with  shooting. 
The  dogs  did  yell :   put  L  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps  from  thicket ; 

Or  pricket  sore,  or  else  sorel;  the  people  fall  a-hooting. 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  L  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores  one  sorel. 
Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make  by  adding  but  one  more  L. 

iv.  ii.  &c. ;  This  effect  is  doubled  by  the  addition  of  the  curate,  Sir 
v-  L  l8'      Nathaniel,  who  follows  Holofernes  at  an  admiring  distance, 
and  takes  out  his  tablets  to  note  down  his  expression  '  pere- 
grinate,' as  applied  to  Don  Armado.     This  last  is  an  illus- 


HUMOUR    VERSUS  AFFECTATION.  287 

tration  of  another   affectation   attacked,   the   striving   after  CH.  XIV. 

unusual   and  at  that   time   new  words.     Armado   employs     

Costard   to   carry  a   letter,   and   gives   him   something  for  }£%*&  * 
1  remuneration ' : 

Costard.  Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remuneration ! 
O,  that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings:  three  farthings — remunera- 
tion.— '  What's  the  price  of  this  inkle  ? ' — *  One  penny.' — '  No,  I'll  give 
you  a  remuneration ' :  why,  it  carries  it.  ...  I  will  never  buy  and  sell 
out  of  this  word. 

Biron  comes  up  and  accosts  him,  and  sends  him  on  a  similar 
errand :  '  There's  thy  guerdon :  go.' 

Costard.     Garden,  O   sweet  gardon  !   better  than  remuneration,  a  iii.  1.136- 
'levenpence  farthing  better :  most  sweet  gardon !     I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  1 74. 
print.     Gardon !     Remuneration ! 

It  is  quite  in  accordance  with  humour,  as  distinguished  Humor- 
from  satire,  that  it  should  to  some  extent  sympathise  with  not  incon_ 
what  it  is  laughing  at ;  and  no  one  can  rise  from  a  perusal  sistent  with 
of  Loves  Labour 's  Lost  without  feeling  that  the  dramatist  is  3ym*a  y' 
himself,  in  moderation,  a  euphuist  at  heart.     Biron  is  re- 
presented as  the  antagonist  of  excess  in  the  king's  circle ;  yet 
Biron  when  soliloquising,  and  therefore  under  no  control  from 
his  fellows,  is  found  to  indulge  in  sustained  hairsplitting.          iv.  iii.  i. 

The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer ;  I  am  coursing  myself :  they  have 
pitched  a  toil ;  I  am  toiling  in  a  pitch, — pitch  that  denies  :  defile !  a 
foul  word.  Well,  set  thee  down,  sorrow  1  for  so  they  say  the  fool  said, 
and  so  say  I,  and  I  the  fool :  well  proved,  wit !  By  the  Lord,  this  love 
is  as  mad  as  Ajax:  it  kills  sheep;  it  kills  me,  I  a  sheep:  well 
proved  again  o'  my  side ! 

Even  when  the  play  at  its  close  turns  serious,  the  euphuistic 
strain  has  still  a  place,  and  a  formidable  exhibition  of  this 
elaborate  style  is  offered  by  Biron  as  '  plain  words/  v.  ii.  763. 

Honest  plain  words  best  pierce  the  ear  of  grief; 
And  by  these  badges  understand  the  king. 
For  your  fair  sakes  we  have  neglected  time, 
Tlay'd  foul  play  with  cur  oaths:   your  beauty,  ladies, 


288  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.  Hath  much  deform'd  us,  fashioning  our  humours 

Even  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents : 

And  what  in  us  hath  seem'd  ridiculous, — 

As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains, 

All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping  and  vain, 

Form'd  by  the  eye,  and  therefore,  like  the  eye, 

Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits  and  of  forms, 

Varying  in  subjects  as  the  eye  doth  roll 

To  every  varied  object  in  his  glance  : 

Which  parti-coated  presence  of  loose  love 

Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes, 

Have  misbecomed  our  oaths  and  gravities, 

Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults, 

Suggested  us  to  make.     Therefore,  ladies, 

Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 

Is  likewise  yours :   we  to  ourselves  prove  false, 

By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 

To  those  that  make  us  both, — fair  ladies,  you: 

And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin, 

Thus  purifies  itself  and  turns  to  grace. 

Word-play  It  would  seem  that  euphuism  was  recognised  by  the  poet  as 

dramatic     a  dramatic  weapon  with  specific  uses;    and  throughout  the 

weapon.       play,  where  a  pause  takes  place  in  the  action,  the  interest  is 

iv.  i.          maintained  by  verbal  subtleties.     Thus,  the  plot  brings  the 

Princess  and  her  suite,  under  pretext  of  a  shooting  match,  to 

a  certain  spot  in  order  that  a  letter  intended  for  another 

quarter  may  accidentally  come  into  their  hands:   the  brief 

interval  before  the  messenger  falls  in  with  them  is  occupied 

less  with  the  shooting  than  with  a  battle  of  puns.     Again,  in 

the  scene  which  presents  the  first  formal  interview  between 

the  court  of  Navarre  and  their  exalted  visitors,  as  soon  as  the 

ii.  i,  from    king  has  withdrawn,  the  relief  to  the  strain  of  courtesy  is 

admirably  conveyed  by  an  outburst  of  verbal  subtleties.     One 

v.  ii.  15.     more  example  fills  up  an  interval  in  the  fifth  act. 

Katherine.     And  so  she  died :   had  she  been  light,  like  you, 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit, 
She  might  ha'  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died : 
And  so  may  you;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Rosaline.      What 's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,  of  this  light  word  ? 


HUMOUR    VERSUS  AFFECTATION.  289 

Katherine.  A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark.  CH.  XIV. 

Rosaline.  We  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning  out.  

Katherine.  You'll  mar  the  light  by  taking  it  in  snuff; 

Therefore  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Rosaline.  Look,  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'  the  dark. 

Katherine.  So  do  not  you,  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

Rosaline.  Indeed  I  weigh  not  you,  and  therefore  light. 

Katherine.  You  weigh  me  not?     O,  that's  you  care  not  for  me. 

Rosaline.  Great  reason;   for  'past  cure  is  still  past  care.' 

Princess.  Well  bandied  both ;  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 

The  last  line  is  specially  interesting;  it  clearly  puts  Shake- 
speare's conception  of  word-play  as  mental  fencing,  in  which 
the  mind  finds  a  channel  for  redundant  energy,  and  delights 
in  exercise  for  exercise  sake. 

With  such  unnaturalness  and  such  affectations  the  plot  is  The  repre- 
contriving  constantly  to  bring  humour  into  contact.     The  So?famour 
main  source  of  the  humour  is  found  in  an  accidental  circum-  in  the  play. 
stance,  which  disconcerts  the  king's  elaborate  scheme:  the 
arrival  of  a  French  princess  with  a  train  of  ladies,  on  a  lengthy 
embassy.     The  king  does  go  so  far  as  to  keep  these  fair 
ambassadors  outside  the  court;  but  to  avoid  visiting  them  is 
impossible,  and  thus  the  play  settles  down  into  a  contest 
between  the  force  of  natural  attraction  and  artificial  resolu- 
tion.    The  French  ladies,  and  particularly  their  agent  Boyet,  i.  i,  from 
stand  for  the  triumphant  humour;    they  are   exhibited  as133* 
giving  full  play  to  their  natural  feelings;  they  have  a  rich 
flow  of  spirits,  and  perhaps  they  are  all  the  better  repre- 
sentatives of  humour  from  the  fact  that  their  wit  is  indifferent, 
needing  youth  and  good  spirits  to  carry  it  through.     They 
exhibit,  moreover,  the  special  note  of  humour, — that  it  can  be 
turned   on   themselves;    and   with   all   their   mockings   the 
princess  makes  no  attempt  to  conceal  from  herself  that  she 
is  in  love. 

We  are  wise  girls  to  mock  our  lovers  so.  V.  ii.  58. 

These  representatives  of  humour,  then,  are  kept  by  the  plot 
in  a  position  of  advantage  throughout,  and  by  sheer  force  of 


290  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.  fun  they  are  able  to  disconcert  the  celibates  at  every  turn ; 
humour  thus  coming  to  be  a  sort  of  poetic  justice,  which  visits 
the  different  characters  in  exact  proportion  to  their  artifi- 
ciality and  offence  against  the  natural. 

The  Hu-         There  was  a  double  unnaturalness  in  the  scheme  of  the 
1and°"he       celibates,  and  the  comic  nemesis  upon  it  is  double.     In  the 
Artificial    first  place,  it  was  an  unnatural  state  of  things  as  regarded 
their  relations  to  one  another,  and  they  needed   a  mutual 
oath  to  support  their  resolution;  accordingly,  they  attempt 
to  conceal  their  lapses  from  one  another,  but  are  betrayed. 
iv.  iii.        In  a  superbly  comic  scene  the  four  come  one  after  another  to 
a  sequestered  spot  in  the  park,  seeking  a  secret  place  where 
they  may  indulge  in  a  recitation  of  the  love-sonnet  which 
each  has  composed  to  his  mistress,  believing  himself  to  be 
the  only  offender;   and  each  in  turn  hides  as  he  sees  his 
comrade  coming  on  the  same  errand,  hoping  to  surprise 
his  fellow  in  an  act  of  perjury,  while  he  conceals  his  own. 
The  last  to  arrive  is  so  surprised  by  the  third,  when  suddenly 
the  second  leaps  out  of  ambush  to  confront  the  third,  and 
then  the  first  in  his  turn  comes  down  upon   the  second. 
Nor  has  he  enjoyed  his  triumph  over  the  three  long,  when 
the  arrival  of  an  intercepted  letter  reduces  him  to  the  level  of 
his  companions.     Again,  the  celibate  scheme  of  life  was  a 
violation  of  nature  in  reference  to  the  ladies ;   and  conse- 
quently there  is  a  further  nemesis  of  ridicule  when  the  men 
Compare     break    through   their  vow,  after   having  urged   it   to  their 
91  ancTv1    visitors  ty  sucn  overt  means  as  keeping  them  outside  the 
ii.  from       palace. 
395- 

Princess.    None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are  catch'd, 

As  wit  turn'd  fool  .  .  . 
Rosaline.  The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  such  excess 

As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

The  celibates  can  recover  their  position  only  by  entering 
into  the  humour  of  the  circumstances  which  have  turned 
against  them.  In  the  scene  of  their  betrayal  to  one  another, 


HUMOUR    VERSUS  AFFECTATION.  291 

after  a  spirited  attempt  to  brazen  it  out,  they  yield  to  the  CH.  XIV. 

force  of  the  situation,  calling  on  Biron  to  srive  them  reasons 

iv  iii  221— 
for  the  course  they  have  resolved  on,  to  cheat  the  devil  after  282 ;  283- 

the  sin  has  been  committed ;  this  he  does  in  a  mock  pompous  end- 
oration,  after  which  they  lay  these  glozings  by,  and  set  about 
wooing  these  girls  of  France.    But  they  are  not  yet  completely 
purged  of  their  sin  against  humour,  and  resolve  to  cover 
their  approach  with  an  elaborate  masque — another  of  the 
conventionalities  of  the  age  to  be  pilloried.     This  purpose  v.  ii.  from 
unfortunately  is  overheard,  and  communicated  to  the  ladies,  8o> 
who  determine  to  disconcert  it,  solemnly  turning  their  backs 
at  the  supreme  moment  of  the  compliment,  and  afterwards, 
in-  the  more  miscellaneous  conversation,  arranging  to  ex- 
change masks,  so  that  each  courtier  pours  his  adoration  into 
the  ear  of  the  wrong  mistress.     The  celibates  fully  recover 
their  equality  with  their  visitors  only  when  they  enter  into 
the  humour  of  their  persecutors,  and — hardest  test  of  all — 
join  in  abuse  of  their  spoiled  pageants.     Then  the  action 
reaches  its  climax  in   a  prolonged   cascade   of  humorous  v.  ii,  from 
fireworks.  5I2' 

In  this  nemesis  of  humour  upon  affectation,  the  different  Fate  of 
personages  fare  exactly  according  to  the  sense  of  humour  ^^^f^ 
they  possess.     Of  the  celibates   Biron  has  most  sense  Q{  by  sense  of 
humour,  especially  seen  in  his  ready  appreciation  of  the  humour' 
arch-persecutor  Boyet,  and  accordingly  he  always  has  the  v.  iL  315, 
advantage  over  his  fellows :  he  alone  objects  to  the  scheme  i^'^J.2^ 
at  the  outset,  he  is  the  last  to  be  exposed  in  the  discovery  iii.  200. 
scene,  and  the  first  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  finale. 
The  king  is  a  constant  contrast.     Of  the  lesser  personages  v.  ii.  335, 
the  dramatist  keeps  our  sympathy  with  those  that  are  the  &c* 
most  natural,  and  have  most  sense  of  fun.     Moth,  the  bright 
page  of  Armado,  is  always  natural,  always  seen  to  advantage,  i.-  ii.  &c. 
and  even  proves  not  unequal  to  the  exigencies  of  the  re- 
ception scene,  where  he  is  the  speaker  of  the  conventional 
compliment : 

U    2 


292 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


CH.  XIV.  Moth.      All  hail,  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth.  .  .  . 

-  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames 

V.  ii.  158.  [The  Ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him. 

That  ever  turn'd  their  —  backs  —  to  mortal  views  ! 
Biron.     [Aside  to  Moth].     Their  eyes,  villain,  their  eyes. 

E.  g.  iii.  i.  Costard  and  Dull  are  natural  by  the  side  of  Armado  and 
iVisS^&c?  Holofernes.     Costard's  humorous  termination  to   his   pre- 
sentation of  Pompey  in  the  pageant  — 

If  your  ladyship  would  say,  '  Thanks,  Pompey,'  I  had  done  — 

v.  ii.  secures  him  an  easy  dismissal  ;  whereas  Holofernes'  pedantry 
is  drowned  in  a  shower  of  puns  and  wit-thrusts,  and 
Armado  not  only  fares  hard  as  Hector,  but  by  an  acci- 
dental word  of  his  gives  opportunity  to  the  simple  Costard 
to  bring  out  the  whole  scandal  of  Jaquenetta  his  captive. 
So  the  triumph  of  comic  justice  has  become  complete,  and 
in  affectation  thus  melting  away  at  the  touch  of  humour  the 
play  has  found  its  motive  and  inspiration. 

So  far  I  have  discussed  only  in  a  general  way  the  matter 
°^  wnicn  this  drama  is  composed.  If  we  now  proceed  to 
analyse  it  with  due  attention  to  the  disposition  and  proportion 
°^  *ts  Parts>  which  are  the  basis  of  plot,  we  shall  find  that  the 
structure  of  the  play,  no  less  than  its  general  spirit,  rests  upon 
the  conflict  between  humorous  and  artificial. 

Main  plot.  Love's  Labour's  Lost  has  a  very  regular  plot,  of  the  type 
'  Complication  and  Resolution.'  Its  Main  Action  may  be 
stated  as  a  series  of  humorous  situations,  produced  by  the 
incidence  of  the  Complication  —  the  Princess's  visit,  with 
all  the  forces  of  social  attraction  it  brings  —  upon  the  un- 
natural mode  of  life  set  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  play. 
As  already  intimated,  it  falls  into  a  double  action,  cor- 
responding to  the  double  unnaturalness  of  the  celibates' 
scheme.  Their  plan  of  life  implied  an  artificial  bond 
amongst  themselves,  needing  a  mutual  oath  to  support  their 
resolution  :  when  this  artificial  barrier  against  love  has  broken 


The  Cen- 

underlies 
the  Stmc- 

tJieplay 


PLOT  OF  THE  PLAY.  593 

down,  they  attempt  each  to  deceive  the  rest,  but  are  all  CH.  XIV. 
betrayed  to  one  another.     Agreed  among  themselves  to  give      ~~- 
way  they  still,  as  against  their  visitors,  seek  to  cover  their 
yielding  by  the  disguise  of  their  approach,  but  the  betrayal 
of  their  purpose  involves  them  in  a  second  humorous  exposure, 
where  Biron  leads  the  way  in  complete  surrender  to  simplicity 
and  nature. 

Biron.     Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out  ?  V.  ii.  395. 

Here  stand  I :   lady,  dart  thy  skill  at  me ; 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance ; 

Cut  me  to  pieces  with  thy  keen  conceit ; 
And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance, 

Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 
O,  never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  penn'd, 

Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  schoolboy's  tongue, 
Nor  never  come  in  vizard  to  my  friend, 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song ! 
Taffeta  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 

Three-piled  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation, 
Figures  pedantical ;    these  summer  flies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation  : 
I  do  forswear  them  ;   and  I  here  protest, 

By  this  white  glove, — how  white  the  hand,  God  knows  1 — 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas  and  honest  kersey  noes: 
And,  to  begin,  wench, — so  God  help  me,  la ! — 

My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 
Rosaline.     Sans  sans,  I  pray  you. 

We  thus  seem  to  see  two  successive  waves  of  pretentious  Underplot. 
artificiality  break  in  humour ;  and  this  makes  the  main  action 
of  the  play.  There  is  further  an  Underplot,  analogous  in 
spirit  and  in  form  to  this  main  action.  It  rests  upon  two 
groups  of  inferior  personages,  embodying  two  convention- 
alities of  the  period  placed  in  conflict  with  influences  making 
for  naturalness  and  humour.  The  centre  of  the  first  group 
is  Don  Armado,  who  never  speaks  but  in  the  conventional 
language  of  euphuism,  and  whose  life  is  as  showy  and 


294  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.   deceitful  as  his  talk.     He  is  kept  in  continual  contact  with 
.  ..  Moth  and  his  genuine  sparkle  of  youthful  vivacity. 

Armado.  I  will  hereupon  confess  I  am  in  love :  and  as  it  is  base 
for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love  with  a  base  wench.  If  drawing 
my  sword  against  the  humour  of  affection  would  deliver  me  from 
the  reprobate  thought  of  it,  I  would  take  Desire  prisoner,  and  ransom 
him  to  any  French  courtier  for  a  new-devised  courtesy.  I  think  scorn 
to  sigh :  methinks  I  should  outswear  Cupid.  Comfort  me,  boy  :  what 
great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.     Hercules,  master. 

Armado.  Most  sweet  Hercules!  More  authority,  dear  boy,  name 
more ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them  be  men  of  good  repute  and  carriage. 

Moth.  Samson,  master:  he  was  a  man  ol  good  carriage,  great 
carriage,  for  he  carried  the  town-gates  on  his  back  like  a  porter ;  and 
he  was  in  love. 

Armado.  O  well-knit  Samson !  strong-jointed  Samson !  I  do  excel 
thee  in  my  rapier  as  much  as  thou  didst  me  in  carrying  gates.  I  am  in 
love  too.  Who  was  Samson's  love,  my  dear  Moth  ? 

Moth.     A  woman,  master. 

Armado.     Of  what  complexion  ? 

Moth.     Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two,  or  one  of  the  four. 

Armado.     Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion. 

Moth.     Of  the  sea- water  green,  sir. 

Armado.     Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions  ? 

Moth.    As  I  have  read,  sir ;  and  the  best  of  them  too. 

Armado.  Green  indeed  is  the  colour  of  lovers ;  but  to  have  a  love 
of  that  colour,  methinks  Samson  had  small  reason  for  it.  He  surely 
affected  her  for  her  wit. 

Moth.     It  was  so,  sir;  for  she  had  a  green  wit. 

Armado.     My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red. 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are  masked  under  such 
colours. 

Armado.     Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth.     My  father's  wit  and  my  mother's  tongue,  assist  me  ! 

Armado.     Sweet  invocation  of  a  child;  most  pretty  and  pathetical! 

Moth.          If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red, 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known, 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred, 

And  fears  by  pale  white  shown  : 
Then  if  she  fear,  or  be  to  blame, 

By  this  you  shall  not  know, 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same 
Which  native  she  doth  owe. 


PLOT  OF  THE  PLAY.  295 

Nor  is  Moth  the  only  foil  to  Armado :  even  when  he  en-  Cn.  XT  V. 
counters  the  rough  common  sense  of  Costard,  or  the  simple 
human  nature  of  the  pretty  Jaquenetta,  the  pompous  knight 
regularly,  in  the  reader's  eyes,  gets  the  worse,  though  the 
wit  of  such  contests  is  too  thin  to  be  adequately  brought 
out  by  quotations  unsupported  by  the  actors'  by-play.  i.  ii.  138. 

Armado.    I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing.    Maid  I 

Jaquenetta.     Man  ? 

Armado.     I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 

Jaquenelta.     That 's  hereby A. 

Armado.     I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaquenetta.     Lord,  how  wise  you  are ! 

Armado.     I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaqttenetta.     With  that  face  ? 

Armado.     I  love  thee. 

Jaquenetta.     So  I  heard  you  say. 

Armado.     And  so,  farewell. 

Jaquenetta.     Fair  weather  after  you  I 

Dull.     Come,  Jaquenetta,  away  !  \Exeunt  Dull  and  Jaquenetta. 

Armado.     Villain,   thou  shalt  fast  for    thy  offences    ere    thou    be 
pardoned. 

Costard.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do  it  on  a  lull 
stomach. 

Armado.     Thou  shalt  be  heavily  punished. 

Costard.  I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  fellows,  for  they  are  but 
lightly  rewarded. 

Armado.     Take  away  this  villain. 

The  second  group  gathers  around  the  pedantry  of  Holo- 
fernes,  which  is  set  off  by  a  double  foil :  an  admiring  rival  in 
Sir  Nathaniel  the  curate,  and  a  foil  of  a  different  kind  in 
goodman  Dull,  whose  density  is  continually  contrasting  with 
the  other's  learning,  and  at  the  same  time  spoiling  the  in- 
tended effect. 

Holof ernes.     The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  sanguis,  in  blood ;  ripe  as  iv.  ii.  2. 
the  pomewater,  who  now  hangeth  like  a  jewel  in  the  ear  of  caelo%the 
sky,  the  welkin,  the  heaven ;  and  anon  falleth  like  a  crab  on  the  face  of 
terra,  the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

Nathaniel.    Truly,  Master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are  sweetly  varied, 

1  A  phrase  for  '  That 's  as  it  may  turn  out.' 


296  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.   like  a  scholar  at  the  least :  but,  sir,  I  assure  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the 

first  head. 

Holof ernes.     Sir  Nathaniel,  haud  credo. 
Dull.     'Twas  not  a  haud  credo  ;  'twas  a  priclret. 
Holofernes.     Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of  insinuation, 
as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way,  of  explication  ;  facere,  as  it  were,  replica- 
tion, or  rather,  ostentare,  to  show,  as  it  were,  his  inclination,  after  his 
undressed,   unpolished,  uneducated,   unpruned,    untrained,    or    rather, 
unlettered,  or  ratherest,  unconfirmed  fashion,  to  insert  again  my  haud 
credo  for  a  deer. 

Dull.    I  said  the  deer  was  not  a  haud  credo ;  'twas  a  pricket. 
Holof  ernes.     Twice-sod  simplicity,  bis  coctus  ! 

O  thou  monster  of  Ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look  ! 
Nathaniel.     Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are  bred  in  a 

book; 

he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it  were;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink:  his 
intellect  is  not  replenished ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in  the 
duller  parts : 

And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us  that  we  thankful  should  be, 
Which  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are,  for  those  parts  that  do  fructify 

in  us  more  than  he. 

For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet,  or  a  fool, 
So  were  there  a  patch  set  on  learning,  to  see  him  in  a  school : 
But  omne  bene,  say  I ;   being  of  an  old  father's  mind, 
Many  can  brook  the  weather  that  love  not  the  wind. 
Dull.     You  two  are  book-men  :    can  you  tell  me  by  your  wit 

What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that 's  not  five  weeks  old 

as  yet? 

Holof  ernes.     Dictynna,  goodman  Dull ;   Dictynna,  goodman  Dull. 
Dnll.     What  is  Dictynna  ? 

Nathaniel.     A  title  to  Phcebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 
Holof  ernes,     The  moon  was  a  month  old  when  Adam  was  no  more, 

And  raught  not  to  five  weeks  when  he  came  to  five-score. 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.     'Tis  true  indeed ;  the  collusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 
Holofernes.     God  comfort  thy  capacity !     I  say,  the  allusion  holds  in 
the  exchange. 

Dull.  And  I  say,  the  pollusion  holds  in  the  exchange  ;  for  the  moon 
is  never  but  a  month  old :  and  I  say  beside  that,  'twas  a  pricket  that  the 
princess  killed. 

Out  of  these  two  character  groups  rise  two  Sub-Actions, 
which  are  drawn  into  the  general  movement  of  the  play. 
The  first  is  the  intrigue  of  Armado  with  Jaquenetta.  This 


PLOT  OF  THE  PLAY.  297 

gives  support  to  the  earlier  of  the  two  phases  in  the  main  CH.  XIV. 

action  :  there  is  a  blunder  in  the  delivery  of  the  love-letters,      

the  effect  of  which  extends  to  the  King  and  his  fellow- 
conspirators,  and  completes  their  mutual  betrayal.     By  the 
same  mistake  Armado's  intrigue  is  itself  betrayed,  and  this  iv.iii.  189; 
sub-action  in  the  end  reaches  a  position  of  equilibrium  when  lm  57< 
the  pretentious  impostor  descends  to  naturalness,  sees  the 
day  of  wrong  through  the  little  hole  of  discretion,  and  vows 
to  hold  the  plough  three  years  for  love  of  his  base  peasant  v.  ii.  732, 
girl.     Again,  the  stationary  interest  of  the  pedantic  display   93' 
takes  movement  to  support  the  later  phase  of  the  main  action, 
Holofernes   being   charged   with  the   pageant  under  cover  v.  1.119  ;ii. 
of  which,  with   all   its  Classic  Worthies,  the  lovers  are  to 
approach  their  mistresses :  but  the  turn  in  the  main  action 
overthrows  the  sub-action  also,  and  the  pageant-manager, 
in  his  hour  of  importance,  finds  employers,  audience,  and 
half  his  actors  uniting   to   overwhelm  the  performance  in 
chaff. 

One  more  remark  has  to  be  made  before  the  statement  Enveloping 
of  the  plot  is  complete.  The  main  body  of  the  play — plot  Acilon- 
and  underplot — is  surrounded  by  a  wider  Enveloping  Action, 
slightly  sketched:  the  comic  interchange  of  personal  per- 
plexities and  reconciliations  is  framed  in  a  sober  interest 
of  high  politics — the  illness  and  death  of  the  French  king, 
that  just  appears  at  the  beginning  and  end.  It  is  in  ac- 
cordance with  Shakespeare's  usual  handling  of  plot  thus  to 
enclose  action  within  action,  like  the  sphere  within  sphere  of 
the  Ptolemaic  astronomy,  as  Holofernes  would  no  doubt  have 
remarked.  If  I  may  continue  in  the  spirit  of  Holofernes, 
I  would  point  out  that  in  this  case  the  outer  Enveloping 
Action  is  like  the  primum  mobile  of  that  astronomic  system, 
and  imparts  motion  to  all  the  interior  actions.  For  it  is 
the  embassy  necessitated  by  the  king's  failing  health  which 
brings  the  French  ladies  into  the  play,  and  sets  up  the 
conflict  of  humour  and  convention.  When  this  conflict  has 


298  LOVE'S  LABOUR  >S  LOST. 

CH.  XIV.  worked  itself  out  to  its  natural  resolution,  the  enveloping 
action  appears  a  second  time  to  effect  a  further  resolution. 

v.  ii.  724.  In  the  height  of  the  mirth  over  the  discomfited  pageant 
the  sudden  announcement  is  made  of  the  King's  death.  In 
an  instant  the  play  becomes  serious.  But  the  lovers  take 
advantage  of  the  seriousness  to  press  their  suits  in  earnest. 
The  ladies  take  advantage  of  the  period  of  mourning  to  fix 
conditions.  The  King  of  Navarre  is  bidden  to  immure 
himself  in  some  forlorn  and  naked  hermitage,  remote  from 
the  pleasures  of  the  world,  for  twelve  months :  if  his  love 
stands  this  test  he  may  challenge  his  princess,  who  will 
have  been  a  solitary  mourner  all  the  time,  and  she  vows 
to  be  his.  Similar  terms  are  made  with  Navarre's  com- 
panions, and  Biron  in  particular  is  to  exercise  his  jesting 
humour  in  a  hospital,  to  see 

If  sickly  ears, 

Peafd  with  the  clamours  of  their  own  dear  groans, 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns — 

if  not,  to  reform :  but  in  either  case  Rosaline  will  have  him. 
The  plot  has  thus  provided  for  a  dramatic  nemesis :  the 
self-inflicted  unnatural  regimen  of  the  celibates,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  play,  is  balanced  by  the  forced  unnatural 
regimen  imposed  on  them  as  a  preliminary  condition  when 
they  desire  to  marry :  and  this  stipulation  of  celibacy  seems  to 
follow  naturally  from  the  King  of  France's  death.  The 
dramatist  who  feels  equally  all  attractions,  will  not  build 
up  his  light  structure  of  humour  and  passing  affectation 
without  giving  us  a  glimpse  of  some  foundation  for  it  in  the 
sober  political  world. 

Thus  the  whole  play  of  Loves  Labour 's  Lost  appears  per- 
meated with  these  clashings  between  humorous  and  artificial ; 
whether  we  look  at  the  personages  and  their  fate  in  the  story, 
or  survey  the  subject-matter,  or  watch  the  succession  of 
comic  effects,  or  technically  analyse  the  structure  of  the 
drama,  we  find  that  every  kind  of  interest  refers  back  to  the 


PLOT  OF  THE  PLAY.  299 

same  source.  The  conflict,  then,  of  humour  with  affectation  CH.  XIV. 
and  conventionality  is,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  the 
Central  Idea  of  this  play.  And  the  following  chapter  will 
show  that  the  same  idea  largely  colours  another  play  which  is 
too  many-sided  in  its  interest  to  be  referred  to  any  single 
motive. 


XV. 


CH.  XV. 

Loves 
Labour 's 
Lost  and 
As  You 
Like  It 
compared. 


Three 
types  of 

humour  in 
A    You 
Like  It. 


Healthy 


How  'As  You  LIKE  IT'  PRESENTS  VARIED 
FORMS  OF  HUMOUR  IN  CONFLICT  WITH  A 
SINGLE  CONVENTIONALITY. 

A  Study  of  more  Complex 
Dramatic  Colouring. 

T  0  VE'S  Labour 's  Lost  is  an  early  play.  But  in  another 
1  ^/  drama,  more  complex  in  its  general  character, 
Shakespeare  has  again  introduced  the  impact  of  humour 
upon  affectation  as  a  dominant  motive.  Between  the  two 
there  is  the  difference  we  should  expect.  The  earlier  play 
we  have  seen  resolve  as  a  whole  into  the  central  idea,  which 
gives  significance  to  its  every  part;  in  As  You  Like  It 
the  conflict  of  humour  with  convention  is  only  one  motive 
amongst  several.  Moreover,  the  idea  itself,  which  is  common 
to  the  two  plays,  takes  different  form  in  each.  In  Loves 
Labour 's  Lost  the  humour  is  one  and  the  same  throughout, 
the  artificialities  with  which  it  is  in  conflict  are  many.  In 
As  You  Like  It,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  three  distinct 
types  of  humour :  while,  for  the  artificial  element,  we  have 
that  one  great  conventionality  of  poetry  beside  which  all 
others  may  be  called  secondary. 

I  distinguish  the  healthy  humour  of  Rosalind,  the  pro- 
fessional humour  of  Touchstone,  and  the  morbid  humour 
of  Jaques.  The  fun,  that  plays  like  sunlit  ripples  about 
Rosalind  and  her  friends,  Celia  and  Orlando,  there  is  no 
need  to  discuss;  every  reader  drinks  it  in  eagerly,  and  no 


HUMOURS  OF  THE  PLAY  ANALYSED.  301 

one,    I   imagine,    will   object   to    the   description   of   it   as   CH.  XV. 

'healthy/     I  do  not  doubt  that,  as  an  individual,  Touch-      

stone  is  worthy  to  be  added  to  this  set :  but  the  office  he  stand  ffu- 
holds  gives  a  different  tone  to  his  humour.     In  connection  mour  °f 
with  another  play  it  has  been  pointed  out  that  the  jester  Sf^t  ~ 
occupied,  in  the  age  of  court  officials,   the  same  position 
which  in  this  age  of  newspapers  is  held  by  Punch:  both 
are  national  institutions  for  flashing  a  comic  light  on  every 
passing   topic.     As    a   professional   Fool,   Touchstone  has 
privileges :    he   may  attack   everything,  and   every  sufferer 
must  applaud    his   own   castigation.     But   equally    he   has  ii.  vii.  50. 
professional  duties :  he  must  use  his  folly  as  a  stalking-horse 
under  which  to  present  wisdom,  or,  in  other  words,  he  must  v.  iv.  in. 
from  time  to  time  hint  deep  truths  as  well  as  keep  up  a 
continuous    stream    of   vapid    nonsense.     The    absence    of 
spontaneity  is  the  note  which  distinguishes  this  professional 
folly  from  natural  wit  such  as  Rosalind's.     In  the  course  of 
this  play  Touchstone  has  to  draw  fun  on  demand  from  such 
diverse  topics  as  courtiers'  oaths,  travellers'  complaints,  the 
course  of  Time,  the  irregularities  of  Fortune,  shepherd  life, 
court  life,  music,  versification,  and  his  own  intended  wife — • 
'  a  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favoured  thing,  sir,  but  mine  own/ 
And,  to  fill  up  a  moment  of  waiting,  he  is  called  upon  to 
exercise  his  professional  function  at  length,  and  extemporises 
a  whole  system  of  scientific  quarrelling,  through  its  degrees 
of  Retort  Courteous,  Quip  Modest,  Reply  Churlish,  Reproof 
Valiant.  Countercheck  Quarrelsome,  Lie  with  Circumstance,  v.  iv,  from 
up  to  the  unpardonable  Lie  Direct.  7°' 

Of  Jaques  humour  is  a  prominent  feature,  no  less  than  of  Morbid 
Touchstone  and  Rosalind :  but  to  determine  this-  third  type  of 
humour  is  much  more  difficult.  The  whole  character  of  Jaques 
is  one  not  easy  to  define,  and  one  which  leaves  the  most 
strangely  opposite  impressions  upon  different  readers.  He 
is  a  general  favourite  with  audiences  in  the  theatre.  Actors, 
so  far  as  I  have  observed,  seem  to  form  an  exalted  opinion 


302  AS   YOU  LIKE  IT. 

CH.  XV.  of  him ;  and  it  must  be  difficult  for  them  to  do  otherwise 
when  they  have  to  speak  in  his  character  the  most  famous 
of  quotations  that  compares  all  the  world  to  a  stage.  On 
the  other  hand,  Jaques  is  certainly  not  a  favourite  with  the 
personages  in  the  story  :  he  is  least  liked  by  the  best  of  them, 
and  the  poet  himself  takes  pains  to  except  him  from  the 
happy  ending  which  crowns  the  careers  of  the  rest.  The 
epithet  '  philosophical '  has  stuck  to  Jaques,  and  there  is  good 
reason  for  it.  We  find  him  everywhere  showing,  not  only 
seriousness  of  bent,  but  also  that  deep  eye  to  the  lessons  of 
life  underlying  the  outward  appearances  of  things  which  is 
traditionally  associated  with  wisdom.  Yet  in  the  scenes  of 
the  play  his  seriousness  is  not  treated  with  much  respect, 
and  his  wisdom  by  no  means  gives  him  the  victory  when 
he  has  to  encounter  much  more  unpretentious  personages. 
Interpretation  must  find  some  view  of  him  which  will  be 
consistent  with  all  this ;  and  we  get  a  hint  as  to  the  direction 
in  which  we  are  to  look  for  such  a  view  in  the  play  itself, 
where  the  Duke,  in  answer  to  Jaques'  longing  for  the  Fool's 
licence  of  universal  satire,  says  that  by  such  satire  he  would 

do— 
ii.  vii.  64.  Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin : 

For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 

As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself; 

And  all  the  embossed  sores  and  headed  evils, 

That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 

Wouldst  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

The  hypothesis  which  will  make  the  whole  character  clear, 
so  far  as  it  can  be  summed  up  in  a  single  phrase,  might  be 
expressed  as  the  morbid  humour  of  melancholy. 

Humour  is  the  flower  of  healthy  mental  growth ;  it  is 
mental  exertion  not  for  a  practical  purpose  but  for  its  own 
sake,  arbitrary  and  delighting  in  its  own  arbitrariness;  it 
is  turned  on  everything  good  or  bad,  great  or  trivial  (for  to 
humour  all  things  are  humorous),  drawing  from  everything  its 
sparkling  surprises  and  for  ever  catching  unexpected  novelties 


HUMOURS  OF  THE  PLAY  ANALYSED.          303 

of  aspect;  it  is  an  insight  into  the  singularities  that  lie  just   Cn.  XV, 

below  the  surface  ot  things,  estimated  more  by  their  number      

and  the  quickness  with  which  they  present  themselves  than  by 
weight  and  lasting  worth ;  it  is  further  in  its  sharpest  strokes 
the  outcome  of  the  genial  good-will  which  is  the  normal  con- 
dition of  a  well-balanced  mind.  There  is,  however,  a  special 
Elizabethan  view  of  humour,  which  emphasised  one  single 
element  of  it, — it  was  an  arbitrary  assumption  of  some 
mental  attitude  :  '  tis  my  humour '  is  excuse  sufficient  for  any 
perverse  and  unnatural  mental  condition  that  Ben  Jonson's 
personages  choose  to  indulge  in.  Amongst  humours  in  this 
second  sense  one  of  the  commonest  is  '  melancholy ' ;  it  was, 
we  find,  a  specially  English  affectation,  and  so  much  a  thing 
of  fashion  that  in  Ben  Jonson's  Every  Man  in  his  Humour 
Stephen  practises  it  before  his  looking-glass,  and  in  asides 
asks  his  mentors  whether  he  is  melancholy  enough.  Yet 
this  fashion  rests  on  a  weakness  of  human  nature  that  is 
universal.  At  all  times  discontent  has  been  affected  as  a 
sign  of  superiority;  a  chronic  turned-up  nose  is  to  the 
superficial  a  suggestion  of  select  taste.  Every  one  is  familiar 
with  one  form  of  such  discontent, — the  depreciation  of  home 
which  travelling  almost  always  produces  in  a  shallow  mind, 
and  which  is  in  the  play  itself  alluded  to  as  a  characteristic 
of  Jaques. 

Farewell,  Monsieur  Traveller ;  look  you  lisp  and  wear  strange  suits,  iv.  i.  33. 
disable  all  the  benefits  of  your  own  country,  be  out  of  love  with  your 
nativity,  and  almost  chide  God  for  making  you  that  countenance  you 
are,  or  I  will  scarce  think  you  have  swam  in  a  gondola. 

Jaques  has  adopted  this  Elizabethan  humour  of  melancholy. 
But  more  than  this,  his  humour  is  totally  opposed  to  all  that 
is  healthy,  and  has  become  morbid;  natural  emotions  have 
been  worn  out  by  his  course  of  dissipation,  and  discontent 
supplies  their  place ;  with  the  corruption  of  his  soul  his 
humour,  so  to  speak,  has  gone  bad,  and  while  he  retains  all 
the  analytic  power  and  insight  into  unexpected  singularities, 


304  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

CH  XV.    yet  his  humour  is  no  longer  spontaneous  but  laboured,  no 
longer    genial,    but   flavoured   with    malevolence   and    self- 
exaltation. 

Its  morbid  Examined  in  detail,  Jaques'  character  exhibits  the  paradox 
'traccdin  and  Perversit}r  of  view  which  belongs  to  humour,  but  these 
detail.  are  gloomy  instead  of  bright,  and  suggest  laborious  search, 
and  not  involuntary  mind-play.  He  is  '  compact  of  jars ';  he 
can  suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs ; 
he  speaks  of  sleeping  and  railing  as  of  the  two  sides  of  his 
normal  condition.  We  have  the  Duke  throughout  by  his  side 
as  a  healthy  contrast.  The  Duke  did  not  seek  the  artificial 
life  of  the  forest,  though  when  driven  to  it  by  the  stubbornness 
of  fortune  he  can  translate  it  to  a  quiet  and  sweet  style: 
Jaques  is  repelled  by  his  comrades'  life  as  soon  as  it  turns 
fortunate,  and  voluntarily  flies  from  dancing  measures  to  get 
v.  iv,  from  pleasure  out  of  a  dethroned  convertite.  So  with  regard  to 
the  dying  stag :  the  Duke's  pity  is  accidental,  rising  naturally 
out  of  surrounding  circumstances — that  the  brute  as  a  native 
burgher  of  the  forest  should  be  slaughtered  in  his  own 
confines.  Jaques  pours  out  his  pathos  as  an  indulgence  ;  to 
borrow  a  word  from  the  vocabulary  of  funeral  sermons,  he 
'improves'  the  stag's  dying  agonies  (having  first  found  a 
comfortable  position  from  which  he  can  watch  them)  with  a 
ii.  i  thousand  ingenious  similes,  and  is  so  left  by  his  companions 

weeping  and  commenting.  Similar  is  Jaques'  connection 
with  the  celebrated  simile  of  the  stage :  the  brilliant  working 
out  of  this  idea  must  not  blind  us  to  the  morbid  tone  of  mind 
of  which  it  is  the  outcome.  The  Duke's  reflection  which 
ii.  vii.  136.  gives  rise  to  the  speech  is  cheerful,  inviting  to  resignation 
because  others  have  to  endure.  His  accidental  use  of 
dramatic  imagery  is  seized  upon  by  Jaques  as  an  opportunity 
for  harping  on  the  hollowness  of  everything  human;  it  is 
that  all  the  world  is  no  more  than  a  stage,  and  the  men  and 
women  merely  players,  which  makes  the  attraction  of  the 
theme  to  Jaques'  mind,  and  his  ingenuity  catches  the  lowest 


HUMOURS  OF  THE  PLAY  ANALYSED.  305 

view  of  every  phase  of  life— the  mewling  and  puking  infant,    CH.  XV. 

the  sighing  and  woeful  young  man,  he  characterises  a  soldier      

as  quick  in  quarrel,  reputation  as  a  bubble,  he  distinguishes 
the  justice  by  his  creature  comforts,  old  age  by  its  leanness 
and  childish  treble,  until  he  reaches  a  congenial  climax  in 
'  sans  everything/ 

Yet  that  melancholy  is  not  the  real  object  of  this  apostle  of 
melancholy  some  minor  touches  show.  Amiens  sings  a  song 
in  praise  of  melancholy,  Jaques  at  once  turns  it  into  ridicule,  ii.  v. 
for  to  morbid  humour  its  own  pet  affectation  becomes  ob- 
jectionable when  put  forward  by  another.  In  fact  he  must 
have  his  melancholy  to  himself,  as  he  is  betrayed  by  Rosalind 
into  avowing — 

I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which  is  emulation  ;  nor  the  iv.  i.  10. 
musician's,  which  is  fantastical ;  nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud ;  nor 
the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious ;  nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic ; 
nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice  ;  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these :  but  it 
is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted 
from  many  objects,  and  indeed  the  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels, 
in  which  my  often  rumination  wraps  me  in  a  most  humorous  sadness. 

It  is  thus  egotism  that  is  at  the  root  of  his  morbid  humour, 
which  is  no  outcome  of  social  life,  but  a  constant  attempt  at 
self-exaltation  by  the  mode  of  differing  from  others.  He  ii  v. 
snubs  modest  excuses  for  a  ragged  voice,  and  compares 
compliments  to  the  encounter  of  two  dog-apes.  He  mocks 
again  at  *  burdens '  and  '  stanzos/  and  similar  technical  terms : 
for  your  egotist  both  despises  what  everybody  does  as  com- 
mon-place, and  equally  regards  any  distinctive  peculiarity  he 
does  not  share  as  silly  pedantry.  Similarly  with  Jaques'  ob- 
jection to  the  Duke  as  too  '  disputable ' :  the  natural  course 
for  one  who  has  information  being  to  impart  it;  the  morbid 
mind  affects  reserve ;  he  '  thinks  of  as  many  things  as  others, 
but  gives  Heav'n  thanks,  and  makes  no  boast ' — making  thus 
his  powers  one  more  difference  between  himself  and  his 
fellow-men.  It  must  not  however  be  supposed  that  there  is 
no  exception  to  this  universal  depreciation.  Morbid  egotism 


306  AS   YOU  LIKE  IT. 

CH.  XV.  shows  its  exaltation  above  ordinary  pleasures  by  a  selection 
of  its  own,  and  by  vehemence  of  admiration  in  proportion  as 
admiration  is  unexpected.  Not  only  is  Jaques  merry  on 
hearing  a  melancholy  song,  but — like  an  aesthete  with  a  sun- 
flower— he  is  raised  to  a  delirious  ecstasy  by  meeting  a  pro- 
fessional Fool. 

ii.  vii.  12.  A  fool,  a  fool !  I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 

A  motley  fool ;  a  miserable  world  ! 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool. 

As  the  Fool  follows  his  profession  of  railing  Jaques'  lungs 
begin  to  crow  like  chanticleer,  and  he  laughs  sans  intermission 
an  hour  by  the  dial. 

It  is  abundantly  clear  that  malevolence  is  the  inspiration  of 
Jaques'  humour.  His  moralisings  on  the  dying  stag  are,  as 
ii.  i.  44.  the  courtiers  point  out,  '  invectively '  conceived  :  he  hits  the 
landowners  in  his  reflection  on  the  stag  weeping  tears  into  the 
brook,  giving  his  sum  of  more  to  that  which  has  too  much  ; 
the  court  come  in  for  their  share  in  the  proverb  of  misery 
parting  the  flux  of  company,  and  the  city  when  the  herd  is 
upbraided  for  forsaking  the  broken  bankrupt.  He  envies  the 
ii.vii,  from  Fool's  motley  for  the  sake  of  the  Fool's  unfettered  liberty  of 
attack ;  and  when  the  Duke  points  out  how  ill  Jaques  is 
qualified  for  the  Jester's  office  of  good-natured  censor,  his 
answer  shows  that  Jaques  believes  the  world  to  be  as  bad  as 
he  wishes  to  paint  it  If  Rosalind's  humour  is  a  tribute  to 
the  delightful  oddities  of  things  in  general,  and  Touchstone's 
humour  is  a  tribute  to  his  professional  office,  Jaques'  morbid 
humour  is  a  tribute  only  to  himself. 

Into  these  three  contrasted  types  has  the  simple  humour  of 

Loves  Labour's  Lost  been  expanded.     On  the  other  hand,  for 

the  elaborate  and  varied  artificialities  of  that  play  we  have 

Pastoral      substituted  one  single  conventionality  which  has  maintained 

"real con-    *ts  ground  in  the  world  of  imagination  from  Theocritus  to 

vention-      Watteau — Pastoral  Life.     The   traditional   life   of  the    old 

"he'play       ecl°gues  is  lived  again  in  the  forest  of  Arden  by  the  banished 


PLACE  OF  THE  HUMOUR  IN  THE  ACTION.    307 

Duke  and  his  followers :  with  no  worse  ill  than  Adam's  CH.  XV. 
penalty,  the  seasons'  difference ;  with  hunting  of  the  stag  for 
enterprise,  and  presentation  of  him  who  killed  the  deer  for 
triumph;  with  feasts  alfresco,  and  songs  under  the  green- 
wood tree.  The  simplicity  of  bucolic  life  is  sufficiently 
represented  in  William  and  Audrey ;  and,  if  pastoral  lovers 
are  wanted,  Phoebe  for  the  fair  unkind,  Silvius  as  the  de- 
spairing lover,  with  Corin  as  the  Old  Shepherd  to  soothe  him, 
are  types  that  the  Sicilian  Muses  could  not  surpass.  To  the 
end  of  time,  I  suppose,  shepherd  life  will  be  the  traditional 
form  in  which  the  more  elementary  moods  of  the  quiet 
passions  will  be  enshrined,  and  Shakespeare  is  paying  his 
footing  as  a  universal  poet  when  he  makes  the  middle  acts  of 
As  You  Like  It  a  dramatised  idyl. 

Upon  this  accepted  and  most  unmitigated  conventionality  The  three 
the  three  founts  of  humour  in  the  drama   are  continually  humoursin 
playing.     To  draw  out  in  detail  the  resulting  effects  would  be  Wuh  the 

to  turn  into  dull  prose  half  the  play.     Rosalind  is  pitted  Past<>ral 

,  convention- 

mainly  against  the  pastoral  lovers,  and  for  the  soft  and  sleepy  ality. 

tenderness  of  such  love  there  can  be  no  more  wholesome 
tonic  than  the  bright  audacity  and  overwhelming  flood  of 
high  spirits  that  belong  to  our  heroine. 

What  though  you  have  no  beauty, —  iii.  v.  37. 

As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed — 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  ? 

Od's  my  little  life, 

I  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too  1  ... 
I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine: 
Besides,  I  like  you  not. 

Moreover,  Rosalind  in  disguise  is  a  humorous  situation 
embodied ;  and  this  applied  to  the  hopeless  suit  of  Silvius 
draws  out  for  the  spectators  a  lengthened  irony  which  finds  a 
happy  climax  in  reconciled  impossibilities. 

X   2 


308  AS   YOU  LIKE  IT. 

CH.  XV.        Touchstone   also   has   his    fling   at  the    pastoral   lovers. 
When  the  unhappy  Silvius  paints  the  true  idyllic  passion — 

ii.  iv.  34.  If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 

That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou  hast  not  loved — 

the  professional  Fool  seconds  him  with  instances : 

I  remember,  when  I  was  in  love  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone  and 
bid  him  take  that  for  coming  a-night  to  Jane  Smile ;  and  I  remember 
the  kissing  of  her  batlet  and  the  cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty  chopt  hands 
had  milked  .  .  .  We  that  are  true  lovers  run  into  strange  capers ;  but  as 
all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature  in  love  mortal  in  folly. 

Rosalind.     Thou  speakest  wiser  than  thou  art  ware  of. 

Touchstone.  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  ware  of  mine  own  wit  till  I  break 
my  shins  against  it. 

But  Touchstone's  license  roams  more  widely  over  all  the 

denizens  of  the  woodland.  He  woos  the  rustic  Audrey  with 
iii.iii;v.i.  folly,  with  folly  he  frightens  away  his  rival  William;  he 
iii.  ii.  plays  a  match  with  Corin  of  court  folly  against  pastoral  wit, 

and  when  this  model  Shepherd,  getting  the  worse,  falls  back 

upon  his  dignity — 

Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer  :  I  earn  that  I  eat,  get  that  I  wear,  owe  no 
man  hate,  envy  no  man's  happiness,  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content 
with  my  harm,  and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze 
and  my  lambs  suck — 

Touchstone  swoops  upon  this  dyllic  picture  with  a  demon- 
stration in  theology  that  Corin's  occupation  is  a  simple  sin 
involving  him  in  a  parlous  state  : 

If  thou  beest  not  damned  for  this,  the  devil  himself  will  have  no 
shepherds. 

Finally  the  Fool  gets  an  opportunity  for  one  of  his  set 
discourses  on  this  theme  of  the  pastoral  life : 

Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a  good  life ;  but  in  respect 
that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life,  it  is  naught.  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary, 
I  like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile 
life.  Now,  in  respect  it  is  in  the  fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well;  but  in 


PLACE   OF  THE  HUMOUR  IN  THE  ACTION.    309 

respect  it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.     As  it  is  a  spare  life,  look  you,    CH.  XV. 

it  fits  my  humour  well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes       

much  against  my  stomach. 

If  the  conventionalities  of  pastoral  poetry  are  to  be  taken 
literally,  I  do  not  know  that  the  merits  of  that  phase  of 
existence  could  be  more  profoundly  summed  up. 

As  to  the  third  type  of  humour,  I  have  in  describing  it 
indicated  sufficiently  how  the  morbid  melancholy  of  Jaques  is 
turned  upon   every  element  of  the  life  around  him.     But 
when,  by  expansion  of  the  treatment  in  the   earlier  play,  The  three 
three  distinct  humours  have  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  ^^Sct 
conventional,   a   further   effect   is   still    possible — the   three  with  one 
humours  can  be  brought  into  conflict  with  one  another. 

Touchstone  is  the  comrade  and  firm  friend  of  Rosalind 
and  her  set,  and  if  he  chaffs  them,  it  belongs  to  his  office,  and 
they  readily  join  in  the  game.  But  when  the  folly  is  sprung 
upon  them  by  surprise  it  is  possible  for  them  to  be  discon- 
certed. Celia  believes  herself  alone  as  she  comes  reading  the  iii.  ii.  133- 
lover's  verses,  which  endow  her  friend  with  the  '  quintessence 
of  every  sprite ' — 

Helen's  cheek,  but  not  her  heart, 

Cleopatra's  majesty, 
Atalanta's  better  part, 

Sad  Lucretia's  modesty. 

Touchstone l  startles  her  dreaming  away — 

0  most  gentle  pulpiter !    what   tedious  homily  of  love  have  you 
wearied  your  parishioners  withal,  and  never  cried, '  Have  patience,  good 
people ! ' 

Celia.     How  now !  back,  friends  !  Shepherd,  go  off  a  little.    Go  with 
him,  sirrah. 

1  The  editions  give  this  speech  to  Rosalind  (iii.  ii.  163).     But  this 
is  surely  impossible.     Not  only  is  Celia's  reproof  addressed  to  Touch- 
stone, and  he  in  retiring  treats  it  as  such,  but  when  he  is  gone  Celia 
asks  Rosalind,  '  Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? ' — which  would  be  absurd 
if  Rosalind  had  spoken  the  words  of  satire  on  them. 


310  AS   YOU  LIKE  IT. 

CH.  XV.    Celia   is  clearly    'out*  in   this   game   of  wit,   for   she   has 
answered  pettishly ;  Touchstone  feels  he  has  scored : 

Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honourable  retreat ;  though  not  with 
bag  and  baggage,  yet  with  scrip  and  scrippage. 

lii.  ii,  from  A  precisely  similar  encounter  takes  place  with  Rosalind :  but 

93>  though  surprised  she  rallies  to  the  game,  and  puts  the  Fool 

himself  out.     She  is  indulging  in  the  pastoral  to  her  own 

praise— 

From  the  east  to  western  Ind 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 

All  the  pictures  fairest  lined 

Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 

The  Fool  breaks  in,  offering  to  rhyme  her  so  for  eight  years 
together,  dinners  and  suppers  and  sleeping-hours  excepted : 
for  such  false  gallop  of  verses  is  no  more  than  the  right 
butter-woman's  rank  to  market. 

If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 
Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 
If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 
So  be  sure  will  Rosalind. 
Winter  garments  must  be  lined, 
So  must  slender  Rosalind,  &c. 

Our  heroine  is  disconcerted,  but  alert  enough  to  exchange 
thrust  and  cut. 

Rosalind.    Peace,  you  dull  fool !  I  found  them  on  a  tree. 

Touchstone.    Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 

Rosalind.  I  '11  graff  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graff  it  with  a 
medlar :  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit  i'  the  country ;  for  you  '11  be 
rotten  ere  you  be  half  ripe,  and  that 's  the  right  virtue  of  the  medlar. 

For  once  the  professional  Jester  is  unable  to  come  up  to  time, 
and  he  has  no  repartee  ready. 

Touchstone.  You  have  said ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no,  let  the  forest 
judge 


PLACE  OF  THE  HUMOUR  IN  THE  ACTION.    311 

Similarly,  although  Jaques  patronises  Touchstone,  takes    CH.  XV. 

the   Fool   for    his    model    and   his    ambition,    snubs    other      

discourse  in  order  to  draw  out  his  folly,  and  calls  upon  others 
to  enjoy  it,  yet  a  conflict  between  the  morbid  and  the 
professional  humours  is  possible,  when  Touchstone  descends 
so  far  from  the  dignity  of  his  office  as  to  contemplate  the 
step  of  marrying.  Jaques  will  assist  his  protdgd's  insane  act 
by  giving  Audrey  away,  but  must  at  all  events  sneer  at  the 

parson.  iii.iii,from 

72. 

Will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breeding,  be  married  under  a  bush 
like  a  beggar  ?  .  .  .  .  this  fellow  will  but  join  you  together  as  they  join 
wainscot ;  then  one  of  you  will  prove  a  shrank  panel,  and,  like  green 
timber,  warp,  warp. 

Touchstone  is  equal  to  a  reply  in  his  most  professional 
style. 

I  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better  to  be  married  of  him  than  of 
another :  for  he  is  not  like  to  marry  me  well ;  and  not  being  well 
married,  it  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  me  hereafter  to  leave  my  wife. 

Professional  humour  then  has  clashed  with  genuine, 
morbid  with  professional.  The  treatment  is  complete  when 
the  unhealthiness  of  humour  in  Jaques  is  accentuated  by 
his  being  brought  into  contact  with  humour  that  is  sound. 
When  the  man  of  melancholy  crosses  swords  with  the  lover 

Orlando  he  does  not  come  off  victorious.  iii.  ii.from 

268. 

Jaques.     God  be  wi'  you :  let 's  meet  as  little  as  we  can. 

Orlando.     I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaques.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing  love-songs  in 
their  barks. 

Orlando.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with  reading  them 
ill-favouredly. 

Jaques.     Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orlando.     Yes,  just. 

Jaques.     I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orlando.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you  when  she  was 
christened. 

Jaques.     What  stature  is  she  of? 


312  AS  YOV  LIKE  IT. 

CH.  XV.        Orlando.     Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaques.     You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.     Have  you  not  been  ac- 
quainted with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and  conned  them  out  of  rings  ? 

Orlando.  Not  so  ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth,  from  whence 
you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaques  admires  the  nimble  wit,  and  proposes  to  sit  down  and 
rail  in  duet  against '  our  mistress  the  world,  and  all  our  misery/ 
Orlando  takes  up  the  position — unintelligible  to  a  being  like 
Jaques — of  caring  to  rail  at  none  but  himself,  against  whom 
he  knows  most  faults.  Jaques  retires  in  disgust. 

Jaques.     By  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I  found  you. 
Orlando.     He  is  drowned  in  the  brook  :  look  but  in,  and  you  shall 
see  him. 

Jaqties.     There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 
Orlando.     Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool  or  a  cipher. 
Jaques.     I  '11  tarry  no  longer  with  you  :  farewell,  good  Signior  Love. 
Orlando.     I  am  glad   of   your  departure :    adieu,   good  Monsieur 
Melancholy. 

But  the  supreme  touch  of  delineation  for  morbid  humour  is 
given  by  the  mere  contact  of  Jaques  with  the  essence  of  health 
Esp.  iv.  i.  and  brightness  in  the  disguised  Rosalind.     Like  evil  spirits 
nlt*  compelled  by  the  touch  of  Ithuriel's  spear  to  show  themselves 

in  their  true  shapes,  Jaques  seems  drawn  on  by  Rosalind's 
presence  to  call  attention  to  his  peculiar  qualities  with  almost 
infantile  complacency : — how  he  loves  melancholy  more  than 
laughing,  and  thinks  it  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing  (like 
a  post,  Rosalind  interjects),  and  how,  in  detail,  his  melancholy 
has  been  compounded  out  of  the  scholar,  the  musician,  the 
courtier,  and  all  others  he  has  met  on  his  travels.  So  far 
Rosalind  seems  to  have  been  looking  at  him  quietly,  as  a 
curiosity:  in  the  last  sentence  she  finds  the  clue  to  under- 
standing him. 

Rosalind.  A  traveller  !  By  my  faith,  you  have  great  reason  to  be  sad : 
I  fear  you  have  sold  your  own  lands  to  see  other  men's  ;  then,  to  have 
seen  much  and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor  hands. 

Jaques.     Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 


PLACE   OF  .THE  HUMOUR  IN  THE  ACTION.    313 

Rosalind.     And  your  experience  makes  you  sad :  I  had  rather  have  a    CH.  XV. 

fool  to  make  me  merry  than  experience  to  make  me  sad ;  and  to  travel       

for  it  too  ! 

Jaques  appears  suddenly  to  wake  up  to  the  sort  of  impression 
he  is  making  on  the  attractive  youth,  and  he  seizes  the  first 
opportunity  for  retreating  in  disgust,  with  the  woman's  last 
word  following  him  down  the  glade. 


PART  SECOND. 

SURVEY  OF 

DRAMATIC    CRITICISM 

AS  AN   INDUCTIVE  SCIENCE. 


XVI. 
TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

IN  the  Introduction  to  this  book  I  pleaded  that  a  regular  Cn.  XVI. 
inductive  science  of  literary  criticism  was  a  possibility. 
In  the  preceding  fifteen  chapters  I  have  endeavoured  to  exhibit 


such  a  regular  method  at  work  on  the  dramatic  analysis  of  Dramatic 
leading  points  in  Shakespeare's  plays.     The  design  of  the  as  an  in. 

whole  work  will  not   be   complete  without  an  attempt   to  ductive 

science. 
present  our  results  in  complete  form,  in  fact  to  map  out  a 

Science  of  Dramatic  Art.  I  hope  this  may  not  seem  too  pre- 
tentious an  undertaking  in  the  case  of  a  science  yet  in  its 
infancy;  while  it  may  be  useful  at  all  events  to  the  young 
student  to  have  suggested  to  him  a  methodical  treatment  with 
which  he  may  exercise  himself  on  the  literature  he  studies. 
Moreover  the  reproach  against  literary  criticism  is,  not  that 
there  has  not  been  plenty  of  inductive  work  done  in  this  de- 
partment, but  that  the  assertion  of  its  inductive  character  has 
been  lacking;  and  I  believe  a  critic  does  good  service  by 
throwing  his  results  into  a  formal  shape,  however  imperfectly 
he  may  be  able  to  accomplish  his  task.  It  will  be  understood 
that  the  survey  of  Dramatic  Science  is  here  attempted  only 
in  the  merest  outline :  it  is  a  glimpse,  not  a  view,  of  a  new 
science  that  is  proposed.  Not  even  a  survey  would  be  pos- 
sible within  the  limits  of  a  few  short  chapters  except  by  con- 
fining the  matter  introduced  to  that  previously  laid  before  the 
reader  in  a  different  form.  The  leading  features  of  Dramatic 
Art  have  already  been  explained  in  the  application  of  them 
to  particular  plays :  they  are  now  included  in  a  single  view, 


3i8  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH  XVI  so  arranged  that  their  mutual  connection  may  be  seen  to  be 
—  building  up  this  singleness  of  view.  Such  a  survey,  like  a 
microscopic  lens  of  low  power,  must  sacrifice  detail  to  secure 
a  wider  field.  Its  compensating  gain  will  consist  in  what  it 
can  contribute  to  the  orderly  product  of  methodised  enquiry 
which  is  the  essence  of  science,  and  the  interest  in  which 
becomes  associated  with  the  interest  of  curiosity  when  the 
method  has  been  applied  in  a  region  not  usually  acknow- 
ledging its  reign. 

Definition       The  starting-point  in  the  exposition  of  any  science   is 
ofD™-       naturally  its  definition.     But  this  first  step  is  sufficient  to 
As**:  divide  inductive  criticism  from  the  treatment  of  literature 
mostly  in  vogue.     I  have  already  protested  against  the  cnti 
cism  which  starts  with  the  assumption  of  some  '  object    or 
• fundamental  purpose'  in  the  Drama  from  which  to  deduce 
binding  canons.     Such  an  all-embracing  definition,  H 
possible  at  all,  will  come  as  the  final,  not  the  first,  step  of 
investigation.     Inductive  criticism,  on  the  contrary,  will  see 
as  to  its       its  point  of  departure  from  outside.     On  the  one  hand  it  will 
field  and  its  ^^  ^  relation  of  the  matter  which  it  proposes  to  treat 
'       to  other  matter  which  is  the  subject  of  scientific  enquiry ;  on 
the   other  hand  it  will  fix  the  nature  of  the  treatment  ^i 
proposes  to  apply  by  a  reference  to  scientific  method  in 
general      That  is  to  say,  its  definition  will  be  based  upon 
differentiation  of  matter  and  development  in  method. 
Stag***-      To  begin  with  the  latter.     There  are  three  well-marked 
velopment    sta~es  in  the  development  of  sciences.     The  first  consis 
;Ltf"    the  mere  observation  of  the  subject-matter.     The  second  is 
method.       distinguished  by  arrangement  of  observations,  by  analysis  and 
classification.     The  third  stage  reaches  systematisation- 
wider  arrangement  which  satisfies  our  sense  of  explanation, 
or   curiosity  as  to   causes   which   is   the   instinct  specially 
developed  by  scientific  enquiry.     Astronomy  remained  for 
long  ages  in  the  first  stage,  while  it  was  occupied  with 
observation  of  the  heavenly  bodies  and  the  naming  of 


DEFINITION  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.         319 

constellations.     It  would  pass  into  the  second   stage  with  CH.  XVI. 

division  of  labour  and  the  study  of  solar,  lunar,  planetary,  and     

cometary  phenomena  separately.  But  by  such  discoveries  as 
that  of  the  laws  of  motion,  or  of  gravitation,  the  great  mass 
of  astronomical  knowledge  was  bound  together  in  a  system 
which  at  the  same  time  satisfied  the  sense  of  causation,  and 
astronomy  was  fully  developed  as  an  inductive  science.  Or 
to  take  a  more  modern  instance  :  comparative  philology  has 
attained  completeness  in  our  own  day.  Philology  was  in  its 
first  stage  at  the  Renaissance,  when  'learning'  meant  the 
mere  accumulation  of  detailed  knowledge  connected  with  the 
Classical  languages  ;  Grimm's  Law  may  illustrate  the  second 
stage,  a  classification  comprehensive  but  purely  empiric ;  the 
principle  of  phonetic  decay  with  its  allied  recuperative  pro- 
cesses has  struck  a  unity  through  the  laws  of  philology  which 
stamps  it  as  a  full-grown  science.  Applying  this  to  our  Dramatic 
present  subject,  I  do  not  pretend  that  Literary  Criticism  has  ^^in- 
reached  the  third  of  these  three  stages :  but  materials  are  termediatc 
ready  for  giving  it  a  secure  place  in  the  second  stage.  In 
time,  no  doubt,  literary  science  must  be  able  to  explain  the 
modus  operandi  of  literary  production,  and  show  how  different 
classes  of  writing  come  to  produce  their  different  effects. 
But  at  present  such  explanation  belongs  mostly  to  the  region 
of  speculation;  and  before  the  science  of  criticism  is  ripe 
for  this  final  stage  much  work  has  to  be  done  in  the  way  of 
methodising  observation  as  to  literary  matter  and  form. 

Dramatic  Criticism,  then,  is  still  in  the  stage  of  provisional 
arrangement.     Its  exact  position  is  expressed  by  the  technical  or '  topical* 
term  '  topical/     Where  accumulation  of  observations  is  great stage' 
enough  to  necessitate  methodical  arrangement,  yet  progress 
is  insufficient  to  suggest  final  bases  of  arrangement  which 
will  crystallise  the  whole  into  a  system,  science  takes  refuge 
in  '  topics/     These  have  been  aptly  described  as  intellectual 
pigeon-holes — convenient   headings   under   which   materials 
may  be  digested,  with  strict  adherence  to  method,  yet  only  as 


320  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH.  XVI.  a  provisional  arrangement  until  further  progress  shall  bring 

more  stable  organisation.     This  topical  treatment  may  seem 

an  unambitious  stage  in  scientific  advance,  the  goal  and 
reward  of  which  is  insight  into  wide  laws  and  far-reaching 
systematisations.  Still  it  is  a  stage  directly  in  the  line  of  sound 
method  :  and  the  judicious  choice  of  main  and  subordinate 
topics  is  systematisation  in  embryo.  The  present  enquiry 
looks  no  further  than  this  stage  in  its  analysis  of  Dramatic 
Art.  It  endeavours  to  find  convenient  headings  under  which 
to  set  forth  its  observations  of  Shakespeare's  plays.  It  also 
seeks  an  arrangement  of  these  topics  that  will  at  once  cover 
the  field  of  the  subject,  and  also  carry  on  the  face  of  it  such 
an  economy  of  mutual  connection  as  may  make  the  topics, 
what  they  ought  to  be,  a  natural  bridge  between  the  general 
idea  which  the  mind  forms  of  Drama  and  the  realisation  of 
this  idea  in  the  details  of  actual  dramatic  works. 

Continuous  But  the  definition  of  our  subject  involves  further  that  we 
dtwnoftia~  snoulci  measure  out  the  exact  field  within  which  this  method 
scientific  is  to  be  applied.  Science,  like  every  other  product  of  the 
human  mind,  marks  its  progress  by  continuous  differentia- 
tion :  the  perpetual  subdivision  of  the  field  of  enquiry,  the 
rise  of  separate  and  ever  minuter  departments  as  time  goes 
on.  Originally  all  knowledge  was  one  and  undivided.  The 
name  of  Socrates  is  connected  with  a  great  revolution  which 
separated  moral  science  from  physics,  the  study  of  man  from 
the  study  of  nature.  With  Aristotle  and  inductive  method 
the  process  became  rapid :  and  under  his  guidance  ethics,  as 
the  science  of  conduct,  became  distinct  from  mental  science ; 
and  still  further,  political  science,  treating  man  in  his  relations 
with  the  state,  was  distinguished  from  the  more  general 
science  of  conduct.  When  thought  awoke  at  the  Renaissance 
after  the  sleep  of  the  Dark  Ages,  political  science  threw 
off  as  a  distinct  branch  political  economy;  and  by  our  own 
day  particular  branches  of  economy,  finance,  for  example, 
have  practically  become  independent  sciences.  This  charac- 


DEFINITION  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.         321 

teristic   of  science   in  general,   the    perpetual   tendency  to  CH.  XVI. 

separate  more  confined  from  more  general  lines  of  investi- 

.,,          ,     .  .   .     ,  ,    Dramatic 

gation,  will  apply  in  an  especial  degree  to  literature,  which  Criticism 

covers  so  wide  an  area  of  the  mind  and  is  the  meeting-  branches  off 

.     ,  on  the  one 

ground  of  so  many  separate  interests.     Thus  Shakespeare  is  side  from 

a  poet,  and  his  works  afford  a  field  for  considering  poetry  in  the.  wide>' 
general,  both  as  a  mode  of  thought  and  a  mode  of  expression.  Criticism  : 
Again,  no  writer  could  go  so  deeply  into  human  nature  as 
Shakespeare  has  done  without  betraying  his  philosophy  and 
moral  system.  Once  more,  Shakespeare  must  afford  a  speci- 
men of  literary  tendencies  in  general,  and  that  particular 
modification  of  them  we  call  Elizabethan;  besides  that 
the  language  which  is  the  vehicle  of  this  literature  has  an 
interest  of  its  own  over  and  above  that  of  the  thought  which 
it  conveys.  All  this  and  more  belongs  properly  to  '  Shake- 
speare-Criticism ' :  but  from  Literary  Criticism  as  a  whole  a 
branch  is  being  gradually  differentiated,  Dramatic  Criticism, 
and  its  province  is  to  deal  with  the  question,  how  much  of 
the  total  effect  of  Shakespeare's  works  arises  from  the  fact  of 
his  ideas  being  conveyed  to  us  in  the  form  of  dramas,  and 
not  of  lyric  or  epic  poems,  of  essays  or  moral  and  philoso- 
phical treatises.  It  is  with  this  branch  alone  that  the  present 
enquiry  is  concerned. 

But  more  than  this  goes  to  the  definition  of  Dramatic  on  the 
Criticism.     Drama    is  not,  like  Epic,  merely  a  branch  offrom  tfie 
literature  :  it  is  a  compound  art.     The  literary  works  which  allied  art 
in  ordinary  speech  we  call  dramas,  are  in  strictness  only  %e$r/f 
potential  dramas  waiting  for  their  realisation  on  the  stage,  smtation. 
And  this  stage-representation  is  not  a  mere  accessory  of' 
literature,  but  is  an  independent  art,  having  a  field  where 
literature  has  no  place,  in  dumb  show,  in  pantomime,  in 
mimicry,  and  in  the  lost  art  of  Greek  '  dancing.' 

The  question  arises  then,  what  is  to  be  the  relation  of  Dra- 
matic Criticism  to  the  companion  art  of  Stage-Representation  ? 
Aristotle,  the  father  of  Dramatic  Criticism,  made  Stage-Repre- 

Y 


322  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH.  XVI.  sentation  one  of  the  departments  of  the  science ;  but  we  shall 

be  only  following  the  law  of  differentiation  if  we  separate  the 

two.  This  is  especially  appropriate  in  the  case  of  the  Shake- 
spearean Drama.  The  Puritan  Revolution,  which  has  played 
such  a  part  in  its  history,  was  in  effect  an  attack  rather  on 
the  Theatre  than  on  the  Drama  itself.  No  doubt  when  the 
movement  became  violent  the  two  were  not  discriminated, 
and  the  Drama  was  made  a  '  vanity '  as  well  as  the  Stage. 
Still  the  one  interest  was  never  so  thoroughly  dropped  by  the 
nation  and  was  more  readily  taken  up  again  than  the  other ; 
so  that  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Stage  our  continuity  with 
the  Elizabethan  age  has  been  severed,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  literary  Drama  it  has  not.  The  Shakespearean  Drama 
has  made  a  field  for  itself  as  a  branch  of  literature  quite 
apart  from  the  Stage;  and,  however  we  may  regret  the 
severance  and  look  forward  to  a  completer  appreciation  of 
Shakespeare,  yet  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  at  the  present 
moment  as  earnest  and  comprehensive  an  interest  in  our 
great  dramatist  is  to  be  found  in  the  study  as  in  the 
theatre. 

Dramatic  Criticism,  then,  is  to  be  separated,  on  the  one 

side,  from  the  wider  Literary  Criticism  which  must  include  a 

review  of  language,  ethics,  philosophy,  and  general  art ;  and, 

on  the  other  hand,  from  the  companion  art  of  Stage-Repre- 

Dramaand  sentation.     But  here  caution  is  required :    it  may  be  con- 

sentatwn     venient  to  make  Literary  Drama  and  Stage-Representation 

separate  in  separate  branches  of  enquiry,  it  is  totally  inadmissible  and 

wtt'u  Select,  highly  misleading  to  divorce  the  two  in  idea.     The  literary 

play  must  be  throughout  read  relatively  to  its  representation. 

In  actual  practice  the  separation  of  the  two  has  produced 

the   greatest   obstacles  in  the  way  of  sound  appreciation. 

Amongst  ordinary  readers  of  Shakespeare,  Character-Interest, 

which  is  largely  independent  of  performance,  has  swallowed 

up  all  other  interests;  and  most  of  the  effects  which  depend 

upon  the  connection  anfl  relative  force  of  incidents,  and  on 


DEFINITION  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.         323 

the  compression  of  the  details  into  a  given  space,  have  been  CH.  XVI. 
completely  lost.  Shakespeare  is  popularly  regarded  as  su- 
preme in  the  painting  of  human  nature,  but  careless  in  the 
construction  of  Plot :  and,  worst  of  all,  Plot  itself,  which  it 
has  been  the  mission  of  the  English  Drama  to  elevate  into 
the  position  of  the  most  intellectual  of  all  elements  in  literary 
effect,  has  become  degraded  in  conception  to  the  level  of 
a  mere  juggler's  mystery.  It  must  then  be  laid  down 
distinctly  at  the  outset  of  the  present  enquiry  that  the  Drama- 
is  to  be  considered  throughout  relatively  to  its  acting.  Much 
of  dramatic  effect  that  is  special  to  Stage- Representation  will 
be  here  ignored :  the  whole  mechanism  of  elocution,  effects 
of  light,  colour  and  costume,  the  greater  portion  of  what 
constitutes  mise-en- scene.  But  in  dealing  with  any  play  the 
fullest  scope  is  assumed  for  ideal  acting.  The  interpretation 
of  a  character  must  include  what  an  actor  can  put  into  it ;  in 
dealing  with  effects  regard  must  be  had  to  surroundings 
which  a  reader  might  easily  overlook,  but  which  would  be 
present  to  the  eye  of  a  spectator ;  and  no  conception  of  the 
movement  of  a  drama  will  be  adequate  which  has  not 
appreciated  the  rapid  sequence  of  incidents  that  crowds  the 
crisis  of  a  life-time  or  a  national  revolution  into  two  or  three 
hours  of  actual  time.  The  relation  of  Drama  to  its  acting 
will  be  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Music  to  its  performance, 
the  two  being  perfectly  separable  in  their  exposition,  but 
never  disunited  in  idea. 


Dramatic  Art,  then,  as  thus  denned,  is  to  be  the  field  of  Funda- 

.         ,         ,.  i  mental  di- 

our  enquiry,  and  its  method  is  to  be  the  discovery  and  vision  ^ 

arrangement  of  topics,    ^or  a  fundamental  basis  of  such  Dramatic 
analysis  \ve  shall  naturally  look  to  the  other  arts.     Now  all  ^  "£'" 

the  arts  a«ree  in  being  the  union  of  two  elements,  abstract  man  Inter - 

,       ,  ,         est  and  Ac- 

and  concrete.     Music  takes  sensuous  sounds,  and  adds  a  tioHt 
purely  abstract  element  by  disposing  these  sounds  in  har- 

Y    2 


324  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH.  XVI.  monies  and  melodies ;  architecture  applies  abstract  design 
to  a  concrete  medium  of  stone  and  wood;  painting  gives 
us  objects  of  real  life  arranged  in  abstract  groupings;  in 
dancing  we  have  moving  figures  confined  in  artistic  bonds  of 
rhythm ;  sculpture  traces  in  still  figures  ideas  of  shape  and 
attitude.  So  Drama  has  its  two  elements  of  Human  Interest 
and  Action :  on  the  one  hand  life  'presented  in  action* — so  the 
word  'Drama'  may  be  translated;  on  the  other  hand  the 
action  itself,  that  is,  the  concurrence  of  all  that  is  presented 
in  an  abstract  unity  of  design.  The  two  fundamental 
divisions  of  dramatic  interest,  and  consequently  the  two 
fundamental  divisions  of  Dramatic  Criticism,  will  thus  be 
Human  Interest  and  Action.  But  each  of  these  has  its 
different  sides,  the  distinction  of  which  is  essential  before  we 
can  arrive  at  an  arrangement  of  topics  that  will  be  of  practical 
Twofold  value  in  the  methodisation  of  criticism.  The  interest  of  the 
Human  ^e  Presented  is  twofold.  There  is  our  interest  in  the  separate 
interest.  personages  who  enter  into  it,  as  so  many  varieties  of  the  genus 
homo :  this  is  Interest  of  Character.  There  is  again  our  in- 
terest in  the  experience  these  personages  are  made  to  undergo, 
their  conduct  and  fate  :  technically,  Interest  of  Passion. 

TT  (  Character. 

Human  Interest  \  _. 

\  Passion. 

Threefold  It  is  the  same  with  the  other  fundamental  element  of  art,  the 
Action!  working  together  of  all  the  details  so  as  to  leave  an  impres- 
sion of  unity :  while  in  practice  the  sense  of  this  unity,  say 
in  a  piece  of  music  or  a  play,  is  one  of  the  simplest  of 
instincts,  yet  upon  analysis  it  is  seen  to  imply  three  separate 
mental  impressions.  The  mind,  it  implies,  must  be  conscious 
of  a  unity.  It  must  also  be  conscious  of  a  complexity  of 
details  without  which  the  unity  could  not  be  perceptible. 
But  the  mere  perception  of  unity  and  of  complexity  would 
not  give  the  art-pleasure  it  does  give  unless  the  unity  were 
seen  to  be  developed  out  of  the  complexity,  and  this  brings  in 
a  third  idea  of  progress  and  gradual  movement. 


ELEMENTS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.          325 


(  Unity.  CH.  XVI. 

Action  <  Complexity.  

(  Development,  Succession,  Movement. 

Now  if  we  apply  the  threefold  idea  involved  in  Action  to  the  Applica- 
twofold  idea  involved  in  Human  Interest  we  shall  get  the  Jj^jQ/' 
natural   divisions   of   dramatic   analysis.      One   element   of  division  of 
Human  Interest  was  Character :  looking  at  this  in  the  three-  ^f^J^ 
fold  aspect  which  is  given  to  it  when  it  is  connected  with  division  of 
Action  we  shall  have  to  notice  the  interest  of  single  charac-  /J^^/ 
ters,  or  Character- Interpretation^  the  more  complex  interest 
of  Character-Contrast,  and  in  the  third  place  Character-De- 
velopment.    Applying  a  similar  treatment  to  the  other  side 
of  Human  Interest,  Passion,  we  shall  review  single  elements  of 
Passion,  that  is  to  say,  Incidents  and  Effects ;    the  mixture 
of  various  passions  to  express  which  the  term  Passion-Tones 
will  be  used;  and  again  the  succession  of  these,  or  Tone- 
Movement.     But  Action  has  an  interest  of  its  own,  considered 
in  the  abstract  and  as  separate  from  Human  Interest.     This 
is  Plot]  and  it  will  lend  itself  to  the  same  triple  treatment, 
falling  into  the  natural  divisions  of  Single  Action,  Complex 
Action,    and   that   development   of  Plot   which   constitutes 
dramatic  Movement  in  the  most  important  sense.     At  this 
point  it  is  possible  only  to  name  these  leading  topics  of 
Dramatic    Criticism :    to  explain   each,  and  to  trace  them 
further  into  their  lesser  ramifications,  will  be  the  work  of  the 
remaining  three  chapters. 

Single  Character-Interest,  or         Ele- 

Character- Interpretation.          mentary 
Complex  Character- Interest,  or     Topics  of 
Character-  Contrast.  Dramatic 

Character- Development.  Criticism. 

I  Single  Passion-Interest,  or 

I      Incident  and  Effect. 

<  Complex   Passion-Interest,    or 

\      Passion-  Tone. 

I  Tone-Movement. 


The  Literary 
Drama 


Character 


Passion 


Plot  (or  Pure 
Action) 


{Single  Action. 
Complex  Action. 
Plot-  Movement. 


326  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH.  XVI.       These  are  the  topics  of  Dramatic  Criticism  strictly  so-called, 

resting  on  the  fundamental  conception  of  it  as  a  branch  of 

science.  Before  passing  on  to  the  general  exposition  of 
them  in  the  chapters  that  follow,  it  is  right  to  notice  that 
there  are  other  topics  belonging  to  the  Drama  in  common 
with  other  branches  of  art,  though  varying  in  part  with  the 
Mechanical  varieties  of  medium  in  which  they  are  applied.  These  may 

Construe-    ^e  ciasseci  under  the  general  term  Mechanical  Construction : 
tion  com- 
mon to        they  are  dependent,  not  on  anything  special  to  Drama,  but 

Drama  and  UpOn  our  general  interest  in  art,  and  in  the  operations  of  the 

dramatist  considered  as  a  workman.     Examples  of  these 

topics   have   been   fully  discussed  in  various    parts   of  the 

studies   that    have  preceded:  a   brief  enumeration  will  be 

Reduction    sufficient  here.     One  of  them  is  the  Reduction  of  Difficulties 

ofDtfficul-  m  tne  construction  of  a  story  and  the  presentation  of  its 

page  58.      matter.     Specially  prominent  amongst  devices  used  for  this 

page  246,    purpose    are    Rationalisation   and   Derationalisation :    both 

&c-  illustrated  in  The  Tempest,  where  the  standing  difficulty  of 

realising  the  supernatural  is  met  by  at  once  deralionalising 

the   surroundings  in  which  the  enchantment  is  to  appear, 

and   rationalising   the   supernatural   element  itself.     Again, 

the  sense  of  economy,  which  in  so  many  ways  enters  into 

Construe-    dramatic  art,  is  gratified  in  Constructive  Economy,  by  which 

tive  Econo-  personages  and  details  introduced  for  mechanical  purposes, 

that  is  to  assist  other  effects,  are  also  utilised  for  effects  of 

pages  75,    their  own.     This  has  been  fully  illustrated  in  The  Merchant 

of  Venice  \  in  The  Tempest  it  has  been  further  shown  how 

such  personages  can  be  faintly  affected  by  the  movement 

of  the  play,  and  assist,  though  with  a  slightness  proportioned 

to   their   mechanical    character,    in   reflecting    the    central 

General       idea.     Besides   these,    any   Constructive  Processes  may   be 

Construe-    enrolled  amongst  the  topics  of  Dramatic  Art,  if  they  are 
live  Pro- 
cesses,         prominent  enough  to  present  an  interest  in  themselves,  apart 

from  their  bearing  on  the  drift  of  the  play.     Such  a  Con- 
pnge  247.    structive  Process  is  the  maintenance  throughout  The  Tempest 


ELEMENTS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.          327 

of  a  Dramatic  Background  of  nature  artistically  in  harmony  CH.  XVI. 

with  the  enchantment  of  the  play l.     Previous  studies  have     

also  noticed  the  Dramatic  Hedging,  by  which  unpleasant  pages  60, 
elements  in  the  characters  of  Shylock  and  Brutus  are  met  ^  ' 
by  another  treatment  bringing  out  peculiarities  in  the  position 
of  these  personages  which  restores  them  to  our  sympathy. 
As  a  third  example  of  Constructive  Processes  may  be  men- 
tioned Preparation-,  by  this  the  final  effect  to  which  a  whole  page  270 
play  is  leading  up  is  anticipated  in  a  modified  form  at  an 
early  stage  of  the  action  ;  as  when  the  grand  example  of 
providential  control  in  Prospero's  treatment  of  his  human 
friends  and  foes  is,  so  to  speak,  rehearsed  in  the  deliverance 
of  Ariel  and  the  judgment  on  Caliban. 

In  general  literary  history  Conventionalities  of  Construction  Construe- 
have  played  a  great  part, — arbitrary  limitations  prescribed  j^//JJT 
by  literary  fashion  as  problems  of  construction,  chiefly  inter-  alities. 
esting  as  feats  of  skill,  like  that  of  a  violinist  playing  upon 
one    string.     An   example    of  such    conventionality   is   the  PaSe  269- 
Scenic  Unities  of  Place  and  Time,  discussed  in  the  review 
of  The  Tempest.     By  the  Unity  of  Place,  the  arrangement 
of  the  story  is  so  limited  that  the  scene  shall  always  suggest 
itself  as  the  same — though  (as  in  the  case  of  the  enchanted 
island)    different   parts    of  this  uniform  scene  may  be  ex- 
hibited in  the  various  scenes.     By  the  Unity  of  Time  the 
story  is  so  arranged  as  not  to  require  any  intervals  to  be 
supposed  between  consecutive  scenes,  the  duration  of  the 
action  being,  roughly,  the  same  as  the  duration  of  the  per- 
formance.    The  time  taken  up  by  the  course  of  events  in 
The  Tempest  is,  in  so  many  words,  limited  to  six  hours ;  and  i.  ii. 
the    suggestion   is   that  Prospero  concludes  his  scheme  at 
Ariel's  intercession  earlier  than  he  intended.     Such  unities  v.  i.  20. 
seem  peculiarly  suitable  to  a  story  of  enchantment,  as  har- 

1  This  should  be  distinguished  from  the  case  of  Dramatic  Back- 
ground of  nature  in  Julius  Casar  (above,  p.  192),  which  changes  with  the 
movement  of  the  play,  and  is  thus  a  dramatic  motive  (below,  p.  393). 


328  TOPICS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. 

CH.  XVI.  monising  with   the   circumscribed   area  and  duration  of  a 

magician's  power.     In  the  case  of  The  Tempest,  as  is  usual 

with  classical  plays,  the  observation  of  these  unities  carries 

with  it  Unity  Devices,  such  as  the  presentation  of  Prosperous 

story,  and  other  important  incidents  anterior  to  the  opening 

of  the  play,  by  means  of  narrative,  or  narrative  dialogue. 

Construe-        But  the  interest  of  Mechanical  Construction  which  stands 

tive  Unity.  QUt  frQm  ajj  Q^QTS  js  wnere  the  dramatist  suggests  to  our 

sense  of  analysis  a  grasp  of  the  unity  which  binds  together 
his  work  into  a  single  whole.  That  a  play  should  impress 
itself  upon  our  minds  as  a  unity  is  only  another  way  of 
saying  that  it  is  a  work  of  art :  it  is  a  different  thing  when 
this  impression  of  unity  seems  to  be  analysable,  and  can  be, 

Dramatic  wholly  or  partially,  formulated  in  words.  The  term  Dramatic 
o  ourmg.  C0iouring  may  be  used  where  some  unity  of  impression 
extends  to  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  whole  mass  of  matter 
in  a  play  as  to  give  it  a  distinctive  and  recognisable  indi- 
viduality. It  has  been  argued  above  that  The  Tempest  is 
thus  coloured  with  enchantment ;  and  the  passion  of  Jealousy 
has  a  similar  prominence  in  Othello.  It  has  been  often 
remarked  how  the  play  of  Macbeth  is  coloured  by  the  super- 
stition and  violence  of  the  Dark  Ages.  The  world  of  this 
drama  seems  given  over  to  the  powers  of  darkness  who  can 
read,  if  not  mould,  destiny ;  witchcraft  appears  as  an  instru- 
ment of  crime  and  ghostly  agency  of  punishment.  We  have 
rebellion  without  any  suggestion  of  cause  to  ennoble  it,  ter- 
minated by  executions  without  the  pomp  of  justice  ;  we  have 
a  long  reign  of  terror  in  which  massacre  is  a  measure  of  daily 
administration  and  murder  is  a  profession.  With  all  this 
there  is  a  total  absence  of  relief  in  any  picture  of  settled 
life :  there  is  no  rallying-point  for  order  and  purity.  The 
very  agent  of  retribution  gets  the  impulse  to  his  task  in  a 

compare      reaction  from  a  shock  of  bereavement  that  has  come  down 

and  iv  \\.   uPon  k*m  as  a  natural  punishment  for  an  act  of  indecisive 

1-22.          folly. 


ELEMENTS  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM.          329 

Such  Dramatic  Colouring  is,  however,  a  thing  of  general  CH.  XVI. 
impression ;  there  is  a  constructive  unity  going  beyond  this  - 
in  the  Central  Idea,  which  will  bear  the  test  of  the  fullest 
analysis  as  to  its  connection  with  the  whole  matter  of  a 
drama,  characterisation,  passion,  and  plot  being  all  duly 
related  to  it.  I  am  chiefly  concerned  to  maintain  that  the 
theory  of  Central  Ideas  is  a  matter  which  admits  of  accurate 
examination,  and  to  urge  that  the  term  should  not  be  lightly 
used.  A  Central  Idea,  to  be  worthy  of  the  name,  should  be 
shown  to  embrace  all  the  details  of  the  play,  it  must  be 
sufficiently  distinctive  to  exclude  other  plays,  while  the 
distribution  of  the  separate  parts  of  the  play  should  appear 
to  agree  with  their  direct  or  indirect  bearing  on  this  central 
and  fundamental  notion.  I  have  in  previous  chapters  sug- 
gested, with  detailed  justification,  such  Central  Ideas  for  The 
Tempest  and  for  Love's  Labour 's  Lost. 

It  is  obvious  that  these  last  two  topics,  Dramatic  Colouring 
and  Central  Ideas,  are  closely  connected  with  one  another. 
Their  mutual  relation  is  well  illustrated  by  the  fact,  noted 
above,  that  the  Central  Idea  claimed  for  Love's  Labour 's  Lost 
— namely,  the  conflict  of  humour  with  the  conventional — 
is  also  found  to  colour  large  parts  of  As  You  Like  It,  in  the 
central  scenes  of  which  the  traditional  conventionality  of 
Pastoral  Life  is  being  played  upon  by  three  different  types 
of  humour  in  succession. 

/Reduction  of  Difficulties :  especially,  Rationalisation 
and  Derationalisation. 


Mechanical 


Constructive    Economy :     utilisation    of   mechanical 

personages  and  details. 
Constructive  Processes :  Dramatic  Background,  Dra- 


Construclion    \      mafic  Hedging,  Preparation. 

|  Constructive  Conventionalities  :  especially,  the  Scenic 
Unities  of  Place  and  Time. 

Constructive    Unity :    Dramatic    Colouring,    Central 
Ideas. 


XVII. 


CH.  XVII. 

—  - 

plied'  t?' 
Character: 


tation. 


Interprc- 

*t?ie°tta!nre 

of  an  hypo- 


INTEREST  OF  CHARACTER. 

OF  the  main  divisions  of  dramatic  interest  Character 
stands  first  for  consideration  :  and  we  are  to  view  it 
under  the  three  aspects  of  unity,  complexity,  and  movement. 
The  application  of  the  idea  unity  to  the  idea  character  sug- 
gests at  once  our  interest  in  single  personages.  This  in- 
terest becomes  more  defined  when  we  take  into  account  the 
medium  through  which  the  personages  are  presented  to  us : 
characters  in  Drama  are  not  brought  out  by  abstract  dis- 
cussion or  description,  but  are  presented  to  us  concretely, 
self-pourtrayed  by  their  own  actions  without  the  assistance 
of  comments  from  the  author. 

Accordingly,  the  leading  interest  of  character  is  Interpre- 
tation, the  mental  process  of  turning  from  the  concrete  to 
the  abstract :  out  of  the  most  diverse  details  of  conduct  and 
impression  Interpretation  extracts  a  unity  of  conception 
which  we  call  a  character.  Interpretation  when  scien- 
tifically handled  must  be,  we  have  seen,  of  the  nature  of  an 
hypothesis,  the  value  of  which  depends  upon  the  degree  in 
which  it  explains  whatever  details  have  any  bearing  upon 
the  character.  Such  an  hypothesis  may  be  a  simple 
idea:  and  we  have  seen  at  length  how  the  whole  por- 
traiture of  Richard  precipitates  into  the  notion  of  Ideal 
Villainy,  ideal  on  the  subjective  side  in  an  artist  who 
follows  crime  for  its  own  sake,  and  on  the  objective  side  in 
a  success  that  works  by  fascination.  But  the  student  must 
beware  of  the  temptation  to  grasp  at  epigrammatic  labels  as 


CHAR  A  CTER-INTERPRE  TA  TION.  3  3 1 

sufficient  solutions  of  character.     In  the  great  majority  of  CH.  XVII. 

cases  Interpretation  can  become  complete  only  by  recog-     

nising  and  harmonising  various  and  even  conflicting  ele- 
ments;  .and  a  practical  illustration  of  this  principle  has 
been  given  above  in  an  elaborate  discussion  of  the  difficult 
character  of  Jaques  in  As  You  Like  It. 

Incidentally  we  have  noticed  some  of  the  principles  govern-  Canons  of 
ing  careful  Interpretation.     One  of  these  principles  is  that  it  Inte.rPre- 

tatwn. 

must  take  into  consideration  all  that  is  presented  of  a  per-  //  must  be 
sonage.  It  is  unscientific  on  the  face  of  it  to  say  (as  is  exhaustlve- 
repeatedly  said)  that  Shakespeare  is  '  inconsistent '  in  ascrib- 
ing deep  musical  sympathies  to  so  thin  a  character  as 
Lorenzo.  Such  allegation  of  inconsistency  means  that  the 
process  of  Interpretation  is  unfinished;  it  can  be  paralleled 
only  by  the  astronomer  who  should  complain  of  eclipses  as 
'  inconsistent '  with  his  view  of  the  moon's  movements.  In 
the  particular  case  we  found  no  difficulty  in  harmonising  the 
apparent  conflict:  the  details  of  Lorenzo's  portraiture  fit 
in  well  with  the  not  uncommon  type  of  nature  that  is  so 
deeply  touched  by  art  sensibilities  as  to  have  a  languid  in- 
terest in  life  outside  art.  Again :  Interpretation  must  look 
for  indirect  evidence  of  character,  such  as  the  impression  a  Itmtisttake 
personage  seems  to  have  made  on  other  personages  in  the 
story,  or  the  effect  of  action  outside  the  field  of  view.  It 
is  impatient  induction  to  pronounce  Bassanio  unworthy  of 
Portia  merely  from  comparison  of  the  parts  played  by  the 
two  in  the  drama  itself.  It  happens  from  the  nature  of  the 
story  that  the  incidents  actually  represented  in  the  drama 
are  such  as  always  display  Bassanio  in  an  exceptional  and 
dependent  position ;  but  we  have  an  opportunity  of  getting 
to  the  other  side  of  our  hero's  character  by  observing  the 
attitude  held  to  him  by  others  in  the  play,  an  attitude 
founded  not  on  the  incidents  of  the  drama  alone,  but  upon 
the  sum  total  of  his  life  and  behaviour  in  the  Venetian 
world.  This  gives  a  very  different  impression  ;  and  when  we 


332  INTEREST  OF  CHARACTER. 

CH.  XVII.  take  into  consideration  the  force  with  which  his  personality 

sways  all  who  approach  him,  from  the  strong  Antonio  and 

the  intellectual  Lorenzo  to  giddy  Gratiano   and  the   rough 

common  sense  of  Launcelot,  then  the  character  comes  out 

in  its  proper  scale.     As  a  third  principle,  it  is  perhaps  too 

and  the  de-  obvious  to  be  worth  formulating   that  Interpretation  must 

g-whichthe    a^ow  ^or  tne  degree  to  which  the  character  is  displayed  by 

character  is  the  action:  that  Brutus's  frigid  eloquence  at  the  funeral  of 

displayed.    £^.^  means  not  coldness  of  feeling  but  stoicism  of  public 

Interpre-     demeanour.     It  is   a  less   obvious  principle  that  the  very 

^actin^on     Details  which  are  to  be  unified  into  a  conception  of  cha- 

the  details,  racter  may  have  a  different  complexion  given  to  them  when 

they  are  looked  at  in  the  light  of  the  whole.     It  has  been 

noticed  how  Richard  seems  to  manifest  in  some  scenes  a 

slovenliness  of  intrigue  that  might  be  a  stumbling-block  to 

the  general  impression  of  his  character.     But  when  in  our 

view  of  him  as  a  whole  we  see  what  a  large  part  is  played 

by  the  invincibility  that  is  stamped  on  his  very  demeanour, 

it  becomes  clear  how  this  slovenliness  can  be  interpreted  by 

the  analyst,  and  represented  by  the  actor,  not  as  a  defect 

of  power,  but  as   a  trick  of  bearing  which  measures  his 

own  sense  of  his  irresistibility.     Principles  like  these  flow 

naturally  from  the  fundamental  idea  of  character  and  its  unity. 

Their  practical  use  however  will  be  mainly  that  of  tests  for 

suggested  interpretations :  to  the  actual  reading  of  character 

in  Drama,  as  in  real  life,  the  safest  guide  is  sympathetic 

insight. 


Complexity      The  second  element  underlying  all  dramatic  effect  was 

^Character    complexity ;   when  complexity  is  applied    to  Character  we 

get  Character-Contrast.     In  its  lowest  degree  this  appears  in 

Character-  the  form  of  Character-Foils :  by  the  side  of  some  prominent 

character  is  placed  another  of  less  force  and  interest  but  cast 

in  the  same  mould,  or  perhaps  moulded  by  the  influence  of 


CHARACTER-CONTRAST.  333 

its  principal,  just  as  by  the  side  of  a  lofty  mountain  are  CH.  XVII. 
often  to  be  seen  smaller  hills  of  the  same  formation.  Thus 
beside  Portia  is  placed  Nerissa,  beside  Bassanio  Gratiano, 
beside  Shylock  Tubal;  Richard's  villainy  stands  out  by 
comparison  with  Buckingham,  Hastings,  Tyrrel,  Catesby, 
any  one  of  whom  would  have  given  blackness  enough  to  an 
ordinary  drama.  It  is  quite  possible  that  minute  examina- 
tion may  find  differences  between  such  companion  figures : 
but  the  general  effect  of  the  combination  is  that  the  lesser 
serves  as  foil  to  throw  up  the  scale  on  which  the  other  is 
framed.  The  more  pronounced  effects  of  Character-Con- 
trast depend  upon  differences  of  kind  as  distinguished  from 
differences  of  degree.  In  this  form  it  is  clear  how  Cha- 
racter-Contrast is  only  an  extension  of  Character-Interpre-  Character- 
tation :  it  implies  that  some  single  conception  explains  (that  ContrasL 
is,  gives  unity  to)  the  actions  of  more  than  one  person.  A 
whole  chapter  has  been  devoted  to  bringing  out  such  con- 
trast in  the  case  of  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth:  to  accept 
these  as  types  of  the  practical  and  inner  life,  cast  in  such  an 
age  and  involved  in  such  an  undertaking,  furnishes  a  con- 
ception sufficient  to  make  clear  and  intelligible  all  that  the 
two  say  and  do  in  the  scenes  of  the  drama.  Character-  DupUca- 
Contrast  is  especially  common  amongst  the  minor  figures  of 
a  Shakespearean  drama.  In  the  case  of  personages  demanded 
by  the  necessities  of  the  story  rather  than  introduced  for 
their  own  sake  Shakespeare  has  a  tendency  to  double  the 
number  of  such  characters  for  the  sake  of  getting  effects  of 
contrast.  We  have  two  unsuccessful  suitors  in  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  bringing  out,  the  one  the  unconscious  pride  of 
royal  birth,  the  other  the  pride  of  intense  self-consciousness  ; 
two  wicked  daughters  of  Lear,  Goneril  with  no  shading  in 
her  harshness,  Regan  who  is  in  reality  a  degree  more  calcu- 
lating in  her  cruelty  than  her  sister,  but  conceals  it  under  a 
charm  of  manner,  'eyes  that  comfort  and  not  burn/  Of 
the  two  princes  in  Richard  III  the  one  has  a  gravity  iii.  i. 


334  INTEREST  OF  CHARACTER. 

CH.  XVII.  beyond  his  years,  while  York  overflows  with  not  ungraceful 
pertness.  Especially  interesting  are  the  two  murderers  in 
that  play.  The  first  is  a  dull,  '  strong-framed '  man,  without 

i.  iv,  from  any  better  nature.  The  second  has  had  culture,  and  been 
accustomed  to  reflect ;  his  better  nature  has  been  vanquished 
by  love  of  greed,  and  now  asserts  itself  to  prevent  his 
sinning  with  equanimity.  It  is  the  second  murderer  whose 

no-  conscience  is  set  in  activity  by  the  word  'judgment';  and  he 

124-157.  discourses  on  conscience,  deeply,  yet  not  without  humour,  as 
he  recognises  the  power  of  the  expected  reward  over  the  oft- 
vanquished  compunctions.  He  catches,  as  a  thoughtful 

167.  man,  the  irony  of  the  duke's  cry  for  wine  when  they  are 

about  to  drown  him  in  the  butt  of  malmsey.     Again,  instead 

J65-  of  hurrying  to  the  deed  while  Clarence  is  waking  he  cannot 

resist  the  temptation  to  argue  with  him,  and  so,  as  a  man 

263.  open   to   argument,  he   feels   the    force  of  Clarence's  un- 

expected suggestion : 

He  that  set  you  on 
To  do  this  deed  will  hate  you  for  the  deed. 

Thus  he  exhibits  the  weakness  of  all  thinking  men  in  a 
moment  of  action,  the  capacity  to  see  two  sides  of  a 
question;  and,  trying  at  the  critical  moment  to  alter  his 

284.  course,  he  ends  by  losing  the  reward  of  crime  without 

escaping  the  guilt. 

Character-  Character -Contrast  is  carried  forward  into  Character- 
onptng.  Qrouping  when  the  field  is  still  further  enlarged,  and  a  single 
conception  is  found  to  give  unity  to  more  than  two  person- 
ages of  a  drama.  A  chapter  has  been  devoted  to  showing 
how  the  same  antithesis  of  outer  and  inner  life  which 
made  the  conception  of  Macbeth  and  his  wife  intelligible 
would  serve,  when  adapted  to  the  widely  different  world  of 
Roman  political  life,  to  explain  the  characters  of  the  leading 
conspirators  in  Julius  Cccsar,  of  their  victim  and  of  his 
avenger  :  while,  over  and  above  the  satisfaction  of  Interpret- 
ation, the  Grouping  of  these  four  figures,  so  colossal  and  so 


CHARACTER-GROUPING.  335 

impressive,  round  a  single  idea  is  an  interest  in  itself.  It  CH.  XVII. 
has  been  shown,  again,  how  the  principal  personages  in 
Othello  can  be  grouped  about  the  idea  of  Suspicious  Jealousy. 
In  Loves  Labour 's  Lost  the  underplot  is  made  up  of  two 
Character  Groups:  one,  coloured  by  Euphuism,  centering 
around  Armado,  while  the  other  centers  round  Holofernes 
and  is  distinguished  by  Pedantry. 

There  are,  then,  two  distinct  effects  that  arise  when  com- 
plexity enters  into  Character-Interest.  The  complexity  is 
one  never  separable  from  the  unity  which  binds  it  together : 
in  the  first  effect  the  diversity  is  stronger  than  the  unity,  and 
the  whole  manifests  itself  as  Character-Contrast ;  in  Character- 
Grouping  the  contrast  of  the  separate  figures  is  an  equal 
element  with  the  unity  which  binds  them  all  into  a  group. 


When  to  Character-Interpretation,  the  formation  of  a  Movement 
single  conception  out  of  a  multitude  of  concrete  details,  the  Character: 
further  idea  of  growth  and  progress  is  added,  we  get  the  Character- 
third  variety  of  Character-Interest — Character-Development.  me™ 
In  the  preceding  chapters  this  has  received  only  negative 
notice,  its  absence  being  a  salient  feature  in  the  portraiture 
of  Richard.  For  a  positive  illustration  no  better  example 
could  be  desired  than  4he  character  of  Macbeth.  Three 
features,  we  have  seen,  stand  out  clear  in  the  general  concep- 
tion of  Macbeth.  There  is  his  eminently  practical  nature, 
•which  is  the  key  to  the  whole.  And  the  absence  in  him  of 
the  inner  life  adds  two  special  features :  one  is  his  helpless- 
ness under  suspense,  the  other  is  the  activity  of  his  imagina- 
tion with  its  susceptibility  to  supernatural  terrors.  Now,  if 
we  fix  our  attention  on  these  three  points  they  become  three 
threads  of  development  as  we  trace  Macbeth  through  the 
stages  of  his  career.  His  practical  power  developes  as 
capacity  for  crime.  Macbeth  undertook  his  first  crime  only 
after  a  protracted  and  terrible  struggle ;  the  murder  of  the 


336         INTEREST  OF  CHARACTER. 

CH.  XVII.  grooms  was  a  crime  of  impulse ;  the  murder  of  Banquo 
appears  a  thing  of  contrivance,  in  which  Macbeth  is  a 

deliberate  planner  directing  the  agency  of  others,  while  his 
iii.  ii.  40,  dark  hints  to  his  wife  suggest  the  beginning  of  a  relish  for 

such   deeds.     This  capacity  for  crime  continues  to  grow, 

until  slaughter  becomes  an  end  in  itself — 

iv.  iii.  4.  Each  new  morn 

New  widows  howl,  new  orphans  cry : 

and  then  a  mania  : 

V.  ii.  13.  Some  say  he's  mad;   others  that  lesser  hate  him 

Do  call  it  valiant  fury. 

We  see  a  parallel  development  in  Macbeth's  impatience  of 
suspense.  Just  after  his  first  temptation  he  is  able  to  brace 
himself  to  suspense  for  an  indefinite  period  : 

i.  iii.  143.  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance  may  crown  me, 

Without  my  stir. 

i.  vii.  On  the  eve  of  his  great  crime  the  suspense  of  the  few  hours 
that  must  intervene  before  the  banquet  can  be  despatched 
and  Duncan  can  retire  becomes  intolerable  to  Macbeth,  and 
he  is  for  abandoning  the  project.  In  the  next  stage  it  is 
the  suspense  of  a  single  moment  that  impels  him  to  stab  the 
grooms.  From  this  point  suspense  no  longer  comes  by  fits 

iii.  ii.  13,    and  starts,  but  is  a  settled  disease :  his  mind  is  as  scorpions; 

30,  &c.  jt  jg  ^rtured  in  restless  ecstasy.  Suspense  has  undermined 
his  judgment  and  brought  on  him  the  gambler's  fever — the 
haunting  thought  that  just  one  more  venture  will  make  him 
safe;  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  his  reason — which  his 

iii.  ii.  45.  unwillingness  to  confide  the  murder  of  Banquo  to  his  wife 
betrays — he  is  carried  on  to  work  the  additional  crime  which 
unmasks  the  rest.  And  finally  suspense  intensifies  to  a  panic, 
and  he  himself  feels  that  his  deeds 

iii.  iv.  140.  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scann'd. 

The  third  feature  in  Macbeth  is  the  quickening  of  his  sen- 


CHARACTER-DEVELOPMENT.  337 

sitiveness  to  the  supernatural  side  by  side  with  the  deadening  Cn.XVIL 
of  his  conscience.  Imagination  becomes,  as  it  were,  a  pic- 
torial  conscience  for  one  to  whom  its  more  rational  channels 
have  been  closed :  the  man  who  *  would  jump  the  world  to 
come '  accepts  implicitly  every  word  that  falls  from  a  witch. 
Now  this  imagination  is  at  first  a  restraining  force  in  Mac- 
beth :  the  thought  whose  image  unfixes  his  hair  leads  him  to  i.  iii.  134- 
abandon  the  treason.  When  later  he  has,  under  pressure, 
delivered  himself  again  to  the  temptation,  there  are  still  signs 
that  imagination  is  a  force  on  the  other  side  that  has  to  be 
overcome  :  Stars>  hide  your  fires .  i.  iv.  50. 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires: 

The  eye  wink  at  the  hand. 

Once  passed  the  boundary  of  the  accomplished  deed  he  be- 
comes an  absolute  victim  to  terrors  of  conscience  in  super- 
natural form.     In  the  very  first  moment  they  reach  so  near  ii.  ii.  22- 
the  boundary  that  separates  subjective  and  objective  that  a  4 
real  voice  appears  to  be  denouncing  the  issue  of  his  crime : 

Macbeth.     Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry  '  Sleep  no  more.'  .  .  . 
Lady  M.    Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ? 

In  the  reaction  from  the  murder  of  Banquo  the  supernatural 
appearance— which  no  eye  sees  but  his  own— appears  more  iii.  iv. 
real  to  him  than  the  real  life  around  him.     And  from  this 
point   he   seeks   the    supernatural,  forces   it   to   disclose  its  iv.  i.  iS. 
terrors,  and  thrusts  himself  into  an  agonised  vision  of  gener- 
ations that  are  to  witness  the  triumph  of  his  foes. 


XVIII. 


Cii.  XVIII. 


PASSION. 


Unity  ap- 
plied to 
Passion. 


Incident. 


INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

HUMAN  Interest  includes  not  only  varieties  of  human 
nature,  or  Character,  but  also  items  of  human  ex- 
perience, or  Passion.  Passion  is  the  second  great  topic  of 
Dramatic  Criticism.  It  is  concerned  with  the  life  that  is  lived 
through  the  scenes  of  the  story,  as  distinguished  from  the 
personages  who  live  it;  not  treating  this  with  the  abstract 
treatment  that  belongs  to  Plot,  but  reviewing  it  in  the  light 
cf  its  human  interest ;  it  embraces  conduct  still  alive  with  the 
motives  which  have  actuated  it — fate  in  the  process  of  forging. 
The  word  'passion'  signifies  primarily  what  is  suffered  of 
good  or  bad ;  secondarily  the  emotions  generated  by  suffer- 
ing, whether  in  the  sufferer  or  in  bystanders.  Its  use  as  a 
dramatic  term  thus  suggests  how  in  Drama  an  experience  can 
be  grasped  by  us  through  our  emotional  nature,  through  our 
sympathy,  our  antagonism,  and  all  the  varieties  of  emotional 
interest  that  lie  between.  To  this  Passion  we  have  to  apply 
the  threefold  division  of  unity,  complexity,  and  movement. 

When  unity  is  applied  to  Passion  we  get  a  series  of  details 
bound  together  into  a  singleness  of  impression  as  an  Inci- 
dent, a  Situation,  or  an  Effect.  The  distinction  of  the  three 
rests  largely  on  their  different  degrees  of  fragmentariness. 
Incidents  are  groups  of  continuous  details  forming  a  com- 
plete interest  in  themselves  as  ministering  to  our  sense  of 
story.  The  suit  of  Shylock  against  Antonio  in  the  course  of 
which  fate  swings  right  round  ;  the  murder  of  Clarence  with 
its  long-drawn  agony;  Richard  and  Buckingham  with  the 


INCIDENT,  SITUATION,  EFFECT.  339 

Lord  Mayor  and  Citizens  exhibiting  a  picture  of  political  CH.XVIII. 

manipulation  in  the  fifteenth  century ;  the  startling  sight  of  a     

Lady  Anne  wooed  beside  the  bier  of  her  murdered  husband's 
murdered  father,  by  a  murderer  who  rests  his  suit  on  the 
murders  themselves ;  Banquo's  Ghost  appearing  at  the  feast 
at  which  Banquo's  presence  had  been  so  vehemently  called 
for;  Lear's  faithful  Gloucester  so  brutally  blinded  and  so 
instantly  avenged;  the  outraged  Brabantio  at  midnight 
impeaching  before  the  Duke's  throne  the  unnatural  wooer  of 
his  daughter,  and  seeing  all  Venice  draw  to  his  adversary's 
side ;  the  chain  of  discovery  forged  by  fate  for  the  Celibates 
of  Navarre  by  which  each  hoping  to  surprise  the  others  is 
himself  taken  by  surprise;  a  mysterious  concurrence  of 
circumstances  luring  on  Antonio  and  Sebastian  to  a  deed  of 
murder,  and  reversing  itself  to  check  them  in  the  moment 
of  action : — all  these  are  complete  stories  presented  in  a 
single  view,  and  suggest  how  Shakespeare's  dramas  are  con- 
structed out  of  materials  which  are  themselves  dramas  in 
miniature. 

In  Situation,  on  the  other  hand,  a  series  of  details  cohere  Situation. 
into  a  single  impression  without  losing  the  sense  of  in- 
completeness. The  two  central  personages  in  The  Merchant 
of  Venice,  around  whom  brightness  and  gloom  have  been 
revolving  in  such  contrast,  at  last  brought  to  face  one 
another  from  the  judgment-seat  and  the  dock ;  Lorenzo  and 
Jessica  wrapped  in  moonlight  and  music,  with  the  rest  of  the 
universe  for  the  hour  blotted  out  into  a  background  for  their 
love ;  Rosalind  from  under  the  shelter  of  her  disguise  enjoying 
the  sport  of  dictating  to  her  unsuspecting  lover  how  he 
should  woo  her ;  Margaret  like  an  apparition  of  the  sleeping 
Nemesis  of  Lancaster  flashed  into  the  midst  of  the  Yorkist 
courtiers  while  they  are  bickering  through  very  wantonness 
of  victory;  Shylock  pitted  against  Tubal,  Jew  against  Jew, 
the  nature  not  too  narrow  to  mix  affection  with  avarice, 
mocked  from  passion  to  passion  by  the  nature  only  wide 

z  2 


340  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVUI.  enough  to  take  in  greed ;  Richard  waking  on  Bosvvorth 
morning,  and  miserably  piecing  together  the  wreck  of  his 
invincible  will  which  a  sleeping  vision  has  shattered ;  Mac- 
beth's  moment  of  rapture  in  following  the  airy  dagger, 
while  the  very  night  holds  its  breath  to  break  out  again 
presently  into  voices  of  doom ;  the  panic  mist  of  universal 
suspicion  amidst  which  Malcolm  blasts  his  own  character  to 
feel  after  the  fidelity  of  Macduff;  Edgar  from  his  ambush  of 
outcast  idiocy  watching  the  sad  marvel  of  his  father's  love 
restored  to  him;  Prospero  surveying  the  unbroken  range  of 
his  omnipotence  in  the  very  act  of  renouncing  it : — all  these 
brilliant  Situations  are  fragments  of  dramatic  continuity  in 
which  the  fragmentariness  is  a  part  of  the  interest.  Just  as 
the  sense  of  sculpture  might  seek  to  arrest  and  perpetuate  a 
casual  moment  in  the  evolutions  of  a  dance,  so  in  Dramatic 
Situation  the  mind  is  conscious  of  isolating  something  from 
what  precedes  and  what  follows  so  as  to  extract  out  of  it 
an  additional  impression;  the  morsel  has  its  purpose  in 
ministering  to  a  complete  process  of  digestion,  but  it  gets  a 
sensation  of  its  own  by  momentary  delay  in  contact  with  the 
palate. 

Effect.  Of  a  still  more  fragmentary  nature  is  Dramatic  Effect — 

Effect  strictly  so  called,  and  as  distinguished  from  the  looser 
use  of  the  term  for  dramatic  impressions  in  general.  Such 
Effect  seems  to  attach  itself  to  single  momentary  details, 
though  in  reality  these  details  owe  their  impressiveness  to 
their  connection  with  others :  the  final  detail  has  completed 
an  electric  circle  and  a  shock  is  given.  No  element  of  the 
Drama  is  of  so  miscellaneous  a  character  and  so  defies 
analysis  :  all  that  can  be  done  here  is  to  notice  three  special 
Dramatic  Effects. 

Irony  as  Dramatic  Irony  is  a  sudden  appearance  of  double-dealing 
in  surrounding  events :  a  dramatic  situation  accidentally 
starts  up  and  produces  a  shock  by  its  bearing  upon  con- 
flicting states  of  affairs,  both  known  to  the  audience,  but  one 


INCIDENT,  SITUATION,   EFFECT.  341 

of  them  hidden  from  some  of  the  parties  to  the  scene.  CH.XVIII 
This  is  the  special  contribution  to  dramatic  effect  of  Greek  — 
tragedy.  The  ancient  stage  was  tied  down  in  its  subject- 
matter  to  stories  perfectly  familiar  to  the  audience  as  sacred 
legends,  and  so  almost  excluding  the  effect  of  surprise :  in 
Irony  it  found  some  compensation.  The  ancient  tragedies 
harp  upon  human  blindness  to  the  future,  and  delight  to  ex- 
hibit a  hero  speculating  about,  or  struggling  with,  or  perhaps 
in  careless  talk  stumbling  upon,  the  final  issue  of  events 
which  the  audience  know  so  well; — CEdipus,  for  example, 
through  great  part  of  a  play  moving  heaven  and  earth  to 
pierce  the  mystery  of  the  judgment  that  has  come  upon  his 
city,  while  according  to  the  familiar  sacred  story  the  offender 
can  be  none  other  than  himself.  Shakespeare  has  used  to 
almost  as  great  an  extent  as  the  Greek  dramatists  this  effect 
of  Irony.  His  most  characteristic  handling  of  it  belongs  to 
the  lighter  plays,  in  which  the  touches  of  Irony  will  often  be 
so  numerous  as  to  amount  to  a  Motive 1 ;  yet  in  the  group  of 
dramas  dealt  with  in  this  work  it  is  prominent  amongst  his 
effects.  It  has  been  pointed  out  how  Macbeth  and  Richard  III 
are  saturated  with  it.  There  are  casual  illustrations  in 
Julius  Ccesar,  as  when  the  dictator  bids  his  intended 

murderer — 

Be  near  me,  that  I  may  remember  you;  ii.  ii.  123. 

or  in  Lear,  when  Edmund,  intriguing  guiltily  with  Goneril,  in 
a  chance  expression  of  tenderness  unconsciously  paints  the 
final  issue  of  that  intrigue  : 

Yours  in  the  ranks  of  death !  iv.  ii.  25. 

The  pathos  of  Desdemona's  position  in  the  latter  part  of 
Othello  produces  some  wonderful  strokes  of  Irony.  One  has 
been  pointed  out  in  the  chapter  on  that  play;  another  is 
where  in  all  her  simplicity  she  turns  to  the  author  of  her 
ruin:  O  good  lago, 

What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again  ? 
1  See  below,  page  388  note. 


342  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.  XVIII.  A  comic  variety  of  Irony  occurs  in  the  Trial  Scene  of  The 

Merchant  of  Venice  -,  when   Bassanio  and  Gratiano  in  their 

distracted  grief  are  willing  to  sacrifice  their  new  wives  if  this 

could  save  their  friend  —  little  thinking  these  wives  are  so  near 

to  record  the  vow.     The  doubleness  of  Irony  is  one  which 

attaches  to  a  situation  as  a  whole  :   the  effect  however  is 

iii.  ii.  60-  especially  keen  when  a  scene  is  so  impregnated  with  it  that 

73-  the  very  language  is  true  in  a  double  sense. 

Catesby.     'Tis  a  vile  thing  to  die,  my  gracious  lord, 
When  men  are  unprepared  and  look  not  for  it. 
Hastings.     O  monstrous,  monstrous  !  and  so  falls  it  out 
With  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey:  and  so  'twill  do 
With  some  men  else,  who  think  themselves  as  safe 
As  tJiou  and  I. 

Nemesis  as  Nemesis,  though  usually  extending  to  the  general  movement 
an  Effect.  of  a  ^rama>  an(j  So  considered  below,  may  sometimes  be  only 

an  effect  of  detail  —  a  sign  connecting  very  closely  retribution 

with  sin  or  reaction  with  triumph.  Such  a  nemesis  may  be 
v.  iii.  45.  seen  where  Cassius  in  the  act  of  falling  on  his  sword  recog- 

nises the  weapon  as  the  same  with  which  he  stabbed  Caesar. 
Dramatic  Another  special  variety  of  effect  is  Dramatic  Foreshadow- 

™S  —  mysterious  details  pointing  to  an  explanation  in  the 


sequel,  a  realisation  in  action  of  the    saying  that  coming 

events  cast  their  shadows  before  them.  The  unaccountable 
i.  i.  i.  '  sadness  '  of  Antonio  at  the  opening  of  The  Merchant  of 

Venice  is  a  typical  illustration.  Others  will  readily  suggest 
iii.  i.  68.  themselves  —  the  Prince's  shuddering  aversion  to  the  Tower 
i.  i.  39.  in  Richard  III,  the  letter  G  that  of  Edward's  heirs  the 
v.  i.  77-90.  murderer  should  be,  the  crows  substituted  for  Cassius's  eagles 

on   the   morning   of  the    final   battle.      A  more   elaborate 

example  is  seen  in  Julius  Cccsar,  where  the  soothsayer's 
i.  ii.  18.  vague  warning  '  Beware  the  Ides  of  March'  —  a  solitary  voice 

that  could  yet  arrest  the  hero  through  the  shouting  of  the 
iii.  i.  i.  crowd  —  is  found  later  on  not  to  have  become  dissipated, 

but  to  have  gathered   definiteness  as   the   moment  comes 

nearer  : 


MIXTURE  OF  TONES.  343 

Ctzsar.     The  Ides  of  March  are  come.                            CH.XVIII. 
Soothsayer.     Ay,  Caesar;   but  not  gone.  . 

And  the  supreme  example  of  Dramatic  Foreshadowing  is  the 
scene  in  Othello  when  Desdemona  is  retiring  to  bed  on  the  iv.  iii. 
fatal  night,  under  an  irresistible  weight  of  boding.     She  bids 
her  marriage  sheets  be  laid  on  the  bed,  and  adds — 

If  I  do  die  before  thee,  prithee,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 

Her  mother's  maid  Barbara,  who-  died  of  love,  comes  per- 
sistently into  her  mind,  and  when  she  tries  to  talk  of  other 
topics,  the  wailing  burden  of  Barbara's  song  keeps  reviving. 
The  shadow  of  the  murder  has  already  enveloped  her. 

These  three  leading  effects  may  be  sufficient  to  illustrate 
a  branch  of  dramatic  analysis  in  which  the  variety  is 
endless. 


We  are  next  to  consider  the  application  of  complexity  to  Complexity 
Passion,  and  the  contrasts  of  passion  that  so  arise.     Here  aPPhe.d to 

jrdSSWn. 

care  is  necessary  to  avoid  confusion  with  a  complexity  of 
passion  that  hardly  comes  within  the  sphere  of  dramatic 
criticism.  In  the  scene  in  which  Shylock  is  being  teased  by  iii.  i. 
Tubal  it  is  easy  to  note  the  conflict  between  the  passions  of 
greed  and  paternal  affection :  such  analysis  is  outside  dra- 
matic criticism  and  belongs  to  psychology.  In  its  dramatic 
sense  Passion  applies  to  experience,  not  decomposed  into  its 
emotional  elements,  but  grasped  as  a  whole  by  our  emotional 
nature :  there  is  still  room  for  complexity  of  such  passion  in 
the  appeal  made  to  different  sides  of  our  emotional  nature,  the 
serious  and  the  gay.  In  dealing  with  this  element  of  dramatic  Passion- 
effect  a  convenient  technical  term  is  Tone.  The  deep  insight  Tone' 
of  metaphorical  word-coining  has  given  universal  sanction  to 
the  expression  of  emotional  differences  by  analogies  of 
music :  our  emotional  nature  is  exalted  with  mirth  and  de- 
pressed with  sorrow,  we  speak  of  a  chord  of  sympathy,  a 


344 


INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 


CH.XVUI. 


Scaleof 


iv.  i. 


iv.  i.  184. 


ii.  v  ;  ill. 

i,  &c. 

ii.  i,  vii  ; 
i.  i,  &c. 


ii  ii,  iii  ; 
iii.  v,  &c. 


strain  of  triumph,  a  note  of  despair;  we  are  in  a  serious 
mood,  or  pitch  our  appeal  in  a  higher  key.  These  expres- 
sions are  clearly  musical,  and  there  is  probably  a  half 
association  of  music  in  many  others,  such  as  a  theme  of 
sorrow,  acute  anguish,  and  profound  despair,  response  of 
gratitude,  or  even  the  working  of  our  feelings.  Most  exactly 
to  the  purpose  is  a  phrase  of  frequent  occurrence,  the  '  gamut 
of  the  passions/  which  brings  out  with  emphasis  how  our 
emotional  nature  in  its  capacity  for  different  kinds  of  im- 
pressions  suggests  a  scale  of  passion-contrasts,  not  to  be 
snarply  defined  but  shading  off  into  one  another  like  the 
tones  of  a  musical  scale  —  Tragic,  Heroic,  Serious,  Elevated, 
Light,  Comic,  Farcical.  It  is  with  such  complexity  of  tones 
that  Dramatic  Passion  is  concerned. 

Now  this  Mixture  of  Tones,  or  inclusion  of  different  tones 
in  the  field  of  the  same  play,  is  for  the  Shakespearean  drama 
a  most  important  department  of  dramatic  interest.  In 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  as  often  in  plays  of  Shakespeare, 
every  tone  in  the  scale  is  represented.  When  Antonio  is 
enduring  through  the  long  suspense,  and  triumphant  malig- 
nity is  gaining  point  after  point  against  helpless  friendship, 
we  have  travelled  far  into  the  Tragic;  the  woman-nature 
of  Portia  calling  Venetian  justice  from  judicial  murder  to 
the  divine  prerogative  of  mercy  throws  in  a  touch  of  the 
Heroic  ;  a  great  part  of  what  centres  around  Shylock,  when 
he  is  crushing  the  brightness  out  of  Jessica  or  defying  the 
Christian  world,  is  pitched  in  the  Serious  strain  ;  the  incidents 
Qf  tne  unsuccessful  suitors,  the  warm  exuberance  of  Oriental 
courtesy  and  the  less  grateful  loftiness  of  Spanish  family  pride, 
might  be  a  model  for  the  Elevated  drama  of  the  English 
Restoration  ;  the  infinite  nothings  of  Gratiano,  prince  of 
diners-out,  the  more  piquant  small  talk  of  Portia  and  Nerissa 
when  they  criticise  the  man-world  from  the  secrecy  of  a 
maiden-bower  —  these  throw  a  tone  of  Lightness  over  their 
sections  of  the  drama  ;  Launcelot  is  an  incarnation  of  the 


MIXTURE   OF  TONES.  345 

conventional  Comic  serving-man,  and  his  Comedy  becomes  Cn.XVIII. 
broad  Farce  where  he  teases  the  sand-blind  Gobbo  and  draws  .. 
him  on  to  bless  his  astonishing  beard.     Such  Mixture  of  34. "'  fr°m 
Tones  can  be  appreciated  from  contrast  with  the  Classical  a  distinc- 
Drama,  where  it  was  found  impossible.     The  exclusive  and  JJjJjjJjf** 
uncompromising   spirit  of  antiquity  carried  caste   into  art  Drama. 
itself,  and  their   Tragedy  and   Comedy  were  kept  rigidly 
separate,  and  indeed  were  connected  with  different  rituals. 
The  spirit  of  modern  life  is  marked  by  its  comprehensive- 
ness and  reconciliation  of  opposites ;  and  nothing  is  more 
important   in    dramatic    history    than    the    way    in    which 
Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries  created  a  new  departure 
in  art,  by  seizing  upon  the  rude  jumble  of  sport  and  earnest 
which  the  mob  loved,   and  converting  it  into  a  source  of 
stirring  passion-effects.     For  a  new  faculty  of  mental  grasp 
is  generated  by  this  harmony  of  tones  in  the  English  Drama. 
If  the  artist  introduces  every  tone  into  the  story  he  thereby 
gets  hold  of  every  tone  in  the  spectator's  emotional  nature ; 
the  world  of  the  play  is  presented  from  every  point  of  view 
as  it  works  upon  the  various  passions,  and  the  difference 
this  makes  is  the  difference  between  simply  looking  down 
upon  a  surface  and  viewing  a  solid  from  all  round: — the 
mixture   of   tones,    so    to    speak,   makes   passion    of  three 
dimensions.     Moreover  it  brings  the  world  of  fiction  nearer 
to  the  world  of  nature,   which  has  never  yet  evolved   an 
experience  in  which  brightness  was  dissevered  from  gloom : 
half  the  pleasure  of  the  world  is  wrung  out  of  others'  pain ; 
the  two  jostle  in  the  street,  house  together  under  every  roof, 
share  every  stage  of  life,  and  refuse  to  be  sundered  even  in 
the  mysteries  of  death. 

Complexity  of  Passion  arises  in  its  most  pronounced  form  Tone- 
when  opposing  tones  of  passion  clash  in  the  same  incident 
and  are  fused  together.     These  terms  are,  I  think,  scarcely 
metaphorical :   as  a  physiological  fact  we  see  our  physical 
susceptibility  to  pleasurable  and  painful  emotions  drawn  into 


346  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVIII.  conflict  with  one  another  in  the  phenomena  of  hysteria,  and 

their  mental  analogues  must  be  capable  of  much  closer 

union.  As  examples  of  these  effects  resting  upon  an  appeal 
to  opposite  sides  of  our  emotional  nature  at  the  same  time 
may  be  instanced  the  flash  of  comic  irony,  already  referred  to 
more  than  once,  that  starts  up  in  the  most  pathetic  moment 

iv.  i.  288,  of  Antonio's  trial  by  his  friend's  allusion  to  his  newly  wedded 
wife.  Of  the  same  double  nature  are  the  strokes  of  pathetic 

iii.  iii.  32.  humour  in  this  play ;  as  where  Antonio  describes  himself  so 
worn  with  grief  that  he  will  hardly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh  to 
his  bloody  creditor ;  or  again  his  pun, 

iv.  i.  280.  For  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough 

I  '11  pay  it  presently  with  all  my  heart ! 

A  play  upon  the  same  word,  more  elaborate  and  in  equally 
pathetic  circumstances,  is  found  in  Antony's  lament  over 

Caesar's  body — 
ill.  i.  204.  Here  wast  thou  bay  d,  brave  hart ; 

Here  didst  thou  fall ;   and  here  thy  hunters  stand, 
Sign'd  in  thy  spoil,  and  crimson'd  in  thy  lethe. 
O  world,  thou  wast  the  forest  to  this  hart; 
And  this  indeed,  O  world,  the  heart  of  thee. 

Shakespeare  seems  to  regard  the  pun  as  the  established  form 
for  expression  of  these  hysterical  stages  of  emotion;  for 
the  pun  is  distinguished  by  the  clashing  between  sound  and 
sense,  and  so  is  fitted  to  be  an  outward  symbol  for  clashings 
of  emotion  where  grief  unnaturally  laughs,  and  laughter 
grows  to  tears. 

Humour         But  these  casual  and  isolated  clashings  of  Passion -Tones  are 

^fTon**  swallowed  up  in  the  wider  Humour,  the  most  volatile  and 

Clash.        unanalysable   of  all  varieties  of  dramatic  effect.     Humour 

cannot   exist   without   some    conflict    of    opposites,    or    of 

things  incongruous  ;  and  the  more  the  incongruity  the  greater 

is  the  humour.     If,  by  a  change  of  metaphor,  the  various 

Passion-Tones  be  regarded  as  different  colours,  then  Humour 

is  the  white  light  made  by  their  fusion  or  rapid  alternation. 


MIXTURE  OF  TONES.  347 

Humour  is  thus  the  climax  of  Tone-Clash ;  and  it  is  no-  CH.XVIII. 

where  clearer  to  the  eye  of  analysis  than  in  the  two  plays  of     

Loves  Labour's  Lost  and  As  You  Like  //,  in  which,  as  two 
chapters  have  been  devoted  to  showing,  the  dominant  effect 
is  the  perpetual  clashings  between  humour  and  things  which 
are  its  antipathetic,  resulting  in  tours- de-force  of  comic 
brilliance. 

Tone-Clash  rises  into  Tone-Storm  in  such  rare  climaxes  Tone- 
is  the  centre-piece  of  Lear,  where,  against  a  tempest  of  torm- 
nature  as  a  fitting  background,  we  have  the  conflict  of 
three  madnesses — the  madness  of  fury,  of  idiocy  and  of 
folly :  each  in  itself  is  a  fusion  of  several  passion-tones,  but 
here  we  have  them  bidding  against  one  another,  and  in- 
flaming each  other's  wildness  into  an  inextricable  whirl  of 
frenzy.  A  comic  counterpart  to  this  may  be  found  in  As 
You  Like  It,  where,  as  already  pointed  out,  the  three  types  of 
natural,  professional  and  morbid  humour,  besides  playing 
upon  the  various  conventionalities  and  affectations  of  the 
story,  are  in  some  of  the  central  scenes  pitted  against  one 
another,  and  thus  throw  up  the  middle  part  of  this  comedy 
with  a  perfect  tempest  of  humorous  passion. 


Not  only  is  dramatic  interest  susceptible  to  these  varied  Movement 
tones  of  passion  in  a  play,  but  it  catches  a  further  effect  from 


their  alternation  and  succession.  We  here  reach  the  i^Vi-  applied  to 
cation  to  Passion  of  the  third  element  in  action  —  movement, 
development,  succession.  The  new  type  of  dramatic  interest 
is  most  simply  illustrated  from  the  companion  art  of  music, 
where  we  are  accustomed  to  find  an  adagio  and  an  allegro,  a 
fantastic  scherzo  and  a  pompous  march,  included  within  the 
same  symphony  or  sonata,  though  in  separate  movements. 
Such  alternations  may  be  technically  described  as  Tone-Play 
or  Tone-Relief. 

Tone-Play  is  made  by  simple  variety  and  alternation  of  Tone-Play. 


348  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVIH.  light  and  serious  passions.     It  has  been   pointed  out  in  a 
previous  chapter  what  a  striking  example  of  this  is   The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  in  which  scene  by  scene  two  stories 
of  youthful   love   and   of   deadly  feud   alternate  with  one 
another  as  they  progress  to  their  climaxes,  until  from  the 
iii.  ii.  221.  rapture  of  Portia  united  to  Bassanio  we  drop  to  the  full 
realisation  of  Antonio  in  the  grasp  of  Shylock ;  and  again  the 
cruel  anxiety  of  the  trial  and  its  breathless  shock  of  deliver- 
iv.  i.  408.   ance  are  balanced  by  the  mad  fun  of  the  ring  trick  and  the  joy 
v.  i.  of  the  moonlight  scene  which  Jessica  feels  is  too  deep  for  mer- 

Tone-Rc-     riment.     A  slight  variation  of  this  is  Tone-Relief',  in  an  action 
luf-  which  is  cast  in  a  uniform  tone  the  continuity  is  broken  by 

a  brief  spell  of  a  contrary  passion,  the  contrast  at  once  re- 
lieving and  intensifying  the  prevailing  tone.  One  of  the  best 
examples  (notwithstanding  its  coarseness)  is  the  introduction 
ii.  iii.  i.  in  Macbeth  of  the  jolly  Porter,  who  keeps  the  impatient  nobles 
outside  in  the  storm  till  his  jest  is  comfortably  finished, 
making  each  furious  knock  fit  in  to  his  elaborate  conceit  of 
Hell-gate.  This  tone  of  broad  farce,  with  nothing  else  like  it 
in  the  whole  play,  comes  as  a  single  ray  of  common  daylight 
to  separate  the  agony  of  the  dark  night's  murder  from  the 
iii.  i,  ii,  iii.  agony  of  the  struggle  for  concealment.  A  not  dissimiliar 
effect  is  in  Othello^  where  the  terrible  Suggestion  Scenes 
— carrying  on  the  action  of  the  drama  from  the  first  request 
of  Cassio  for  Desdemona's  assistance  up  to  the  point  where 
the  ruin  of  both  is  vowed  by  Othello  and  lago  on  their 
knees — are  fringed  off  from  the  rest  of  the  play  by  two 
morsels  of  farce  from  the  Clown.  In  the  first  he  chaffs  the 
musicians  and  conveys  the  general's  orders  to  cease  playing, 
unless  they  happen  to  have  some  music  that  is  inaudible ;  in 
the  second  he  will  not  obey  Desdemona's  order  to  call 
Cassio  without  a  word-combat  over  the  double  sense  of  the 
word  '  lie/  And  these  make  the  only  appearance  of  the 
Clown  in  the  whole  play. 

Such  word-play  as  that  of  this  Clown  seems  to  be  re- 


ALTERNATION  OF  VERSE  AND  PROSE.         349 

cognised  by  Shakespeare    as   a   regular   dramatic  weapon,  CH.XVIII. 
useful  for   tone-relief  and   other   purposes :  and  in  Loves     ~ 
Labotir's  Lost  I  have  illustrated  *  how,  where  the  interest  of  Tone-  Re- 
the  story  stands  still  for  a  moment,  the  interval  is  filled  up  licf:  Word- 
with  this  other  interest  of  mental  fencing.     But  Shakespeare 
has  another  device  in  his  repertoire,  of  the  highest  literary 
importance,  capable  of  marking  the  most  delicate  changes  of 

tone  in  his  scenes.     This  is  the  alternation  between  prose  andalter- 
. .  „  .          _  nation  of 

and  verse,  or  between  different  styles  of  verse.  verse  and 

This  Shakespearean  usage  is  not  one  that  stands  by  itself:  Prose. 
it  has  its  parallels  in  other  divisions  of  the  universal  drama. 
A  leading  feature  of  ancient  classical  dramas  is  the  subtle 
play  of  emotions  they  express  by  changes  from  iambics — 
the  Greek  form  of  blank  verse — to  lyric  measures.  I  am  not 
alluding  to  the  purely  lyric  odes  sung  by  the  Chorus  between 
the  scenes,  but  to  the  alternations  between  iambs  and  lyric 
measures  in  the  episodes  on  the  stage.  So  in  the  late 
Romantic  Drama,  such  as  Goethe's  Faust,  every  possible 
variation  of  measure,  including  prose  as  non-measure,  is  made 
use  of  to  fit  in  with  variations  of  feeling  to  be  expressed. 
And  when  we  come  to  Shakespeare  himself,  there  are  signs 
in  his  earlier  plays  (notably  in  Midsummer  Night's  Dream)  of 
an  attempt  to  use  the  variation  between  blank  verse  and 
rhyme  as  a  means  of  conveying  changes  in  tone.  But  this 
was  abandoned  as  he  followed  his  original  genius  more  and 
more  ;  and  the  bolder  device  of  variation  between  blank  verse 
and  prose  took  more  and  more  hold  on  him. 

The  point  to  be  emphasised  is,  not  that  any  particular  class 
of  emotions  is  associated  with  any  particular  metrical  form, 
but  that  changes  of  tone  are  reflected  in  changes  between 
metre  and  metre,  or  metre  and  prose.  Of  course  it  will 
usually  happen  that  the  more  elevated  tone  or  more  agitated 
passion  will  have  verse  rather  than  prose  for  its  medium. 
But  this  is  not  universally  the  case.  In  the  finale  of  Goethe's 
1  See  page  288. 


350  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVIII.  Faust  the  awakening  from  the  dissipation  of  the  Walpurgis 
Night  to  the  full  agony  of  knowing  Margaret's  fate  is  marked 
by  a  sudden  drop  to  prose  ;  and  no  device  could  better 
convey  the  shock  of  awakening.  In  Macbeth,  where  nearly 
the  whole  play  is  in  blank  verse,  prose  is  reserved  for  the 
climax  of  the  Sleep-walking  Scene.  So  in  the  great  Sug- 
gestion Scenes  of  Olhello,  the  hero's  passion  has  mounted  in 

iv.  i.  34.  intensity  until  at  the  breaking  pitch  he  changes  from  verse 
to  prose  just  before  he  falls  down  in  a  fit. 

A  very  late  play,  The  Tempest,  illustrates  the  delicate  changes 
or  varieties  Shakespeare  is  able  to  suggest  by  this  means. 

i  L  The  bustle  of  the  Shipwreck  is  conveyed  in  rough  prose  ;  but 

when   the   courtiers   realise  that  death  is  before  them  the 
language  rises  to  verse. 

Con.     The  king  and  prince  at  prayers!   let's  assist  them, 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 

But  after  a  while  Gonzalo  is  unable  to  keep  down  his  native 
sense  of  humour,  and  there  is  a  change  back  to  prose. 

Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea  for  an  acre  of  barren 
ground.  .  .  .  The  wills  above  be  done  !  but  I  would  fain  die  a  dry 
death. 

i.  iL  Then  a  change  to  mellifluous  verse  exquisitely  conveys  our 

passing  within  the  magic  circle  of  the  Enchanted  Island.     A 

ii.  i.  later  scene   is   a   conversation  between  the  whole  party  of 

courtiers;  Gonzalo  essaying  to  console  the  bereaved  King 

keeps  up  the  main  thread  of  conversation  in  verse,  while 

Sebastian  and  Antonio,  chaffing  Gonzalo  in  an  undertone, 

use  prose.     But  when  Gonzalo  can  no  longer  ignore  their 

20.  interruptions  he  turns  on  them  in  prose,  and  the  conversation 

becomes  general,  prose  being  spoken  until  the  King  elevates 

106.  the  tone,  when  he  breaks  silence,  and  pours  out  his  sorrows 

in  verse.     The  talk  has  now  to  be  addressed  to  the  King ; 

and  even  Sebastian  and  Antonio  use  verse.     Gonzalo,  to 

143.  divert  the   King  from  painful  subjects,  puts  (in  verse)  his 


ALTERNATION  OF  VERSE  AND  PROSE.         351 

project  for  a  golden  age,  and  Sebastian  and  Antonio  resume  CH. XVIII. 

in  prose  their  comments  in  an  undertone.     But  at  last  the     

King  is  irritated  by  Gonzalo's  well-meant  but  tiresome  loqua- 
ciousness, and  expresses  his  irritation  in  prose :  this  checks  171. 
altogether  the  elevated  tone  of  the  conversation,  and  Gonzalo 
turns  to  exchange  prose  sarcasms  with  his  tormentors,  till  the 
main  bulk  of  the  party  fall  asleep  under  the  charm  of  Ariel. 
The  startling  suddenness  of  this  drives  the  King  into  verse,  191. 
and,   when   he   too   has    joined   the   sleepers,   the   hideous 
suggestiveness  of  the  situation  to  the  traitors  keeps  them  at 
the  white  heat  of  verse  all  through  their  conspiracy  to  the 
end  of  the  scene. 

In  the  case  of  Caliban,  fine  dramatic  effects  are  got  out  of 
the  variations   between   prose  and  verse.     In  his  first  ap-  i.  ii.  321. 
pearance  the  scene  is  an  exchange  of  fierce  passion  between 
himself  and  his  master,  and  is  in  verse  throughout.     He  next  ii.  ii.  i. 
enters  pouring  out  the  passion  of  the  previous  scene  in  curses 
of  blank  verse.     Then  Trinculo  and  Stephano  enter,  and  the 
total  change  of  tone  is  marked  by  change  to  prose;  until 
Stephano  pours  liquor  from  his  bottle  down  Caliban's  throat.  97. 
The  effect  of  liquor  on  Caliban  is  to  make  him  worship  the 
drunken  butler  as  a  god ;  and  this  effect  is  finely  opened  by 
Caliban's  first  words  rising  into  verse  :  iai» 

These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor. 

So  to  the  end  of  the  scene  (except  a  single  morsel  of  musical  130. 
prose)  Caliban  addresses  his  god  in  verse — the  tone  sharply 
contrasting  with  the  speeches  of  Trinculo  and  Stephano  in 
prose.     When  the   party  reappear  the  general  situation  is  iii.  ii. 
continued :  but  here  a  very  subtle  transition  is  to  be  noted. 
Caliban,  his  eyes  '  set  in  his  head '  with  drunken  worship  of 
Stephano,  can   hardly  be   induced   to   speak  at  all ;   when 
compelled,  he  addresses  his  god  in  a  line  of  musical  verse :      26 

How  does  thy  honour  \    Let  me  lick  thy  shoe — 


352  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVUI.  but  in  the  very  next  line  drops  to  prose  to  express  his 
attitude  to  Trinculo,  whom  he  does  not  worship  : 

I  '11  not  serve  him ;   he  *s  not  valiant. 

A  quarrel  ensues,  and  breaks  the  serene  tone  of  worship, 
prose  continuing  to  the  beginning  of  Caliban's  tale ;  when 
the  interruption,  Thou  liest,  drives  Caliban  to  passion  and  to 
52.  blank  verse — which  he  maintains  through  his  prayer  and  his 
joy  at  its  acceptance  to  the  end  of  the  scene,  Stephano  and 
Trinculo,  of  course,  continuing  to  talk  in  prose.  When  we 

iv.  i.  194.  next  see  the  party  the  relations  of  the  three  are  maintained ; 
and  the  contrast  of  tone  between  Caliban,  intent  on  his 
treason  now  all  but  consummated,  and  his  companions  too 
drunk  to  be  kept  quiet  though  a  sound  may  ruin  all,  is 
admirably  conveyed  by  the  alternations  between  the  verse  of 
Caliban  and  the  prose  of  the  other  two.  In  the  Finale 

v.  i.  261.  Caliban  is  confronted  by  his  master,  and  the  sight  of  a  new 
civilisation,  and  speaks  his  repentance  in  verse  *. 

1  I  may  here  remark,  anticipating  the  subject  of  a  later  chapter,  that 
alternations  between  verse  and  prose  are  also  used  by  Shakespeare  to 
emphasise  changes  in  dramatic  '  movement ' ;  though  not  (so  far  as  I 
have  observed)  in  the  plays  reviewed  in  this  book.  One  example  is  in 
Measure  for  Measure.  A  great  note  of  Shakespeare's  action  is  his 
contrivance  of  a  central  turning-point  to  the  movement — somewhere  in 
the  middle  Act,  and  often  at  its  exact  centre.  In  Measure  for  Measure 
the  passion  of  the  complication  reaches  its  height  in  the  terrible  scene 
between  Claudio  and  his  sister  (iii.  i.).  Where  the  agony  is  at  its 
highest  enters  the  (disguised)  Duke  (152),  whom  the  audience  recognise 
(being  in  the  secret  of  his  disguise  from  i.  iii.)  as  representing  the 
resolving  force  of  the  plot :  and  the  Duke  at  once  draws  Isabella  aside, 
and  commences  with  her  the  intrigue  which  proves  the  resolution  of  the 
whole  play.  Now  this  central  turning-point,  or  passage  from  the  com- 
plication to  the  resolution,  is  emphasised  by  a  change  from  verse  to 
prose :  and  every  one  must  feel  how  the  shock  of  this  change  gives 
additional  effect  to  the  turn  in  the  movement. 

A  precisely  parallel  case  is  Winter  s  Tale.  In  no  play  is  the  passage 
from  complication  to  resolution  so  clearly  marked  as  here.  In  the  course 
of  the  middle  Act  (iii.  iii.  58),  Antigonus  deposits  the  infant,  and  exit, 
pursued  by  a  bear — the  complication  which  is  connected  with  Sicilia  is 


METRICAL  ALTERNATION.  353 

The  extension  of  this  usage  by  which  variations  between  CH.XVIII. 
one  metre  and  another  are  added  to  variations  between  metre     " 
and   prose,  as   devices   for   conveying  changes  of  tone,  is  nations 
characteristic,  as  has  been  already  remarked,  of  Shakespeare's  between  one 
early  plays.     In  his  later  works  it  has  left  only  slight  traces,  another. 
Every  reader  is  familiar  with  the  use  of  a  rhymed  couplet  at 
the  close  of  a  scene.     Akin  to  this  is  the  indication  by  a 
rhymed  couplet  of  a  resolution  formed,  or  the  termination  of 
a  train  of  thought.     A  fine  example  of  this  is  to  be  found  in 
Macbeth's  rhymed  soliloquy  breaking  a  scene  of  blank  verse. 

The  Prince  of  Cumberland !  that  is  a  step  i.  iv.  48  ; 

On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap,  compare 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars,  hide  your  fires;  *"•  J46- 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires: 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand;  yet  let  that  be, 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

It  is,  again,  only  natural  that  the  more  artificial  measure 
should  be  used  to  convey  what  is  consciously  artificial 
language ;  thus,  when  Desdemona,  to  fill  up  a  moment  of 
waiting,  calls  upon  lago  for  an  exercise  in  praising  her,  he 
puts  his  praises  of  women  in  rhyme,  till  he  reaches  the  famous 
conclusion  : 

She  was  a  wight,  if  ever  such  wight  were— 
To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small  beer. 

One  of  the  plays  treated  in  this  book,  Loves  Labour  s  Lost, 
has  claims  to  be  considered  Shakespeare's  earliest  original 
play,  and  it  is  found  to  be  the  one  in  which  his  metrical 
repertoire  is  most  varied.  We  may  erect  a  metrical  scale, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  is  prose ;  next  in  order  comes  blank 
verse;  rhymed  couplets  are  a  degree  more  elevated;  and 

played  out.  Then  the  Shepherd  and  Clown  enter  and  discover  the 
child— the  resolution  of  the  plot  and  the  Bohemian  side  of  the  story 
begin.  This  change  from  complication  to  resolution  is  marked  by  a 
change  from  verse  to  prose. 

A   a 


354  INTEREST  OF  PASSION. 

CH.XVIH.  at  the  top  come  measures  more  lyrical  than  the  couplet, 
such  as  alternate  rhyming,  or  even  trochaic  and  anapaestic 
rhythms  \  The  alternation  of  these  three  metrical  styles  is 

iv.  iii.  well  illustrated  in  the  central  scene  of  the  play,  where  the 
perjured  celibates  discover  one  another.  Biron  is  the  first  on 
the  ground,  and  his  soliloquy  is  in  prose.  The  scene  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  commenced  until  the  arrival  of  another 
of  the  band,  to  be  followed  at  intervals  by  the  rest,  each  to 
expose  in  fancied  solitude  the  perjury  which  is  to  be  over- 

26.  heard.  From  this  point  the  scene  may  be  said  to  be  in  the 

medium  measure  of  rhymed  couplets,  broken  by  brief  drops 

e.g.  21,48,  to  prose  or  irregular  verse  where  the  different  parts  of  the 
scene  join  on  to  one  another,  and  rising  to  climaxes  of  the 
elaborate  lyrics.  Thus  three  of  the  lovers  read  amatory 
effusions  in  lyrics 2 ;  the  comments  on  these  are  in  couplets, 

45-6, 85-6,  and  often  a  line  of  comment  from  one  place  of  concealment 

&c*  is,  to  the  ear  of  the  audience,  capped  by  a  rhyme  from  another. 

Where  the  lovers  spring  in  succession  from  their  concealment 
the  battle  still  rages  in  couplets,  until  a  great  change  is  made 
in  the  spirit  of  the  scene  by  Biron,  who  abandons  his 

214.  annoyance  at  being  discovered  for  justification  of  his  perjury 

on  the  ground  that  his  Rosaline  surpasses  the  mistresses  of  all 
the  rest.  This  change  is  reflected  in  a  change  to  alternate 
rhyming,  and  in  this  metre  the  climax  of  the  scene  continues. 

284.  At  last  another  break  in  the  scene  comes  when  the  king 

proposes  to  take  things  as  they  are  and  boldly  justify  them, 
and  he  calls  on  Biron  for  reasons,  such  as  may  serve  to  cheat 
the  devil.  Biron  responds,  and  his  immensely  long  speech  is 
in  blank  verse,  here  heard  for  the  first  time  in  the  scene. 

1  Trochaics  in  iv.  iii.  101-20;  anapsestics  ii.  i.  from  217  to  end. 
The  Globe  edition  marks  a  good  deal  of  the  talk  between  Holofernes 
and  Sir  Nathaniel  as  verse :  but  it  is  verse  such  as  these  pedants  alone 
could  scan  and  classify.  [E.g.  iv.  ii.] 

.  2  A  piece  of  lyrics  in  alternate  rhyme  regularly  closes  with  rhymed 

couplets;  e.g.  Longaville's  effusion,  60-73. 


ME  TRICAL  AL  TERN  A  TION. 


355 


This  continues  to   the    end,  except  that  a  scene  of  such  CH.XVIII. 

metrical   varieties   cannot   be   wound   up   with   merely   the     

ordinary  couplet,  but  has  for  its  coda  a  couple  of  couplets 
followed  by  a  quatrain  of  alternate  rhymes. 

Bir.      For  revels,  dances,  masks  and  merry  hours 

Forerun  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  flowers. 
King.  Away,  away !  no  time  shall  be  omitted 

That  will  betime,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 
Bir.      Aliens  !  aliens  !     Sow'd  cockle  reap'd  no  corn ; 

And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 

Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsworn; 

If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 


A  a  2 


XIX. 

INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.   TT7"E  now  come  to  the  third  great  division  of  Dramatic 
Idca~of~  *      Criticism — Plot,  or  the  purely  intellectual  side  of 

Plot  as  the  action.     Action  itself  has  been  treated  above  as  the  mutual 


connecti°n  afid  interweaving  of  all  the  details  in  a  work  of 
human  life,  art  so  as  to  unite  in  an  impression  of  unity.  But  we  have 
found  it  impossible  to  discuss  Character  and  Passion  en- 
tirely apart  from  such  action  and  interworking :  the  details 
of  human  interest  become  dramatic  by  being  permeated  with 
action-force.  When  however  this  mutual  relation  of  all  the 
parts  is  looked  at  by  itself,  as  an  abstract  interest  of  design, 
the  human  life  being  no  more  than  the  material  to  which 
this  design  is  applied,  then  we  get  the  interest  of  Plot.  So 
defined,  I  hope  Plot  is  sufficiently  removed  from  the  vulgar 
conception  of  it  as  sensational  mystery,  which  has  done  so 
much  to  lower  this  element  of  dramatic  effect  in  the  eyes  of 
literary  students.  If  Plot  be  understood  as  the  extension  of 
design  to  the  sphere  of  human  life,  threads  of  experience 
being  woven  into  a  symmetrical  pattern  as  truly  as  vari- 
coloured threads  of  wool  are  woven  into  a  piece  of  wool- 
work, then  the  conception  of  it  will  come  out  in  its  true 
dignity.  What  else  is  such  reduction  to  order  than  the 
meeting-point  of  science  and  art?  Science  is  engaged  in 
tracing  rhythmic  movements  in  the  beautiful  confusion  of 
the  heavenly  bodies,  or  reducing  the  bewildering  variety  of 


GENERAL   CONCEPTION  OF  PLOT.  357 

external  nature  to  regular  species  and  nice  gradations  of  life.  CH.  XIX. 

Similarly,  art  continues  the  work  of  creation  in  calling  ideal     

order  out  of  the  chaos  of  things  as  they  are.  And  so  the 
tangle  of  life,  with  its  jumble  of  conflicting  aspirations,  its 
crossing  and  twisting  of  contrary  motives,  its  struggle  and 
partnership  of  the  whole  human  race,  in  which  no  two  in- 
dividuals are  perfectly  alike  and  no  one  is  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  the  rest— this  has  gradually  in  the  course  of  ages 
been  laboriously  traced  by  the  scientific  historian  into  some 
such  harmonious  plan  as  evolution.  But  he  finds  himself 
long  ago  anticipated  by  the  dramatic  artist,  who  has  touched 
crime  and  seen  it  link  itself  with  nemesis,  who  has  trans- 
formed passion  into  pathos,  who  has  received  the  shapeless 
facts  of  reality  and  returned  them  as  an  ordered  economy  of 
design.  This  application  of  form  to  human  life  is  Plot: 
and  Shakespeare  has  had  no  higher  task  to  accomplish  than 
in  his  revolutionising  our  ideas  of  Plot,  until  the  old  critical 
conceptions  of  it  completely  broke  down  when  applied  to 
his  dramas.  The  appreciation  of  Shakespeare  will  not  be 
complete  until  he  is  seen  to  be  as  subtle  a  weaver  of  plots  as 
he  is  a  deep  reader  of  the  human  heart. 

As  with  Character  and  Passion,  so  Plot  is  to  be  considered 
in  its  three  aspects  of  unity,  complexity  and  movement.  But 
the  last  is  at  once  of  special  importance  in  itself,  and  different 
in  nature  from  the  other  two.  It  has  been  already  noted  how 
the  analysis  which  traces  unity  and  complexity  treats  the 
drama  as  a  finished  whole,  and  may  piece  together  into  one 
elements  of  effect  drawn  from  different  parts  of  the  play ; 
movement,  on  the  contrary,  is  tied  to  the  succession  of 
incidents  as  they  stand  in  the  story.  The  difference  is 
parallel  to  the  difference  between  the  two  sides  of  mechanical 
science:  Statics  treating  matter  in  repose,  and  Dynamics 
considering  matter  in  relation  to  motion.  It  will  be  con- 
venient in  the  present  treatment  to  separate  movement  from 
the  other  two  divisions :  the  present  Chapter  will  deal  with  the 


358  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  interest  of  Plot  which  is  Statical  \  and  the  Dynamics  of  Plot 
will  be  left  to  the  following  Chapter. 

Unity  ap-  The  simplest  element  of  Plot  is  the  Single  Action,  which 
$>h? t0  mav  ^e  defined  as  any  train  of  incidents  in  a  drama  which 
The  Single  can  be  conceived  as  a  separate  whole.  Thus  a  series  of 
on'  details  bringing  out  the  idea  of  a  crime  and  its  nemesis  will 
constitute  a  Nemesis  Action,  an  oracle  and  its  fulfilment  will 
make  up  an  Oracular  Action,  a  problem  and  its  solution  a 
Problem  Action.  Throughout  the  treatment  of  Plot  the  root 
idea  of  pattern  should  be  steadily  kept  in  mind :  in  the  case 
of  these  Single  Actions — the  units  of  Plot — we  have  as  it  were 
the  lines  of  a  geometrical  design,  made  up  of  their  details  as 
Forms  of  a  geometrical  line  is  made  up  of  separate  points.  The  Form 
*'  °f  a  dramatic  action — the  shape  of  the  line,  so  to  speak — will 
be  that  which  gives  the  train  of  incidents  its  distinctiveness : 
the  nemesis,  the  oracle,  the  problem.  An  action  may  get  its 
distinctiveness  from  its  tone  as  a  Comic,  a  Tragic  or  a  Hu- 
morous Action ;  or  it  may  be  a  Character  Action,  when  a 
series  of  details  acquire  a  unity  in  bringing  out  the  character 
of  Hastings  or  Lady  Macbeth ;  an  action  may  be  an  Intrigue, 
or  the  Rise  and  Fall  of  a  person,  or  simply  a  Story  like  the 
Caskets  Story ;  it  may  be  a  Motive  Action,  bringing  about,  as 
it  progresses,  the  general  changes  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
story ;  or  it  may  be  a  Stationary  Action  that  is  kept  entirely 
outside  the  dramatic  movement.  Finally,  an  action  may 
combine  several  different  forms  at  the  same  time,  just  as  a 
geometrical  line  may  be  at  once,  say,  an  arch  and  a  spiral. 
The  action  that  traces  Macbeth's  career  has  been  treated  as 
exhibiting  a  triple  form  of  Nemesis,  Irony,  and  Oracular 
Action ;  further,  it  is  a  Tragic  Action  in  tone,  it  is  a  Character 
Action  in  its  contrast  with  the  career  of  Lady  Macbeth,  and 

1  I  borrow  these  terms  from  an  able  article  by  Mr.  F.  Ryland  on  the 
Morte  d1  Arthur  (in  the  English   Illustrated  Magazine  for   October, 
Mr.  Ryland  uses  the  term  '  statical '  somewhat  differently. 


HARMONY  OF  ACTIONS  AS  UNITY.  359 

it  stands  in  the  relation  of  Main  Action  to  others  in  the  CH.  XIX 
play  \ 

Now  what  I  have  called  Single  Action  constituted  the  Complexity 
whole  conception  of  Plot  in  ancient  Tragedy;  in  the'JJ^f.^ 
Shakespearean  Drama  it  exists  only  as  a  unit  of  Complex  distinction 
Action.  The  application  of  complexity  to  action  is  ren- 
dered  particularly  easy  by  the  idea  of  pattern,  patterns  which 
appeal  to  the  eye  being  more  often  made  up  of  several  lines 
crossing  and  interweaving  than  of  single  lines.  Ancient 
tragedy  clung  to  '  unity  of  action/  and  excluded  such  matter 
as  threatened  to  set  up  a  second  interest  in  a  play.  Modern 
Plot  has  a  unity  of  a  much  more  elaborate  order,  perhaps 
best  expressed  by  the  word  harmony — a  harmony  of  distinct 
actions,  each  of  which  has  its  separate  unity.  The  illus- 
tration of  harmony  is  suggestive.  Just  as  in  musical  har- 
mony each  part  is  a  melody  of  itself,  though  one  of  them 
leads  and  is  the  melody,  so  a  modern  plot  draws  together 
into  a  common  system  a  Main  Action  and  other  inferior  yet 
distinct  actions.  Moreover  the  step  from  melody  alone  to 
melody  harmonised,  or  that  from  the  single  instruments  of 
the  ancient  world  to  the  combinations  of  a  modern  orchestra, 
marks  just  the  difference  between  ancient  and  modern  art 
which  we  find  reflected  in  the  different  conception  of  Plot 
held  by  Sophocles  and  by  Shakespeare.  Shakespeare's 
plots  are  federations  of  plots :  in  his  ordering  of  dramatic 
events  we  trace  a  common  self-government  made  out  of 
elements  which  have  an  independence  of  their  own,  and 
at  the  same  time  merge  a  part  of  their  independence  in 
common  action. 

1  A  Sub-Action  is  either  an  action  distinctly  subordinate  to  another 
action  {Merchant  of  Venice},  or  of  inferior  importance  in  the  general 
scheme  of  the  play  {LovJs  Labour 's  Lost}  ;  or  it  is  so  called  because  its 
course  is  confined  to  a  part  and  not  the  whole  of  the  movement  (Julius 
Gesar}.  See  Tabular  Analysis,  pages  399-416. 


360  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  The  foundation  of  critical  treatment  in  the  matter  of  Plot 
;  is  the  Analyst's  of  Complex  Action  into  its  constituent  Single1 

Action.5  Actions.  This  is  easy  in  such  a  play  as  The  Merchant  of 
Venice.  Here  two  of  the  actions  are  stories,  a  form  of 
unity  readily  grasped,  and  in  this  case  the  stories  had  an 
independent  existence  outside  the  play.  These  identified  and 
separated,  it  is  easy  also  to  see  that  Jessica  constitutes  a 
fresh  centre  of  interest  around  which  other  details  gather 
themselves;  that  the  incidents  in  which  Launcelot  and 
Gobbo  are  concerned  are  separable  from  these;  while  the 
matter  of  the  rings  constitutes  a  distinct  episode  of  the 
Caskets  Story:  already  the  junction  of  so  many  separate 
stories  in  a  common  working  gratifies  our  sense  of  design. 
In  other  plays  where  the  elements  are  not  stories  the  in- 
dividuality of  the  Single  Actions  will  not  always  be  so  posi- 
tive :  all  would  readily  distinguish  the  Lear  Main  plot  from 
the  Underplot  of  Gloucester,  but  in  the  subdivision  of  these 
difference  of  opinion  arises.  In  an  Appendix  I  have  sug- 
gested schemes  of  Analysis  for  each  of  the  nine  plays  treated 

Canons  of  in  this  work :  I  may  here  add  four  remarks,     (i)  Any  series 

Analysis.    Q^  Details  which  can  be  collected  from  various  parts  of  a  drama 
Analysis  .  .  .  .  . 

tentative,    to  make  up  a  common  interest  may  be  recognised  in  Analysis 

not posi-  as  a  separate  action.  It  follows  from  this  that  there  may  be 
very  different  modes  of  dividing  and  arranging  the  elements 
of  the  same  plot :  such  Analysis  is  not  a  matter  in  which  we 
are  to  look  for  right  or  wrong,  but  simply  for  better  or  worse. 
No  scheme  will  ever  exhaust  the  wealth  of  design  which 
reveals  itself  in  a  play  of  Shakespeare;  and  the  value  of  Analysis 
as  a  critical  process  is  not  confined  to  the  scheme  it  produces, 
but  includes  also  the  insight  which  the  mere  effort  to  analyse  a 

Design  as    drama  gives  into  the  harmony  and  connection  of  its  parts. 

^  ThC  CSSenCe   °f  Plot  bein&  design>  that  wil1   be   the  best 

scheme  of  Analysis  which  best  brings  out  the  idea  of  symmetry 

Analysis     and  design.     (3)  Analysis  must  be  exhaustive :  every  detail  in 
exhaustive. 

1  See  note  on  page  74. 


ANALYSIS  OF  ACTION. 


361 


the  drama  must  find  a  place  in  some  one  of  the  actions. 
(4)  The  constituent  actions  will  of  course  not  be  mutually 
exclusive,  many  details  being  common  to  several  actions : 
these  details  are  so  many  meeting-points,  in  which  the  lines 
of  action  cross  one  another. — With  these  sufficiently  obvious 
principles  I  must  leave  the  schemes  of  analysis  in  the 
Appendix  to  justify  themselves. 

In  the  process  of  analysis  we  are  led  to  notice  special 
forms  of  action  :  in  particular,  the  Enveloping  Action.  This 
interesting  element  of  Plot  may  be  described  as  the  fringe, 
or  border,  or  frame,  of  a  dramatic  pattern.  It  appears  when 
the  personages  and  incidents  which  make  up  the  essential 
interest  of  a  play  are  more  or  less  loosely  involved  with 
some  interest  more  wide-reaching  than  their  own,  though 
more  vaguely  presented.  It  is  seen  in  its  simplest  form 
where  a  story  occupied  with  private  personages  connects 
itself  at  points  with  public  history:  homely  life  being  thus 
wrapped  round  with  life  of  the  great  world;  fiction  having 
reality  given  to  it  by  its  being  set  in  a  frame  of  accepted 
fact.  We  are  familiar  enough  with  it  in  prose  fiction. 
Almost  all  the  Waverley  Novels  have  Enveloping  Actions, 
Scott's  regular  plan  being  to  entangle  the  fortunes  of  in- 
dividuals, which  are  to  be  the  main  interest  of  the  story,  with 
public  events  which  make  known  history.  Thus  in  Wood- 
stock a  Cavalier  maiden  and  her  Puritan  lover  become,  as 
the  story  proceeds,  mixed  up  in  incidents  of  the  Common- 
wealth and  Restoration ;  or  again,  the  plot  of  Redgauntlet, 
which  consists  in  the  separate  adventures  of  a  pair  of  Scotch 
friends,  is  brought  to  an  issue  in  a  Jacobite  rising  in 
which  both  become  involved.  The  Enveloping  Action  is  a 
favourite  element  in  Shakespeare's  plots.  In  the  former  part 
of  the  book  I  have  pointed  out  how  the  War  of  the  Roses 
forms  an  Enveloping  Action  to  Richard  III;  how  its  con- 
nection with  the  other  actions  is  close  enough  for  it  to  catch 
the  common  feature  of  Nemesis;  and  how  it  is  marked 


CH.  XIX. 

The  ele- 
mentary 
actions  not 
mutually 
exclusive. 


The  En- 
veloping 
Action. 


362  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  with  special  clearness  by  the  introduction  of  Queen  Margaret 
and  the  Duchess  of  York  to  bring  out  its  opposite  sides. 
In  Macbeth  there  is  an  Enveloping  Action  of  the  super- 
natural centring  round  the  Witches:  the  human  workings 
of  the  play  seem  to  be  wrapped  in  a  deeper  working  out  of 
destiny,  with  prophetic  beings  to  keep  it  before  us.  More 
simply,  the  supernatural  gives  to  The  Tempest  an  Enveloping 
Action  of  Enchantment.  Julius  C<zsar,  as  a  story  of  political 
conspiracy  and  political  reaction,  is  furnished  with  a  loose 
Enveloping  Action  in  the  passions  of  the  Roman  mob : 
this  is  a  vague  power  outside  recognised  political  forces, 
appearing  at  the  beginning  to  mark  that  uncertainty  in  public 
life  which  can  drive  even  good  men  to  conspiracy,  while 
from  the  turning-point  it  furnishes  the  force  the  explosion 
of  which  is  made  to  secure  the  conspirators'  downfall. 

A  typical  example  is  to  be  found  in  Lear,  all  the  more 
typical  from  the  fact  that  it  is  by  no  means  a  prominent 
interest  in  the  play.  The  Enveloping  Action  in  this  drama 
is  the  French  War.  The  seeds  of  this  war  are  sown  in  the 
opening  incident,  in  which  the  French  King  receives  his  wife 

i.  i.  265.      from  Lear  with  scarcely  veiled  insult :  it  troubles  Gloucester 

i.  ii.  23.  in  the  next  scene  that  France  is  '  in  choler  parted/  Then 
we  get,  in  the  second  Act,  a  distant  hint  of  rupture  from 

ii.  ii.  172.  the  letter  of  Cordelia  read  by  Kent  in  the  stocks.  In  the 
other  scenes  of  this  Act  the  only  political  question  is  of 

ii.  i.  ii.  '  likely  wars  toward  '  between  the  English  dukes;  but  at  the 
beginning  of  the  third  Act  Kent  directly  connects  these 
quarrels  of  the  dukes  with  the  growing  chance  of  a  war  with 

iii.  i.  19-  France :  the  French  have  had  intelligence  of  the  '  scattered 
kingdom/  and  have  been  '  wise  in  our  negligence/  In  this 

iii.  iii.  Act  Gloucester  confides  to  Edmund  the  feeler  he  has  re- 
ceived from  France,  and  his  trustfulness  is  the  cause  of  his 

iii.  iii.  22.  downfall ;    Edmund  treacherously  reveals  the  confidence  to 

iii.  vi.  95-  Cornwall,  and  makes  it  the  occasion  of  his  rise.  Gloucester's 
measures  for  the  safety  of  Lear  have  naturally  a  connection 


THE  ENVELOPING  ACTION. 


363 


with  the  expected  invasion,  and  he  sends  him  to  Dover  to  CH.  XIX. 

find  welcome  and  protection.     The  final  scene  of  this  Act,     - 

devoted  to  the  cruel  outrage  on  Gloucester,  shows  from  its  jj1;  vii*  2' 

very  commencement  the  important  connection  of  the  En- 

veloping Action  with  the  rest  of  the  play  :  the  French  army 

has  landed,  and  it  is  this  which  is  felt  to  make  Lear's  escape 

so  important,  and  which  causes  such  signal  revenge  to  be 

taken  on  Gloucester.     Throughout  the  fourth   Act  all  the 

threads  of  interest  are  becoming  connected  with  the  invading 

army  at  Dover  ;  if  this  Act  has  a  separate  interest  of  its  own 

in  Edmund's  intrigues  with  both  Goneril  and  Regan  at  once, 

yet  these  intrigues  are   possible  only  because   Edmund  is  iv.  ii.  n, 

hurrying  backwards  and  forwards  between  the  princesses  in  Jf  'a©  &c 

the  measures  of  military  preparation  for  the  battle.     The 

fifth  Act  has  its  scene  on  the  battlefield,  and  the  double 

issue  of  the  battle  stamps  itself  on  the  whole  issue  of  the 

play:  the  death  of  Lear  and  Cordelia  is  the  result  of  the 

French  defeat,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  all  who  were  to 

reap  the  fruits  of  guilt  die  in  the  hour  of  victory.     Thus  v.  Hi.  238, 

this  French  War  is  a  model  of  Enveloping  Action  :  —  outside  2^  ' 

the   main   issues,  yet  loosely  connecting  itself  with   every 

phase  of  the  movement  ;  originating  in  the  incident  which  is 

the  origin  of  the  whole  action  ;  the  possibility  of  it  developed 

by  the  progress   of  the  Main  story,  alike   by   the  cruelty 

shown  to  Lear  and  by  the  rivalry  between  his  daughters; 

the  fear  of  it  playing  a  main  part  in  the  tragic  side  of  the 

Underplot,  and  the  preparation  for  it  serving  as  occasion  for 

the  remaining  interest  of  intrigue  ;  finally,  breaking  out  as  a 

reality  in  which  the  whole  action  of  the  play  merges. 

In  no  play  is  this  device  of  the  Enveloping  Action  carried  The  Frame 
so  far  as  in  A  s  You  Like  It.     The  matter  of  this  play  analyses 
into  two  distinct  systems  of  related  actions  \     One  of  these 
is  a  system  of  love  stories  developed  and  carried  to  a  happy 


See  Tabular  Analysis,  below,  page  415. 


364  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  conclusion  in  the  Forest  of  Arden.  But  machinery  has  to  be 
set  in  motion  to  bring  the  personages  of  these  love  stories 
into  the  forest  world,  where  they  are  to  meet  and  feel  one 
another's  influence :  the  portions  of  the  whole  play  devoted 
to  this  purpose  thus  constitute  a  Frame  in  which  the  main 
interest  is  enclosed.  But  when  this  Frame  comes  to  be 
itself  analysed,  it  is  found  to  be  a  system  of  four  distinct 
Enveloping  Actions,  one  inside  another,  like  Chinese  boxes. 
The  outermost  belongs  to  the  widest  world  of  politics,  the 
Civil  War  of  the  Dukes,  which  has  driven  the  good  Duke  into 
exile  and  so  set  up  the  outlaw  life  of  Arden  forest.  One 
degree  less  wide  than  Civil  War  are  the  dissensions  of  great 
families,  and  the  Feud  in  the  De  Boys  family  makes  our 
second  Enveloping  Action.  It  appears  to  be  loosely  involved 

i.  ii,  from  in  the  first,  since  the  reigning  Duke  seems  about  to  extend  his 
protection  to  the  oppressed  Orlando,  until  he  hears  that  he  is 
the  son  of  his  enemy,  and  then  not  only  Orlando  has  to  fly, 
but  the  persecutor  Oliver  is  made  responsible  for  him  and 
driven  from  his  estate.  These  two  Enveloping  Actions  are 
accountable  for  the  Woodland  Life  in  the  forest  of  Arden,  and 
the  presence  there  of  the  lovers.  But  this  Woodland  Life 
itself  makes  another  Enveloping  Action,  wrapping  round  all 
the  incidents  of  the  love  plot  with  its  pastoral  spirit.  And 
there  is  yet  one  more  effect  of  the  same  kind ;  for  this 
Woodland  Life  has  (before  the  commencement  of  the  main 
plot)  attracted  the  morbid  Jaques  as  a  region  favourable  for 
moralising,  and  his  humour  of  melancholy  makes  an  atmo- 
sphere in  which  the  lovers  are  to  move  and  breathe.  All 
this  complex  system  is  no  more  than  a  Frame  to  the  love 
passages  which  make  up  the  main  plot.  But  a  Frame  that 
is  so  prominent  will  not  unnaturally  be  allowed  some  share  in 
the  movement  of  the  play,  and  we  get  a  very  striking  bit  of 
plot  handling  at  the  end.  The  marriage  of  Celia  and  Oliver 

v.  ii.  init.  terminates  the  Feud  of  the  De  Boys  brothers,  Oliver  proposing 
to  estate  upon  Orlando  all  his  father's  revenues.  At  the 


ECONOMY  OF  ACTION.  365 

marriage  feast  news  comes  of  how  the  Duke,  marching  after  CH.  XIX. 

Oliver's  flight  against  the  Forest  of  Arden  and  its  inmates,     

had  been  smitten  with  penitence,  and  resigned  his  government 
to  the  rightful  ruler.  Accordingly  the  Woodland  Life  of  the 
Arden  outlaws  ceases  with  the  occasion  that  brought  it  into 
existence.  And,  for  a  final  touch,  Jaques  finds  no  longer  any  v.  iv.  186. 
attraction  in  his  companions  thus  made  happy,  but  goes  to 
the  more  congenial  region  of  the  penitent  '  convertite.'  The 
consummation  of  the  love  plot  is  thus  made  coincident  with 
the  termination  of  the  actions  constituting  the  enclosing  Frame, 
which  thus  seems  to  drop  to  pieces,  like  a  scaffold  which  has 
served  its  purpose  and  been  taken  down. 

From  Analysis  we  pass  naturally  to  Economy.  Considered  Economy : 
in  the  abstract,  as  a  phase  of  plot  beauty,  Economy  may  be  ^nfary  to 
defined  as  that  perfection  of  design  which  lies  midway  be-  Analysis. 
tween  incompleteness  and  waste.  Its  formula  is  that  a  play 
must  be  seen  to  contain  all  the  details  necessary  to  the 
unity,  no  detail  superfluous  to  the  unity,  and  each  detail 
expanded  in  exact  proportion  to  its  bearing  on  the  unity. 
In  practice,  as  a  branch  of  treatment  in  Shakespeare- 
Criticism,  Economy,  like  Analysis,  deals  with  complexity  of 
plot.  The  two  are  supplementary  to  one  another.  The  one 
resolves  a  complexity  into  its  elements,  the  other  traces  the 
unity  running  through  these  elements.  Analysis  distinguishes 
the  separate  actions  which  make  up  a  plot,  while  Economy 
notes  the  various  bonds  between  these  actions  and  the  way 
in  which  they  are  brought  into  a  common  system:  it 
being  clear  that  the  more  the  separateness  of  the  different 
interests  can  be  reduced  the  richer  will  be  the  economy  of 
design. 

It  will  be  enough  to  note  three  Economic  Forms.     The  Economic 
first    is   simple    Connection-,    the    actual    contact   of  action 
with   action,   the  separate  lines  of  the  pattern   meeting  at 
various  points.     In  other  words,  the  different  actions  have 
details  or   personages  in  common.     Bassanio   is    clearly  a 


366  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  bond  between  the  two  main   stories   of  The  Merchant  of 

Venice,  in  both  of  which  he  figures  so  prominently;  and  it  has 

been  pointed  out  that  the  scene  of  Bassanio's  successful  choice 

is  an  incident  with  which  all  the  stories  which  enter  into  the 

and  Link-  action   of  the   play  connect  themselves.     There   are   Link 

™g.  Personages,  who    have   a    special   function    so    to    connect 

stories,  and  similarly  Link  Actions :    Gloucester  in  the  play 

of  Lear  and  the  Jessica  Story  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice  are 

examples.     Or  Connection  may  come  by  the  interweaving 

of  stories  as  they  progress:    they  alternate,  or   fill,  so   to 

speak,   each   other's   interstices.     Where   the  Story   of  the 

Jew  halts  for  a  period  of  three  months,  the  elopement  of 

from ii.i. to  Jessica   comes   to   occupy  the   interval;    or    again,   scenes 

iii. ".  3J9-  from  the  tragedy  of  the  Gloucester  family  separate  scenes 

from   the   tragedy   of  Lear,   until   the   two   tragedies   have 

become  mutually  entangled.     Envelopment  too  serves  as  a 

kind  of  Connection  :  the  actions  which  make  up  such  a  play 

as  Richard  III  gain  additional  compactness  by  their  being 

merged  in  a  common  Enveloping  Action. 

Depend-  Another  Form  of  Economy  is  Dependence.  This  term  ex- 
presses the  relation  between  an  underplot  and  main  plot, 
or  between  subactions  and  the  actions  to  which  they  are 
subordinate.  The  fact  'that  Gloucester  is  a  follower  of 
compare  Lear — he  would  appear  to  have  been  his  court  chamber- 
1.1.35,191.  jajn — makes  the  story  of  the  Gloucester  family  seem  to  spring 
out  of  the  story  of  the  Lear  family ;  that  we  are  not  called 
upon  to  initiate  a  fresh  train  of  interest  ministers  to  our 
sense  of  Economy.  In  The  Tempest,  where  the  action  is 
mainly  occupied  with  enchantment,  it  has  been  shown  that 
the  underplot  assists  this  fundamental  idea  by  bringing  for- 
ward phases  of  actual  life  allied  to  enchantment.  Here  also 
the  relation  of  the  underplot  to  the  mainplot  may  be  de- 
scribed as  dependence:  the  term  fairly  covers  such  con- 
structive support,  just  as  in  architecture  buttresses  at  once 
lean  against  and  support  the  main  mass. 


PARALLELISM  AND  CONTRAST.  367 

But   in  the    Shakespearean   Drama   the  most   important  CH.  XIX. 
Economic  Form  is  Symmetry  :  between  different  parts  of  a 
design  symmetry  is  the  closest  of  bonds.     A  simple  form  of  ^ 


Symmetry  is  the  Balance  of  actions,  by  which,  as  it  were, 
the  mass  of  one  story  is  made  to  counterpoise  that  of  an- 
other. If  the  Caskets  Story,  moving  so  simply  to  its  goal 
of  success,  seems  over-weighted  by  the  thrilling  incidents  of 
the  Jew  Story,  we  find  that  the  former  has  by  way  of  com- 
pensation the  Episode  of  the  Rings  rising  out  of  its  close, 
while  the  elopement  of  Jessica  and  her  reception  at  Bel- 
mont  transfers  a  whole  batch  of  interests  from  the  Jew  side 
of  the  play  to  the  Christian  side.  Or  again,  in  a  play  such 
as  Macbeth,  which  traces  the  Rise  and  Fall  of  a  personage, 
the  Rise  is  accompanied  by  the  separate  interest  of  Banquo 
till  he  falls  a  victim  to  its  success  ;  to  balance  this  we  have 
in  the  Fall  Macduff,  who  becomes  important  only  after 
Banquo's  death,  and  from  that  point  occupies  more  and 
more  of  the  field  of  view  until  he  brings  the  action  to  a  close. 
Similarly  in  Julius  C<zsar  the  victim  himself  dominates  the 
first  half;  Antony,  his  avenger,  succeeds  to  his  position  for 
the  second  half. 

More  important  than  Balance  as  forms  of  Symmetry  are  Parallel- 
Parallelism  and  Contrast  of  actions.  Both  are,  to  a  certain 
extent,  exemplified  in  the  plot  of  Macbeth  :  the  triple  form  of 
Nemesis,  Irony,  and  Oracular  binding  together  all  the  elements 
of  the  plot  down  to  the  Enveloping  Action  illustrates  Paral- 
lelism, and  Contrast  has  been  shown  to  be  a  bond  between 
the  interest  of  Lady  Macbeth  and  of  her  husband.  But  Paral- 
lelism and  Contrast  are  united  in  their  most  typical  forms  in 
Lear,  which  is  at  once  the  most  intricate  and  the  most  sym- 
metrical of  Shakespearean  dramas.  A  glance  at  the  scheme 
of  this  plot  shows  its  deep-seated  parallelism.  A  Main  story 
in  the  family  of  Lear  has  an  Underplot  in  the  family  of 
Gloucester.  The  Main  plot  is  a  problem  and  its  solution,  the 
Underplot  is  an  intrigue  and  its  nemesis.  Each  is  a  system  of 


368  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    STATICS. 

CH.  XIX.  four  actions :  there  is  the  action  initiating  the  problem  with 
the  three  tragedies  which  make  up  its  solution,  there  is  again 
the  action  generating  the  intrigue  and  the  three  tragedies 
which  constitute  its  nemesis.  The  threefold  tragedy  in 
the  Main  plot  has  its  elements  exactly  analogous,  each  to 
each,  to  the  threefold  tragedy  of  the  Underplot :  Lear  and 
Gloucester  alike  reap  a  double  nemesis  of  evil  from  the 
children  they  have  favoured,  and  good  from  the  children  they 
have  wronged ;  the  innocent  Cordelia  has  to  suffer  like  the 
innocent  Edgar;  alike  in  both  stories  the  gains  of  the 
wicked  are  found  to  be  the  means  of  their  destruction.  Even 
in  the  subactions,  which  have  only  a  temporary  distinctness 
in  carrying  out  such  elaborate  interworking,  the  same 

e.g.  i.  iv.     Parallelism  manifests  itself.     They  run  in  pairs  :  where  Kent 

if  ii°&c  ^as  an  incuvidual  mission  as  an  agency  for  good,  Oswald 
runs  a  course  parallel  with  him  as  an  agency  for  evil ;  of  the 

e.  g.  iv.  ii.  two  heirs  of  Lear,  Albany,  after  passively  representing  the 

v9  'iii  from  ^oo<^  s^e  °^  ^  ^am  P^ot'  ^as  l^e  function  of  presiding 
59.  over  the  nemesis  which  comes  on  the  evil  agents  of  the 

Underplot,  while  Cornwall,  who  is  active  in  the  evil  of  the 
iii.  vii.        Main  plot,  is  the  agent  in  bringing  suffering  on  the  good 
iv.  ii;  iv.  victims  of  the  Underplot;   once  more  from  opposite  sides 
2j8V'  m*     of  the  Lear  story  Goneril  and  Regan  work  in  parallel  in- 
trigues to  their  destruction.     Every  line  of  the  pattern  runs 
parallel  to  some  distant  line.     Further,  so  fundamental  is  the 
symmetry  that  we  have  only  to  shift  the  point  of  view  and 
the   Parallelism  becomes  Contrast.     If  the  family  histories 
be   arranged  around  Cordelia  and  Edmund,  as  centres  of 
good   and   evil   in   their   different   spheres,   we    perceive   a 
sharp  antithesis  between  the  two  stories  extending  to  every 
detail:    though  stated   already  in   the  chapter  on  Lear,  I 
should  like  to  state  it  again  in  parallel  columns  to  do  it  full 
justice. 


PARALLELISM  AND   CONTRAST. 


369 


In  the  MAIN  PLOT  a 

Daughter, 

\Vhohasreceivednothing 
but  Harm  from  her 
father, 

Who  has  had  her  po- 
sition unjustly  torn 
from  her  and  given 
to  her  undeserving 
elder  Sisters, 

Nevertheless  sacrifices 
herself  to  save  the 
Father  who  did  the 
injury  from  the  Sis- 
ters who  profited  by 
it. 


In  the  UNDERPLOT  a 

Son, 

Who  has  received  nothing 
but  Good  from  his 
father, 

Who  has,  contrary  to  jus- 
tice, been  advanced 
to  the  position  of  an 
innocent  elder  Bro- 
ther he  had  maligned, 

Nevertheless  is  seeking 
the  destruction  of  the 
Father  who  did  him 
the  unjust  kindness, 
when  he  falls  by  the 
hand  of  the  Brother 
who  was  wronged  by 
it. 


CH.  XIX. 


The  play  of  Lear  is  itself  sufficient  to  suggest  to  the  critic 
that  in  the  analysis  of  Shakespeare's  plots  he  may  safely 
expect  to  find  symmetry  in  proportion  to  their  intricacy. 


B  b 


XX. 

INTEREST  OF  PLOT  :   DYNAMICS. 

CHAP. XX.  TT7"E  now  reach  the  Dynamics  of  Plot :  the  important 

V  V     department  of  dramatic  interest  which  comprehends 
Movement 
applied  to    the  effects  dependent  upon  the  actual  progress  of  the  story, 

plot-  as  distinguished  from  those  which  imply  the  selection  and 

comparison  of  its  various  parts.     This  interest  of  Movement 

falls  under   two   heads — Motive   Form   and   Motive   Force. 

The  first  is  made  by  a  succession  of  incidents  acting  upon 

our  sense  of  design.     But  motion  implies  force:    and  the 

second  type  of  interest  is  in  watching  the  underlying  causes 

or  principles  which  the  current  of  incidents  reveals.     The 

first  addresses  itself  to  our  sense  of  symmetry,  the  second  to 

our  sense  of  economy.     They  will  be  considered  separately. 

Motive  Motive   Form   is   the  impression   of  design   left  by   the 

succession  of  incidents  in  the  order  in  which  they  actually 

' Movement  •  stand.     The  succession  of  incidents  may  suggest  progress  to 

the  Line  of  a  goal,  as  in  the  Caskets  Story.     This  is  Simple *  Movement : 

straight      ^e  ^me  °f  Action  becomes  a  straight  line.     We  get  the 

Jin*-  next  step  by  the  variation  that  is  made  when  a  curved  line  is 

L  omph-       substituted  for  a  straight  line  :    in  other  words,  when   the 

cal»dMove-  ,  ....  . 

ment:  the  succession  of  incidents   reaches  its  goal,  but  only  after  a 

Line  of      diversion.     This   in   its   most   prominent   form   is   what   is 

curve.         known  as  Complication  and  Resolution.     A  train  of  events  is 

obstructed  and  diverted  from  what  appears  its  natural  course, 

which  gives  the  interest  of  Complication  :  after  a  time  the 

obstruction  is  removed  and  the  natural  course  is  restored, 

1  See  note  on  page  74- 


MOTIVE  FORM.  371 

which  is  the  Resolution  of  the  action  :  the  Complication,  like  CHAP.  XX. 

a  musical  discord,  having  existed  only  for  the  sake  of  being      

resolved.     No  clearer  example  could  be  desired  than  that  of 
Antonio,  whose  career  when  we  are  introduced  to  it  appears 
to  be  that  of  leading  the  money-market  of  Venice  and  ex- 
tending patronage  and  protection  all  around;    by  the  en- 
tanglement of  the  bond  this  career  is  checked  and  Antonio 
turned  into  a  prisoner  and  bankrupt ;    then  Portia  cuts  the 
knot  and  Antonio  becomes  all  he  has  been  before.     Or  again, 
the  affianced  intercourse  of  Portia  and  Bassanio  begins  with  iii.  ii.  1 73. 
an  exchange  of  rings ;  by  the  cross  circumstances  connected 
with  Antonio's  trial  one  of  them  parts  with  this  token,  and  iv.  ii. 
the  result  is  a  comic  interruption  to  the  smoothness  of  lovers' 
life,  until  by  Portia's  confession  of  the  ruse  the  old  footing  is  v.  i.  266. 
restored. 

Complicated  Movement  as  so  stated  belongs  to  the  Action  Action- 
side  of  dramatic  effect.     It  rests  upon  design  and  the  inter-  ^°™™ent 
working  of  details  ;  its  interest  lies  in  obstacles  interposed  to  guished 
be  removed,  doing  for  the  sake  of  undoing,  entanglement  fo*  sion-Mwe- 
its  own  sake ;  in  its  total  effect  it  ministers  to  a  sense  of  men*. 
intellectual   satisfaction,   like   that   belonging  to   a    musical 
fugue,  in  which  every  opening  suggested  has  been  sufficiently 
followed  up.     We  get  a  movement  which  is  at  once  different, 
and  yet  a  counterpart,  when  the  sense  of  design  is  inseparable 
from  effects  of  passion,  and  the  movement  is,  as  it  were,  traced 
in  our  emotional  nature.     In  this  case  a  growing  strain  is  put 
upon  our  sympathy  which  is  not  unlike  Complication.     But 
no  Resolution  follows :  the  rise  is  made  to  end  in  fall,  the 
progress  leads   to   ruin ;    in  place  of  the   satisfaction   that 
comes  from  restoring  and  unloosing  is  substituted  a  fresh 
appeal  to  our  emotional  nature,  and  from  agitation  we  pass 
only  to  the  calmer  emotions  of  pity  and  awe.     There  is 
thus   a  Passion-Movement  distinct    from   Action-Movement  \ 
and,  analogous  to  the  Complication  and  Resolution  of  the 
latter,  Passion-Movement  has  its  Strain  and  Reaction.     The 

B  b  2 


372  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  Line  of  Passion  has  its  various  forms.     A  chapter  has  been 

7      devoted  to  illustrating  one  form  of  Passion-Movement,  which 

of  Passion  may  be  called  the  Regular  Arch — if  we  may  found  a  tech- 
a  Regular  njcai   term   on   the   happy   illustration    of  Gervinus.     The 
example   was  taken   from   the   play   of  Julius   Cccsar,  the 
emotional  effect  in  which  was  shown   to   pass   from  calm 
interest  to  greater  and  greater  degree  of  agitation,  until  after 
culminating  in  the  centre  it  softens  down  and  yields  to  the 
different  calmness  of  pity  and  acquiescence.     The  movement 
an  Inclined  of  Richard  III,  Othello,  and  many  other  dramas  more  re- 
Plane         sembles  the  form  of  an  Inclined  Plane,  the  turn  in  the  emo- 
iv.  ii.  46.    tion  occurring  long  past  the  centre  of  the  play.     Or  again, 
or  a  Wave  there  is  the    Wave  Line  of  emotional  distribution,  made  by 
repeated  alternations  of  strain  and  relief.     This  is  a  form 
of  Passion-Movement  that  nearly  approaches  Action-Move- 
ment, and  readily  goes  with  it  in  the  same  play ;    in  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  the  union  of  the  two  stories  gives  such 
alternate  Strain  and  Relief,  and  the  Episode  of  the  Rings 
comes  as  final  Relief  to  the  final  Strain  of  the  trial. 
for  The  distinction  between  Action-Movement  and  Passion- 

'  *rnUff'd, '  Movement  is  of  special  importance  in  Shakespeare-Criticism, 
substitute,    inasmuch  as  it  is  the  real  basis  of  distinction  between  the 
"fS/iaT™  two   ma*n   c^asses   °f  Shakespearean    dramas.     Every   one 
speare,        feels  that  the  terms  Comedy  and  Tragedy  are  inadequate, 
and  indeed  absurd,  when  applied  to  Shakespeare.     The  dis- 
tinction these  terms  express  is  one  of  Tone,  and  they  were 
quite  in  place  in  the  Ancient  Drama,  in  which  the  comic 
and  tragic   tones  were  kept  rigidly  distinct  and  were   not 
allowed  to  mingle  in  the  same  play.     Applied  to  a  branch  of 
Drama  of  which  the  leading  characteristic  is  the  complete 
Mixture  of  Tones  the  terms  necessarily  break  down,  and  the 
so-called  '  Comedies '  of  The  Merchant  of  Venice  and  Measure 
for   Measure   contain   some  of  the  most   tragic    effects  in 
Shakespeare.     The  true  distinction  between  the  two  kinds 
of  plays  is  one  of  Movement,  not  Tone.     In  The  Merchant 


MOTIVE  FORM. 

of  Venice  the  leading  interest  is  in  the  complication  of  An-  CHAP.  XX. 
tonic's  fortunes  and  its  resolution  by  the  device  of  Portia. 
In  all  such  cases,  however  perplexing  the  entanglement  of 
the  complication  may  have  become,  the  ultimate  effect  of 
the  whole  lies  in  the  resolution  of  this  complication;  and 
this  is  an  intellectual  effect  of  satisfaction.  In  the  plays 
called  Tragedies  there  is  no  such  return  from  distraction  to 
recovery :  our  sympathy  having  been  worked  up  to  the  emo- 
tion of  agitation  is  relieved  only  by  the  emotion  of  pathos  or 
despair.  Thus  in  these  two  kinds  of  dramas  the  impression 
which  to  the  spectator  overpowers  all  other  impressions,  and 
gives  individuality  to  the  particular  play,  is  this  sense  of  in- 
tellectual or  of  emotional  unity  in  the  movement :  is,  in  other 
words,  Action-Movement  or  Passion-Movement.  The  two  'Action- 
may  be  united,  as  remarked  above  in  the  case  of  The  Mer-  Dram?? 
chant  of  Venice ;  but  one  or  the  other  will  be  predominant  Drama: 
and  will  'give  to  the  play  its  unity  of  impression.  The 
distinction,  then,  which  the  terms  Comedy  and  Tragedy 
fail  to  mark  would  be  accurately  brought  out  by  sub- 
stituting for  them  the  terms  Action-Drama  and  Passion- 
Drama. 

With  complexity  of  action  comes  complexity  of  movement.  Compound 
Compound  Movement  takes  in  the  idea  of  the  relative  motion  Mff0*nicnt. 
amongst   the   different   actions   into   which   a  plot   can   be 
analysed.     A  play  of  Shakespeare  may  present  a  system  of 
wheels  within  wheels,  like  a  solar  system  in  motion  as  a  whole 
while  the  separate  members  of  it  have  their  own  orbits  to 
follow.     The  nature  of  Compound  Movement  can  be  most  Its  three 
simply  brought  out  by  describing  its  three  leading  Modes  of  ^/f/j^f. 
Motion.     In  Similar  Motion  the  actions  of  a  system  are  similar 
moving  in  the  same  form.     The  plot  of  Richard  III,  for  Motion, 
example,  is  a  general  rise  and  fall  of  Nemesis  made  up  of 
elements  which  are  themselves  rising  and  falling  Nemeses. 
Such  Similar  Motion  is  only  Parallelism  looked  at  from  the 
side  of  movement.     A  variation  of  it  occurs  when  the  form 


374 


INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 


Contrary 
Motion : 
Counter- 
Action, 


CHAP. XX.  of  one  action  is  distributed  amongst  the  rest:  the  main 
action  of  Julius  Cccsar  is  a  Nemesis  Action,  the  two  sub- 
actions  are  the  separate  interests  of  Caesar  and  Antony, 
which  put  together  amount  to  Nemesis. 

Of  Contrary  Motion  the  simplest  form  is  Counter- Action  : 
where  (as  in  The  Tempest}  an  intrigue  which  serves  as  the 
original  Complicating  Action  of  the  play  has  pitted  against  it 
a  Resolving  Action  which  undoes  it.  The  difference  between 
Contrary  and  Similar  Motion  is  well  illustrated  in  this  play x. 
Its  scheme  involves  three  systems  of  Actions  :  a  Main  Plot, 
an  Underplot,  and  a  crowd  of  Mechanical  Personages,  who 
faintly  reflect  the  general  movement  of  the  play.  These  three 
systems  move  in  Similar  Motion,  all  being  included  in  a 
common  complication  and  resolution.  But  the  separate 
Actions  of  which  each  system  is  made  up  move  in  directions 
contrary  from  one  another.  The  Complicating  Action  of  the 
Main  Plot  has  for  Sub-Action  an  intrigue  which  is  met  by 
a  like  Sub- Action  attached  to  the  Resolving  Action:  these 
two  Sub-Actions  counteract  one  another.  The  Resolving 
Action  of  the  Main  Plot  has  two  Sub-Actions,  outside  the 
scenic  unity,  and  serving  as  preparation  for  the  main  move- 
ment. One  of  them  is  Prospero's  judgment  on  Caliban, 
which  prepares  for  that  amount  of  further  complication  which 
is  usually  the  task  of  a  Resolving  Action  before  it  proceeds 
to  resolve ;  the  other,  the  work  of  mercy  done  to  Ariel,  pre- 
pares for  the  resolving  side  of  Prospero's  task :  thus  this  pair 
of  Sub-Actions  also  move  in  opposition  to  one  another  as 
Judgment  and  Mercy.  Again,  of  the  two  Link  Actions  which 
constitute  the  Underplot  one,  the  story  of  Ferdinand  and 
Miranda,  moves  in  the  direction  of  their  ultimate  union ;  the 
other,  the  conspiracy  of  Caliban  and  the  sailors,  tends  to- 
wards their  ultimate  separation,  Caliban  awaking  in  the 
universal  restoration  to  the  deception  under  which  he  has 
laboured : 

1  See  Tabular  Analysis,  pages  411-2. 


MOTIVE  FORM.  375 

What  a  thrice-double  ass  CHAP.  XX. 

Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god  

And  worship  this  dull  fool !  v.  i.  294. 

Even  amongst  the  Mechanical  Personages  the  group  of 
Sailors  and  the  group  of  Courtiers,  so  far  as  they  have  any 
share  in  the  action  of  the  play,  seem  to  move  in  an  oppo- 
sition reflected  in  the  humorous  antagonism  of  their  leaders, 
the  Boatswain  and  Gonzalo,  who  are  sparring  with  one  1  i.  and 
another  at  the  point  of  death,  and  resume  their  sparring  as  v'  u  2I7- 
soon  as  they  meet  in  the  final  enchantment.  The  whole 
play  is  a  beautiful  study  for  complexity  of  dramatic  move- 
ment, exhibiting  three  systems  of  Actions  moving  together 
in  Similar  Motion,  while  the  individual  Actions  of  which 
each  system  is  made  up  move  forward  in  mutual  an- 
tagonism. 

Another  variety  of  Contrary  Motion  is  Interference,  when  Inter- 
the  separate  actions  as  they  move  on  interfere  with  one 
another;  as  the  Touchstone  Action,  or  the  Jaques  Action,  in 
As  JTou  Like  //,  with  their  professional  or  morbid  humour,  is 
continually  clashing  with  the  Main  Action  of  Rosalind  and 
Orlando,  which  is  animated  throughout  by  genuine  humour. 
A  more  pronounced  form  of  Interference  between  actions  is 
where  each  acts  as  complicating  force  to  the  other,  turning 
it  out  of  its  course ;  in  reality  they  are  helping  one  another's 
advance,  seeing  that  complication  is  a  step  in  dramatic 
progress.  The  Merchant  of  Venice  furnishes  an  example. 
The  Caskets  Story  progresses  without  check  to  its  climax ; 
in  starting  it  complicates  the  Jew  action — for  before  Bassanio 
can  get  to  Belmont  he  borrows  of  Antonio  the  loan  which  is 
to  entangle  him  in  the  meshes  of  the  Jew's  revenge;  then 
the  Caskets  Story  as  a  result  of  its  climax  resolves  this 
complication  in  the  Story  of  the  Jew— for  the  union  of 
Portia  with  Bassanio  provides  the  deliverer  for  Bassanio's 
friend.  But  in  thus  resolving  the  Story  of  the  Jew  the 
Caskets  Story,  in  the  new  phase  of  it  that  has  commenced 


376  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  with  the  exchange  of  betrothal  rings,  itself  suffers  complica- 
tion — the  circumstances  of  the  trial  offering  the  suggestion 
to  Portia  to  make  the  demand  for  Bassanio's  ring.  Thus  of 
the  two  actions  moving  on  side  by  side  the  one  interferes 
with  and  diverts  the  other  from  its  course,  and  again  in  re- 
storing it  gets  itself  diverted.  This  mutual  interference 
makes  up  Contrary  Motion. 

Convergent      A  third  modeof  Compound  Movement  is  Convergent  Motion, 
Motion.       ^  which  actions,  or  systems  of  actions,  at  first   separate, 
become  drawn  together  as  they  move  on,  and  assist  one 
another's  progress.     This  has  been  described  at  length  in  the 
chapter   on   Othello.     The  play  of  Lear  again  furnishes  a 
typical  example.     This  play,  it  will  be  recollected,  includes 
two  distinct   systems   of   actions   tracing   the  story  of  two 
separate  families.     Moreover  the  main  story  after  its  opening 
incident  presents,  so  far  as  movement  is  concerned,  three 
different  sides,  according  as  its  incidents  centre  around  Lear, 
Goneril,  or  Regan.     The  first  link  between  these  diverse 
actions  is  Gloucester,  the  central   personage  of  the  whole 
li.35, 191.  plot.     Gloucester  has  been  the  King's  chamberlain  and  his 
ii.  i.  93.      close  friend,  the  King  having   been  godfather  to  his  son. 
Accordingly,  in  the  highly  unstable  political  condition  of  a 
kingdom  divided  equally  between  two  unprincipled  sisters, 
Gloucester  represents  a  third  party,  the  party  of  Lear :   he 
holds  the  balance  of  power,  and  the  effort  to  secure  him 
draws  the    separate   interests    together.     Thus  as   soon  as 
i.  v.  i.         Lear  and  Goneril  have  quarrelled  Lear  sends  Kent  to  Glou- 
cester,   and   our   actions   begin    to   approach  one  another. 
ii.  i.  9.        Before  this  messenger  can  arrive  we  hear  of  '  hints  and  ear- 
kissing  arguments'  as  to  rupture   between  the  dukes,  and 
we  see  Regan  and  her  husband  making  a  hasty  journey — 
ii.  i.  121.    'out  of  season  threading  dark-eyed  night '—in  order  to  be 
ii.  iv.  192.  the  first  at  Gloucester's  castle ;  when  Goneril  in  self-defence 
follows  all   the   separate   elements   of  the   main   plot   have 
found   a    meeting-point.     But   this  castle  of  Gloucester  in 


MOTIVE  FORM.  377 

which  they  meet  is  the  seat  of  the  underplot,  and  the  two  CHAP.  XX. 
systems  become  united  in  the  closest  manner  by  this  central 
linking.  Regan  arrives  in  time  to  use  her  authority  in  fur-  ii.  i.  88- 
thering  the  intrigue  against  Edgar  as  a  means  of  recom-  13I»  esP- 
mending  herself  to  the  deceived  Gloucester;  the  other  in- 
trigue of  the  underplot,  that  against  Gloucester  himself,  is  iii.  v,  &c. 
promoted  by  the  same  means  when  Edmund  has  betrayed  to 
Regan  his  father's  protection  of  Lear ;  while  the  meeting  of 
both  sisters  with  Edmund  lays  the  foundation  of  the  mutual 
intriguing  which  forms  the  further  interest  of  the  entangle- 
ment between  underplot  and  main  story.  All  the  separate 
lines  of  action  have  thus  moved  to  a  common  centre,  and 
their  concentration  in  a  common  focus  gives  opportunity 
for  the  climax  of  passion  which  forms  the  centre-piece 
of  the  play.  Then  the  Enveloping  Action  comes  in  as  a 
further  binding  force,  and  it  has  been  pointed  out  above 
how  throughout  the  fourth  and  fifth  Acts  all  the  separate 
actions,  whatever  their  immediate  purpose,  have  an  ultimate 
reference  to  Dover  as  the  landing-place  of  the  invading  army  : 
in  military  phrase  Dover  is  the  common  objective  on  which 
all  the  separate  trains  of  interest  are  concentrating.  In  this 
way  have  the  actions  of  this  intricate  plot,  so  numerous 
and  so  separate  at  first,  been  found  to  converge  to  a 
common  centre  and  then  move  together  to  a  common  de- 
nouement. 

The  distinction  of  movement  from  the  other  elements  of  Tttming- 
Plot  leads  also  to  the  question  of  Turning-points,  an  i 
equally  connected  with  movement  and  with  design.     In  the 
movement  of  every  play  a  Turning-point  is  implied :  move- 
ment could  not  have  dramatic  interest  unless  there  were  a 
change  in  the  direction  of  events,  and  such  change  implies  a 
point  at  which  the  change  becomes  apparent.     Changes  of 
a  kind  may  be  frequent  through  the  progress  of  a  play,  but 
one  notable  point  will  stand  out  at  which  the  ultimate  issues 
present  themselves  as  decided,  the  line  of  action  changing 


378  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  from  complication  to  resolution,  the  line  of  passion  from 

strain  to  reaction.     Such  a  point  is  technically  a  Catastrophe : 

The  Cata- 
strophe: or  a   word  whose   etymological    meaning    suggests   a    turning 

Focus  of     round  so  as   to  come   down.     In    Shakespeare's   dramatic 
Movement.  * 

practice   we   find   a   not   less   important    Turning-point   in 

relation  to  the  design  of  the  plot.  That  is  at  the  exact 
centre1 — the  middle  of  the  middle  Act — and  serves  as  a 
balancing  point  about  which  the  plot  may  be  seen  to  be 

The  Centre  symmetrical :    it  is  a  Centre  of  Plot  as  the  Catastrophe  is 

of  Plot.       a  FQCUS  Of  Movement.     The  Catastrophe  of  The  Merchant  of 

iv.  i.  305.  Venice  is  clearly  Portia's  judgment  in  the  Trial  Scene,  by 
which  in  a  moment  the  whole  entanglement  is  resolved.  In 
an  earlier  chapter  it  has  been  pointed  out  how  the  union  or 

iii.  ii.  Portia  and  Bassanio — at  the  exact  centre  of  the  play — is  the 
real  determinant  of  the  whole  plot,  uniting  the  complicating 
and  resolving  forces,  and  constituting  a  scene  in  which  all 
the  four  stories  find  a  meeting-point.  In  Richard  III,  while 

iv.  ii.  45.  the  Catastrophe  comes  in  the  hero's  late  recognition  of  his 
own  nemesis,  yet  there  has  been,  before  this  and  in  the 
exact  centre,  a  turn  in  the  Enveloping  Action,  which  in- 

iii.  iii.  15.  eludes  all  the  rest,  shown  by  the  recognition  that  Margaret's 
curses  have  now  begun  to  be  fulfilled.  The  exact  centre  of 

iii.  iv.  20.  Macbeth,  as  pointed  out  above,  marks  the  hero's  passage 
from  rise  to  fall,  that  is  from  unbroken  success  to  unbroken 

iii.  iv.  49 ;  failure  :  the  corresponding  Catastrophe  in  this  play  is  double, 
v.  viii.  13. 

1  The  play  of  Love's  Labour  V  Lost  is  only  an  apparent  exception. 
For  some  reason  I  do  not  understand  the  numbering  of  the  scenes  is  ex- 
ceptional in  this  play  :  the  second  and  third  acts  are  very  short,  and  the 
fifth  act  includes  nearly  half  the  play  (ten  twenty-fifths).  Measured  by 
lines  the  centre  of  the  play  falls  within  iv.  iii :  and  this  is  obviously  the 
Centre  of  Plot.  In  some  plays  the  centring  of  the  plot  seems  to  be  dis- 
tributed evenly  through  the  scenes  of  the  middle  Act.  In  The  Tempest, 
for  example,  the  different  Actions  reach  their  full  complexity  in  the  suc- 
cessive scenes  of  the  third  Act ;  in  scene  i,  the  Ferdinand  and  Miranda 
Action ;  in  scene  ii,  the  Caliban  and  Stephano  Action  ;  in  scene  iii,  the 
Main  Plot  (including  the  Motive  Sub-Actions:  compare  lines  10-17). 


MOTIVE  FORM.  379 

a  first  appearance  of  Nemesis  in  Banquo's  ghost,  its  final  CHAP.  XX. 

stroke  in  the  revelation  of  Macduff  s  secret  of  birth.    Julius     

Cccsar  presents  the  interesting  feature  of  the  Catastrophe 
and  Central  Turning-point  exactly  coinciding,  in  the  trium-  iii.  i.  122. 
phant  appeal  of  the  conspirators  to  future  history.  A  Centre 
of  Plot  and  a  Catastrophe  have  already  been  pointed  out  in 
Othello  \  In  As  You  Like  It  Orlando  meets  the  disguised 
Rosalind  for  the  first  time  in  the  central  scene ;  the  dropping 
of  the  disguise  in  the  fifth  act  makes  a  Catastrophe.  Lear, 
according  to  the  scheme  of  analysis  suggested  in  this  work, 
has  its  Catastrophe  at  the  close  of  the  initial  scene,  by 
which  time  the  problem  in  experience  has  been  set  up  in 
action,  and  the  tragedies  arising  out  of  it  thenceforward 
work  on  without  break  to  its  solution.  A  Centre  of  Plot  is 
found  for  this  play  where,  in  the  middle  Scene  of  the  middle  iii.  iv.  45. 
Act,  the  third  of  the  three  forms  of  madness  is  brought  into 
contact  with  the  other  two  and  makes  the  climax  of  passion 
complete.  This  regular  union  by  Shakespeare  of  a  marked 
catastrophe,  appealing  to  every  spectator,  with  a  subtle 
dividing-point,  interesting  to  the  intellectual  sense  of  analysis, 
illustrates  the  combination  of  force  with  symmetry,  which  is 
the  genius  of  the  Shakespearean  Drama :  it  throughout  pre- 
sents a  body  of  warm  human  interest  governed  by  a  mind  of 
intricate  design. 

It  may  be  added  that  in  plots  where  the  Enveloping  Action  Further 
is  prominent  Shakespeare  usually  gives  a  Further  Resolution,   ™so  utwn' 
after  the  action  of  the  play  itself  has  been  regularly  wound 
up ;  and  a  Further  Resolution  implies  a  third  Turning-Point. 
The  most  marked  case  is  Loves  Labour's  Lost,  where,  after  the  v.  ii.  723. 
Complication   set  up   by  the   French   Princess's   visit  has 
worked  itself  out  to  complete  Resolution,  a  shock  is  given 
by  the  news  of  the  king  of  France's  death,  and  a  Further 
Resolution  of  the  action  takes  place  which  converts  comic 

1  See  above,  page  240.    Compare  in  all  cases  the  Tabular  Analysis 
on  pages  399-416. 


380  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  into  serious.  So  (as  pointed  out  above)  when  the  plot  of 
As  You  Like  It  has  been  wound  up  in  a  quadruple  marriage, 

v.  iv.  157.  the  entrance  of  Jaques  de  Boys  with  his  news  makes  a  fresh 
Turning-point,  which  has  the  effect  of  dissipating  the  Frame 

compare      Actions   that   have   held   the   play  together.     And   in   The 

E  UtTue  Tempest ',  where  the  Enveloping  Action  is  Enchantment, 
Prospero  after  bringing  the  plot  to  a  complete  consummation 
makes  a  Further  Resolution  by  laying  his  Enchantment 
down. 


Motive  From  Motive  Form  we  pass  to  Motive  Force.     In  fiction, 

just  as  much  as  in  real  life,  the  course  of  events  is  perpetually 
suggesting  to  us  underlying  causes  or  controlling  forces, — 
whether  these  be  Law,  or  some  higher  Will,  or  Chance ;  or, 
at  the  very  least,  the  particular  succession  of  incidents  finds 
explanation  in  their  combining  to  advance  some  common 
purpose.  What  are  the  purposes,  or  underlying  principles, 
or  technically,  Motives,  which  thus  carry  forward  the  move- 
ment of  the  Shakespearean  drama  ? 

Providence  To  begin  with,  Providence  is  itself  a  Motive  Force  in 
Dramatic  fict^on>  l^e  analyst  finding  the  same  interest  in  tracing 
Motive.  meaning  and  design  in  the  action  of  a  story  that  the  thinker 
finds  in  discovering  a  Moral  Providence  in  the  issues  of  real 
life.  It  has  been  argued  in  a  previous  chapter  that,  to  under- 
stand the  term  Dramatic  Providence  aright,  it  is  necessary  to 
recognise  how  all  principles  which  the  thinker  sees  in  the 
actual  universe,  alike  those  which  assist  and  those  which 
disturb  our  notions  of  moral  order,  have  a  right  to  a  place  in 
the  dramatic  picture  of  the  world.  One  of  the  plays  reviewed 
stands  alone  in  relation  to  this  topic  :  The  Tempest  is  a  study 
of  Personal  Providence.  By  a  device  not  uncommon  in 
prose  fiction 1  we  are  in  this  play  enabled  to  see  an  individual 

1  The  most   familiar  example  is    The   Count  of  Monte-Cristo,   by 
Alexander  Dumas.     The  plot  of  this  novel  brings  its  hero,  by  a  con- 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  381 

will  elevated  into  a  controlling  destiny.  Enchantment  is,  CHAP.  XX. 
within  its  circle  and  during  the  influence  of  its  auspicious  star, 
equivalent  to  omnipotence ;  by  such  omnipotence  of  enchant- 
ment Prospero  knows  all  that  happens  in  his  island,  and 
irresistibly  controls  the  issues  of  all  events  :  the  dramatist,  by 
keeping  us  in  continuous  sympathy  with  Prospero,  is  working 
out  for  our  benefit  a  conception  of  Personal  Providence. 
But  this  is  necessarily  an  exceptional  case ;  in  the  great  mass 
of  plays  the  matter  is  confined  to  the  experience  of  ordinary 
life,  nor  will  the  action  be  allowed  to  display  the  ruling  mind 
of  the  universe  to  any  greater  degree  than  it  presents  itself 
in  the  actual  thinking  of  mankind.  In  general,  then,  the 
Motive  Forces  handled  by  the  dramatist  will  be  such  as  he 
can  artistically  associate  with  the  course  of  events  in  real 
life. 

One  of  the  great  determinants  of  fate  in  the  Drama  is  Poetic  Jus- 
Poetic  Justice.     What  exactly  is  the  meaning  of  this  term  ?    It  ^^/. 
is  often  understood  to  mean  the  correction  of  justice,  as  if  beauty. 
justice  in  poetry  were  more  just  than  the  justice  of  real  life. 
But  this  is  not  supported  by  the  facts  of  dramatic  story.     An 
English  judge  and  jury  would  revolt  against  measuring  out  to 

currence  of  extraordinary  circumstances,  consisting  partly  in  personal 
discipline,  and  partly  in  vast  accessions  of  wealth  and  social  power, 
into  the  position  of  an  Earthly  Providence  to  the  world  of  the  French 
capital,  enabling  him  to  execute  irresistible  designs  on  his  friends  and 
foes.  A  more  direct  treatment  still  is  Eugene  Sue's  Mysteries  of  Paris. 
Here  we  have  a  hero  actuated,  not  by  sense  of  wrong,  as  in  Monte-Cristo, 
but  by  pure  benevolence,  raising  himself  into  a  providential  director  of 
circumstances;  and  he  incites  others  to  do  the  same.  But  the  most 
interesting  variation  of  the  theme  is  The  Wandering  Jew  of  the  same 
author.  In  this  work  a  family,  distinguished  by  a  vast  inheritance  that 
is  to  descend  to  the  surviving  members  after  generations  of  accumulation, 
are  displayed  as  placed  between  two  opposing  Earthly  Providences : 
the  Jesuits  (who,  as  a  society,  never  die)  are  treated  by  the  author  as  a 
malignant  Providence,  seeking  through  a  series  of  criminal  intrigues  to 
secure  the  treasure  for  themselves ;  while  the  '  Wandering  Jew '  and  his 
sister  (cursed,  according  to  the  legend,  with  immortality  on  earth,  but 
repentant)  counteract  these  machinations. 


382  INTEREST   OP  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  Shylock  the  justice  that  is  meted  to  him  by  the  court  of 
Venice,  though  the  same  persons  beholding  the  scene  in  a 
theatre  might  feel  their  sense  of  Poetic  Justice  satisfied; 
unless  indeed,  which  might  easily  happen,  the  confusion  of 
ideas  suggested  by  this  term  operated  to  check  their  acqui- 
escence in  the  issue  of  the  play.  A  better  notion  of  Poetic 
Justice  is  to  understand  it  as  the  modification  of  justice  by 
considerations  of  art.  This  holds  good  even  where  justice 
and  retribution  do  determine  the  fate  of  individuals  in  the 
Drama;  in  these  cases  our  dramatic  satisfaction  still  rests, 
not  on  the  high  degree  of  justice  exhibited,  but  on  the  artistic 
mode  in  which  it  works.  A  policeman  catching  a  thief  with 
his  hand  in  a  neighbour's  pocket  and  bringing  him  to 
summary  punishment  affords  an  example  of  complete  justice, 
yet  its  very  success  robs  it  of  all  poetic  qualities ;  the  same 
thief  defeating  all  the  natural  machinery  of  the  law,  yet  over- 
taken after  all  by  a  questionable  ruse,  would  be  to  the  poetic 
sense  far  more  interesting. 

Nemesis  as      Treating  Poetic  Justice,  then,  as  the  application  of  art  to 
"native1  '*  mora^s'  *ts  most  important  phase  will  be  Nemesis,  which  we 
have  already  seen  involves  an  artistic  link  between  sin  and 
retribution.     The  artistic  connection  may  be  of  the   most 
Varieties     varied  description.     There  is  a  Nemesis  of  perfect  equality, 
of  Nemesis.  $nyjock_  reaping  measure  for  measure  as  he  has  sown.     When 
Nemesis  overtook  the  Roman  conspirators  it  was  partly  its 
compare      suddenness  that  made  it  impressive :  within  fifty  lines  of  their 
anVio"118    aPPea^  to -all  time  they  have  fallen  into  an  attitude  of  depre- 
cation.    For    Richard,    on    the    contrary,    retribution    was 
delayed  to  the  last  moment :  to  have  escaped  to  the  eleventh 
hour  is  shown  to  be  no  security. 

Jove  strikes  the  Titans  down 
Not  when  they  first  begin  their  mountain  piling, 
But  when  another  rock  would  crown  their  work. 

Nemesis  may  be  emphasised  by  repetition  and  multiplication  ; 
in  the  world  in  which  Richard  is  plunged  there  appears  to  be 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  383 

no  event  which  is  not  a  nemesis.     Or  the  point  may  be  the  CHAP.  XX. 

unlooked-for  source  from  which  the  nemesis  comes ;  as  when      

upon  the  murder  of  Caesar  a  colossus  of  energy  and  resource 

starts  up  in  the  time-serving  and  frivolous  Antony,  whom  the 

conspirators   had   spared  for  his  insignificance.     Or  again,  ii.  i  165. 

retribution  may  be  made  bitter  to  ,the  sinner  by  his  tracing 

in  it  his  own  act  and  deed  :  from  Lear  himself,  and  from  no 

other  source,  Goneril  and  Regan  have  received  the  power 

they  use  to  crush  his  spirit.     Nay,  the  very  prize  for  which 

the  sinner  has  sinned  turns  out  in  some  cases  the  nemesis 

fate  has  provided  for  him ;  as  when  Goneril  and  Regan  use 

their  ill-gotten  power  for  the  state  intrigues  which  work  their  iii.  iii.  53- 

death.     In  the  great  crisis  of  The  Tempest  the  whole  universe  82> 

seems  to  resolve  itself  into  nemesis  upon  a  single  crime. 

And  most  keenly  pointed  of  all  comes  the  nemesis  that  is 

combined  with  mockery:    Macbeth,  if  he  had  not  essayed 

the  murder  of  Banquo  as  an  extra  precaution,  might  have  iii.  i.  49. 

enjoyed  his  stolen  crown  in  safety;    his  expedition  against 

Macduffs  castle  slays  all  except  tint  fate-appointed  avenger;  iv. iii.  219. 

Richard  disposes  of  his  enemies  with  flawless  success  until 

the  last,  Dorset,  escapes  to  his  rival.  iv.  ii.  46. 

Such  is  Nemesis,  and  such  are  some  of  the  modes  in 
which  the  connection  between  sin  and  retribution  may  be 
made  artistically  impressive.     Poetic  Justice,  however,  is  a  Poetic 
wider  term  than  Nemesis.     The  latter  implies  some  offence,  ^j^than 
as  an  occasion  for  the  operation  of  judicial  machinery.     But,  Nemesis. 
apart  from  sin,  fate  may  be  out  of  accord  with  character,  and 
the  correction  of  this  ill  distribution  will  satisfy  the  dramatic 
sense.     But  here  again  the  practice  of  dramatic  providence 
appears  regulated,  not  with  a  view  to  abstract  justice,  but  to 
justice  modified  by  dramatic  sympathy:    Poetic  Justice  ex- 
tends to  the  exhibition  of  fate  moving  in  the  interests  of  those 
with  whom  we  sympathise  and  to  the  confusion  of  those 
with  whom  we  are  in  antagonism.     This  gives  point,  we 
have  seen,  to  the  episode  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  in  The 


384  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  Tempest.  Again,  viewed  as  a  piece  of  equity  the  sentence  on 
Shylock — a  plaintiff  who  has  lost  his  suit  by  an  accident  of 
363.  "  statute-law — seems  highly  questionable.  On  the  other  hand, 
this  sentence  brings  a  fortune  to  a  girl  who  has  won  our 
sympathies  in  spite  of  her  faults  ;  it  makes  provision  for  those 
for  whom  there  is  a  dramatic  necessity  of  providing ;  above 
all  it  is  in  accord  with  our  secret  liking  that  good  fortune 
should  go  with  the  bright  and  happy,  and  sever  itself  from 
the  mean  and  sordid.  Whether  this  last  is  justice,  I  will  not 
discuss  :  it  is  enough  that  it  is  one  of  the  instincts  of  the 
imagination,  and  in  creative  literature  justice  must  pay  tribute 
to  art. 

Pathos  as  a  But  however  widely  the  term  be  stretched,  justice  is  only 
motive"  one  °^  tne  determinants  of  fate  in  the  Drama,  and  perhaps 
this  principle  is  never  more  clearly  seen  than  in  Love's 
Labour's  Lost,  where,  as  has  been  pointed  out *,  the  fortune  of 
the  various  personages  is  determined  for  better  or  worse 
simply  according  to  the  sense  of  humour  which  each  possesses. 
Confusion  on  this  point  has  led  to  many  errors  of  criticism. 
The  case  of  Cordelia  is  in  point.  Because  she  is  involved  in 
the  ruin  of  Lear  it  is  felt  by  some  commentators  that  a 
consideration  of  justice  must  be  sought  to  explain  her  death : 
they  find  it  perhaps  in  her  original  resistance  to  her  father  ; 
or  the  ingenious  suggestion  has  been  made  that  Cordelia,  in 
her  measures  to  save  her  father,  invades  England,  and  this 
breach  of  patriotism  needs  atonement.  But  this  is  surely 
twisting  the  story  to  an  explanation,  not  extracting  an 
explanation  from  the  details  of  the  story.  It  would  be  a 
violation  of  all  dramatic  proportion,  needing  the  strongest 
evidence  from  the  details  of  the  play,  if  Cordelia's  '  most  small 
iv.  iv.  27.  fault '  betrayed  her  to  dramatic  execution.  And  as  to  the  sin 
177 ^^iu"  aoamst  patriotism,  the  whole  notion  of  it  is  foreign  to  the  play 
i,  v.  '  itself,  in  which  the  truest  patriots,  such  as  Kent  and  Gloucester, 

1  See  above,  page  291. 

*  The  text  in  this  passage  is  regarded  as  difficult  by  many  editors,  and 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  385 

are  secretly  confederate  with  Cordelia  and  look  upon  her  as  CHAP.  XX. 
the  hope  of  their  unhappy  country ;  while  even  Albany  him- 
self,  however  necessary  he  finds  it  to  repel  the  invader,  yet  iv.  ii.  2- 
distinctly  feels  that  justice  is  on  the  other  side.     The  fact  is  I0  ^com" 
that  in  Cordelia's  case,  as  in  countless  other  cases,  motives  95) ;  v.'  i. 
determine  fate  which  have  in  them  no  relation  to  justice;  2I~27- 
fiction  being  in  this  matter  in  harmony  with  real  life,  where 
in  only  a  minority  of  instances  can  we  recognise  any  element 
of  justice  or  injustice  as  entering  into  the  fates  of  individuals. 
When,  in  real  life  a  little  child  dies,  what  consideration  of  jus- 
tice is  there  that  bears  on  such  an  experience  ?     Nevertheless 
there  is  an  irresistible  sense  of  beauty  in  the  idea  of  the  fleeting 
child-life  arrested  while  yet  in  its  completeness,  before  the 
rude  hand  of  time  has  begun  to  trace  lines  of  passion  or 
hardness ;  the  parent  indeed  may  not  feel  this  in  the  case  of 
his  own  child,  but  in  art,  where  there  is  no  mist  of  individual 

is  marked  in  the  Globe  Edition  as  corrupt.  I  do  not  see  the  difficulty 
of  taking  it  as  it  stands,  if  regard  be  had  to  the  general  situation,  in 
which  (as  Steevens  has  pointed  out)  Kent  is  reading  the  letter  in  dis- 
jointed snatches  by  the  dim  moonlight.  Commentators  seem  to  me  to 
have  increased  the  obscurity  by  taking  '  enormous '  in  its  rare  sense  of 
'  irregular,'  'out  of  order,'  and  making  it  refer  to  the  state  of  England. 
Surely  it  is  used  in  its  ordinary  meaning,  and  applies  to  France ;  the 
clause  in  which  it  occurs  being  part  ef  the  actual  words  of  Cordelia's 
letter,  who  naturally  uses  '  this '  of  the  country  from  which  she  writes. 
Inverted  commas  would  make  the  connection  clear. 

Approach,  thou  beacon  to  this  under  globe, 

That  by  thy  comfortable  beams  I  may 

Peruse  this  letter! — 'Nothing  almost  sees  miracles'— 

'  But  misery ' — I  know  'tis  from  Cordelia, 

Who  hath  'most  fortunately  been  inform'd ' 

Of  my  'obscured  course,  and  shall  find  time 

From  this  enormous  state '— '  seeking  to  give 

Losses  their  remedies,'  &c. 

I.  e.  Cordelia  promises  she  will  find  leisure  from  the  oppressive  cares  of 
her  new  kingdom  to  remedy  the  evils  of  England.  Kent  gives  up  the 
attempt  to  read ;  but  enough  has  been  brought  out  for  the  dramatist's 
purpose  at  that  particular  stage,  viz.  to  hint  that  Kent  was  in  corre- 
spondence with  Cordelia,  and  looked  to  her  as  the  deliverer  of  England. 

C  C 


386  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  feeling  to  blind,  the  sense  of  beauty  comes  out  stronger  than 

the  sense  of  loss.     It  is  the  mission  of  the  Drama  thus  to 

interpret  the  beauty  of  fate :  it  seeks,  as  Aristotle  puts  it,  to 
purify  our  emotions  by  healthy  exercise.  The  Drama  does 
with  human  experience  what  Painting  does  with  external 
nature.  There  are  landscapes  whose  beauty  is  obvious  to  all ; 
but  it  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  the  artist  to  reveal  the  charm 
that  lies  in  the  most  ordinary  scenery,  until  the  ideal  can 
be  recognised  everywhere,  and  nature  itself  becomes  art. 
Similarly  there  are  striking  points  in  life,  such  as  the 
vindication  of  justice,  which  all  can  catch :  but  it  is  for  the 
dramatist,  as  the  artist  in  life,  to  arrange  the  experience  he 
depicts  so  as  to  bring  out  the  hidden  beauties  of  fate,  until 
the  trained  eye  sees  a  meaning  in  all  that  happens; — until 
indeed  the  word  *  suffering '  itself  has  only  to  be  translated 
into  its  Greek  equivalent,  and  pathos  is  recognised  as  a  form 
of  beauty.  Accumulation  of  Pathos  then  must  be  added  to 
Poetic  Justice  as  a  determinant  of  fate  in  the  Drama.  And 
our  sensitiveness  to  this  form  of  beauty  is  nowhere  more 
signally  satisfied  than  when  we  see  Cordelia  dead  in  the  arms 
of  Lear  :  fate  having  mysteriously  seconded  her  self-devotion, 
and  nothing,  not  even  her  life,  being  left  out  to  make  her 
sacrifice  complete. 

As  the  Accumulation  of  Pathos  is  a  determining  purpose 
in  one  class  of  dramas,  so  for  plays  of  the  opposite  type  a 
leading  motive  is  the  Accumulation  of  Humour.  Loves 
Labour 's  Lost  is  a  clear  example,  the  plot  of  which  has  been 
seen  to  be  a  contrivance  for  bringing  together  two  opposites, 
the  conflict  of  which  will  continually  explode  in  humour. 
In  Comedy  generally  Fun  plays  the  part  of  Fate. 

The  Super-      There  remains  a  third  great  determinant  of  fate  in  the 
'^dramatic  ^rama — lne   Supernatural.     Here,  as   in   the   discussion  of 
motive.        Dramatic  Providence,  The  Tempest  must  be  placed  in  a  cate- 
gory by  itself :  where  the  whole  story  is  elevated  out  of  the 
natural  into  the  region  of  enchantment  the  Supernatural  may 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  387 

be  said  to  vanish1.     The  supernatural  element  that  can  be  CHAP.  XX. 

treated  as  a  dramatic  motive  must  be  one  that  interferes  in  a     

world  of  reality.  I  have  in  a  former  chapter  pointed  out 
how  in  relation  to  this  topic  the  modern  Drama  stands  in 
a  different  position  from  that  of  ancient  Tragedy.  In  the 
Drama  of  antiquity  the  leading  motive  forces  were  super- 
natural, either  the  secret  force  of  Destiny,  or  the  interposition 
of  supernatural  beings  who  directly  interfered  with  human 
events.  We  are  separated  from  this  view  of  life  by  a  The  Super- 
revolution  of  thought  which  has  substituted  Providence  for  nat™'al 
Destiny  as  the  controller  of  the  universe,  and  absorbed  the  isedin 
supernatural  within  the  domain  of  Law.  Yet  elements  that  modern 
had  once  entered  so  deeply  into  the  Drama  would  not  be 
easily  lost  to  the  machinery  of  Passion-Movement;  super- 
natural agency  has  a  degree  of  recognition  in  modern  thought, 
and  even  Destiny  may  still  be  utilised  if  it  can  be  stripped  of 
antagonism  to  the  idea  of  a  benevolent  Providence.  To  begin 
with  the  latter:  the  problem  for  a  modern  dramatist  is  to 
reconcile  Destiny  with  Law.  The  characteristics  which  made 
the  ancient  conception  of  fate  dramatically  impressive — its  ir- 
resistibility, its  unintelligibility,  and  its  suggestion  of  personal 
hostility — he  may  still  insinuate  into  the  working  of  events  : 
only  the  destiny  must  be  rationalised,  that  is,  the  course  of 
events  must  at  the  same  time  be  explicable  by  natural  causes. 

First :  Shakespeare  gives  us  Destiny  acting  objectively,  as  As  an 
an  external  force,  in  the  form  of  Irony,  already  discussed  ' 
connection  with  the  standard  illustration  of  it  in  Macbeth. 
In  the  movement  of  this  play  Destiny  appears  in  the  most 
pronounced  form  of  mockery:    every  difficulty  and  check 
being  in  the  issue  converted  into  an  instrument  for  furthering 

1  Even  in  this  case  the  principle  that  distinguishes  the  action  of  en- 
chantment in  The  Tempest  agrees  with  that  laid  down  in  the  text  for 
Shakespeare's  general  treatment :— the  supernatural  intensifies,  rather 
than  determines,  human  action,  leading  Antonio  and  Sebastian  along 
a  path  chosen  by  themselves,  and  bringing  repentance  only  to  those  to 
whom  before  repentance  was  possible.  [Above,  pages  273,  278.] 

C  C  2 


388  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  the  course  of  events.  Yet  this  mockery  is  wholly  without 

any  suggestion  of  malignity  in  the  governing  power  of  the 

universe ;  its  effect  being  rather  to  measure  the  irresistibility 
of  righteous  retribution.  This  Irony  makes  just  the  differ- 
ence between  the  ordinary  operations  of  Law  or  Providence 
and  the  suggestion  of  Destiny :  yet  each  step  in  the  action  is 
sufficiently  explained  by  rational  considerations.  What  more 

i.  iv.  37.  natural  than  that  Duncan  should  proclaim  his  son  heir- 
apparent  to  check  any  hopes  which  too  successful  service 
might  excite  ?  Yet  what  more  natural  than  that  this  loss  of 

i.  iv.  48.  Macbeth's  remote  chance  of  the  crown  should  be  the  occa- 
sion of  his  resolve  no  longer  to  be  content  with  chances  ? 

ii.  iii.  141.  What  more  natural  than  that  the  sons  of  the  murdered  king 
should  take  flight  upon  the  revelation  of  a  treason  useless  to 
its  perpetrator  as  long  as  they  were  living  ?  Yet  what  again 
more  natural  than  that  the  momentary  reaction  consequent 

ii.  iv.  2i-  upon  this  flight  should,  in  the  general  fog  of  suspicion  and 
terror,  give  opportunity  to  the  object  of  universal  dread  him- 
self to  take  the  reins  of  government  ?  The  Irony  is  throughout 
no  more  than  a  garb  worn  by  rational  history  '. 

As  a  sub-        Or,  again,  Destiny  may  be  exhibited  as  a  subjective  force 

*  for™™  In-  m  Infatuation  or  Judicial  Blindness  :   '  whom  the  gods  would 

fatuation.  destroy  they  first  blind.'  This  was  a  conception  specially 
impressive  to  ancient  ethics;  the  lesson  it  gathered  from 
almost  every  great  fall  was  that  of  a  spiritual  darkening  which 
hid  from  the  sinner  his  own  danger,  obvious  to  every  other  eye, 
till  he  had  been  tempted  beyond  the  possibility  of  retreat. 

Falling  in  frenzied  guilt,  he  knows  it  not; 

So  thick  the  blinding  cloud 

That  o'er  him  floats;   and  Rumour  widely  spread 
With  many  a  sigh  repeats  the  dreary  doom, 

A  mist  that  o'er  the  house 

In  gathering  darkness  broods. 

1  In  comic  stories  the  Irony  of  Circumstances  is  a  counterpart  to  the 
tragic  Irony  of  Fate.  Rosalind's  disguise  converts  the  principal  scenes 
of  As  You  Like  It  into  a  prolonged  Irony. 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  389 

Such  Infatuation  is  very  far  from  being  inconsistent  with  the  CHAP.  XX. 

idea  of  Law ;    indeed,  it  appears  repeatedly  in  the   strong      

figures  of  Scriptural  speech,  by  which  the  ripening  of  sin  to 
its  own  destruction— a  merciful  law  of  a  righteously-ordered 
universe— is  suggested  as  the  direct  act  of  Him  who  is  the 
founder  of  the  universe  and  its  laws.  By  such  figures  God 
is  represented  as  hardening  Pharaoh's  heart ;  or,  again,  an 
almost  technical  description  of  Infatuation  is  put  by  the 
fervour  of  prophecy  into  the  mouth  of  God : — 

Make  the  heart  of  this  people  fat,  and  make  their  ears  heavy,  and  shut 
their  eyes ;  lest  they  see  with  their  eyes,  and  hear  with  their  ears,  and 
tmderstand  with  their  heart,  and  convert,  and  be  healed. 

In   the   case  of  Macbeth   the  judicial  blindness   is   main- 
tained to  the  last  moment,  and  he  pauses  in  the  final  combat  v.  viii.  13. 
to  taunt  Macduff  with  certain  destruction.     Yet,  while  we 
thus  get  the  full  dramatic  effect  of  Infatuation,  it  is  so  far 
rationalised  that  we  are  allowed  to  see  the  machinery  by 
which  the  Infatuation  has  been  brought  about :  we  have  heard 
the  Witches  arrange  to  deceive  Macbeth  with  false  oracles,  iii.  v.  16. 
A  very  dramatic,  but  wholly  natural,  example  of  Infatuation 
appears  at  the  turning-point  of  Richard's  career,  where,  when 
he   has  just   discovered  that  Richmond  is  the  point  from 
which  the  storm  of  Nemesis  threatens  to  break  upon  him, 
prophecies   throng    upon    his    memory  which  might   have  iv.  ii.  98, 
all  his  life  warned  him  of  this  issue,  had  he  not  been  blind  &c* 
to  them  till  this  moment.     Again,  Antonio's   challenge   to  i.  iii.  131. 
Shylock  to  do  his  worst  is,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out,  an 
outburst  of  hybris,  the  insolence  of  Infatuation :    but  this  is 
no  more  than  a  natural  outcome  of  a  conflict  between  two 
implacable  temperaments.     In  Infatuation,  then,  as  in  all  its 
other  forms,  Destiny  is  exhibited  by  Shakespeare  as   har- 
monised with  natural  law. 

Besides  Destiny  the  Shakespearean  Drama  admits  direct  Super- 
supernatural  agencies— witches,  ghosts,  apparitions,  as  well 
as  portents   and  violations  of  natural   law.     It  appears  to 


390  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  me  idle  to  contend  that  these  in  Shakespeare  are  not  really 

supernatural,  but  must  be  interpreted  as  delusions  of  their 

victims.  There  may  be  single  cases,  such  as  the  appearance 
of  Banquo  to  Macbeth,  where,  as  no  eye  sees  it  but  his  own, 
the  apparition  may  be  resolved  into  an  hallucination.  But 
to  determine  Shakespeare's  general  practice  it  is  enough  to 
point  to  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  which,  as  seen  by  three  persons 
at  once  and  on  separate  occasions,  is  indisputably  objective : 
and  a  single  instance  is  sufficient  to  establish  the  assumption 
in  the  Shakespearean  Drama  of  supernatural  beings  with  a 
real  existence.  Zeal  for  Shakespeare's  rationality  is  a  main 
source  of  the  opposite  view;  but  for  the  assumption  of 
such  supernatural  existences  the  responsibility  lies  not  with 
Shakespeare,  but  with  the  opinion  of  the  age  he  is  pourtraying. 
A  more  important  question  is  how  far  Shakespeare  uses  such 
supernatural  agency  as  a  motive  force  in  his  plays ;  how  far 
does  he  allow  it  to  enter  into  the  working  of  events,  for  the 
interpretation  of  which  he  is  responsible?  On  this  point 
Shakespeare's  usage  is  clear  and  subtle :  he  uses  the  agency 
of  the  supernatural  to  intensify  and  to  illuminate  human 
action,  not  to  determine  it. 

Intensify-        Supernatural  agency  intensifying   human  action  is  illus- 

"cfion;"an  trated  m  Macbeth.  No  one  can  seriously  doubt  the  objective 
existence  of  the  Witches  in  this  play,  or  that  they  are 
endowed  with  superhuman  sources  of  knowledge.  But  the 
question  is,  do  they  in  reality  turn  Macbeth  to  crime?  In 
one  of  the  chapters  devoted  to  this  play  I  have  dwelt  on 
the  importance  of  the  point  that  Macbeth  has  been  already 
meditating  treason  in  his  heart  when  he  meets  the  Witches 
on  the  heath.  His  secret  thoughts — which  he  betrays  in  his 

i.  iil  51.  guilty  start — have  been  an  invitation  to  the  powers  of  evil, 
and  they  have  obeyed  the  summons:  Macbeth  has  already 
ventured  a  descent,  and  they  add  an  impulse  downward.  To 
bring  this  out  the  more  clearly,  Shakespeare  keeps  Banquo 
side  by  side  with  Macbeth  through  the  critical  stages  of  the 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  39! 

temptation :    Banquo  has  made  no  overtures  to  temptation,  CHAP.  XX. 

and  to  him  the  tempters  have  no  mission,     it  is  noticeable      

that  where  the  two  warriors  meet  the  Witches  on  the  heath 

it  is  Banquo  who  begins  the  conversation.  i.  iii.  38- 

5°- 
Banquo.     How  far  is't  called  to  Torres? 

No  answer.     The  silence  attracts  his  attention  to  those  he  is 
addressing. 

What  are  these 

So  wither'd  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 

That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'  the  earth, 

And  yet  are  on 't  ? 

Still  no  answer. 

Live  you?    or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question? 

They  signify  in  dumb  show  that  they  may  not  answer. 

You  seem  to  understand  me, 
By  each  at  once  her  chappy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips :    you  should  be  women, 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

Still  he  can  draw  no  answer.     At  last  Macbeth  chimes  in : — 
Speak,  if  you  can :   what  are  you  ? 

The  tamperer  with  temptation  has  spoken,  and  in  a  moment 
they  break  out,  'All  hail,  Macbeth!'  and  ply  their  super- 
natural task.     Later  on  in  the  scene,  when  directly  challenged  57. 
by  Banquo,  they  do  respond  and  give  out  an  oracle  for  him. 
But  into  his  upright  mind  the  poison-germs  of  insight  into 
the  future  fall  harmlessly;  it  is  because  Macbeth  is  already 
tainted  that  these  breed  in  him  a  fever  of  crime.     In  the 
second  incident  of  the  Witches,  so  far  from  their  being  the  iii.  v.  and 
tempters,  it  is  Macbeth  who  seeks  them  and  forces  from  iv-  *• 
them  knowledge  of  the   future.     Yet,   even  here,  what   is 
the  actual  effect  of  their  revelation  upon  Macbeth  ?     It  is, 
like   that   of  his   air-drawn  dagger,   only  to    marshal   him 
along  the  way  that  he  is  going.     They  bid  him  beware  Mac-  iv.  i.  74. 


392  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  duff :  he  answers,  c  Thou  hast  harp'd  my  fear  aright/ 
They  give  him  preternatural  pledges  of  safety:  are  these  a 
help  to  him  in  enjoying  the  rewards  of  sin?  On  the  con- 
trary, as  a  matter  of  fact  we  find  Macbeth,  in  panic  of  sus- 

iv.  ii.  4,  picion,  seeking  security  by  means  of  daily  butchery ;  the 
oracles  have  produced  in  him  confidence  enough  to  give 
agony  to  the  bitterness  of  his  betrayal,  but  not  such  con- 
fidence as  to  lead  him  to  dispense  with  a  single  one  of  the 
natural  bulwarks  to  tyranny.  The  function  of  the  Witches 
throughout  the  action  of  this  play  is  exactly  expressed  by  a 
phrase  Banquo  uses  in  connection  with  them :  they  are  only 

i.  iii.  124.  « instruments  of  darkness/  assisting  to  carry  forward  courses 
of  conduct  initiated  independently  of  them.  Macbeth  has 
made  the  destiny  which  the  Witches  reveal. 

Illuminat-  Again,  supernatural  agency  is  used  to  illuminate  human 
acti°n  :  tne  course  of  events  in  a  drama  not  ceasing  to  obey 
natural  causes,  but  becoming,  by  the  addition  of  the  super- 

The  Ora-  natural  agency,  endowed  with  a  new  art-beauty.  The  great 
example  of  this  is  the  Oracular  Action.  This  important 
element  of  dramatic  effect — how  it  consists  in  the  working 
out  of  Destiny  from  mystery  to  clearness,  and  the  different 
forms  it  assumes — has  been  discussed  at  length  in  a  former 
chapter.  The  question  here  is,  how  far  do  we  find  such 
superhuman  knowledge  used  as  a  force  in  the  movement  of 
events?  As  Shakespeare  handles  oracular  machinery,  the 
conditions  of  natural  working  in  the  course  of  events  are 
not  in  the  least  degree  altered  by  the  revelation  of  the 
future.  The  actor's  belief  (or  disbelief)  in  the  oracle  may  be 
one  of  the  circumstances  which  have  influenced  his  action — 
as  it  would  have  done  in  the  real  life  of  the  age — but  to  the 
spectator,  to  whom  the  Drama  is  to  reveal  the  real  govern- 
ing forces  of  the  world,  the  oracular  action  is  presented  not 
as  a  force  but  as  a  light.  It  gives  to  a  course  of  events  the 
illumination  that  can  be  in  actual  fact  given  to  it  by  History, 
the  office  of  which  is  to  make  each  detail  of  a  story  interesting 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  393 

in  the  light  of  the  explanation   that   comes  when   all   the  CHAP.  XX. 

details  are  complete.     Only  it  uses  the  supernatural  agency  to     

project  this  illumination  into  the  midst  of  the  events  them- 
selves, which  History  cannot  give  till  they  are  concluded ; 
and  also  it  carries  the  art-effect  of  such  illumination  a  stage 
further  than  History  could  carry  it,  by  making  it  progressive 
in  intelligibility,  and  making  this  progress  keep  pace  with  the 
progress  of  the  events  themselves.  Fate  will  allow  none  but 
MacdufFto  be  the  slayer  of  Macbeth.  True  :  but  Macduff 
(who  moreover  knows  nothing  of  his  destiny)  is  the  most 
deeply  injured  of  Macbeth's  subjects,  and  as  a  fact  we  find 
it  needs  the  news  of  his  injury  to  rouse  him  to  his  task ;  as  iv.  iii. 
he  approaches  the  battle  he  feels  that  the  ghosts  of  his  wife  v.  vii.  15. 
and  children  will  haunt  him  if  he  allows  any  other  to  be  the 
tyrant's  executioner.  Thus  far  the  interpretation  of  History 
might  go :  but  the  oracular  machinery  which  Shakespeare 
has  introduced  points  dimly  to  Macduif  before  the  first 
breath  of  the  King's  suspicion  has  assailed  him,  and  the 
suggestiveness  becomes  clearer  and  clearer  as  the  conver- 
gence of  events  carries  the  action  to  its  climax.  The  natural 
working  of  human  events  has  been  undisturbed :  only  the 
spectator's  mind  has  been  endowed  with  a  special  illumina- 
tion for  receiving  them. 

In  another  and  very  different  way  we  have  supernatural  TheStiper- 
agency   called   in   to   throw   a   peculiar    illumination    over  nj)wmatu 
human   events.     In   dealing  with  the  movement  of  Julius  Back- 
CcEsar  I  have  described  at  length  the  Supernatural  JBack-ground' 
ground  of  storm,  tempest,  and  portent,  which  assist  the  emo- 
tional agitation  throughdut  the  second  stage  of  the  action. 
These  are  clearly  supernatural  in  that  they  are  made  to  sug- 
gest a  mystic  sympathy  with,  and  indeed  prescience  of,  mu- 
tations in  human  life.     Yet  their  function  is  simply  that  of 
illumination :  they  cast  a  glow  of  emotion  over  the  spectator 
as  he  watches  the  train  of  events,  though  all  the  while  the 
action  of  these  events  remains  within  the  sphere  of  natural 


394  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  causes.  In  narrative  and  lyric  poetry  this  endowment  of 
nature  with  human  sympathies  becomes  the  commonest  of 
poetic  devices,  personification  ;  and  here  it  never  suggests 
anything  supernatural  because  it  is  so  clearly  recognised  as 
belonging  to  expression.  But  '  expression  '  in  the  Drama 
extends  beyond  language,  and  takes  in  presentation  ;  and  it 
is  only  a  device  in  presentation  that  tumult  in  nature  and 
tumult  in  history,  each  perfectly  natural  by  itself,  are  made 
to  have  a  suggestion  of  the  supernatural  by  their  coin- 
cidence in  time.  After  all  there  is  no  real  meaning  in  storm 
any  more  than  in  calm  weather,  only  that  contemplative 
observers  have  transferred  their  own  emotions  to  particular 
phases  of  nature:  it  would  seem,  then,  a  very  slight  and 
natural  reversal  of  the  process  to  call  in  this  humanised 
nature  to  assist  the  emotions  which  have  created  it. 

In  these  various  forms  Shakespeare  introduces  super- 
natural agency  into  his  dramas.  In  my  discussion  of  them 
it  will  be  understood  that  I  am  not  in  the  least  endeavouring 
to  explain  away  the  reality  of  their  supernatural  character. 
My  purpose  is  to  show  for  how  small  a  proportion  of  his 
total  effect  Shakespeare  draws  upon  the  supernatural,  allow- 
ing it  to  carry  further  or  to  illustrate,  but  not  to  mould  or 
determine  a  course  of  events.  It  will  readily  be  granted  that 
he  brings  effect  enough  out  of  a  supernatural  incident  to 
justify  the  use  of  it  to  our  rational  sense  of  economy. 

Motive  When  all  these  special  Dramatic  Motives  have  been  con- 

there   still   remains  an   interest   of    Motive    Force 


part  of  Uc- 

sign.  belonging  to  a  plot  considered  purely  as  a  piece  of  design. 

In  the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  which  is  one  phase  of 
design,  it  is  clear  that  our  sense  of  economy  is  gratified 
when  we  see  single  devices  producing  multiplicity  of  effects  ; 
when  the  successive  incidents  do  not  appear  dependent  upon 
any  arbitrary  will  of  the  author,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  assume  a  few  postulates,  and  the  rest  of  the 
story  seems  to  follow  from  these  of  itself.  It  is  a  function, 


MOTIVE  FORCE.  395 

then,  of  plot  analysis  to  discover  the  main  motive  force  of  any  CHAP.  XX. 

play.     Sometimes  this    is   found   in   a  Motive  Personage :      ~ — 

great  part  of  the  action  in  Othello  is  carried  forward  directly 

by  the  energy  of  lago,  and  in  As  You  Like  It  by  the  activity 

of  Rosalind.     In   the  latter  case   we  can   go   further,  and 

point  to  a  distinct  Motive  Circumstance — Rosalind's  disguise  Motive 

--as  responsible  for  the  larger  proportion  of  the  dramatic  %%%£* 

entanglement.    In  connection  with  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  it 

was  pointed  out  how  one  of  the  actions — the  Caskets  Story  Motive 

—motives  all  the  rest,  the  hero  serving  to  complicate,  the  ActlOH- 

heroine  to  resolve.   Love's  Labour  s  Lost  gives  us  at  the  outset 

a  Motive  Situation :  Biron  in  the  first  scene  sees  how  the  Motive 

proclamation  of  celibacy,  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  for-  Sltuatmi- 

gotten  circumstance  of  the  Princess's  visit,  constitutes  a  sort 

of  unstable  equilibrium  in  social  relations,  and  the  working 

from  this  back  to  nature  constitutes  the  whole  plot.     The 

same  description  applies  to  Lear,  except  that  Lear  himself 

creates   the   unstable   situation  by  his  false  distribution  of 

power ;  and  thus  the  first  act  generates  what  all  the  rest  of 

the  play  has  to  work  out.     In  The  Tempest,  one  personage,  Complicat- 

Antonio,  has  been  the  source   of  the  complication,  while  '"f^  ll 

another,  Prospero,  by  his  power  of  enchantment  is  the  sole  Personages. 

contriver  of  the  Resolution.     Often  in  Passion   Movement 

the  Fall  and  the  Rise  seem  natural  parts  of  a  single  action.  Rise  and 

Precisely  as  the  effort  which  throws  a  ball  into  the  air  seems  ^l£ Mo. 

to  the  eye  all  that  is  responsible  for  the  ball's  eventually  tive. 

turning  round  and  descending,  so  when  the  conspirators  in 

Julius  Ccesar,  or  the  hero  in  Macbeth,  have  risen  by  their 

energy  to  a  climax,  they  seem  to  fall  by  no  other  force  than 

the   exhaustion  of  their  original  energy  against   a  sort   of 

moral  gravitation.     This  is  true  also  of  Richard  III,  with  The  En- 

the  exception  that  in  this  play  the  Enveloping  Action— the  v*°f£*a 

feud  of  York  and  Lancaster — yields  considerable  part  of  the  source  of 

Motive  Force:    Richard  does  much  to  carry  forward  the  Motton» 

progress  of  this  war,  but  he  is  himself  a  product  of  it,  and  is 


396  INTEREST  OF  PLOT:    DYNAMICS. 

CHAP.  XX.  eventually  swept  by  its  momentum  to  destruction.     In  most 

of  the  cases  previously  mentioned  the  Enveloping  Action  of 

the  play  is  responsible  for  some  part  of  the  Motive  Force : 

the  Witches  assist  the  career  of  Macbeth,  though  they  do  not 

alter  its  direction  ;  and  the  fickleness  of  the  Roman  mob 

counts  for  something  in  the  sum  of  forces  which  produce  the 

andimder-  downfall   of  the   Republicans.     And   such   a  consideration 

^Motive  re-  ^enc^s  especial  interest  to  the  case  of  plays  mentioned  in  a 

action.        previous  paragraph,  where  a  further  Revolution  makes  the 

Enveloping  Action  share  the  movement  of  the  play ;  and,  in 

the  particular  case  of  As  You  Like  //,  the  elaborate  Frame 

which  has  brought  into  existence   and  supported  the  main 

actions  of  the  play  is  by  the  consummation  of  these  itself 

shattered  and  brought  to  an  end. 


Conclusion.  The  plan  laid  down  for  this  work  has  now  been  followed 
to  its  completion.  The  object  I  have  had  in  view  throughout 
has  been  the  recognition  of  inductive  treatment  in  literary 
study.  For  this  purpose  it  was  first  necessary  to  distinguish 
the  inductive  method  from  other  modes  of  treatment  founded 
on  arbitrary  canons  of  taste  and  comparisons  of  merit,  so 
natural  in  view  of  the  popularity  of  the  subject-matter,  and 
to  which  the  history  of  Literary  Criticism  has  given  an  un- 
fortunate impetus.  This  having  been  done  in  the  Intro- 
duction, the  body  of  the  work  has  been  occupied  in  applying 
the  inductive  treatment  to  some  of  the  masterpieces  of 
Shakespeare.  The  practical  effect  of  such  exposition  has 
been,  it  may  be  hoped,  to  intensify  the  reader's  appreciation 
of  the  poet,  but  also  to  suggest  that  the  detailed  and  me- 
thodical analysis  which  in  literary  study  is  usually  reserved 
for  points  of  language  is  no  less  applicable  to  a  writer's 
subject-matter  and  art.  But  to  entitle  Dramatic  Criticism  to 
a  place  in  the  circle  of  the  inductive  sciences  it  has  further 
appeared  necessary  to  lay  down  a  scheme  for  the  study  as  a 


CONCLUSION.  397 

whole,  that  should  be  scientific  both  in  the  relation  of  its  CHAP.  XX. 
parts  to  one  another,  and  in  the  attainment  of  a  complete- 
ness  proportioned  to  the  area  to  which  the  enquiry  was 
limited  and  the  degree  of  development  to  which  literary 
method  has  at  present  attained.  The  proper  method  for 
the  nascent  science  was  fixed  as  the  enumeration  and  ar- 
rangement of  topics;  and  by  analogy  with  the  other  arts 
a  simple  scheme  for  Dramatic  Criticism  was  found,  in  which 
all  the  results  of  the  analysis  performed  in  the  first  part  of 
the  book  could  be  readily  distributed  under  one  or  other  of 
the  main  topics — Character,  Passion  and  Plot.  Incidentally 
the  discussion  of  Shakespeare  has  again  and  again  reminded 
us  of  just  that  greatness  in  the  modern  Drama  which  judi- 
cial criticism  with  its  inflexibility  of  standard  so  persistently 
missed.  Everywhere  early  criticism  recognised  our  poet's 
grasp  of  human  nature,  yet  its  almost  universal  verdict  of 
him  was  that  he  was  both  irregular  in  his  art  as  a  whole, 
and  in  particular  careless  in  the  construction  of  his  plots. 
We  have  seen,  on  the  contrary,  that  Shakespeare  has 
elevated  the  whole  conception  of  Plot,  from  that  of  a  mere 
unity  of  action  obtained  by  reduction  of  the  amount  of 
matter  presented,  to  that  of  a  harmony  of  design  binding 
together  concurrent  actions  from  which  no  degree  of  com- 
plexity was  excluded.  And,  finally,  instead  of  his  being  a 
despiser  of  law,  we  have  had  suggested  to  us  how  Shake- 
speare and  his  brother  artists  of  the  Renaissance  form  a 
point  of  departure  in  legitimate  Drama  so  important  as  amply 
to  justify  the  instinct  of  history  which  named  that  age  the 
Second  Birth  of  literature. 


TOPICS   OF   DRAMATIC   SCIENCE. 


Character 


Passion 


Plot 


/Single  Character-Interest  or  ( Interpretation  as  an  hypothesis 
,  1      Character-Interpretation      i  Canons  of  Interpretation 


I  Character-Development 

(Incident  and  Situation 
Effect/ Nemesis 
'  Dramatic  Foreshadowing 

Complex  Passion-Interest  or  f Mixture  of  Tones 
Passion-Tone  (  Tone-Clash,  Humour,  Tone-Storm 


Tone-Movement 


Single  Action 


Complex  Action  - 


I  Tone-Play  and  Tone-Relief 
1  Metrical  Alternation 

f  General  conception  of  Single  Actions 
<  Forms  of  Dramatic  Action 

General  conception  of  Complex  Action 
Analysis  of  Complex  Action  into   Single  Actions, 
Canons  of  Analysis 

/  Contact  and  Linking 
/Connection    J  Interweaving 
I  Envelopment 
I  Economy  •>  Dependence 


with 


Symmetry 


Contrast 


Movement  [Mo- 
tive Form] 


Simple  Movement :  the  Line  of  Motion  a  straight  line 
Action-Movement  or  Complication  and  Resolution:    the 

Line  of  Motion  a  curve 
Passion-Movement     or 

Strain  and  Reaction  :  /  Regular  Arch 

the  Line  of  Passion  a<  Inclined  Plane 
I  Wave  Line 

Co-Pound  (or  Relative)  (  *%££$£„ 

(  Convergent  Motion 

f  Catastrophe  :  or  Focus  of  Movement 
Turning-points  ^  Centre  of  Plot 
\  I  Further  Resolution 

/Dramatic  Providence 

Poetic  Justice  :  or  Retribution  as  a  form  of  Art-beauty 
Pathos  :  or  [unretributive]  Fate  as  a  form  of  Art-beauty 


Movement  [Mo-  ^ 
live  Force] 


The  Super-, 
natural 


'Destiny  ra-  f  Objectively  in  Irony 
tionahsed    <  Subjectively  in  Infatuation 

/Intensifying  human  action 
natural  •]  Uluminat-  t  The  Oracular 
Agency  I  *n£  human -j  Supernatural 
3  *  action  (  Background 


i Reduction  of  Difficulties:  especially,  Rationalisation  and  Derationalisation. 
Constructive  Economy:  utilisation  of  mechanical  persons  and  details. 
Constructive  Processes :  Dramatic  Background,  Dramatic  Hedging,  Prepara- 
tion, etc. 
Constructive  Conventionalities :    especially,    Scenic    Unities    of    Place    and 
Time. 


^ 


APPENDIX. 


TECHNICAL   ANALYSIS   OF  PLOTS. 


401 


THE   MERCHANT   OF  VENICE 

AN  ACTION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

'First  Main  Cross  Nemesis  Action  :    Story  of  the   Jew  : 

complicated  and  resolved. 
(Sub-Action  to  First  Main,  also  Link  Action  \\ 

Jessica  and  Lorenzo  :  simple  movement. 
\  Comic  Relief  Action :  Launcelot:  stationary  \    \. 
Sub-Action  to  Second  Main :    Episode  of  the      P  Ot' 

Rings  :  complicated  and  resolved.  I 

Second  Main   Problem  Action  :    Caskets  Story :    simple 

movement. 
External  Circumstance  *:  The  (rumoured)  Shipwrecks. 

Economy 

Two  Main  Actions  connected  by  Common  Personage  [Bassanio] 

and  by  Link  Action  [Jessica]. 
General  Interweaving. 
Balance.     The  First  Main  Action,  which  is  complicated,  balances 

the  Second,  which  is  simple,  by  the  additions  to  the  latter  of  the 

Jessica  interest  transferred  to  it,  and  the  Episode  of  the  Rings 

generated  out  of  it.     [Pages  82,  88.] 

Movement 

Action-Movement :  with  Contrary  Motion  between  the  two  Main 
Actions.   The  First  Main  complicated  and  resolved  by  the  Second 

1  Stationary,  as  having  no  place  in  the  movement  of  the  plot :  its  separate- 
ness  from  the  rest  of  the  Jessica  Action  only  for  purposes  of  Tone-effect,  as 
Comic  Relief. 

2  'External'  as  not  included  in  any  action,  'Circumstance'  because  it  pre- 
sents itself  as  a  single  detail  instead  of  the  series  of  details  necessary  to  make 
up  an  Action.     An  External   Circumstance  is   analogous   to   an    Enveloping 
Action  :  outside  the  other  Actions,  yet  in  contact  with  them  at  certain  points. 

Dd 


402  APPENDIX. 

Main  [hero  of  Second,  Bassanio,  is  Complicating  Force  ;  heroine 
of  Second,  Portia,  is  Resolving  Force],  the  Complication  assisted 
by  the  External  Circumstance  of  the  Shipwrecks — in  process  of 
resolving  the  First  generates  a  Complication  to  the  Second  in  the 
form  of  the  Episode  of  the  Rings,  which  is  self-resolved.  [Pages 
66,  375-1 

Motive  Force :  The  Second  Main  Action  thus  serves  as  Motive 
Action  to  the  rest :  assisted  by  the  Motive  Circumstance  of  the 
Shipwreck. 

Turning- Points 

Centre  of  Plot :  Scene  of  Bassanio's  Choice  (iii.  ii.)  in  which  the 

Complicating  and  Resolving  Forces  are  united  and  all  the  FOUT 

Actions  meet.     [Pages  67-8.] 
Catastrophe  :  Portia's  Judgment  in  the  Trial  (iv.  i,  from  299). 


403 


RICHARD   THE  THIRD 

A  PASSION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

Main  Nemesis  Action  :  Life  and  Death  of  Richard. 

•CLARENCE  has  betrayed 
the  Lancastrians  for  the 
sake  of  the  House  of 
York: 


Underplot:  System  of 
Cross  Nemesis  Ac- 
tions connecting  Main 
with  YORK  side  of  En- 
veloping Action. 


He  falls  by  a  treach- 
erous death  from  the 
KING  of  the  House  of 
York. —  To  this  the 
QUEEN  and  her  kin- 
dred  have  been  assent- 
ing parties  [ii.  ii.  62- 
5]: 


The  shock  of  Clarence's 
death  as  announced  by 
Gloster  kills  the  King 
(ii.  i.  131),  leaving  the 
Queen  and  her  kindred 
at  the  mercy  of  their  ene- 
mies. —  Unseemly  Ex- 
ultation of  their' great 
enemy  HASTINGS  : 


The  same  treachery  step 
by  step  overtakes  Hast- 
ings in  his  Exultation 
[iii.  iv.  15-95).  —  In 
this  treacherous  casting 
off  of  Hastings  when  he 
will  no  longer  support 
them  BUCKINGHAM  has 
been  a  prime  agent  [iii. 
i,  from  15  7;  iii.  ii.  114]: 


precisely  similar 
reachery  Buckingham 
imself  is  cast  off  when 
e  hesistates  to  go  fur- 

j  ther  with  Richard  [iv. 

i_ii.  and  v.  i]. 

D  d  2 


404  APPENDIX. 

Link  Nemesis  Action  connecting  Main  with  LANCASTER  side  of 
Enveloping  Action  :  Marriage  of  Richard  and  Anne  (page  113). 

Enveloping  Nemesis  Action  :  The  War  of  the  Roses  [the  Duchess 
of  York  introduced  to  mark  the  York  side,  Queen  Margaret  to 
mark  the  Lancastrian  side]. 

Economy 

All  the  Actions  bound  together  by  the  Enveloping  Action  of  which 

they  make  up  a  phase. 
Parallelism  :  the  common  form  of  Nemesis. 
Central  Personage:  Richard. 

Movement 

Passion- Movement,  with  Similar  Motion  [form  Nemesis  lepeated 

throughout  (page  373)]. 

Motive  Force:  The  Enveloping  Action  and  Richard  as  Motive 
Personage.  [Page  395.] 

Turning-points 

Centre  of  Plot:  Realisation  of  Margaret's  Curses  [turn  of  En- 
veloping Action]  in  iii.  iii.  15. 

Catastrophe :  Realisation  of  Nemesis  in  the  Main  Action  :  iv.  ii, 
from  45. 


405 


MACBETH 

A  PASSION-DRAMA 

Scheme  of  Actions 

{  Main  Character  Action  :  Rise  and  Fall  of  Macbeth. 
i  Character  Counter- Action  :  Lady  Macbeth. 

/  Character  Sub- Action :  covering  and  involved  in  the  Rise : 

N      Banqiio. 

y  Character  Sub-Action  :   covering  and  involving  the  Fall  : 

Macduff.     [Pages  129,  142.] 
Enveloping  Supernatural  Action  :  The  Witches. 

Economy 

Parallelism :  Triple  form  of  Nemesis,  Irony  and  Oracular  Action 
extending  to  the  Main  Action,  to  its  parts  the  Rise  and  Fall 
separately,  and  through  to  the  Enveloping  Action. 

Contrast  as  a  bond  between  the  Main  and  Counter-Action. 

Balance :  the  Rise  by  the  Fall,  the  Sub-Action  to  the  Rise  by  the 
Sub-Action  to  the  Fall.  [Page  367.] 

Movement 

Passion- Movement,  with  Similar  Motion  between  all. 
Motive  Force  :  The  Main  Action— partly  assisted  by  Enveloping 
Action.     [Pages  387,  396.] 

Turning-points 

Centre   of  Plot :    Change   from    unbroken  success  to   unbroken 

failure:  iii.  iii.  18.     [Page  127.] 
Catastrophe :  Divided :  First  Shock  of  Nemesis :  Appearance  of 

Banquo's  Ghost  (iii.  iv). 
Final  Accumulation  of  Nemesis  :  Revela- 
tion of  Macduff's  birth  (v.  viii.  12). 


406 


JULIUS   C^SAR 

A  PASSION-DRAMA 

Scheme  of  Actions 

Main  Nemesis  Action  :    Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Republican  Con- 
spirators. 
Sub-Action  to  the  Rise  [Character-decline] :    The  Victim 

Cassar. 

Sub-Action  to  the  Fall  [Character-rise] :  The  Avenger  An- 
tony. 
Enveloping  Action  :  the  Roman  Mob. 


I 


Economy 

Balance  about  the  Centre  :  the  Rise  by  the  Fall,  the  Sub-Action  to 
the  Rise  by  the  Sub-Action  to  the  Fall. 

Movement 

Passion-Movement,  with  Similar  Motion  between  the  Main  and 
Sub-Actions.  [The  form  of  the  Main  is  distributed  between  the 
two  Sub-Actions  :  compare  page  374.] 

Motive  Force  :  The  Main  Action,  slightly  assisted  by  the  Envelop- 
ing Action.  (Page  396.) 

Turning-points 

The  Centre  of  Plot  and  Catastrophe  coincide:  iii.  i.  between  121 
and  122. 


KING    LEAR 


A  PASSION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

Main  Plot :  a  Problem  Action  :  Family  of  Lear :  falling  into 

Generating  Action  :     Lear's  unstable  settlement  of  the  kingdom, 
[the  Problem].  power  transformed  from  the  good  to  the 

bad. 


System  of  Tragedies 
[the  Solution], 


"Double  Nemesis  Action  :  Lear  receiving 
good  from  the  injured  and  evil  from  the 
favoured  children. 

Tragic  Action  :  Cordelia:  Suffering  of  the 
innocent. 

Tragic  Action :  Goneril  and  Regan  :  Evil 
passions  endowed  with  power  using  it 
to  work  their  own  destruction. 

Underplot :  an  Intrigue  Action  :  Family  of  Gloucester :  falling  into 

Generating  Action  :     Gloucester   deceived   into  reversing  the 
[the  Intrigue].  positions  of  Edgar  and  Edmund. 


System  of  Tragedies 
[its  Nemesis]. 


""Double  Nemesis  Action  :  Gloucester  re- 
ceiving good  from  the  injured  and  evil 
from  the  favoured  child. 

Tragic  Action  :  Edgar :  Suffering  of  the 
innocent. 

Tragic  Action :  Edmund :  Power  gained 
by  intrigue  used  for  the  destruction  of 
the  intriguer. 


4c8 


APPENDIX. 


Sub-Actions,  linking 
Main  and  Under- 
plot, or  different 
elements  of  the 
Main  together. 


First 
Pair: 


Central  Link  Personage  between  Main  Plot  and  Underplot :  Glou- 
cester (page  376). 

r  /  From  the  good  side  of  Crossing 

the  Main  :  Kent.       I  &    com- 
plicating 
I  From  the  evil  side  of  i  one    an- 

the  Main  :  Oswald.  '  other. 
From  the  good  side  of  the  Main 
assistingNemesison  Evil  Agent 
Second  I      of  the  Underplot :  Albany. 
Pair:  1  From  the  evil  side  of  the  Main  as- 
sisting Nemesison  Good  Victim 
of  the  Underplot:  Cornwall. 
Third    Pair:     Cross    Intrigues    between 
the  Evil  sides  of  Main  and  Underplot 
(  Goneril  and  Edmund  )  culminating  in 
(  Regan  and  Edmund  } 
destruction  of  all  three  (v.  iii.  96,221-7, 
and  compare  82  with  160). 

Farcical  Relief  Action :  The  Fool:  Stationary. 
Enveloping  Action:  The  French  War:   originating  ultimately  in 
the  Initial  Action  and  becoming  the  Objective  of  the  denoue- 
ment.    [Page  377.] 

Economy 

The  Underplot  dependent  to  the  Main  (page  366). 

Especially :  Parallelism  and  Contrast  (page  367-9). 

Central  Linking  by  Gloucester. 

Interweaving:  Linking  by  Sub-Actions,  &c.,  and  movement  to  a 

common  Objective. 
Envelopment  in  common  Enveloping  Action. 

Movement 

Passion-Movement,  with  Convergent  Motion  between  the  Main  and 
Underplot,  and  their  parts:  the  Lear  and  Gloucester  systems 
by  the  visit  to  Gloucester's  Castle  drawn  to  a  Central  Focus  and 
then  moving  towards  a  common  Objective  in  the  Enveloping 
Action.  [Pages  376-7.] 

Motive  Force:  The  Motive  Situation  set  up  by  the  Generating 
Actions. 

Turning-points 

Catastrophe:  at  the  end  of  the  Initial  Action,  the  Problem  being 

set  up  in  practical  action  (page  205). 

Centre  of  Plot:  the  summit  of  emotional  agitation  when  three 
madnesses  are  brought  into  contact  (page  223). 


409 


OTHELLO 

A  PASSION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

Three  Tragic  Actions : 

1.  Bianca's  illicit  liaison  with  Cassio — culminates  in  her  being 
arrested  as  his  murderer  (v.  i.  fin.). 

2.  Roderigo's  pursuit  of  Desdemona— culminates  in  his  murder. 

3.  True   love  of  Othello  and  Desdemona— ends  in  jealousy, 
murder,  suicide. 

Four  Intrigues  centering  in  lago: 

4.  lago  verms  Roderigo:  to  get  money  out  of  him  and  then 
get  rid  of  him  (v.  i.  14).— [Succeeds.] 

5.  lago  versus  Cassio :  to  get  his  place.    [Arising  out  of  Cassio's 
appointment  (i.  i.) — successful  (iii.  iii.  fin.).] 

6.  lago  versus  Cassio :  to  destroy  him.     [Arises  out  of  general 
hatred  (v.  i.  19)  and  marriage  jealousy  (ii.  i.  316). — Partially 
fails  and  assists  the  Reaction.] 

7.  lago  versus  Othello :  to  make  him  the  victim  of  his  own 
jealousy.     [Arises   out   of   general    hatred   (i.    i.   init.)   and 
marriage  jealousy  (ii.  i.  304,  &c). — Succeeds.] 

Reaction : 

8.  Nemesis  upon  lago. — [All  his  Intrigues  recoil  on  him:  see 
page  239.] 

Faint  Enveloping  Action  :  The  Turkish  War. 


410  APPENDIX. 

Economy  and  Movement 

The  main  Economy  of  the  plot  lies  in  the  Convergent  Motion  of 
all  the  Actions  to  a  common  Culmination  with  Reaction.    Chiefly 
through  a  series  of  Link  Devices : 
By  the  device  of  making  Cassio  the  object  of  Othello's  jealousy 

(i.  iii.  400) : 

Nos.  6  and  7  are  merged  in  one  action. 

By  the  device   of   making   Cassio  in    his    repentance    utilise 
Desdemona  (li.  iii.  319) : 
No.  3  is  made  to  work  in  with  Nos.  6  and  7. 
By  the    device    of   making   Cassio   the   object  of    Roderigo's 
jealousy  (ii.   i.  from  220) -and   the  device  of  utilising  the 
Commission  (iv.  ii.  220) : 
No.  2  is  made  to  co-operate  with  Nos.  6  and  7,  and  at  the 

same  time  with  No.  4: 

Thus  Nos.  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7  are  now  merged  in  one  action. 
By  the  device  of  the  handkerchief  (iii.  iii.  321) : 
No.  i  is  worked  in  to  No.  7 : 

Thus  all  the  actions  are  united  in  one  common  movement. 
Motive  Force:  lago  is  the  Motive  Personage  of  the  plot:  source 
of  the  Intrigues,  and  of  the  convergence  of  the  Actions,  and 
object  of  the  Reaction. 

Turning-points 

Catastrophe  :  v.  ii.  140:  First  hint  of  the  Reaction. 
Centre  of  Plot:  iii.  iii.  90:  Climax  of  Main  Action  (No.  3)  before 
its  Fall  begins. 


THE    TEMPEST 

AN  ACTION-DRAMA 
Constructed  in  the  Scenic  Unities  of  the  Classical  Drama1. 

Scheme  of  Actions 

Main  Plot:  A  pair  of  Motive  Counter-Actions. 

Complicating   Intrigue   Action:    Conspiracy  of  Antonio  and 
Sebastian  against  Prospero. 

J  Sub-Action  to  the  Complicating  Action :  In- 
trigue of  Sebastian  and  Antonio  against 
Alonso. 
C      1 
bub-Action  to  the  Resolving  Action:  Ariel 
and  the  invisible  music. 
Resolving  Providence  Action :  Prospero  on  the  Island. 

/  On  the  Complicating  side  [Judgment} :  Cali- 
Preparation  \     ban  and  Prospero  (i.  ii). 
Sub- Actions.  )  On  the  Resolving  side  [Mercy]:  Ariel's  de- 
liverance (i.  ii). 

Underplot :  A  pair  of  Dependent  Link  Actions,  motived  with  the 
Main  Plot. 

/  Love  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  :  linking  the  children  of 

1      the  two  sides  of  the  play. 

i  Conspiracy  of  Caliban  and  Stephano  :  linking  the  servants 

of  the  two  sides  of  the  play. 

Mechanical  Personages,  outside  the  strict  movement  yet  faintly 
motived  with  the  Main  and  Underplot  (see  page  261). 
j  The  Crowd  of  Sailors,  led  by  Boatswain, 
f  The  Crowd  of  Courtiers,  led  by  Gonzalo. 
Enveloping  Supernatural  Action  :  Enchantment. 

1  Actions  otitside  the  scenic  unity  are  printed  in  italics. 


4  i  2  APPENDIX. 

Economy 

Dependence  and  Linking  between  Main  and  Underplot. 
Parallelism  between  separate  parts  of  Underplot  and  Mechanical 

Personages. 
Common  Envelopment. 

Movement 

Action-Movement.  Counter- Action  between  the  two  main  Actions : 
the  Resolving  Action  further  complicates  the  opening  compli- 
cation, and  finally  resolves  it  (v.  i.  20) — Similar  Motion  between 
Main  and  Underplot  (and  Mechanical  Personages) — Contrary 
Motion  between  the  separate  members  of  each — all  the  actions 
Convergent  by  the  link  Prospero  to  the  final  scene  of  universal 
restoration. 

Motive  Force.  Two  Motive  Personages :  Antonio  of  the  Complica- 
tion, Prospero  (with  the  aid  of  the  Enveloping  Action)  of  the 
Resolution. 

Turning-Points 

Centre  of  Plot :  In  Act  iii  the  different  Actions  successively  reach 

their  full  complication.     [See  page  378  note.] 
Catastrophe:  The  change  from  Judgment  to  Mercy :  v.  i.  20. 
Further  Resolution:  The  Resolving  Force  demotived:  Prospero 

renouncing  his  enchantment  (v.  i.  51). 


LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST 

AN  ACTION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

Main  Humour  Action :  The  Celibate  Scheme  disconcerted  by 
the  French  Embassy :  rises  in  complication  out  of  the  initial 
situation  and  self-resolved.— Falls  into  two  phases : 

Artificial  attitude  of  Celibates  to  one  another— breaks  down 

(iv.  iii)  and  abandoned. 

Artificial  attitude  of  Celibates  to  ladies :  gradually  abandoned 
(from  iv.  iii). 

Underplot. 
Two  Character-Groups: 

(a)  Armado  :     set   off  by   Moth,  Custard,  Jaquenetta,  &c. 
[Euphuism.] 

(b)  Holoferncs  :  set  off  by  Nathaniel  and  Dull.     [Pedantry.] 
Out  of  which  rise  two  Sub-Actions  : 

(A)  Intrigue  Sub-Action  of  Armado  and  Jaquenetta— setting 
off  first  phase  of  main  Action  and  Complications. 

(B)  Farcical  Sub-Action :  Pageant  of  the  Worthies— setting 
off  second  phase  of  the  Main  Action  and  Resolution. 

Enveloping  Motive  Action :  The  king  of  France's  illness  [generat- 
ing the  Complication]  and  Death  [bringing  about  a  Further 
Resolution]. 

Economy 

Common  Envelopment. 

The  Underplot  and  Main  by  Dependence. 


.  "-' 
414  APPENDIX. 

1 

Movement 

Action- Movement  of  Complication  and  Resolution  [with  Further 
Resolution  by  a  turn  in  the  Enveloping  Action :  page  297-8]. 
— Similar  Motion  between  Main  and  Underplot. 

Motive  Force :  The  whole  movement  comes  from  the  Initial  Motive 
Situation  (page  395) :  this  from  the  Enveloping  Action  in  conflict 
with  the  Complicating  Circumstance  of  the  Vow  of  Celibacy. — 
The  Further  Resolution  motived  by  the  Enveloping  Action. 

Turning-points 

Centre  of  Plot:  The  Discovery  Scene (iv.  iii).     See  page  378  note. 
Catastrophe:   v.  ii.  522:   the  Representatives  of  conventionality 

join  in  ridiculing  their  own  pageant. 
Further  Resolution  :  v.  ii.  723 :  Entrance  of  Mercade  with  news 

of  the  king  of  France's  death. 


415 


AS   YOU   LIKE   IT 

AN  ACTION-DRAMA 
Scheme  of  Actions 

Frame:    A   System   of  Enveloping  Actions,  one  within  another 
(pages  363-5) : 

Outer  Enveloping  Action  :  Civil  War  of  the  Dukes. 
Inner  Enveloping  Action  :  Feud  in  the  De  Boys  family. 
Woodland  Action  :  Life  in  Arden  Forest. 
Humour  Action :  Melancholy  of  Jaques. 

These  form  a  setting  to 
Main  Plot :  A  System  of  Four  Love  Actions : 

1.  Love  and   (Genuine)   Humour :    Orlando   and   Rosalind : 

initiated  in  complication  out   of  the   Enveloping  Action 
and  self-resolved. 

2.  Love  at  first  sight :  Oliver  and  Celia :  initiated  out  of  the 

Frame  and  consummated. 

3.  Conventional  Pastoral  Love :  Silvius  and  Phcebe :  rises  out 

of  the  Frame,  complicated  and  resolved  by  No.  I. 

4.  Love  and   (Professional)   Humour:    initiated  out  of   the 

Frame  Actions  and  consummated. 

[Half-developed   Character    Sub-Action :    Adam — ignored    after 
second  act.] 

Economy 

Actions  united  by  Common  Envelopment  and  Movement. 


4i6 


APPENDIX. 


Movement 

Action-Movement :  with  Convergent  Motion  between  separate 
Actions  up  to  a  common  Culmination :  dropping  of  Rosalind's 
disguise.  Interference  of  the  three  Humour  Actions  with  the 
rest  and  with  one  another.  [Pages  307,  309.] 

Motive  Force. 

(1)  The  Frame  Actions  initiate  the  Actions  of  the  Main  system, 
assisting  their  complication  and  [arrival  of  Oliver]  resolution  : 
then  are  self-destroyed  coincidently  with  consummation  of  the 
Main  System.     [Pages  364-5.] 

(2)  Rosalind  serves  as  further  Motive  Personage. 

Turning-points 

Centre  of  Plot:  iii.  ii.  313:  Orlando  and  the  disguised  Rosalind 

meet  for  the  first  time. 

Catastrophe:  v.  iv.  113  :  Rosalind  drops  her  disguise. 
Further  Resolution:  v.  iv.  156:  Entrance  of  Jaques  de  Boys  with 
news. 


INDEXES 


E  e 


GENERAL   INDEX. 


%*  For  particular  Characters  or  Scenes  see  tinder  their  respective  plays. 


Abbott,  Dr.,  quoted  15. 
Academy,  French  18. 
Achilles  and  the  River-god  193. 


Action  a  fundamental  element  of 
Drama  323-5 — its  threefold  divi- 
sion 324 — Plot  as  pure  Action  325 
— or  the  intellectual  side  of  Action 
356. 

Action,  Analysis  of:  360-5 — canons 
of  Analysis  360-1. 

'Action-Drama'  as  substitute  for 
*  Comedy'  372-3. 

Action,  Economy  of :  365-9.  Gen- 
eral notion  and  connection  with 
Analysis  365 — Economic  Forms 
365  6 — Connection  and  Linking 
365-6 — Dependence  366 — Sym- 
metry 366-9 — Balance  367 — Par- 
allelism and  Contrast  367-9 — 
Economy  in  Technical  Analyses 
of  the  plays  401-16. 

Action,  Enveloping  361-5 — Illus- 
trations :  Richard 77/361 — 1 1 1- 
2 — Macbeth  362 — Julius  Casar 
362 — King  Lear  362-3 — As  You 
*Like  It  363-5. 

Actions,  focussing  of:  209. 

Action,  Forms  of  Dramatic :  358-9, 
125,  202. 

Action,  Schemes  of  in  Technical 
Analyses,  401-16. 

Action,  Single   and  Complex  324, 

35  7»  &c- 
Action,    Systems    of:      108,     no, 

208. 
Action,  Unity  of:  14,  324,  358-9— 

unity  of  action  in  Modern  Drama 

becomes  harmony  359. 
Actions,  Varieties  of:   Character- 


Action  358;  Comic  Action  358, 
401 ;  Enveloping  361-5  ;  Farcical 
408;  Generating  407  ;  Humorous 
358,  413;  Initial  and  Resultant 
208 ;  Intrigue  358,  207 ;  Irony 
358;  Link  81,  208;  Main  and 
Subordinate  359 ;  Motive  358 ; 
Nemesis  358,  &c. ;  Oracular  358, 
&c. ;  Problem  358,  202;  Provi- 
dence 411;  Relief  401,  408; 
Rise  and  Fall  358,  119,  127; 
Stationary  401  ;  Story  358 ;  Super- 
natural 411;  Tragic  358,  407; 
Triple  358,  125,  142. 


Actor,  Acting  98,  321.  [See  Stage- 
Representation.] 

Addison :  on  scientific  progress  5 — 
his  Critique  of  Paradise  Lost  16 — 
his  list  of  English  poets  16 — his 
Cato  17,  19 — on  rules  of  art  20 — 
on  Rymer  21. 

Affectations  attacked  by  Humour 
the  Central  Idea  of  Love's  Labour's 
Lost  285 — compare  As  You  Like 
It  300. 

Analysis  as  a  stage  in  scientific  de- 
velopment 318. 

Analysis,  Dramatic :  360.  [See 
Action,  Analysis  of.] 

Ancient  Drama  125,  387 — Mixture 
of  Tones  an  impossibility  345 — 
the  Supernatural  its  leading  Mo- 
tive 387 — its  unity  of  action  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  the  Modern 
Drama  359. 

Ancient  Thought,  points  of  differ- 
ence from  Modern:  44,  125-7, 

137- 
Antigone  and  Poetic  Justice  267. 


E  C  2 


420 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Antithesis  of  Outer  and  Inner  (or 
Practical  and  Intellectual)  Life 
144-6 — as  an  element  in  Character- 
Interpretation  146 — applied  to 
the  age  of  Macbeth  147 — key  to 
the  portraiture  of  Macbeth  and 
his  wife  147-167 — applied  to  the 
age  of  Julius  Ccesar  in  the  form 
of  policy  v.  justice  168-71 — con- 
nected with  character  of  Antony 
182,  Brutus  171-6,  Caesar  176- 
81,  Cassius  181 — applied  to  the 
group  as  a  whole  183-4. 

Apparitions :  Richard  HI  122,  Mac- 
beth 135-6, 140, 167,  389-91.  [See 
Supernatural.] 

Arch  as  an  illustration  of  dramatic 
form  127,  372 — applied  to  the 
Movement  in  Julius  Casar  186, 
372— to  King  Lcar\  Main  Plot 
209— Underplot  215-7. 

Aristotle:  his  criticism  inductive  16 
—judicial  16 — his  position  in  the 
progress  of  Induction  320 — made 
Stage-Representation  a  division  of 
Dramatic  Criticism  321 — on  the 
purification  of  our  emotions  in  the 
Drama  386. 

Art  applied  to  the  repulsive  and 
trivial  90 — common  terms  in  the 
different  arts  168 — Dramatic  Art 
40, 31 7,&c. — Art  in  general  affords 
a  fundamental  basis  for  the  Ana- 
lysis of  Drama  323 — concrete  and 
abstract  elements  in  all  the  arts 
alike  323. 

As  You  Like  //,  Play  of:  How  it 
presents  various  forms  of  Humour 
in  conflict  with  a  single  Con- 
ventionality 300  and  Chapter  XV 
— compared  with  Love's  Labour 's 
Lost  299,  300. — Three  types  of 
Humour  :  Healthy  (Rosalind) 

300,  Professional    (Touchstone) 

301,  Morbid    (Jaques)   301-6 — 
The  Pastoral  Conventionality  306 
— The  three  Humours  in  conflict 
with  the  Pastoral  Conventionality 
307-9 — the    three    Humours    in 
conflict  with  one  another  309-13. 

The   play   as  a   study   of 


Dramatic  Colouring  300  and 
Chapter  XV.  Affords  ex- 

am  pies  of  (Comic)  Tone-Storm 
347 — Irony  of  Circumstances  388 
(note). 

As  You  Like  It,  Characters  in: 
Audrey  307.  Corin  307. 
Jaques :  his  disputed  character 
301 — explained  as  the  morbid 
humour  of  melancholy  302-6 — 
Jaques  in  contrast  with  the  Duke 
and  his  followers  304-6 — with  the 

gistoral  surroundings  304 — with 
rlando  311 — with  the  Fool  306, 
311 — with  Rosalind  305,  312. 
Phoebe  307.  Rosalind:  re- 

presentative of  healthy  humour 
300,  306 — her  disguise  a  humor- 
ous situation  embodied  307 — in 
conflict  with  the  pastoral  sur- 
roundings 307 — with  the  Fool 
309-10— with  Jaques  305,  312. 
Silvius  307.  Touchstone : 

representative  of  professional  hu- 
mour 301 — in  conflict  with  the 
pastoral  surroundings  308 — with 
Rosalind  309-10 — with  Jaques 
311.  William  307. 

As  You  Like  It,  Plot  of:  Technical 
Analysis  415-6. — Its  Enveloping 
Action  as  Motive  Force  396 — 
Further  Resolution  380 — Rosalind 
a  Motive  Personage  395. 


Background,  Dramatic  327,  329, 
247-9. 

Background  of  Nature  as  an  element 
in  dramatic  effect  192-4,  compare 
327>  329 — its  widespread  use  in 
poetry  192 — analysed  192 — illus- 
trated in  Julius  Ca-sar  in  con- 
nection with  the  Supernatural 
193-6— used  in  Centrepiece  of 
King  Lear  214 — plays  a  great 
part  in  The  Tempest  247-51, 
326 — considered  as  an  example 
of  the  Supernatural  illuminating 
human  action  393. 

Balance  82 — as  an  Economic  form 
367— see  Technical  Analyses 
401-16. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


421 


Betrothed,  The  :  as  example  of  Ora- 
cular Action  132. 

Blank  Verse  13,  and  see  Metrical 
Variation. 

Catastrophe,  or  Focus  of  Movement : 
378-9  —  Examples  378-9  —  in 
Technical  Analyses  401-16. 

Central  Ideas:  264  and  Chapter 
XIII,  329.— Theory  of  264— dis- 
tinction between  direct  and  indi- 
rect bearing  265 — relation  to 
Dramatic  Colouring  329 — illus- 
trated in  Tempest  266  and  Chap- 
ter XIII — Love's  Labour's  Lost 
284  and  Chapter  XIV,  &c. 

Central  Personages  119 — Gloucester 
in  King  Lear  376,  408— Richard 
404. 

Centre,  Dramatic  68,  186 — Shake- 
speare's fondness  for  central  effects 
186,  378. 

Centre  of  Plot  378 — Examples  378- 
9 — in  Technical  Analyses  401- 
16. 


Character:  as  an  element  in  Judg- 
ment 56 — as  an  Elementary  Topic 
of  Dramatic  Criticism  324 — sub- 
divided 325. 

Character,  Interest  of:  330  and 
Chapter  XVII.  Character  in 
Drama  presented  concretely  330. 

Unity  in  Character- Interest 
330-2 — Complexity  in  Character- 
Interest   332-5 — Development  in 
Character-Interest  335-7. 
Character-Interpretation  330-2. 

Character- Foils  332 — Con- 
trast 333— Duplication  333— 
Grouping  334. 

Character-Contrast  as  a  general  term 
333-5— strictly  so-called  333,  144 
and  Chapter  VII — as  an  Ele- 
mentary Topic  of  Dramatic  Criti- 
cism 325— Illustrations  :  Mer- 
chant of  Venice  82-7—  Macbeth 
144  and  Chapter  Mll—Jtilitis 
Ccrsar  178,  &c. 

Character-Development  335-7 — Il- 
lustration: Macbeth  335-7. 


Character-  Duplication     333  —  il- 
lustrations :  Murderers  in  A'*V>&- 


.. 

Character  -  Foils  332  —  Illustra- 
tions :  Jessica  to  Lorenzo  85  — 
Jessica  and  Lorenzo  to  Portia  and 
Bassanio  86—  Cassius  and  Ceesar 
179. 

Character-Grouping  described  168— 
Illustrations  :  Julius  Casar  169 
and  Chapter  VIII—  Othello  225-7 

—  Love's  Labour's  Lost  335  and 
293-7- 

Character-Interpretation  325,  330-2 

—  of  the  nature   of   a   scientific 
hypothesis  330  —  canons  of  inter- 
pretation     331-2  —  applied     to 
more  than  one  Character  becomes 
Character-Contrast     333  —  analy- 
tical in  its  nature  186  —  Illustra- 
tions :     Richard    III    90     and 
Chapter  IV—  Jaques  in  As  You 
Like  It  301-6. 


Chess  with  living  pieces,  an  illustra- 
tion of  Passion  185. 

Circumstance  External  401. 

Clash  of  Tones  345.     [See  Tone.] 

Classical  Drama  125,  387:  see 
Ancient. 

Classification  a  stage  in  development 
of  Inductive  Method  318,  319. 

Climax  in  Passion-Movement  185-7 
— applied  to  Jtilius  Ccesar  186-8 
and  Chapter  IX.  Illustrated 
in  King  Lear  202  and  Chapter  X. 
Gradual  rise  to  the  climax  of  the 
Main  Plot  209-15— the  climax 
itself  215 — climax  of  Underplot 
2 1 5-8 — climax  of  the  play  double 
217 — and  triple  218,  223 — double 
in  Tempest  276-9. 

Colouring,  Dramatic  :  328,  329 — 
connection  with  Central  Ideas  329 
— Illustrations  :  Macbeth  328 — 
Tempest  246  and  Chapter  XIII — 
As  You  Like  It  300  and  Chapter 
XV—  Othello  328. 

'Comedy'  unsuitable  as  a  term  in 
Shakespeare-Criticism  372-3. 

Comic  as  a  Tone,  344. 


422 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Complex  distinguished  from  Com- 
plicated 74  (note) — applied  to  Plot 
of  Merchant  of  Venice  74  and 
Chapter  III — Complexity  distin- 
guishes the  plot  of  King  Lear  as 
compared  with  that  of  Julius 
Cccsar  1 86 — traced  in  plot  of  King 
Lear  202,  208-9,  &c- — not  incon- 
sistent with  simplicity  208,  74 — 
an  element  of  Action  325 — ap- 
plied to  Character  332,  Passion 
343,  Plot  359. 

Complicated  distinguished  from 
Complex  74  (note) — Complicated 
Movement  370-2. 

Complicating  Force  67. 

Complication  and  Resolution  66, 
370 — Illustration:  Merchant  of 
Venice  67. 

Connection  as  an  Economic  form  365 
— by  Link  Personages  and  Actions 
366 — by  Interweaving  366 — by 
common  Envelopment  366. 

Construction  and  Creation  as  pro- 
cesses in  Character-Painting  30. 

Contrast  as  an  Economic  Form  367  ; 
compare  Tables  401-16. 

Courage,  active  and  passive  146, 1 79. 

Creation  and  Construction  as  pro- 
cesses in  Character-Painting  30. 


Criticism,  a  priori  24,  37.  [See 
Criticism,  Judicial.] 

Criticism,  Dramatic  :  as  an  Induc- 
tive Science  40,  3i7,&c. — surveyed 
in  outline  317 — indirectly  by 
Studies  317 — its  definition  318-23 
— its  method  3 1 8-20 — its  field  320- 
23 — distinguished  from  Literary 
Criticism  in  general  321 — relation 
of  Dramatic  Art  to  Stage-Repre- 
sentation 321-3 — Drama  and 
Representation  separable  in  ex- 
position not  in  idea  322-3 — 
fundamental  divisions  of  Dramatic 
Criticism  323-5 — its  elementary 
Topics  tabulated  325,  329— 
General  Table  of  its  Topics  398. 

Criticism:  History  of  7-21.  [See 
Criticism  Judicial,  Shakespeare- 
Criticism.] 


Criticism,  Inductive :  distinguished 
from  Judicial  2 — the  two  illus- 
trated by  the  case  of  Ben  Jonson 
2-4 — confusion  of  the  two  4 — 
gradual  development  of  Inductive 
method  in  the  history  of  Criticism 
17-21 — sphere  of  Inductive  Criti- 
cism separate  from  that  of  the 
Criticism  of  Taste  21 — three  main 
points  of  contrast  between  Induc- 
tive and  Judicial  Criticism  27-40 
— (i)  as  to  comparisons  of  merit 
27-32— (2)  as  to  the  'laws'  of 
Art  32-7 — (3)  as  to  fixity  of 
standard  37-40.  Difficulties 

of  Inductive  Criticism:  want  of 
positiveness  in  the  subject-matter 
23-5  —  absence  of  'design'  in 
authors  26 — objection  as  to  the 
ignoring  of  moral  purpose  35  — 
arbitrariness  of  literary  creation 
35-7.  Principles  and 

Axioms  of  Inductive  Criticism. 
Its  foundation  Axiom  :  Interpreta- 
tion is  of  the  nature  of  a  scientific 
hypothesis  25—115  antagonism  to 
comparisons  of  merit  27-9 — con- 
cerned with  differences  of  kind 
rather  than  degree  29-32 — Axiom: 
Its  function  to  distinguish  literary 
species  32 — principle  that  each 
writer  is  a  species  to  himself  30-2 
— the  laws  of  Art  scientific  laws 
32-7 — Inductive  Criticism  has  no 
province  to  deal  with  faults  34 — 
Axiom  :  Art  a  part  of  Nature  36 
— Axiom  :  Literature  a  thing  of 
development  37 — development  to 
be  applied  equally  to  past  and 
new  literature  38.  Illustra- 

tions of  Inductive  Criticism.  Ap- 
plied by  Addison  16,  20;  Aristotle 
16;  Fortenelle  19;  Perrault  19; 
Gervinus  20;  Dr.  Johnson  16. — 
Applied  to  the  character  of  Mac- 
beth 24 ;  Music  29 ;  to  Charlotte 
Bronte  and  George  Eliot  30; 
Beethoven  34. 

Criticism,  Judicial:  distinguished 
from  Inductive  2 — the  two  illus- 
trated by  the  case  of  Ben  Jonson 
2-4 — confusion  of  the  two  4 — 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


423 


three  main  points  of  contrast  be- 
tween Judicial  and  Inductive  Criti- 
cism 2  7-40 — (i )  as  to  comparisons 
of  merit  27-32 — (2)  as  to  the 
'laws'  of  Art  32-7— (3)  as  to 
fixity  of  standard  37-40.  Il- 

legitimate supremacy  of  Judicial 
method  in  Criticism  4— connected 
with  influence  of  Renaissance 
4 — and  Journalism  5— defence  : 
Theory  of  Taste  as  condensed 
experience  6  —  the  theory  ex- 
amined :  judicial  spirit  a  limit  on 
appreciation  6.  History  of 

Judicial  Criticism  a  triumph  of 
authors  over  critics  7-21.  Case 
of  Shakespeare-Criticism  8-n — 
other  authors  11-13 — defeat  of 
Judicial  Criticism  in  the  great 
literary  questions  13-15 — its  fail- 
ure to  distinguish  the  permanent 
and  transitory  15 — its  tendency  to 
become  obsolete  16 — its  gradual 
modification  in  the  direction  of 
Inductive  method  17-21. 
Proper  sphere  of  Judicial  Criticism 
21 — outside  science  21 — and  be- 
longing to  creative  literature  21. 
Vices  of  Judicial  Criticism  : 
its  arbitrary  method  of  eliminating 
variability  of  impression  in  literary 
effect  24 — its  fondness  for  com- 
parisons of  merit  27 — its  attempt 
to  limit  by  Maws'  32-5 — its  as- 
sumption of  fixed  standards  37-9 
—its  confusion  of  development 
with  improvement  39.  Il- 

lustrations of  Judicial  Criticism  : 
applied  by  the  French  Academy 
18  ;  Aristotle  16  ;  Boileau  16,  18  ; 
Byron  14;  Dennis  19;  Dry  den  9, 
12,  13,  17;  Edwards  9;  Hallam 
12  ;  Heywood  10 ;  Jeffrey  12  ;  Dr. 
Johnson  10,  12, 16,  19,  20;  Lans- 
downe  9 ;  Macaulay  13  ;  Otway  9  ; 
Pope  10,  19;  Rymer  8,  14,  17; 
Steevens  12,  15;  Theobald  10; 
Voltaire  9,  14,  17. — Applied  to 
Addison's  Cato  17;  Beethoven  34; 
Bronte  30 ;  Buckingham  1 7  ;  Eliot 
(Geo.)  30 ;  Gray  1 2 ;  Greek 
Drama  30 ;  Herodotus  39 ;  Jonson 


(Ben)  2,  17;  Keats  12;  Milton 
u,  12,  14,  17,  39;  Montgomery 
1 3 ;  Roscommon  1 7 ;  Skakespeare's 
Plays  8-1 1,  &c.;  Shakespeare's 
Sonnets  12;  Spenser  12,  17; 
Taylor  (Jeremy)  39  ;  Waller  1 7 ; 
Walsh  17;  Waverley  Novels  12; 
Wordsworth  12. 

Criticism  of  Assaying  2,  6.  [See 
Criticism,  Judicial.] 

Criticism  of  Taste  2,  6,  21-2.  [See 
Criticism,  Judicial.] 

Cross  Nemeses  401,  403,  47,  51. 

Dancing  (Greek)  321. 

Dependence  as  an  Economic  form 
366. 

Derationalisation  247.  [See  Super- 
natural.] 

Design,  its  significance  in  Criticism 
26. 

Destiny  interwoven  with  Nemesis  in 
Macbeth  125  and  Chapter  VI — 
conception  of  it  in  Ancient  and 
Modern  Thought  125,  387 — 

S'lases  of  Destiny  in  Modern 
rama  127 — the  Oracular  Action 
one  phase  of  Destiny  130 — Irony 
as  a  phase  of  Destiny  137-43 — 
Destiny  acting  objectively  387-8 — 
rationalised  in  Modern  Drama  387 
— as  a  subjective  force,  Infatuation 
388-9 — rationalised  in  Shake- 
speare 388-9. 

Development  in  literature  37-9 — as 
an  element  of  Action  324-5 — 
applied  to  character  335-7. 

Devices  for  increasing  emotional 
strain  196. 

Differentiation  of  matter  accompany- 
ing progress  of  Inductive  Science 
320— applied  to  Dramatic  Criti- 
cism 320-3. 

Difficulties,  Reduction  of  326,  329. 

Dividing  line,  Mystery  of  278. 

Drama:  the  word  'drama'  324 — 
Drama  a  compound  art  321— the 
Shakespearean  branch  of  the  Ro- 
mantic Drama  43 — its  relations 
with  Stage-Representation  321-3, 
pg — one  of  its  purposes  to  inter- 
pret the  beauty  of  fate  386. 


424 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Dramatic  Satire  3. 

Dryden  on  Spenser  12,  17— on  Blank 
Verse  1 3 — \\\s>Essayon  f/ie  Drama 
13 — his  Essay  on  Satire  13 — on 
Milton's  Blank  Verse  17 — on 
Shakespeare's  English  15. 

Duplication  333. 

Dynamics  of  Plot  370  and  Chapter 
XX.  [See  Motive  Form  and 
Motive  Force.] 

Economic  Devices  in  Othello  234. 

Economy  of  Action  365-9  {see  Ac- 
tion]— Constructive  326,  329 — an 
economy  in  Richard's  Villainy  100 
— in  providential  workings  275. 

Effect  as  a  general  term  in  Dramatic 
Criticism  340 — strictly  so-called 
ib. — an  element  of  Passion  ib. — 
distinguished  from  Situation  and 
Incident  338— described  340-3. 
Special  Effects :  Irony  340, 
Nemesis  342,  Dramatic  Fore- 
shadowing 342. 

Elemental  Beings  255-9 — Ariel  up- 
ward-tending (Air  and  Fire)  256 
—  Caliban  downward  -  tending 
(Earth  and  Water)  256. 

Elevated  as  a  Tone  344. 

Enveloping  Action  361-5,  in. 
Illustrations  :  Richard  III  1 1 1- 
12 — King  Lear  362-3 — Love's 
Labours  Lost  297-9 — As  You 
Like  It  363-5.  Analogous  to 
External  Circumstances  401  (note) 
— in  Technical  Analyses  401-16. 

Envelopment  as  a  kind  of  Connec- 
tion 366. 

Euphuism  in  Brutus's  oration  175 — 
in  Lovers  Labour's  Lost  286 — as  a 
dramatic  weapon  288. 

External  Circumstance  401  (note). 

Farcical  as  a  Tone  344,  345. 

Fascination  as  an  element  in  human 
influence  97. 

Fate,  determinants  of  in  Drama 
380-1  [see  Motive  Force]— fate 
other  than  retributive  included  in 
Poetic  Justice  383— function  of 
Drama  to  interpret  beauty  of  fate 
385-6. 


Fault  as  a  critical  term  32,  34. 
Focussing   of  trains  of  passion  in 

King  Lear  209. 
Foils  332.     [See  Character.] 
Fool,    Institution    of    the    Court: 

218-20 — Fool    in     King     Lear 

220-3— in    As  You  Like  It  301 

—Clown  in  Othello  348. 
Foreshadowing,    Dramatic    342-3, 

201. 

Frame  (Enveloping  Action")  363-5. 
Free  Trade  and  Free  Art  35. 

Gervinus  u,  20,  127,  372. 
Gloucester :     see    King  Lear    and 

Richard  2 77. 
Grouping  334.     [See  Character.] 

Hamlet,  Play  of  390. 

Hedging,  Dramatic  60,  78,  327,  329. 
Illustrations  :  Shylock  58-61  ; 
Richard  III  105  ;  Brutus  176. 

Henry  V  an  example  of  Preparation 
Stage  240. 

Heroic  as  a  Tone  344. 

Heroic  couplet  30. 

History,  its  interpretation  of  events 
compared  with  the  effect  of  the 
Oracular  Action  392. 

Homer:  Episode  of  Achilles  and 
the  River-god  193— Iliad  1$,  193. 

Human  Interest  one  of  the  two  lead- 
ing divisions  of  Drama  324 — 
further  divided  ib. 

Humour:  the  word  analysed  284- 
5.  Humour  as  the  Solvent 

of  Affectation  in  Love's  Labour's 
Lost  284  and  Chapter  XIV. 
Humour  in  As  You  Like  It,  three 
types:  Healthy  Humour  of 
Rosalind  300 — Professional  Hu- 
mour of  Touchstone  301 — Morbid 
Humour  of  Jaques  301-6 — the 
three  Humours  in  conflict  with 
the  Pastoral  Conventionality  307- 9 
— the  three  in  conflict  with  one 
another  309-13.  Humour 

as  a  climax  of  Tone-Clash  346, 
162-3— as  a  dramatic  Motive  386. 

Hybris  49,  389. 

Hysterical  passion  in  King  Lear 
210-15. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


425 


lago  compared  with  Richard  III 
92 — self-deceived  101.  [See 

Othello^ 

Idealisation  as  a  dramatic  effect  51 
—applied  to  the  Caskets  Story 
51-4 — of  Incident  97. 

Iliad  23,  193. 

Imitation  as  a  force  in  developing 
madness  214-5. 

Incident  as  a  division  of  Passion  338 
— distinguished  from  Situation  and 
Effect  ib.  Illustrations  :  338-9. 

Inclined  Plane  as  a  form  of  Passion- 
Movement  372. 

Inconsistency  in  characters  a  mark 
of  unfinished  Interpretation  331. 

Indirect  elements  of  Character-In- 
terpretation 331,  86. 

Individuality  of  authorship  corre- 
sponds to  differentiation  of  species 
39 — individuality  an  element  in 
the  Inner  Life  169. 

Induction  :  its  connection  with  facts 
i — application  to  literature  22- 
40.  [See  Criticism,  Inductive.] 
Stages  in  the  development  of  In- 
ductive Science  318-20 — its  pro- 
gress accompanied  by  differentia- 
tion of  subject-matter  320 — appli- 
cation to  Science  of  Dramatic 
Criticism  317  and  Chapters  XVI 
to  XX — to  the  definition  of  Dra- 
matic Criticism  318. 

Infatuation :  Destiny  acting  sts  a 
subjective  force  388 — prominence 
in  Ancient  Ethics  388 — traces  in 
Scripture  expression  389  —  ra- 
tionalised by  Shakespeare  389. 
Illustrations  :  Antonio 
389,  49  ;  Coesar  197  ;  Macbeth 

389- 

Inner  Life  144-6.  [See  Antithesis 
of,  &c.] 

Interference  as  a  form  of  Contrary 
Motion  375 — Illustrated  in  As 
You  Like  It  and  Merchant  of 
Venice  375. 

Interpretation  by  the  actor  an  ele- 
ment in  dramatic  analysis  98.  [See 
Character- Interpretation.] 

Interweaving  of  Stories  43-4,  58, 
66-73,  74  and  Chapter  III,  81-2, 


87-8 — of  light  and  serious  Stories 
69-73-  [See  Story.]  In- 

terweaving as  a  kind  of  Connec- 
tion 366 — compare  Technical 
Analyses  401-16. 

Intoxication  as  a  counterpart  to  en- 
chantment 261. 

Intrigue  Action  207-8— in  the  Un- 
derplot of  King  Lear  207-8 — In- 
trigues of  Goneril  and  Regan 
206,  407— in  the  plot  of  Othello 
227. 

Irony  as  a  phase  of  Destiny  137-9 
—the word  'irony'  137— Irony  of 
Socrates  ib. — illustrated  by  Story 
of  CEdipus  138— in  language  of 
Scripture  138 — modified  in  mo- 
dern conception  138-9— connected 
with  Oracular  Action  139 — com- 
bined with  Nemesis  383 — as  an 
objective  presentation  of  Destiny 
387-8 — Irony  of  Circumstances 
388  (note),  341.  Dramatic 

Irony  as  example  of  mixed  Passion 
73 — as  a  mode  of  emphasising 
Nemesis  115-9,  I2° — as  one  °f 
the  triple  Forms  of  Action  in 
Macbeth  139-42 — as  a  Dramatic 
Effect  340-2 — this  a  contribution 
of  the  Greek  Stage  341 — Dramatic 
Irony  extended  to  the  language  of 
a  scene  342 — Comic  Irony  342, 
346.  Illustrations :  in 

Merchant  of  Venice  73,  342 ; 
Richard  III  115-9,  I2O>  I2I> 
341*  383;  Macbeth  '139-42,  383; 
Macduff  143  ;  Banquo  142  ;  the 
Witches' Action  143;  proclamation 
of  Cumberland  387-8 ;  Julius 
Ccesar  341,  197;  King  Lear  m\ 
Story  of  CEdipus  341;  As  You, 
Like  It  388  (note);  Othello  34 J> 
243. 

Jealousy:  the  word  'Jealousy'  225 
(note) — colours  the  play  of  Othello 
225-7. 

Jester  218.     [See 'Fool.'] 

Jew,  Story  of  :  44,  &c.  [See  Story.] 
— Feud  of  Jew  and  Gentile  60 — 
Jews  viewed  as  social  outcasts  83. 

Job,  Book  of :  its  conclusion  as  an 


426 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


example  of  Dramatic  Background 
of  Nature  192. 

Johnson,  Dr.  :  on  Shakespeare  10- 
u,  20— on  Milton's  minor  poems 
ii  —  on  Blank  Verse  14  —  on 
Metaphysical  Poetry  16 — on  Ad- 
dison's  Cato  19 — on  the  Unities  20. 

Jonson,  Ben  :  2-4 — his  Dramatic 
Satires  3— his  Blank  Verse  13 — 
his  Catilitte  17. 

Journalism  :  its  influence  on  critical 
method  5 — place  of  Reviewing  in 
literary  classification  21-2. 

Judicial  Blindness  201,  388.  {See 
Infatuation.] 

Julius  Casar,  Play  of:  168-201, 
Chapters  VIII  and  IX.  As  an 
example  of  Character-Grouping 
168  and  Chapter  VIII,  334— 
as  a  study  of  Passion  and  Move- 
ment 185  and  Chapter  IX. 

Julius  Casar,  Characters  in :  An- 
tony balances  Caesar  129 — spared 
by  the  Conspirators  171 — con- 
trasted by  Caesar  with  Cassius 
1 79-80  —  his  general  character 
182-3 — its  culture  179-80 — self- 
seeking  182— affection  for  Caesar 
183,  199— his  position  in  the 
group  of  characters  183,  184 — 
peculiar  tone  of  his  oratory  198 
— dominant  spirit  of  the  reaction 
198 — upspringing  of  a  character 
in  him  198 — his  ironical  concilia- 
tion of  the  conspirators  199 — his 
oration  199-200 — Antony's  ser- 
vant 198.  Artemidorus  196. 
Brutus :  general  character 
171-6 — its  equal  balance  171-5 — 
its  force  171 — softness  173 — this 
concealed  under  Stoicism  173, 
174-5,  183— his  culture  173— 
relations  with  his  Page  173-4 — 
with  Portia  173-4 — with  Caesar 
175 — slays  Caesar  for  what  he 
might  become  175 — position  in 
the  State  176 — relations  with 
Cassius  172,  173,  182 — overrules 
Cassius  in  council  172 — his  gene- 
ral position  in  the  Grouping  183. 
Caesar  :  a  balance  to  An- 


tony 129 — general  discussion  of 
his  character  176-81 — its  diffi- 
culty and  contradictions  176-8 — 
his  vacillation  176-7 — explained 
by  the  antithesis  of  Practical  and 
Inner  Life  178 — Coesar  pre-emin- 
ently the  Practical  man  178-9 — 
strong  side  of  his  character  176-7 
— lacking  in  the  Inner  Life  178-9 
— compared  with  Macbeth  178 — 
a  change  in  Caesar  and  his  world 
180-1 — his  superstition  180-1  — 
position  in  the  Grouping  183 — 
different  effect  of  his  personality 
in  the  earlier  and  later  half  of  the 
play  1 88,  195,  197.  Calpur- 

nia  194-5.  Casca  172, 

194,195.  Cassius:  his  re- 

lations with  Brutus  172,  182 — 
brings  out  the  defective  side  of 
Caesar  179 — contrasted  by  Caesar 
with  Antony  179-80 — his  charac- 
ter discussed  181-2 — Republican- 
ism his  grand  passion  il>, — a  pro- 
fessional politician  182— his  tact 
182 — his  position  in  the  Grouping 
183-4 — his  relish  for  the  superna- 
tural portents  195 — his  nemesis 
342  —Cassius  and  the  eagles  342. 
Decius  181,  195.  Liga- 

rius  172.  Page  of  Brutus 

173-4,  201.  Popilius  Lena 

172,  197.  Portia  173,  174, 

196.  Roman  Mob  188,  200. 

Soothsayer  196,  342.  Tre- 

bonius  341. 

Julius  C&sar,  Incidents  and  Scenes : 
Capitol  Scene  196-200 — Con- 
spiracy Scene  171,  172,  176,  181 
— its  connection  with  storm  and 
portents  193-4 — Incidents  of  the 
Fever  and  Flood  178,  179 — 
Funeral  and  \Yill  of  Caesar  175, 
199-200,  332. 

Julius  Casar,  Plot  of:  Technical 
Analysis  406. — Affords  examples 
of  Enveloping  Action  362  — 
Balance  367  —  Regular  Arch- 
Movement  372 — Similar  Motion 
374 — Turning-points  379 — Rise 
and  Fall  a  single  motive  395. 
[See  next  paragraph.] 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


427 


Julius  Casar,  Movement  of:  com- 
pared with  movement  of  King 
Lear  1 86 — its  simplicity  and  form 
of  Regular  Arch  186,  372— key 
to  the  movement  the  justification 
of  the  conspirators'  cause  187. 
Stages  of  its  Movement: 
Rise  188-96— Crisis  196-8— Cata- 
strophe and  Decline  198-201. 
Starting-point  in  popular 
reaction  against  Coesar  188 — 
Crescendo  in  the  Rise  189-91 — 
the  conspiracy  formed  and  de- 
veloping the  Strain  begins  191-6 
— suspense  an  element  in  Strain 
191 — Strain  increased  by  back- 
ground of  the  Supernatural  192-6, 
393 — the  conspirators  and  the 
victim  compared  in  this  stage 
194-6.  Crisis,  the  Strain 

rising  to  a  climax  196-200 — 
exact  commencement  of  the  Crisis 
is  marked  196— devices  for  height- 
ening the  Strain  196 — the  con- 
spirators and  victim  just  before 
the  Catastrophe  197 — the  justifi- 
cation at  its  height  197 — Cata- 
strophe and  commencement  of 
the  Decline  198 — Antony  domin- 
ating the  Reaction  198 — the  Mob 
won  to  the  Reaction  200. 
Final  stage  of  an  Inevitable  Fate  : 
the  Strain  ceasing  200-1 — the 
representative  of  the  Reaction 
supreme  200 — the  position  of  con- 
spirators and  Caesar  reversed  201 
— judicial  blindness  201 — the  jus- 
tification ceases  201. 

Justice,  Poetic,  as  Dramatic  Motive 
381-6,  266-8  — the  term  dis- 
cussed 266,  381 — less  wide  than 
Providence  266 — its  negation  a 
literary  motive  267— its  connec- 
tion with  tragedy  267— Nemesis 
as  a  form  of  Poetic  Justice  382-3 
— Poetic  Justice  other  than  Ne- 
mesis 383-6. 

'Kindness':  the  word  discussed 
149-50,  222 — 'milk  of  human 
kindness'  149-50. 


King  Lear,  Play  of :  as  a  study  in 
complex  Passion  and  Movement 
202  and  Chapter  X — compared 
vt\\\i  Jtilius  Ctfsar  186. 

King  Lear,  Characters  in.  Cor- 
delia :  her  conduct  in  the  opening 
Scene  203-4— her  Tragedy  206— 
friendship  for  the  Fool  223— 
question  of  her  patriotism  384- 
6 — an  illustration  of  Pathos  as 
a  Dramatic  Motive  384-6 — con- 
nection with  the  Enveloping  Ac- 
tion 362 — connection  with  Poetic 
Justice  267.  Cornwall  212. 

Edgar:  hisTragedy2o8 — hisfeign- 
ed  madness  and  position  in  the 
Centrepiece  215-8,  223 — his  con- 
tact with  his  father  and  Lear  in 
the  hovel  215-8,  340— his  mad- 
ness an  emotional  climax  to  the 
Underplot  216.  Edmund 

compared  with  Richard  III  92 — 
his  charge  against  Edgar  2  06 — an 
agent  in  the  Underplot  207-8— his 
Tragedy  208,  216 — example  of 
Irony  341 — connected  with  the 
Enveloping  Action  363. 
The  Fool  :  Institution  of  the  Fool 
or  Jester  218-20 — modern  ana- 
logue in  Punch  219 — utilised  by 
Shakespeare  219 — function  of  the 
Fool  in  King  Lear  220-3 — his 
personal  character  2  2  3 — friendship 
with  Lear  and  Cordelia  223. 
Gloucester:  the  central  Per- 
sonage of  the  Underplot  206-7 — 
Link  Personage  between  Main  and 
Underplot  366 — the  Chamberlain 
and  friend  of  Lear  376 — his  con- 
nection with  the  Enveloping  Ac- 
tion 362-3,  408 — with  the  Con- 
vergent Motion  of  the  Play,  376- 
7,  408.  Goneril  203,  206, 

210,  213,  333,  363,  376-7>  383. 
Kent  represents  Conscience  in  the 
Opening  of  the  Problem  204-5— 
his  Tragedy  206.  Lear  :  his 

conduct  in  the  opening  scene  an 
example  of  imperiousness  203-5, 
2 1 1 — his  Nemesis  double  205-6 — 
gradual  on-coming  of  madness 
209-15— Lear  in  the  Centrepiece 


428 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


of  the  play  214-5— after  the  centre 
madness  gives  place  to  shattered 
intellect  215 — his  connection  with 
the  Fool  220-3 — with  the  En- 
veloping Action  362-3 — an  ex- 
ample of  Poetic  Justice  384. 
Regan  203,  206,  212,  213,  333, 

363,  376-7,  383. 

King  Lear,  Incidents  and  Scenes  of: 
Opening  Scene  203-5 — Stocks 
Scene  2 1 1, 384  (note) — Outrage  on 
Gloucester  339  —  Hovel  Scene 

215-8,  34°- 

King  Lear,  Plot  of:  Technical 
Analysis  407-8.— The  Main  Plot 
a  Problem  Action  202-6 — the 
Problem  enunciated  in  action  203- 
5 — solution  in  a  Triple  Tragedy 
205-6 — The  Underplot  an  Intrigue 
Action  207-8 — its  Initial  Action 
207 — its  resultant  a  Triple  Tragedy 
parallel  with  that  of  the  Main 
Plot  207-8.  Affords  an  ex- 

ample of  Plot-Analysis  360— of 
Enveloping  Action  in  the  French 
War  362-3.  Main  and 

Underplot  drawn  together  by 
common  Central  Climax  208 — by 
Parallelism  and  Contrast  206-8, 
367-9,  407-8 — by  Dependence 
and  Linking  366.  [See  next  para- 
graph.] 

A/tt^  Lear,  Movement  of :  202  and 
Chapter  X — its  simplicity  208-9 
— Lear's  madness  a  common  cli- 
max to  the  trains  of  passion  in  the 
Main  Plot  209 — Rise  of  the  Move- 
ment in  the  waves  of  on-coming 
madness  209-15 — form  of  move- 
ment a  Regular  Arch  ib. — connec- 
tion of  the  Fool  with  the  Rise  of 
the  Movement  220-23 — passage 
into  the  Central  Climax  marked 
by  the  Storm  214-5— Central  Cli- 
max of  the  Movement  214-8 — 
effect  on  Lear  of  the  Storm  214 — 
of  Contact  with  Edgar  215 — Ed- 
gar's madness  a  common  Climax 
to  the  trains  of  passion  in  the 
Underplot  215-7  — tne  Central 
Climax  a  trio  of  madness  217-23 
— an  example  of  Tone-Storm  347. 


Kriegspiel  185. 

Laius  134. 

Law  as   a    term   in  Criticism   and 

Science  generally  32-7. 
Light  as  a  Tone  344,  345. 
Line  of  Motion  370-1. 
Line  of  Passion  372. 
Linking  366. 
Love  at  first  sight  a  counterpart  to 

Enchantment  260. 

Love's  Labour 's  Lost,  Play  of :  How 
it  presents  Simple  Humour  in  con- 
flict with  various  Affectations  and 
Conventionalities  284  and  Chapter 
XIV.  Its  Central  Idea  Hu- 

mour as  the  solvent  of  Affectation 
285 — the  Affectations  attacked 
285-7 — humorous  attack  not  in- 
consistent with  sympathy  287 — 
the  representatives  of  Humour  in 
the  play  289 — conflict  of  Humour 
and  the  Artificial  290,  298 — fate 
of  the  personages  determined  by 
their  sense  of  humour  291 — con- 
nection of  the  Central  Idea  with 
the  structure  of  the  plot  292-9. 

Lovers  Labour 's  Lost  and  As 
You  Like  It  compared  300,  299. 

The  Celibate  Scheme  285— 
Euphuism  286— Pedantry  286— 
Word-play  as  a  dramatic  weapon 
288 — Metrical  system  of  the  play 

353-5- 

Love's  Labour  'j  Lost.  Characters  in  : 
Armado,  his  connection  with  the 
Central  Idea  286 — with  Euphuism 
286 — withJaquenetta(Sub-  Action) 
286,  292,  296 — brought  out  by 
contrast  293-5.  Biron  287, 

291,293,  298;  Boyet  289, 291;  Cos- 
tard 292,  295  ;  Dull  292,  295. 
Holofernes :  his  connection  with 
the  Central  Idea  286 — represent- 
ative of  pedantry  286,  292 — centre 
of  a  Group  or  Sub-Action  297, 
295 — brought  out  by  contrast  295. 
Jaquenetta  286,  292,  295; 
Katherine  288.  King  of 

Navarre  :  his  connection  with 
the  Celibates'  scheme  285— his 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


429 


lack  of  humour  291 — his  connec- 
tion with  the  Further  Resolution 
298.  Moth  291,  294;  Nathaniel 
286,  295.  Princess  of  France  : 

representative  of  Humour  289 — 
her  use  of  word-play  288. 
Rosaline  288. 

Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  Incidents  and 
Scenes  in  :  The  Central  Scene  of 
Mutual  Exposure  290-1,  339 — 
Masque  Scene  291-2 — Pageant  of 
the  Worthies  297. 

L ovis  Labour 's  Lost,  Plot  of :  Tech- 
nical Analysis  413-4. — Its  con- 
nection with  the  Central  Idea  292 
— Main  Plot  292-3 — Underplot 
293-7 — Enveloping  Action  297- 
8 — An  example  of  Further  Re- 
solution 379.  Connection 
of  the  Movement  with  Poetic 
Justice  384 — Humour  as  a  motive 
386 — Motive  Situation  395. 

Lyrics  of  Prose  22. 

Macaulay  2,  13— on  active  and 
passive  courage  146. 

Macbeth,  Play  of  :  affords  examples 
of  Dramatic  Colouring  328— of 
Tone-Relief  348 — its  metrical  va- 
riations 350,  353. 

Macbeth,  Character  of:  an  illustra- 
tion of  methodical  analysis  24 — 
compared  with  Richard  92 — with 
Julius  Caesar  178 — an  example  of 
Character-Development  335-7. 

General     Analysis     I47~54> 
161,  335-7.  Macbeth  as  the 

Practical  Man  147-54 — his  nobi- 
lity superficial  148,  161 — his  cha- 
racter as  analysed  by  his  wife 
148-50 — illustrated  by  his  soli- 
loquy 151-3 — compared  in  action 
and  in  mental  conflicts  153,  162 
— flaws  in  his  completeness  as 
type  of  the  practical  154 — Mac- 
beth's superstition  154,  159,  162, 
165-6,  167,  335-7— his  inability 
to  bear  suspense  154,  160,  162- 

5»  335-7- 

Macbeth    under    temptation    158 


— in  the  deed  of  murder  161 — his 
breakdown  and  blunder  162— in 
the  Discovery  Scene  163— his 
blunder  in  stabbing  the  grooms 
163 — under  the  strain  of  conceal- 
ment 164— confronted  with  the 
Ghost  of  Banquo  165 — nemesis  in 
his  old  age  167— and  his  trust  in 
the  false  oracles  167.  Mac- 

.  beth  an  example  of  Infatuation 
389 — relations  with  the  Witches 
390-2 — not  turned  from  good  to 
evil  by  their  influence  390. 

Macbeth  (Lady),  Character  of: 
154-6 — type  of  the  Inner  Life 
154-6— her  tact  155,  161,  164, 
165 — her  feminine  delicacy  156, 
161,  162,  1 66 — her  wifely  devo- 
tion 156.  Lady  Macbeth 
under  temptation  159 — in  the 
deed  of  murder  161 — in  the  dis- 
covery 163 — her  fainting  164 — 
under  the  strain  of  concealment 
165 — her  tact  in  the  Ghost  Scene 
165 — her  gentleness  to  Macbeth 
166 — her  break-down  in  madness 
1 66. 

Macbeth,  Lord  and  Lady,  as  a  Study 
in  Character-Contrast  144  and 
Chapter  VII,  333— rests  on  the 
Antithesis  of  the  Practical  and 
Inner  Life  147-56.  The 

Contrast  traced  through  the  action 
of  the  play  156-67 — relations  at 
the  beginning  of  the  play  156-8 
— first  impulse  to  crime  from 
Macbeth  156— the  Temptation 
158-61 — the  meeting  after  their 
separate  temptations  160-1— the 
Deed  161-3 — the  Concealment 
163-5— the  Nemesis  165-7. 

Macbeth,  other  Characters  in.  Ban- 
quo  :  his  attitude  to  the  super- 
natural compared  with  Macbeth's 
154,  *59>  390-1— the  attempt 
against  Banquo  and  Fleance  the 
end  of  Macbeth's  success  and 
beginning  of  his  failure  127— 
binds  together  the  Rise  and  Fall 
I37_Macbeth's  exultation  over 
it  153 — the  Banquo  Action  ba- 
lances the  Macduff  Action  129 — 


43° 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


gives  unity  to  the  Rise  127-9  — 
partakes  the  triple  form  of  the 
whole  play  142. 
Fleance:  see  Banquo. 
Lennox  128,  163.  Macduff: 

massacre  of  his  family  130,  141 — 
his  position  in  the  scene  with 
Malcolm  140,  340 — the  Macduff 
Action  balances  the  Banquo  Ac- 
tion 1 29 — gives  unity  to  the  Fall 
129-30 — partakes  triple  form  of 
the  whole  play  142 — example  of 
Oracular  Action  392-3. 
Malcolm  139,  340.  The 

Porter  348.  The  Witches 

129,  134,  135,  136,  137,  139,  141 
— an  .example  of  the  Supernatural 
intensifying  human  action  390-2 
— their  different  behaviour  to 
Macbeth  and  Banquo  390-2 — their 
exact  function  in  the  play  392 — 
the  Witches'  Action  an  Enveloping 
Action  405,  143— partakes  the 
triple  form  of  the  whole  play  143. 

Macbeth,  Incidents  and  Scenes  in : 
Witches  Scene  158-9,  390-2 — 
Apparitions  Scene  130,  135,  140 
— Ghost  Scene  165-6,  339— Pro- 
clamation of  Cumberland  135, 
151,  388— Dagger  Scene  1 53,  340 
— Discovery  Scene  163 — Flight  of 
Duncan's  Sons  139,  164,  388 — 
Macduff  with  Malcolm  in  Eng- 
land 140,  340 — the  Sleep-walking 
166-7— Final  Combat  389. 

Macbeth,  Plot  of :  Technical  Analy- 
sis 405. — The  interweaving  of 
Nemesis  and  Destiny  127  and 
Chapter  VI — its  Action  multiple 
in  form  127,  358.  Macbeth 

as  a  Nemesis  Action  127-30 — the 
Rise  127 — the  Fall  129— the  Rise 
and  Fall  together  127.  Mac- 

beth as  an  Oracular  Action  130-7 
—the  Rise  134 — the  Fall  135 — 
the  Rise  and  Fall  together  1 36. 

Macbeth  as  an  Irony  Action 
139-43 — the  Rise  139 — the  Fall 
140 — the  Rise  and  Fall  together 
141.  Affords  examples  of  Envel- 
oping Action  (the  Witches)  362 — 
Balance  367 — Parallelism  and 


Contrast  367.  Movement  of  the 
Play  in  four  Stages :  The  Temp- 
tation 158-61 — The  Deed  161-3 
—The  Concealment  163-5— The 
Nemesis  165-7.  The  Rise 

and  Fall  a  single  Motive  395. 


Madness  distinguished  from  Passion 
209 — connected  with  inspiration 
218 — madness  of  Lear:  its  gradual 
on-coming  in  waves  of  hysteri- 
cal passion  210 — change  in  its 
character  after  the  Centrepiece 
215 — it  makes  the  Passion-Climax 
of  the  main  Plot  209 — the  mad- 
ness of  passion  217 — madness  of 
Edgar :  the  madness  of  idiocy 
217-8 — feigned  215  —  common 
Climax  of  the  passions  of  the 
Underplot  215-8— madness  of  the 
Fool:  professional  madness  218- 
23 — madness-duett  217-8 — mad- 
ness-trio 218,  223. 

Masque  in  The  Tempest  248,  263. 

Measure  for  Measure,  Play  of  372, 
352  (note). 

Mechanical  Construction  326-7,  and 
Chapters  II  and  III  generally. 
Reduction  of  Difficulties  326— 
Constructive  Economy  326 — Con- 
structive Processes  326  —  Con- 
structive Conventionalities  327-8 
— Constructive  Unity  328-9. 

Mechanical  Details  utilised  77. 

Mechanical  Difficulties,  their  Reduc- 
tion 326,  76-7 — the  three  months' 
interval  in  the  Story  of  the  Jew 
77 — the  loss  of  Antonio's  ships 
77 — not  always  necessary  to  solve 
these  77. 

Mechanical  Personages  75,  326,  329 
— their  multiplication  in  Romantic 
Drama  75— in  The  Tempest  re- 
semble Greek  Chorus  282  — and 
connected  with  the  Central  Idea 
282. 

Melancholy,  Morbid  Humour  of 
302. 

Melodrama  118. 

Mephistopheles  compared  with 
Richard  92. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


431 


Merchant  oj  Venice,  The,  Play  of :  as 
an  illustration  of  the  construction 
of  Drama  out  of  Story  43-89 — 
Story  as  the  Raw  Material  of  the 
Romantic  Drama  43 — the  two 
main  Stories  in  the  Merchant  of 
Venice  considered  as  Raw  Mate- 
rial 43 — Stoiy  of  the  Jew  gives 
scope  for  Nemesis  44-51 — Anto- 
nio side  of  the  Nemesis  47-9 — 
Shylock  side  of  the  Nemesis  49-51 
— Caskets  Story  gives  scope  for 
Idealisation  51-7 — Problem  of 
Judgment  by  Appearances  ideal- 
ised 52-4 — its  solution  :  Charac- 
ter as  an  element  in  Judgment  54- 
7 — characters  of  the  three  Suitors 
55-6.  Working  up  of  the 

two  Main  Stories  58  and  Chap- 
ter II.  Reduction  of  Diffi- 
culties 58-66  —  Monstrosity  in 
Shylock's  Character  met  by  Dra- 
matic Hedging  58-61 — Difficul- 
ties as  to  the  pound  of  flesh  61-6 
— significance  of  the  discussion  on 
interest  61-4.  Interweaving 
of  the  two  Stories  66-73 — assist- 
ance it  gives  to  the  movement  of 
the  play  66,  395 — to  the  symmetry 
of  the  plot  67-9 — union  of  a  light 
and  serious  story  69-73. 
Further  multiplication  of  Stories 
by  the  addition  of  an  Underplot 
74  and  Chapter  III.  Paradox 
of  simplicity  by  means  of  com- 
plexity 74-5— uses  of  the  Jessica 
Story  75-87— characters  of  Jessica 
and  Lorenzo  82-7— uses  of  the 
Rings  Episode  87-9.  The 
play  illustrates  every  variety  of 
Tone  344-5— Tone-Play  348. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Characters  in : 
Antonio  338 — his  Nemesis  47-9 — 
general  character  47 — friendship 
with  Bassanio  47, 85 — conduct  in 
Bond  Scene  48-9,  61,  389 — cen- 
tre of  the  serious  side  of  the  play 
69-70— the  loss  of  his  ships  77— 
his  sadness  342 — his  pathetic  hu- 
mour 346.  Arragon  55,  333, 
344.  Bassanio  :  friendship 
with  Antonio  47,  85— as  a  suitor 


56— his  part  in  the  Bond  Scene 
61— in  the  Trial  73 — in  the  Rings 
Episode  72,  88 — a  scholar  76— set 
off  by  Lorenzo  86 — a  Link  Person- 
age 88,  365 — seen  at  a  disadvantage 
in  the  play  86,  331— example  of 
Tone-Clash  346.  Bellario 

66.  Duke  64, 65. 

Gobbo   76,    345.  Gratiano 

60,  76,  84,  333,  342,  344. 
Jessica,  her  Story  75-87,  68,  &c.— 
her  character  82-7 — a  compensa- 
tion to  Shylock  80— her  attraction 
to  Portia  85— foil  to  Portia  86— 
in  Moonlight  Scene  339. 
Launcelot  76,  83,  84,  344. 
Lorenzo  :  his  character  85-7 — its 
alleged  inconsistency  331 — a  foil 
to    Bassanio  86  —  in    Moonlight 
Scene     339.  Morocco     55, 

333,  344-  Nerissa  76,  333, 

344.  Portia  as  centre  of  the 

lighter  side  of  the  play  69-70, 
344 — in  the  Trial  Scene  49-51, 
65-6,  70-3— her  plea  an  evasion 
65 — playing  with  the  situation 
70-2 — her  outburst  on  mercy  73, 
344 — the  Rings  Stratagem  72 — 
relations  with  Jessica  85-7 — her 
character  88-9.  Salarino^S, 

60,  76,  84— Salanio  60,  76— Sa- 
lerio  76.  Shylock  as  a  study 

of  Nemesis  49-51 — in  the  Trial 
Scene  49-51,  338— his  character 
59-61 — sentence  on  him  60,  80, 
382 — relation  with  Jessica  78-81, 
83.  Tubal6o,  76,  79,  333, 

339- 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Incidents  and 
Scenes  in  :  Bond  Scene  48-9,  61- 
4j  389— Scene  of  Bassanio's  Choice 
55,  56,  68,  348,  371— Scene  be- 
tween Shylock  and  Tubal  79, 
339.  Trial  Scene  49— its  difficul- 
ties 64-6 — its  mixture  of  passions 
70-2,  73 — as  an  Incident  338 — 
its  Comic  Irony  342 — its  Tone- 
Clash  346— sentence  on  Shylock 
384.  Moonlight  Scene  339. 

Merchant  of  Venice ,?\Q\.  of:  Techni- 
cal Analysis  401-2.— The  Actions 
of  the  play  Stories  43— Story  of 


432 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


the  Jew  a  Nemesis  Action  44-51 
— Caskets  Story  a  Problem  Action 
51-7 — Link  Story  of  Jessica  75- 
87 — Sub-Action  of  Rings  87-9 — 
Comic  Relief  Action  of  Launcelot 
401.  Interweaving  of 

Stories  66-73,  366  —  Connection 
365— Link  ing  365— Balance  367— 
Contrast  of  Light  and  Serious  Story 
69-73  —  External  Circumstance 
analogous  to  Enveloping  Action 
401  (note  2).  Exemplifies 

Simple  Movement  370 — Compli- 
cated Movement  370-1 — Wave 
Line  of  Strain  and  Relief  372 — 
unites  Action  and  Passion  Move- 
ment 373 — exemplifies  Contrary 
Motion  (Interference)  375 — Turn- 
ing-points 378.  Motive  Force 
Nemesis  382,  44-51 — Infatuation 
389,  49 — Caskets  Story  a  Motive 
Action  395,  66. 

Metrical  Variation  :  Alternation  of 
Verse  and  Prose  as  a  device  of 
Tone-Relief  349-52 — as  a  device 
of  Movement  35  2  ;note) — extended 
to  variations  between  one  metre  and 
another  353-5.  Illustrations: 
Tempest  349-52 — Measure  for 
Measure^  2  ^note) —  Winter  s  Tale 
352  (note; — Macbeth  353 — Love's 
Labour1  s  Lost  353-5. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Play 
of  in,  349. 

'  Milk  of  human  kindness'  149-50. 

Milton's  Paradise  Lost  u — minor 
poems  n,  12 — versification  12, 
14 — his  Satan  123 — on  the  Inner 
Life  144 — his  use  of  the  Back- 
ground of  Nature  192. 

Mixture  of  Tones  344-5.  [See 
Tone.] 

Mob  m  Julius  Casar  406, 188,  200. 

Monte  Cristo,  Count  ^"380  (note). 

Motion,  Line  of  371-2. 


Motion,  Modes  of  373-7 — Similar 
Motion  373 — Contrary  Motion 
374-6 — Convergent  Motion  376- 
7.  [Compare  Tables  401-16.] 

Motive,  Dramatic  380-396.  [See 
Motive  Force.]  Motive  Action 
395 — Motive  Circumstance  395 
— Motive  Enveloping  Action  395 
— Motive  Personages  395 — 
Motive  Rise  and  Fall  395. 

Motive  Force  370,  380-96.  [Com- 
pare the  Tables  401-16.]  Lead- 
ing Dramatic  Motives  :  Provi- 
dence 380-1  [compare  264  and 
Chapter  XIII]— Poetic  Justice 
381-2— Nemesis  382-3 — Pathos 
384-6 — The  Supernatural  386-94 
— Motive  Force  as  a  part  of 
Design  394-6. 

Motive  Form  370-80. — Simple 
Movement  370  —  Complicated 
Movement  370-1 — Action  and 
Passion  Movement  371-3— Com- 
pound (or  Relative)  Movement 
373-8o,  398  [see  Motion,  Modes 
of  ].  —  Turning  -  Points  377-80 
[Compare  the  Tables  401-16.] 

Movement :  as  an  element  in  Drama 
185 — Arch  form  applied  to  186 — 
simple  in  Juiius  Ctrsar,  complex 
in  King  Lear  186,  202 — traced  in 
Julius  Cifsar  185  and  Chapter  IX 
— in  King  Lear  202  and  Chapter 
X — in  Othello  239-45.  Move- 
ment as  one  division  of  Action 
324-5 — applied  to  Character  as 
Character-Development  335-7  — 
applied  to  Passion  347-55  [see 
Tone-Movement]  —  applied  to 
Plot  370  and  Chapter  XX  [see 
Motive  Form  and  Motive  Force]. 
Movement  shown  in  the  Tech- 
nical Analyses  401-16. 

Movement,  Centre  of,  Focus  of 
377-9-  [See  Catastrophe.] 

Movement,  Single*  370-3 — its 
division  into  Simple  and  Com- 
plicated 370 — Action-Movement 


*  The  reader  will  remember  that  '  Single '  is  used  as  antithetical  to 
4  Compound '  or  '  Complex/  and  '  Simple  '  to  '  Complicated.'  See  note  to 
page  74. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


433 


and  Passion-Movement  371-3 — 
this  distinction  the  basis  of  the 
main  division  of  Shakespeare's 
plays  372-3— varieties  of  Passion- 
Movement  372.  Compound 
Movement  373-80— general  idea 
373  — its  three  Modes  of 

Motion  :    Similar  Motion   373 

Contrary  Motion  374-6 — Con- 
vergent Motion  376-7. 
Movement,  Varieties  of:  Single* 
370— Compound  373-80— Sim- 
ple* and  Complicated*  373 — 
Action  and  Passion  372-3— 
Regular  Arch  372— inclined 
Plane  372— Wave  372— Similar 
373— Contrary  374-6— Conver- 
gent 376-8.  {Compare  Tables 
401-16.] 


Multiplication  of  Actions  359— of 
Stories  74.  [See  Story.] 

Mysteries  of  Paris  381  (note). 

Mysteries  of  Providence  272,  &c. 
[See  Providence,  Personal.] 

Nature,  Miranda  a  child  of  249. 

Natural  Savage  (Caliban)  250. 

Nemesis  as  a  dramatic  idea  44 — an- 
cient and  modern  conception  44-5 
— its  change  with  change  in  the 
idea  of  Destiny  126— its  distinc- 
tion from  Justice  44 — connection 
with  Fortune  44 — with  risk  45 — 
proverbs  of  Nemesis  46 — connec- 
tion with  hybris  49.  Neme- 
sis needed  to  counterbalance 
Richard's  Villainy  106 — woven 
into  history  in  Richard  III  107 
and  Chapter  V — a  system  of 
Nemesis  Actions  in  the  Underplot 
of  Richard  III  108-19 — modes 
of  emphasising  114-8 — its  mul- 
tiplication a  suitable  background 
to  Richard's  character  118.  x 
Nemesis  interwoven  with  Des- 
tiny in  Macbeth  125  and  Chapter 
VI — applied  to  the  Plot  of  Mac- 


btth  127-30.  Nemesis  as  a 
Dramatic  Effect  342— as  a  Dra- 
matic Motive  382-3. 

Nemesis,  Varieties  of:  Surprise  47 
— Expectation  and  Satisfaction  51 
—Unlooked-for  Source  383— 
Equality,  or  Measure  for  Measure 
49,  120,  127,  208,  382— Sureness 
or  Delay  120,  382— Suddenness 
198,  382 — Repetition  and  Multi- 
plication 382,  107  and  Chapter  V 
generally— Self-inflicted  383—^6 
Prize  of  Guilt  383— Combined 
with  Mockery  383  and  compare 
115-9— Double  47,  205-6,  207-8 
—Cross  Nemescs  401,  403,  com- 
pare 47,  51. 

Nemesis,  Illustrations  of:  Anne 
1 I .1 — Antonio  47 — Buckingham 
109— Caesar  197 — Cassius  342 — 
Clarence  108— the  Conspirators  in 
Jtilitis  Ccesar  201,  382— Edmund 
208,  216-7— King  Edward  IV 
1 08— Gloucester  (in  King  Lear) 
207-8,  216-7 — Goneril  and  Regan 
2°6,  383 — Hastings  109 — Hippo- 
lytus  45 — in  the  Story  of  the  Jew 
46— Lear  205-6,  209-15,  220-3, 
383  —  Lycurgus  45  —  Macbeth 
335-7»  l65~7»  383— Lady  Mac- 
bethi66 — Macduff  129— Pentheus 
45 — Polycrates  45— Queen  and 
her  kindred  (Richard  ///)  108— 
Regan  206,  383 — Richard  III 
119-24,  382 — Shylock  49,  382 — 
Wars  of  the  Roses  111-3 — lago 
238,  245. 


Observation  as  a  Stage  of  Inductive 
Science  318-9. 

CEdipus  as  an  example  of  Oracular 
Action  134 — of  Irony  138. 

Omens  193,  201.  [See  Supernatural.] 

Oracular  Action  1 30-4— applied  to 
Macbeth  134-7—35  an  example 
of  Supernatural  agency  illuminat- 
ing human  action  392-3— com- 
pared with  the  illumination  of 
history  392.  Illustrations  : 


*  See  Note  on  previous  page. 
Ff 


434 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


of  the  first  type  131,  134,  135— 
of  the  second  132,  134—0!  the 
third  133,  136. 


Othello,  Play  of:  As  a  Study  in 
Character  and  Plot  225  and 
Chapter  XI.  Close  connec- 

tion of  Character  and  Plot  225 — 
Grouping  of  the  Personages 
around  the  idea  of  Jealousy  225- 
7 — Plot  founded  on  Intrigue  227 
— Simplicity  of  Movement  of  the 
Play  239-45.  Affords  ex- 

amples of  Tone-Relief  348  — 
Metrical  variations  350,  353 — 
Rymer  on  this  play  8,  9. 

Othello,  Characters  in:  Emilia 
233»  239;  Uianca  226,  227,  236. 

Cassio:  his  connection  with 
Jealousy  226 — intrigues  directed 
against  him  231,  234,  236. 
Clown  348.  Desdemona:  her 
lack  of  Jealousy  226— her  sim- 
plicity 229 — tragedy  of  Othello 
and  Desdemona  220— her  con- 
nection with  lagos  intrigues 
234.  lago  :  his  connection 

with  Jealousy  226— his  intrigues 
230 — Nemesis  upon  him  238 — 
compared  with  Richard  III  92, 
101.  Othello  :  his  connec- 

tion with  Jealousy  226 — his  sim- 
plicity 229 — tragedy  of  Othello 
and  Desdemona  229 — Intrigues 
of  lago  against  him  233.  Ro- 
derigo  226,  228,  230,  235,  236. 

Othello,  Incidents  and  Scenes  in  : 
Desdemona  cast  off  by  Brabantio 
240,  339 — the  Arrival  in  Cyprus 
241 — the  Fete  at  Cyprus  241-2 — 
the  Suggestion  Scenes  242-4 — 
the  Murder  Scene  244. 

Othello,  Plot  of :  Technical  Analy- 
sis 409-10. — Its  connection  with 
Character  225 — founded  on  In- 
trigue 227.  Economy  of  the 
Plot  227-39 — Threetragic  actions 
2  2  7-30  —  Four  Intrigues  2  30-4 
—  Economic  devices  drawing 
these  together  234-7 — Reaction 
upon  Ingo  238-9.  Move- 


ment of  the  Play  239-45 — Stage 
of  Preparation  240 — Transition 
241 — the  Plot  working  242-4 — 
Climax  and  Reaction  244-5 — 
Connection  of  the  Movement  with 
Poetic  Justice  267. 


Outer  and  Inner  Life  144-6.     {See 

Antithesis.] 
Overwinding   as   an  illustration  for 

the  Movement  of  Macbeth  137. 


Paradox  of  simplicity  by  means  of 
complexity  74. 

Parallelism  367-9  [see  Action, 
Economy  of] — between  Main  and 
Underplot  in  King  Lear  206-9, 
367-9,  407 — other  illustrations 
in  the  Technical  Analyses  401-16. 


Passion  338 — as  an  element  in 
Drama  185-6 — its  connection  with 
Movement  ib. — as  an  Elementary 
Topic  in  Dramatic  Criticism  324 
— subdivided  325.  Examples  : 
Julius  Cccsar  185  and  Chapter  IX; 
King  Lear  202  and  Chapter  X. 

'Passion-Drama'  as  substitute  for 
'Tragedy'  372-3,  and  Tables 
401-16. 

Passion,  Interest  of:  338  and 
Chapter  XVIII  — general  descrip- 
tion 338 — unity  in  Passion -Interest 
338-43  [see  Incident,  Situation,  and 
Effect] — complexity  in  Passion- 
Interest  343-7  [see  Tone] — Move- 
ment (or  Succession)  applied  to 
Passion  347-55,  325  [see  Tone- 
Play  and  Tone-Relief]. 

Passion,  Line  of  372. 

Passion-Movement  347-55,  325. 

Passion-Strain  186 — Strain  and  Re- 
action 371.  Examples  :  Julius 
Ccesar  191-201 ;  King  Lear  208, 
215. 

Pastoral    Conventionality  306-7 — 

in  conflict  with  Humour  307-9. 
Pathos  as  a  Dramatic  Motive  384-6. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


435 


Perspective  in  Plot  118. 

Physical  passion  or  madness  in  Lear 

210-15— external  shocksasa  cause 
of  madness  215. 

Plato's  Republic  and  its  treatment  of 
liberty  170. 

Plot  as  an  Elementary  Topic  in  Dra- 
matic Criticism  325—^6  intel- 
lectual side  of  Action,  or  pure 
Action  325— Shakespeare  a  Master 
of  Plot  69,  356— close  connection 
between  Plot  and  Character  illus- 
trated by  Richard  III  107  and 
Chapter  V— and  in  Othello  225 — 
Richard  III  an  example  of  com- 
plexity in  Plot  107— perspective 
in  Plot  118—  Macbeth  an  example 
of  subtlety  in  Plot  125,  142 — 
Plot  analytical  in  its  nature  186 
— simple  in  Julius  Ciesar,  com- 
plex in  King  Lear  202— effect 
on  the  estimation  of  Plot  of  dis- 
sociation from  the  theatre  322 — 
the  most  intellectual  of  all  the 
elements  of  Drama  323 — Techni- 
cal Analyses  of  Plots  401-16. 

Plot,  Interest  of:  356  and  Chapters 
XIX,  XX.— Definition  of  Plot 
356-7 — its  dignity  as  an  element 
of  literary  effect  ib— its  connec- 
tion with  design  and  pattern  356, 
358,  360,  108,  in,  118,  202. 
Statical  Interest  of  Plot  357  and 
Chapter  XIX. — Unity  applied  to 
Plot  358-9  [see  Action,  Single; 
Action,  Forms  of] — complexity 
applied  to  Plot  359-69  [see 
Action,  Analysis  of;  Economy] — 
complexity  of  Action  distinguishes 
Modern  Drama  from  Ancient  359 
— Unity  of  Action  becomes  in 
Modern  Drama  Harmony  of 
Actions  359.  Dynamic  In- 

terest of  Plot  370  and  Chapter 
XX. — Movement  applied  to  Plot 
370.  [See  Motive  Form  ;  Motive 
Force.  1 


Poetic  Justice  381-4.    [See  Justice.] 
Polycrates,  Story  of  45,  126. 


Portia:  see  Merchant  of  Venice- 
Julius  Cesar. 

Practical  Life  144-6.  [See  Anti- 
thesis.] 

Preparation  as  a  Dramatic  Effect 
327,  329~  illustrated  in  The 
Tempest  270. 

Problem  Action  202-6,  224,  358 — of 
Judgment  by  Appearances  52-6. 

Prose,  Alternation  of  with  Verse 
349-  [See  Metrical  Variation.] 

Proverbs  of  Nemesis  46. 

Providence  as  a  Dramatic  Motive 
380-1,  266,  125— in  prose  fiction 
380  (note)— connected  with  Poetic 
Justice  266 — may  include  any 
principle  suggested  by  actual  ex- 
perience 267. 

Providence,  Personal :  as  a  Central 
Idea  for  The  Tempest  268  and 
ChapterXIII — distinguished  from 
Providence  in  General  268 — its 
genesis  in  the  play  270 — sorrows 
of  269 — restraint  of  ib. — exercised 
in  the  Spirit  world  270— con- 
nected with  Ferdinand  and  Mi- 
randa 271 — Mysteries  of  provi- 
dential working  272-80 — con- 
nected with  Antonio  and  Sebastian 
272 — with  the  comic  business  274 
— with  the  Main  Story  276 — its 
climax  of  Judgment  276— its 
climax  of  Mercy  279 — Self- Re- 
nunciation as  climax  of  Personal 
Providence  280. 

Punch    as   modern   counterpart   to 

Court  Fool  219,  301. 
Puns  as  an  expression  of  hysterical 

emotion 346, 162 — compare  288-9. 
Puritan    Revolution,   its   effect    on 

Dramatic  Criticism  322. 


Quilp  compared  with  Richard  III 
92,  94. 

Rationalisation  as  a  mode  of  treating 
the  Supernatural  246,  326,  329, 
252-9.  Illustrated  in  The  Tern- 


Ff  2 


436 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


pest\  arbitrary  causation  252 — 
casual  permeated  by  design  ib. — 
barrier  between  mind  and  matter 
breaking  down  253— passage  from 
real  to  supernatural  253— super- 
natural agents  254 — nature  hu- 
manised 255. 
Raw  Material  of  the  Romatic  Drama 

Reaction  198.    [See  Passion-Strain.] 

Reduction  of  Difficulties  an  element 
in  Dramatic  workmanship  58, 326, 
329— illustrated  :  Merchant  of 
'Venice  58-66. 

Relief  348.     [See  Tone.] 

Renaissance  and  its  influence  on 
critical  method  4, 18,  320— Shake- 
speare a  type  397. 

Representation  321.    [See  Stage.] 

Resolution  67,  370  [see  Complica- 
tion]—Resolving  Force  67.— 
Further  Resolution  379-80,  398, 
and  Tables  401-16. 

Reviewing,  the  lyrics  of  prose  22. 

Rhymed  couplet  30 — its  usage  by 
Shakespeare  135,  353-5. 


Richard  III.  Play  of:  an  example 
of  the  intimate  relation  between 
Character  and  Plot  107 — treated 
from  the  side  of  Character  90  and 
Chapter  IV — from  the  side  of  Plot 
107  and  Chapter  V  — affords 
examples  of  Situations  339 — of 
Dramatic  Foreshadowing  342. 

Richard  III,  Character  of:  90  and 
Chapter  IV — Ideal  Villainy  90-1, 
330— in  scale  91 — development 
91,  335 — not  explained  by  suffi- 
cient motive  92 — an  end  in  itself 
93.  Richard  as  an  Artist  in 

Villainy  93-6 — absence  of  emo- 
tion 93 — intellectual  enjoyment 
of  Villainy  95-6.  His 

Villainy  ideal  in  its  success  96- 
103 — fascination  of  irresistibility 
97,  103 — use  of  unlikely  means 
98  —  economy  99  —  imperturba- 
bility and  humour  100-1 — fairness 
101 — recklessness  suggesting  re- 
source 101,  332 — inspiration  as 


distinguished  from  calculation 
1 02 — his  keen  touch  for  human 
nature  102. 

Ideal  and  Real  Villainy  104— 
Ideal  Villainy  and  Monstrosity 
105.  [Also  called  Gloster.] 
Richard  III,  Characters  in  :  Anne 
94,  113,  115  [see  Wooing  Scene] 
— Buckingham  91,  96,  100,  109, 
115,  1 1 8,  I2i,  333— Catesby  117, 
333 — Clarence  108,  114,  116 — 
his  Children  109— his  Murderers 
334 — Derby  117 — Dorset  120 — 
Elizabeth  121— Ely  100,  121— 
Hastings  91,  98,  109,  114,  115, 
1 17»  333,  342— King  Edward  IV 
99,  108,  114,  117— King  Edward 
V  100,  333-4,  342— Lord  Mayor 
99  — Margaret  94,  112,  115,  339 
— Queen  and  her  kindred  98,  108, 
114,  115,  1 16— Richmond  120, 
1 2 1  —Stanley  117,  12  3— Tyrrel 
94,  333— York  99,  333-4— 
Duchess  of  York  95,  in. 
Richard  III,  Incidents  and  Scenes 
in  :  Wooing  Scene  339— analysed 
103-4 — an  example  of  fascination 
gjt  97 — Richard's  blunders  102, 
332.  Margaret  and  the 

Courtiers  94,  339— Reconciliation 
Scene  99,  117 — Murder  of  Clar- 
ence 1 16,  334,338- 
Richard  III,  Plot  of:  107  and 
Chapter  V.  How  Shakespeare 
weaves  Nemesis  into  History  ib. — 
Its  Underplot  as  a  System  of 
Nemeses  108— its  Enveloping  Ac- 
tion a  Nemesis  1 1 1 — further  multi- 
plication of  Nemesis  112— special 
devices  for  neutralising  the  weaken- 
ing effect  of  such  multiplication 
114-$ — the  multiplication  needed 
as  a  background  to  the  villainy 
1 1 8 — Motive  Force  of  the  whole  a 
Nemesis  Action  119.  Fall  of 

Richard  119-23 — protracted  not 
sudden  119,  382 — Turning-point 
delayed  120 — tantalisation  and 
mockery  in  Richard's  fate  1 2 1-4 — 
Climax  in  sleep  and  the  Appari- 
tions 122— final  stages  123 — play 
begins  and  ends  in  peace  123. 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Technical  Analysis  of  the  Plot 
403-4.— Its  Enveloping  Action 
361—  Turning-points378— Similar 
Motion  373  — Motive  Action 
395-6- 

Roman  political  life  169-71  and 
Chapter  VIII  generally— its  sub- 
ordination of  the  individual  to  the 
State  1 70 — a  change  during  Cesar's 
absence  180,  183. 

Romantic  Drama  :  Shakespeare  its 
Great  Master  40,  43— its  connec- 
tion with  Stories  of  Romance  43 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  Play  of  9. 

Rymer  the  champion  of  'Regular' 
Criticism  8— on  Portia  8— and 
Othello  generally  8— on  Paradise 
Lost  ii — on  Blank  Verse  14 — on 
Modern  Drama  17— on  Catiline 
17—011  Classical  Standards  18— 
his  Edgar  21. 

Satire,  Dramatic  3. 

Scale  of  Passion-Tones  344. 

Science  of  Dramatic  Art  40,  317 
[See  Criticism.] 

Self-Renunciation  as  climax  of  Per- 
sonal Providence  280. 

Serious  as  a  Tone  344. 

Shakespeare-Criticism,  History  of, 
in  five  stages  8-n. 

Shakespeare  s  English  15— his  Son- 
nets 12. 

Situation,  Dramatic  339-40. 

Stage-Representation  :  an  element  in 
Interpretation  98— an  allied  art  to 
Drama  321— separated  in  the 
present  treatment  321-2— in  ex- 
position but  not  in  idea  322-3. 

Statics  of  Plot  356  and  Chapter  XIX. 

Stationary  Action  401  (note). 
Stoicism  144,   173,   174,   175,   179, 

loo. 

Storm  m  Julius  Cczsar  192-6,  214 
[see  Background  of  Nature]— in 
King  Lear  214-5. 


437 


Story  as  the  Raw  Material  of  the 
Shakespearean    Drama    43    and 


Ff3 


Chapter  I— constmction  of  Drama 
out  of  Stories  illustrated  in  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  43-89— two 
Stories  worked  into  one  design  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  58  and 
Chapter  II -in  King  Lear  206- 
Multiphcation  and  Interweaving 
of  Stones  66-73_effects  on  Move- 
ment 66-7— of  Symmetry  67-9— 
interweaving  of  a  Light  with  a 
Serious  Story  69-73--effects  of 
Human  Interest  70— of  Plot  70— 
of  Passion  70-3. 

Story  of  the  Jew  43,  44-5 1.  Its  two- 
fold Nemesis  46-5  i_its  difficulties 
met  58-66— Complicated  and  Re- 
solved 67 — connection  with  the 
Central  Scene  68— its  mechanical 
difficulties  76-8. 

Story  of  the  Caskets  44,  5i-7._An 
illustration  of  Idealisation' 51— 
careful  contrivance  of  inscriptions 
and  scrolls  53,  54— its  problem  52 
— and  solution  54  —  connection 
with  the  central  scene  68. 
Story  of  Jessica  75-87.  Its  connec- 
tion with  the  central  scene  68— 
an  Underplot  to  The  Merchant  of 
Venice  75-87— its  use  in  attaching 
to  Plot  the  Mechanical  Personages 
75 — and  generally  assisting  Mech- 
anism 76-7— helps  to  reduce  diffi- 
culties in  the  Main  Plot  77-81 — a 
Link  Action  81 — assists  Symmetry 
and  Balance  82 — assists  Character- 
isation 82-7. 

Story  [or  Episode]  of  the  Rings  :  its 
uses  in  the  Underplot  of  The  Mer- 
chant of  Venice  87-9 — compare 
68,  72. 

Strain  of  Passion  186.  {See  Passion- 
Strain.] 

Sub-Actions  :  359 — Launcelot  76, 
401 — Csesar  and  Antony  374,  406 
— in  Technical  Analyses  401-16. 

Succession  as  an  element  of  Action 

325- 

Supernatural,  The,  as  a  Dramatic 
Motive  386-94.  Different  use  in 
Ancient  and  Modern  Drama  387  — 


438 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


rationalised  in  Modern  Drama 
387.  In  an  objec- 

tive form  as  Irony  387-8 — in  a 
subjective  form  as  Infatuation 
388-9. 

Supernatural  Agencies  389-94 — 
not  to  be  explained  as  hallucina- 
tions 390 — Shakespeare's  usage  of 
Supernatural  Agency  :  to  intensify 
human  action  390-2 — to  illumin- 
ate human  action  392-4 — the 
Oracular  392-3 — the  Dramatic 
Background  of  Nature  393-4 — its 
difficulties,  modes  of  reducing  : 
246,  &c. — Derationalisation  247 — 
Rationalisation  252 — Addition  of 
kindred  Reality  259.  Illustra 
tions  :  the  Apparitions  to  Richard 
122 — the  Ghost  of  Banquo  165-6 
— the  Apparitions  in  Macbeth  135, 
&c.— the  Witches  158,  390-2— 
portents  in  Julius  Cifsar  193-4 — 
the  Ghost  of  Caesar  201 — omen  of 
Eagles  to  Cassius  201. 
Symmetry  as  a  dramatic  element  68 
— as  a  form  of  Economy  366-9. 
Illustrations:  Merchant  of 
Venice  67-8  ;  King  Lear  207-9, 

367-9- 

Systematisation.  as  a  Stage  of  scien- 
tific progress  318,  319. 


Table  of  Elementary  Topics  325, 

329 — of  general  Topics  398. 
Taste  as   condensed  Experience  6. 


[See  Criticism.] 


Tempest,  Play  of:  as  a  drama  of 
Enchantment  246  and  Chapter  XII 
— as  a  study  in  Dramatic  Colour- 
ing 262  and  Chapter  XII — as  a 
study  in  Central  Ideas  264  and 
Chapter  XIII— as  a  Study  in  Per- 
sonal Providence  264  and  Chapter 
XIII — as  a  study  in  the  Super- 
natural 386.  Dryden's  alteration 
of  10.  Its  Dramatic  Background 
of  Nature  247 — Masque  in  248 — 
Metrical  Variations  350-2. 

Tempest,    Characters    in:     Alonso 


277-8,  279.  Antonio  273,  277-8, 
279>  339-  Ariel  :  as  an 

Elemental     Being    256-8  —  deli- 
vered  by  Prospero    270 — Ariel's 
Story  270 — dismissed  281. 
Boatswain  282.  Caliban  :   as 

a  Natural  Savage  250 — as  an  Ele- 
mental Being  258-9 — his  origin 
258— his  connection  with  Ste- 
phano and  Trinculo  261 — Cali- 
ban's story  271 — his  use  of  verse 
and  prose  35 1-2.  Ferdinand 

250,  252,  260,  271.  Gonzalo  : 
248,  274,  279,  280— as  a  leading 
Mechanical  Personage  282 — his 
connection  with  the  Boatswain 
282 — as  a  Chorus-leader  282 — 
his  relations  to  Providence  283. 
Miranda  :  as  a  Child  of  Nature 
249 — her  connection  with  Ferdi- 
nand 260,  271,  281.  Prospero: 
Chapter  XII  passim,  Chapter  XIII 
passim  \sce  under  Providence, 
Personal]  —  his  story  270  —  his 
relations  with  Ariel  257,  262, 
270,  279 — his  relations  with  Cali- 
ban 250,  271 — his  connection 
with  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  260, 
271 — his  connection  with  the 
comic  personages  275 — his  con- 
nection with  the  climax  280,  340. 
Sebastian  273,  277-8,  279. 
Stephano  261,  274.  Sycorax  258, 
259.  Trinculo  261,  274. 

Tempest,  Incidents  and  Scenes  in  : 
The  Masque  248  —  Quarrel  of 
Caliban  and  Prospero  250 — Ex- 
pulsion from  Milan  252— Quarrel 
of  Ariel  and  Prospero  257 — Open- 
ing Tempest  269— Ariel's  Deli- 
verance 270  —  Caliban's  revolt 
271 — Conspiracy  of  Antonio  and 
Sebastian  273,  339 — Quarrel  of 
Trinculo  and  Stephano  274 — 
Nemesis  Scene  276-8 — Universal 
Restoration  279 — Prospero 's  Re- 
nunciation 280,  340. 

7irw/£r/,  Plot  of:  Technical  Analysis 
411-2. — Its  Underplot:  Story  ol 
Ferdinand  and  Miranda  as  a  study 
of  love  at  first  sight  260 — con- 
nected with  the  Movement  271 — 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


439 


Story  of  the  Butler  and  Jester  as 
a  study  of  intoxication  261 — 
connected  with  the  Movement 
274.  Enveloping  Action  of 

Enchantment  362 — Example  of 
Dependence  366.  [See  next  para- 
graph.] 

Tempest ',  Movement  of:  founded  on 
Personal  Providence  266  and 
Chapter  XIII— opening  scene  a 
prologue  268  —  Movement  sus- 
pended 269 — Classical  unities  of 
time  and  place  269 — genesis  of 
the  providential  position  270 — 
Prospero's  government  of  the 
spiritual  world  outside  the  Move- 
ment 270— Movement  resumed 
271 — Connection  with  Movement 
of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  Story 
271 — of  Antonio's  conspiracy  273 
— of  the  comic  matter  274 — of  the 
Mechanical  Personages  282 — 
climax  of  the  Movement  276 — 
higher  climax  279 — climax  ex- 
tended to  Prospero  280.  Af- 
fords an  example  of  Counter- 
Action  374 — of  Similar  and  Con- 
trary Motion  374-5.  Its 
Turning-points  378  (note) — Fur- 
ther Resolution  380.  Compli- 
cating and  Resolving  Personages 
395- 

Textual  Emendations :  of  Merchant 
of  Venice  i.  iii.  42, page  61  (note) — 
of  As  You  Like  It  iii.  ii.  163, 
page  309  (note)— of  Lear  ii.  ii. 
170-7,  page  384  (note). 

Thackeray  on  the  Inner  Life  144. 

Theseus  and  Hippolyta  in. 

Tito  Melema  compared  with  Richard 
91. 

Tone  as  a  dramatic  term  :  the  appli- 
cation of  complexity  to  Passion 
325»343-— Passion-Tones  343-4— 
Scale  of  Tones  344— Mixture  of 
Tones  344-5— Tone-Clash  345— 
Humour  a  climax  of  Tone-Clash 
346 — Tone-Storm  347.  Tone- 
Movement :  the  application  of 
succession  to  Passion-Tones  325, 
347 — Tone-Play  and  Tone-Relief 


347-8.  Devices  of  Tone- 

Relief  349-55— Word-Play  349, 
288-9 — Alternation  of  Verse  and 
Prose  349-55— place  of  Tone  in 
Topics  of  Dramatic  Criticism  398. 

Topics  as  a  technical  term  in  science 
319-20 — topical  stage  of  develop- 
ment in  sciences  319 — applied  to 
Dramatic  Criticism  319-20  and 
Chapter  XVI — Elementary  Topics 
of  Dramatic  Criticism  325,  329 
— General  Table  of  Topics  398. 

'Tragedy'  or  'Passion-Drama'  372- 
3— Tragedies  of  Lear  205-6,  &c., 
209-15,  220-3— of  Cordelia  and 
Kent  206— of  Goneril  and  Regan 
206 — of  Gloucester  207-8,  216-7 
— of  Edgar  208,  216-7 — of  Ed- 
mund 208,  216-7.  Systems  of 
Tragedies  208-9. 

Tragic  as  a  Tone  344. 

Turning-points  377-80  —  compare 
Tables40i-i6.  Double  in  Shake- 
speare's plays:  Catastrophe  or 
Focus  of  Movement  and  Centre 
of  Plot  378-9 — occasionally  a 
Further  Resolution  379  -  80  — 
Illustrations  377-80 — compare 
68,  120,  127,  186,  198,  205, 
216-7. 

Underplot  74  and  Chapter  III.  Il- 
lustrations :  JMerchant  of  Venice 
74  and  Chapter  III,  401 — Richard 
III  108-19,  4°3 — Lear  206-9, 
215-8,  223,  360,  376-7,  407-8. 

Union  of  Light  and  Serious  Stories 

09-73. 

Unities,  the  Three  14 — Scenic  327, 
329 — Unity  Devices  328.  Il- 

lustration in  The  Tempest  269, 
411-2. 

Unity  as  an  element  of  Action  324 
—applied  to  Character  330— to 
Passion  338 — to  Plot  (Action) 
358. 

Universal  Restoration  in  The  Tem- 
pest 279. 

Unstable  equilibrium  in  morals  45, 
205. 

Utilisation  of  the  Mechanical  76-8, 
326,  329. 


440 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Variorum  Shakespeare  8. 

Verse,  Alternation  of,  with  Prose 
349-52.  {See  Metrical  Variation.] 

Villainy  as  a  subject  for  art  treat- 
ment 90 — Ideal  Villainy  90  and 
Chapter  IV. 

Wandering  Jew \  The  380  (note). 
Wave-Form   of    Passion-Movement 


372,    402— waves    of    hysterical 

passion  in  Lear  210-15. 
Winter's  Tale  352  (note). 
Wit  as  a  mental  game  219,  288.  [See 

WTord-play.] 

Witchcraft  (Sycorax)  259. 
Word-play  as  a  dramatic  weapon  288. 
Workmanship,  Dramatic  :    58  and 

Chapter  II,  326. 


INDEX  OF  SCENES 

ILLUSTRATED  IN  THE  FOREGOING  CHAPTERS. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

Act  II. 

Sc-  i-  304,  306. 
iv.  308. 
v.  305. 
vii-  301,  302,  304,  306. 

Act  III. 

Sc.  ii.  308,  309,  310,  311. 
iii.  308,  311. 
v.  307. 

Act  IV. 
Sc-  i-  303,  3°5>  312. 

Act  V. 
Sc.  i.  308. 

iv.  301,  304- 

JULIUS  OffiSAB. 

Act  I. 
Sc.  i.  1 80,  188-9. 

ii.  172,178-80,  1 80,  189-91 
iii.  191-4,  195-6. 

Act  II. 

Sc.  i.  171-2,172,  174,  _.„ 
180-1,  187,  191,  194. 
it  177,104-5. 
iii.  196. 
iv.  196-7. 

Act  III. 

S°'  So7*'3'  I77'  IJ7~8'  I82>  I83> 
196-9,  379. 

ii.  175,109-200. 
iii.  1 80,  200. 


Sc.  i.  200. 


Act  IV. 


Act  V. 


Scs.  iii,  v.  i 


KING  LEAB. 

Act  I. 
Sc-i-  203-5,  206,  379. 

iv.  210,  220-1. 
v.  210-1,  221-2. 

Act  II. 
Sc.  i.  376. 

ii.  384  (note). 

iv.  209,  211-4,  222-3,  376. 

Act  III. 

Sc.  i.  209,  214,  215,  223. 
ii.  209,  215,  223. 
iii.  209,  215,  216. 
iv.  209,  215,  216,  217-8,  223, 

379- 

v-  209,  377. 
vi.  207,  209. 
vii.  209,  216. 

Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.  216,  217. 
vi.  215. 

Act  V. 
Sc.  iii.  208,  215. 


442 


INDEX  OF  SCENES,  ETC. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Act  I. 

Sc.  i.  285,  286,  289,  291. 
ii.  286,  291,  294,  295. 

Act  II. 
Sc.  i.  288,  290. 

Act  III. 
Sc.  i.  287,  292. 

Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.  288,  297. 
ii.  286,  295. 
iii.  287,  290,  291,  297. 

Act  V. 

Sc.  i.  286,  292,  297. 

ii.  287,  288,  289,  290,  291,  292, 
293,  297,  298. 

MACBETH. 
Act  L 

Sc.  iii.  135,  136,  141,  154,  158-9, 

336,  390-2. 

iv.  135,  150-1,  337,  3«8. 
v.  149-50,  156,  159-60. 
vii.  151-3,  157,  160-1. 

Act  II. 
Sc.  i.  153-4. 

".  154.  >55,  161-3,  337- 

iii.  139-40,  163-4,  348,  388. 

iv.  140,  164. 

Act  IIL 

Sc.  i.  129,  154,  164  5. 
ii.  1 54, 164-5,  336. 
iii.  127,  405- 
iv.  130,  154,  165-6,  405. 

v.  389,  391- 
vi.  128-9. 

Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.  130,  135-6,  140,  167,  391. 
ii.  130,  140. 
iii.  140-1. 


ActV. 

Sc.  i.  166-7. 
iii.  167. 
v.  167. 
vii.  and  viii.  130,  167,  378. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Act  I. 

Sc.  i.  48,  61,  70,  76. 
ii.  54,  56,  70. 
iii.  48-9,  61-4,  389. 

Act  II. 
Sc.  i.  53. 
ii.  76. 
iii.  76,  84. 

iv.  84,  85. 
v.  60,  76,  83. 
vi.  84,  85. 

vii.  53,  55- 
viii.  78. 
ix.  55-6. 

Act  III. 

Sc.  i.  60,  76,  78,  79,  85. 

ii-  54-5,  56,  67-9,  76,  78. 
iii.  60,  76,  78. 
iv.  85,  86. 
v.  76,  85. 

Act  IV. 

Scs.  i.  and  ii.  49-51,  60,  64-6, 
70-3,  80,  87-8,  88-9,  346, 
384- 

ActV. 

OTHELLO. 

Act  I. 
Sc.  i.  228. 

iii.  229,  231,  233,  234. 

Act  II. 

8c.  i.  226,  233,  241. 
ii.  241. 
iii.  226,  230,  232,  237,  242. 


Sc.  i.  85. 


INDEX  OF  SCENES,   ETC. 


443 


Act  III. 
Sc.  i.  348. 
ii.  348. 

iii.  225,  232,  240,  242-3,  348. 
iv.  227,  236,  243. 

Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.  227,  236,  243,  350. 
ii«  233,  235. 

Act  V. 

Sc.  i.  227,  231,  236. 

ii.  238,  239,  244,  245. 


KICHAKD  III. 

Act  I. 
Sc.  i.  92-3,  96,  100,  101,  123. 

ii-  93>  94.  96,  97-8,  99,  101, 

102,  103-4,  113. 
iii.95,96,lll-3,  115. 
iv.  108,  114,  116,  334. 

Act  II. 

Sc.  i.  99,  loi,  1 08,  116,  117-8. 
ii.  95,  loo,  109,  1 1 1-2. 

Act  III. 

Sc.  i.  91,  99,  100. 
ii.  109,  117,  342. 
iii.  114,  115,  120,  378. 
iv.  98,  loo,  114,  115. 
v,  vii.  96,  99. 


Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.  104,  in-2,  116. 
ii.  no,  389,  372,  378. 
iii.  94,  120-1. 
iv-  91*  95.  1 1 1-2,  115,  121-2. 

Act  V. 

Sc.  i.  115,  118. 
iii.  95,  122-3. 
iv.  and  v.  123. 

THE  TEMPEST. 

Act  I. 
Sc.  i.  268,  283. 

ii.  250-1,  260,  269-72,  283. 

Act  II. 

Sc.  i.  272-4,  282,  283. 
ii.  261,  274. 

Act  III. 

Sc.  i.  260,  272. 
ii.  261,  274. 
iii.  276-9,  282. 

Act  IV. 

Sc.  i.       260,      261,       272,      274. 
(Masque),  248-9,  253,  261. 

Act  V. 

Sc.  i.  260,  261,  272,  274,  279-81, 
282. 


THE  END. 


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Vol.  III.  West  Africa.  With 
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vised to  the  end  of  1899,  &2/  #•  E. 
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Vol.  IV.    South  and  East  Africa. 
Historical   and  Geographical. 
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Ludlow.      The    Memoirs    of 

Edmund  Ludlow,  Lieutenant-General  of 
the  Horse  in  the  Army  of  the  Common- 
wealth of 'England,  162 5-167 2.  Edited 
by  C.  H.  Firth,  M.A.  2  vols.  s6s. 

Machiavelli.  II  Principe. 
Edited  by  L.  Arthur  Burd,  M.A. 
With  an  Introduction  by  Lord 
Acton.  8vo.  i4s. 

Prothero.    Select  Statutes  and 

other  Constitutional  Documents,  illustra- 

*"    five  of  the  Eeigns  of  Elisabeth  and 

James  I.   Edited  by  G.  W.  Prothero, 

M.A.    Cr.  8vo.    Edition  2.    los.  6d. 

Select  Statutes  and  other 

Documents  bearing  on  the  Constitutional 
History  of  England,  from  A.D.  1307  to 
1558.  By  the  same.  [In Preparation.] 

Ramsay  (Sir  J.  H.).  Lancaster 

and  York.  A  Century  of  English 
History  (A.D.  1399-1485).  2  vols. 
8vo.  With  Index,  37s.  6d. 

Ramsay  (W.  M.).     The  Cities 

and  Bishoprics  of  Phrygia.    By  W.  M . 
Kamsay,  D.C.L.,  LL.D. 
Vol.1.  Parti.  The  Lycos  Valley 
and  South-Western   Phrygia. 
Koyal  8vo.     i8s.  net. 
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Ranke.  A  History  of  Eng- 
land, principally  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century.  By  L.  von  Ranke.  Trans- 
lated under  the  superintendence  of 
G.  W.  Kitchin,  D.D.,  and  C.  W. 
Boase,  M.A.  6  vols.  8vo.  638. 
Revised  Index,  separately,  is. 


London:  HENRY  FROWDE,  Amen  Corner,  B.C. 


PHILOSOPHY,  LOGIC,  ETC. 


Rashdall.    The  Universities  of 

Europe  in  the  Middle  Ages.  By  Hast- 
ings Rashdall,  M.A.  2  vols.  (in  3 
Parts)  8vo.  With  Maps.  il.  53.  net. 

Kh£s.  Studies  in  the  Arthur- 
ian Legend.  By  John  Rhys,  Prin- 
cipal of  Jesus  College,  Oxford.  8vo. 
I2S.  6d. 

Celtic    Folklore:    Welsh 

and  Manx.  By  the  same.  2  vols. 
8vo.  2is. 

Smith's  Lectures  on  Justice, 

Police,  Revenue  and  Arms.  Edited, 
with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by 
Edwin  Gannan.  8vo.  IDS.  6d.  net. 

Wealth     of    Nations. 

With  Notes,  by  J.  E.  Thorold  Rogers, 
M.A.     2  vols.    8vo.     a  is. 
Stephens.      The      Principal 

Speeches  of  the  Statesmen  and  Orators  of 
the  French  Revolution,  1789-1795. 
By  H.  Morse  Stephens,  a  vols. 
Crown  8vo.  2  is.  . 

Stubbs.    Select  Charters  and 

other  Illustrations  of  English  Constitu- 
tional History,  from  the  Earliest  Times 
to  the  Reign  of  Edward  I.  Arranged 
and  edited  by  W.  Stubbs,  D.D., 
Lord  Bishop  of  Oxford.  Eighth 
Edition.  Crown  8vo.  8s.  6d. 


Stubbs.      The  Constitutional 

History  of  England,  in  its  Origin  and 
Development.  Library  Edition.  3  vols. 
Demy  8vo.  2l.  8s. 

*+*  Also  in  3  vols.  crown  8vo. 
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Seventeen  Lectures  on 

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8vo.  Third  Edition,  revised  and  en- 
larged. 8s.  6d. 

Registrum      Sacrum 

Anglicanum.  An  attempt  to  exhibit 
the  course  of  Episcopal  Succession 
in  England.  By  W.  Stubbs,  D.D. 
Small  4to.  Second  Edition.  IDS.  6d. 

Swift  (P.  D.).     The  Life  and 

Times  of  James  the  First  of  Aragon. 
By  F.  D.  Swift,  B.A.  8vo.  I2S.  6d. 

Vinogradoff.      Villainage  in 

England.  Essays  in  English  Medi- 
aeval History.  ByPaulVinogradoff, 
Professor  in  the  University  of 
Moscow.  8vo,  half-bound.  i6s. 

Woodhouse.       Aetolia ;     its 

Geography,  Topography,  and  Antiquities. 
By  William  J.  Woodhouse,  M.A., 
F.R.G.S.  With  Maps  and  Illustra- 
tions. Royal  8vo.  2 is.  net. 


4.  PHILOSOPHY,   LOGIC,  ETC. 


Bacon.    Novum      Organum. 

Edited,  with  Introduction,  Notes, 
&c.,  by  T.  Fowler,  D.D.  Second 
Edition.  8  vo.  i  fs. 

Berkeley.       The     Works     of 

George  Berkeley,  D.D.,  formerly  Bishop 
of  Cloyne  ;  including  many  of  his  writ' 
ings  hitherto  unpublished.  With  Pre- 
faces, Annotations,  Appendices,  and 
an  Account  of  his  Life,  by  A.  Camp- 
bell Fraser,Hon.D.C.L.,LL.D.  New 
Edition  in  4  vols.  Crown  8vo.  245. 

-  The   Life    and    Letters, 

with  an  account  of  his  Philosophy.  By 
A.  Campbell  Fraser,  Hon.  D.C.L. 
and  LL.D.  8vo.  i6s. 

Bosanquet.      Logic;    or,  the 

Morphology  of  Knowledge.  By  B. 
Bosanquet,  M.A.  Svo.  a  is. 


Butler.    The  Works  of  Joseph 

Butter,  D.C.L.,  sometime  Lord  Bishop 
of  Durham.  Divided  into  sections, 
with  sectional  headings,  an  index 
to  each  volume,  and  some  occasional 
notes;  also  prefatory  matter.  Edited 
by  the  Right  Hon.  W.  E.  Gladstone. 
a  vols.  Medium  Svo.  143.  each. 

Fowler.  The  Elements  of  De- 
ductive Logic,  designed  mainly  for  the 
use  of  Junior  Students  in  the  Universities. 
By  T.  Fowler,  D.D.  Tenth  Edition, 
with  a  Collection  of  Examples. 
Extra  fcap.  Svo.  33.  6d. 

The  Elements  of  Induc- 
tive Logic,  designed  mainly  for  the  use  of 
Students  in  the  Universities.  By  the 
same  Author.  Sixth  Edition.  Extra 
fcap.  Svo.  6s. 


Oxford :  Clarendon  Press. 


PHYSICAL  SCIENCE,  ETC. 


Fowler.  Logic;  Deductive  and 

Inductive,  combined  in  a  single 
volume.  Extra  fcap.  8vo.  7s.  6d. 

Fowler    and    Wilson.       The 

Principles  of  Morals.  By  T.  Fowler, 
D.D.,  and  J.  M.  Wilson,  B.D.  8vo, 
cloth,  145. 

Green.  Prolegomena  to  Ethics. 

By  T.  H.  Green,  M.A.  Edited  by 
A.  C.  Bradley,  M.A.  Fourth  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.  is.  6d. 

Hegel.     The  Logic  of  Hegel. 

Translated  from  the  Encyclopaedia 
of  the  Philosophical  Sciences.  With 
Prolegomena  to  the  Study  of  Hegel's 
Logic  and  Philosophy.  By  W.  Wal- 
lace, M.A.  Second  Edition,  Revised 
and  Augmented.  2  vols.  Crown  8vo. 
ios.6d.  each. 

Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Mind. 

Translated  from  the  Encyclopaedia 
of  the  Philosophical  Sciences.  With 
Five  Introductory  Essays.  By  Wil- 
liam Wallace,  M.A.,  LL.D.  Crown 
8vo.  i  os.  6d. 

Hume's  Treatise  of  Human 

Nature.  Edited,  with  Analytical 
Index,  by  L.  A.  Selby-Bigge,  M.A. 
Second  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  8s. 

Enquiry     concerning 

the  Human  Understanding,  and  an 
Enquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of 
Morals.  Edited  by  L.  A.  Selby-Bigge, 
M.A.  Crown  8vo.  7s.  6d. 

Leibniz.  The  Monadology  and 

other  Philosophical  Writings.     Trans- 


lated^ with  Introduction  and  Notes, 
by  Robert  Latta,  M.A.,  D.Phil 
Crown  8vo.  8s.  6d. 

Locke.    An  Essay  Concern- 

mg  Human  Understanding.  By  John 
L??£e-  Collated  and  Annotated, 
with  Prolegomena,  Biographical, 
Critical,  and  Historic,  by  A.  Camp- 
bell  Fraser,  Hon.  D.C.L.,  LL  D 

2  VOIS.      8VO.      ll.   I2S. 

Lotze's  Logic,  in  Three  Books 

—of  Thought,  of  Investigation,  and 
of  Knowledge.  English  Translation : 
edited  by  B.  Bosanquet.  M.A. 
Second  Edition.  2  vols.  Cr.  8vo.  125. 

Metaphysic,    in    Three 

Books— Ontology,  Cosmology,  and 
Psychology.  English  Translation ; 
edited  by  B.  Bosanquet,  M.A. 
Second  Edition.  2  vols.  Cr.  8vo.  i2s. 

Martineau.     Types  of  Ethical 

Theory.  By  James  Martineau,  D.D. 
Third  Edition.  2  vols.  Cr.  8vo.  155. 

A  Study  of  Religion : 

its  Sources  and  Contents.  Second  Edition. 
2  vols.  Cr.  8vo.  153. 

Selby-Bigge.  British  Moral- 
ists. Selections  from  Writers  prin- 
cipally of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 
Edited  by  L.  A.  Selby-Bigge,  M.A. 
2  vols.  Crown  8vo.  i8s. 

Wallace.  Lectures  and  Essays 

on  Natural  Theology  and  Ethics.  By 
William  Wallace,  M.A.,  LL.D. 
Edited,  with  a  Biographical  Intro- 
duction byEdward  Caird,  M.A. ,  Hon. 
D.C.L.  8vo,  with  a  Portrait.  las.  6d. 


5.    PHYSICAL 

Balfour.  The  Natural  History 

of  the  Musical  Bow.  A  Chapter  in  the 
Developmental  History  of  Stringed 
Instruments  of  Music.  Part  I, 
Primitive  Types.  By  Henry  Balfour, 
M.A.  Koyal  8vo,  paper  covers. 
4».  6d. 


SCIENCE,  ETC. 

Chambers.    A  Handbook  of 

Descriptive   and  Practical  Astronomy. 

By  G.  F.  Chambers,  F.K.A.S.  Fourth 

Edition,  in  3  vols.    Demy  8vo. 

Vol.  I.  The  Sun,  Planets,  and 
Comets.  2  is. 

Vol.  II.  Instruments  and  Prac- 
tical Astronomy.  2  is. 

Vol.  III.    The  Starry  Heavens.  145. 


London :  HKNBY  PEOWDK,  Amen  Corner,  B.C. 


8 


PHYSICAL  SCIENCE,  ETC. 


De  Bary.  Comparative  Ana- 
tomy of  the  Vegetative  Organs  of  the 
Phanerogams  and  Ferns.  By  Dr.  A. 
de  Bary.  Translated  by  F.  0. 
Bower,  M. A.,  and  D.  H.  Scott,  M. A. 
Royal  8vo.  22*.  6d. 

Comparative  Morpho- 
logy and  Biology  of  Fungi,  Mycetozoa 
and  Bacteria.     By  Dr.  A.  de  Bary. 
Translated  by  H.  E.  F.  Garnsey, 
M.A.     Revised    by    Isaac    Bayley 
Balfour,  M.A.,  M.D.,F.R.S.     Royal 
8vo,  half-morocco,  225.  6d. 

Lectures   on    Bacteria. 

By  Dr.  A.  de  Bary.  Second  Im- 
proved Edition.  Translated  and  re- 
vised by  the  same.  Crown  8 vo.  6s. 

Druce.  The  Flora  of  Berk- 
shire. Being  a  Topographical  and 
Historical  Account  of  the  Flowering 
Plants  and  Ferns  found  in  the 
County,  with  short  Biographical 
Notices.  By  G.  C.  Druce,  Hon. 
M.A.  Oxon.  Crown  8vo,  i6s.  net. 

Fischer.     The  Structure  and 

Functions  of  Bacteria.  By  Alfred 
Fischer.  Translated  into  English 
by  A.  Coppen  Jones.  Royal  8vo, 
with  Twenty-nine  Woodcuts.  8s.  6d. 

O-oebel.  Outlines  of  Classifi- 
cation and  Special  Morphology  of  Plants. 
By  Dr.  K.  Goebel.  Translated  by 
H.  E.  F.  Garnsey,  M.A.  Revised  by 
Isaac  Bayley  Balfour,  M.A.,M.D., 
F.R.S.  Royal  8vo,  half-morocco, 

2IS. 

Organography  of  Plants. 

especially  of  the  Archegoniatae  and  Sper- 
maphyta.  By  Dr.  K.  Goebel.  Autho- 
rized English  Edition,  by  Isaac 
Bayley  Balfour,  M.A. ,  M.D.,  F.R.S., 
Part  I,  General  Organography. 
Royal  8vo,  half-morocco,  i2s.  6d. 

Miall    and   Hammond.      The 

Structure  and  Life-History  of  the  Harle- 
quin Fly  (Chironomus).  By  L.  C.  Miall, 
F.R.S.,  and  A.  R.  Hammond,  F.L.S., 
8vo.  With  130  Illustrations.  75.  6d. 


Pfeffer.      The   Physiology  of 

Plants.  A  Treatise  upon  the  Metabolism 
and  Sources  of  Energy  in  Plants.  By 
Prof.  Dr.  W.  Pfeffer.  Second  fully 
Revised  Edition,  translated  and 
edited  by  Alfred  J.  Ewart,  D.Sc., 
Ph.D.,  F.L.S.  Part  I.  Royal  8vo, 
half-morocco,  28s. 

Prestwich.  Geology — Chemi- 
cal, Physical,  and  Stratigraphical.  By 
Sir  Joseph  Ptestwich,  M.A.,  F.R.S. 
In  two  Volumes.  6 is. 

Price.     A    Treatise    on    the 

Measurement  of  Electrical  Resistance.  By 
W.A.Price,M.A.,A.M.I.C.E.8vo.i4s. 

S  achs .     A  History  of  Botany . 

Translated  by  H.  E.  F.  Garnsey, 
M.  A.  Revised  by  I.  Bayley  Balfour, 
M.A.,M.D.,F.R.S.  Crown  8vo.  los. 

Solms-Laubach.  Fossil  Bot- 
any. Being  an  Introduction  to  Palaeo- 
phytology  from  the  Standpoint  of  the 
Botanist.  By  H.  Graf  zu  Solms- 
Laubach.  Translated  and  revised 
by  the  same.  Royal  8vo,  half- 
morocco,  1 8s. 

Warington.   Lectures  on  some 

of  the  Physical  Properties  of  Soil.  By 
Robert  Warington,  M.A.,  F.R.S. 
8vo,  6s. 

Biological  Series. 

I.  The   Physiology    of  Nerve,   of 

Muscle,  and  of  the  Electrical 
Organ.  Edited  by  Sir  J.  Burdon 
Sanderson,  Bart.,  M.  D. ,  F.  R,  SS. 
L.&E.  Medium  8vo.  215. 

II.  The  Anatomy  of  the  Frog.    By 

Dr.  Alexander  Ecker.  Trans- 
lated by  G.  Haslam,  M.D. 
Medium  8vo.  2  is. 

IV.  Essays  upon  Heredity  and 
Kindred  Biological  Problems.  By 
Dr.A.Weismann.  Crown  8vo. 

Vol.  I.  Edited  by  E.  B.  Poulton, 
S.SchOnland,andA.E.Shipley. 
Second  Edition.  7s.  6d. 

Vol.  II.  Edited  by  E.  B.  Poulton, 
and  A.  E.  Shipley.  5*. 


OXFORD 

AT  THE  CLARENDON   PRESS 

LONDON,  EDINBURGH,  AND  NEW  YORK 

HENRY  FROWDE 


t* 
J