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Ingersoll + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare, by Robert G. Ingersoll + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shakespeare + A Lecture + +Author: Robert G. Ingersoll + +Release Date: November 22, 2011 [EBook #38105] +Last Updated: January 25, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAKESPEARE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SHAKESPEARE + </h1> + <h2> + A LECTURE + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Robert G. Ingersoll + </h2> + <h4> + Shakespeare.—An intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the + shores of thought. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>SHAKESPEARE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SHAKESPEARE. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE was the greatest genius of our world. He left to us + the richest legacy of all the dead—the treasures of the rarest soul + that ever lived and loved and wrought of words the statues, pictures, + robes and gems of thought. He was the greatest man that ever touched this + grain of sand and tears, we call the world. + </p> + <p> + It is hard to overstate the debt we owe to the men and women of genius. + Take from our world what they have given, and all the niches would be + empty, all the walls naked—meaning and connection would fall from + words of poetry and fiction, music would go back to common air, and all + the forms of subtle and enchanting Art would lose proportion and become + the unmeaning waste and shattered spoil of thoughtless Chance. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare is too great a theme. I feel as though endeavoring to grasp a + globe so large that the hand obtains no hold. He who would worthily speak + of the great dramatist should be inspired by "a muse of fire that should + ascend the brightest heaven of invention"—he should have "a kingdom + for a stage, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene." + </p> + <p> + More than three centuries ago, the most intellectual of the human race was + born. He was not of supernatural origin. At his birth there were no + celestial pyrotechnics. His father and mother were both English, and both + had the cheerful habit of living in this world. The cradle in which he was + rocked was canopied by neither myth nor miracle, and in his veins there + was no drop of royal blood. + </p> + <p> + This babe became the wonder of mankind. Neither of his parents could read + or write. He grew up in a small and ignorant village on the banks of the + Avon, in the midst of the common people of three hundred years ago. There + was nothing in the peaceful, quiet landscape on which he looked, nothing + in the low hills, the cultivated and undulating fields, and nothing in the + murmuring stream, to excite the imagination—nothing, so far as we + can see, calculated to sow the seeds of the subtlest and sublimest + thought. + </p> + <p> + So there is nothing connected with his education, or his lack of + education, that in any way accounts for what he did. It is supposed that + he attended school in his native town—but of this we are not + certain. Many have tried to show that he was, after all, of gentle blood, + but the fact seems to be the other way. Some of his biographers have + sought to do him honor by showing that he was patronized by Queen + Elizabeth, but of this there is not the slightest proof. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, there never sat on any throne, a king, queen, or + emperor who could have honored William Shakespeare. + </p> + <p> + Ignorant people are apt to overrate the value of what is called education. + The sons of the poor, having suffered the privations of poverty, think of + wealth as the mother of joy. On the other hand, the children of the rich, + finding that gold does not produce happiness, are apt to underrate the + value of wealth. So the children of the educated often care but little for + books, and hold all culture in contempt. The children of great authors do + not, as a rule, become writers. + </p> + <p> + Nature is filled with tendencies and obstructions. Extremes beget + limitations, even as a river by its own swiftness creates obstructions for + itself. + </p> + <p> + Possibly, many generations of culture breed a desire for the rude joys of + savagery, and possibly generations of ignorance breed such a longing for + knowledge, that of this desire, of this hunger of the brain, Genius is + born. It may be that the mind, by lying fallow, by remaining idle for + generations, gathers strength. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare's father seems to have been an ordinary man of his time and + class. About the only thing we know of him is that he was officially + reported for not coming monthly to church. This is good as far as it goes. + We can hardly blame him, because at that time Richard Bifield was the + minister at Stratford, and an extreme Puritan, one who read the Psalter by + Sternhold and Hopkins. + </p> + <p> + The church was at one time Catholic, but in John Shakespeare's day it was + Puritan, and in 1564, the year of Shakespeare's birth, they had the images + defaced. It is greatly to the honor of John Shakespeare that he refused to + listen to the "tidings of great joy" as delivered by the Puritan Bifield. + </p> + <p> + Nothing is known of his mother, except her beautiful name—Mary + Arden. In those days but little attention was given to the biographies of + women. They were born, married, had children, and died. No matter how + celebrated their sons became, the mothers were forgotten. In old times, + when a man achieved distinction, great pains were taken to find out about + the father and grandfather—the idea being that genius is inherited + from the father's side. The truth is, that all great men have had great + mothers. Great women have had, as a rule, great fathers. + </p> + <p> + The mother of Shakespeare was, without doubt, one of the greatest of + women. She dowered her son with passion and imagination and the higher + qualities of the soul, beyond all other men. It has been said that a man + of genius should select his ancestors with great care—and yet there + does not seem to be as much in heredity as most people think. The children + of the great are often small. Pigmies are born in palaces, while over the + children of genius is the roof of straw. Most of the great are like + mountains, with the valley of ancestors on one side and the depression of + posterity on the other. + </p> + <p> + In his day Shakespeare was of no particular importance. It may be that his + mother had some marvelous and prophetic dreams, but Stratford was + unconscious of the immortal child. He was never engaged in a reputable + business. Socially he occupied a position below servants. The law + described him as "a sturdy vagabond." He was neither a noble, a soldier, + nor a priest. Among the half-civilized people of England, he who amused + and instructed them was regarded as a menial. Kings had their clowns, the + people their actors and musicians. Shakespeare was scheduled as a servant. + It is thus that successful stupidity has always treated genius. Mozart was + patronized by an Archbishop—lived in the palace,—but was + compelled to eat with the scullions. + </p> + <p> + The composer of divine melodies was not fit to sit by the side of the + theologian, who long ago would have been forgotten but for the fame of the + composer. + </p> + <p> + We know but little of the personal peculiarities, of the daily life, or of + what may be called the outward Shakespeare, and it may be fortunate that + so little is known. He might have been belittled by friendly fools. What + silly stories, what idiotic personal reminiscences, would have been + remembered by those who scarcely saw him! We have his best—his + sublimest—and we have probably lost only the trivial and the + worthless. All that is known can be written on a page. + </p> + <p> + We are tolerably certain of the date of his birth, of his marriage and of + his death. We think he went to London in 1586, when he was twenty-two + years old. We think that three years afterwards he was part owner of + Blackfriars' Theatre. We have a few signatures, some of which are supposed + to be genuine. We know that he bought some land—that he had two or + three law-suits. We know the names of his children. We also know that this + incomparable man—so apart from, and so familiar with, all the world—lived + during his literary life in London—that he was an actor, dramatist + and manager—that he returned to Stratford, the place of his birth,—that + he gave his writings to negligence, deserted the children of his brain—that + he died on the anniversary of his birth at the age of fifty-two, and that + he was buried in the church where the images had been defaced, and that on + his tomb was chiseled a rude, absurd and ignorant epitaph. + </p> + <p> + No letter of his to any human being has been found, and no line written by + him can be shown. + </p> + <p> + And here let me give my explanation of the epitaph. Shakespeare was an + actor—a disreputable business—but he made money—always + reputable. He came back from London a rich man. He bought land, and built + houses. Some of the supposed great probably treated him with deference. + When he died he was buried in the church. Then came a reaction. The pious + thought the church had been profaned. They did not feel that the ashes of + an actor were fit to lie in holy ground. The people began to say the body + ought to be removed. Then it was, as I believe, that Dr. John Hall, + Shakespeare's son-in-law, had this epitaph cut on the tomb: + </p> + <p> + "Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare To digg the dust enclosed heare: + Blese be ye man yt spares thes stones, And curst be he yt moves my bones." + </p> + <p> + Certainly Shakespeare could have had no fear that his tomb would be + violated. How could it have entered his mind to have put a warning, a + threat and a blessing, upon his grave? But the ignorant people of that day + were no doubt convinced that the epitaph was the voice of the dead, and so + feeling they feared to invade the tomb. In this way the dust was left in + peace. + </p> + <p> + This epitaph gave me great trouble for years. It puzzled me to explain why + he, who erected the intellectual pyramids,—great ranges of mountains—should + put such a pebble at his tomb. But when I stood beside the grave and read + the ignorant words, the explanation I have given flashed upon me. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + IT has been said that Shakespeare was hardly mentioned by his + contemporaries, and that he was substantially unknown. This is a mistake. + In 1600 a book was published called "<i>England's Parnassus</i>" and it + contained ninety extracts from Shakespeare. In the same year was published + the "<i>Garden of the Muses</i>" containing several pieces from + Shakespeare, Chapman, Marston and Ben Johnson. "<i>England's Helicon</i>" + was printed in the same year, and contained poems from Spenser, Greene, + Harvey and Shakespeare. + </p> + <p> + In 1600 a play was acted at Cambridge, in which Shakespeare was alluded to + as follows: "Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare who puts them all down." + John Weaver published a book of poems in 1595, in which there was a sonnet + to Shakespeare. In 1598 Richard Bamfield wrote a poem to Shakespeare. + Francis Meres, "clergyman, master of arts in both universities, compiler + of school books," was the author of the "Wits' Treasury." In this he + compares the ancient and modern tragic poets, and mentions Marlowe, Peel, + Kyd and Shakespeare. So he compares the writers of comedies, and mentions + Lilly, Lodge, Greene and Shakespeare. He speaks of elegiac poets, and + names Surrey, Wyatt, Sidney, Raleigh and Shakespeare. He compares the + lyric poets, and names Spencer, Drayton, Shakespeare and others. This same + writer, speaking of Horace, says that England has Sidney, Shakespeare and + others, and that "as the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in + Pythagoras, so the sweet-wittie soul of Ovid lives in the mellifluous and + honey-tongued Shakespeare." He also says: "If the Muses could speak + English, they would speak in Shakespeare's phrase." This was in 1598. In + 1607, John Davies alludes in a poem to Shakespeare. + </p> + <p> + Of course we are all familiar with what rare Ben Jonson wrote. Henry + Chettle took Shakespeare to task because he wrote nothing on the death of + Queen Elizabeth. + </p> + <p> + It may be wonderful that he was not better known. But is it not wonderful + that he gained the reputation that he did in so short a time, and that + twelve years after he began to write he stood at least with the first? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + BUT there is a wonderful fact connected with the writings of Shakespeare: + In the Plays there is no direct mention of any of his contemporaries. We + do not know of any poet, author, soldier, sailor, statesman, priest, + nobleman, king, or queen, that Shakespeare directly mentioned. + </p> + <p> + Is it not marvellous that he, living in an age of great deeds, of + adventures in far off lands and unknown seas—in a time of religious + wars—in the days of the Armada—the massacre of St. Bartholomew—the + Edict of Nantes—the assassination of Henry III.—the victory of + Lepanto—the execution of Marie Stuart—did not mention the name + of any man or woman of his time? Some have insisted that the paragraph + ending with the lines: + </p> + <p> + "The imperial votress passed on in maiden meditation fancy free," + </p> + <p> + referred to Queen Elizabeth; but it is impossible for me to believe that + the daubed and wrinkled face, the small black eyes, the cruel nose, the + thin lips, the bad teeth, and the red wig of Queen Elizabeth could by any + possibility have inspired these marvellous lines. + </p> + <p> + It is perfectly apparent from Shakespeare's writings that he knew but + little of the nobility, little of kings and queens. He gives to these + supposed great people great thoughts, and puts great words in their mouths + and makes them speak—not as they really did—but as Shakespeare + thought such people should. This demonstrates that he did not know them + personally. + </p> + <p> + Some have insisted that Shakespeare mentions Queen Elizabeth in the last + Scene of Henry VIII. The answer to this is that Shakespeare did not write + the last Scene in that Play. The probability is that Fletcher was the + author. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare lived during the great awakening of the world, when Europe + emerged from the darkness of the Middle Ages, when the discovery of + America had made England, that blossom of the Gulf-Stream, the centre of + commerce, and during a period when some of the greatest writers, thinkers, + soldiers and discoverers were produced. + </p> + <p> + Cervantes was born in 1547, dying on the same day that Shakespeare died. + He was undoubtedly the greatest writer that Spain has produced. Rubens was + born in 1577. Camoens, the Portuguese, the author of the <i>Lusiad</i>, + died in 1597. Giordano Bruno—greatest of martyrs—was born in + 1548—visited London in Shakespeare's time—delivered lectures + at Oxford, and called that institution "the widow of learning." Drake + circled the globe in 1580. Galileo was born in 1564—the same year + with Shakespeare. Michael Angelo died in 1563. Kepler—he of the + Three Laws—born in 1571. Calderon, the Spanish dramatist, born in + 1601. Corneille, the French poet, in 1606. Rembrandt, greatest of + painters, 1607. Shakespeare was born in 1564. In that year John Calvin + died. What a glorious exchange! + </p> + <p> + Seventy-two years after the discovery of America Shakespeare was born, and + England was filled with the voyages and discoveries written by Hakluyt, + and the wonders that had been seen by Raleigh, by Drake, by Frobisher and + Hawkins. London had become the centre of the world, and representatives + from all known countries were in the new metropolis. The world had been + doubled. The imagination had been touched and kindled by discovery. In the + far horizon were unknown lands, strange shores beyond untraversed seas. + Toward every part of the world were turned the prows of adventure. All + these things fanned the imagination into flame, and this had its effect + upon the literary and dramatic world. And yet Shakespeare—the master + spirit of mankind—in the midst of these discoveries, of these + adventures, mentioned no navigator, no general, no discoverer, no + philosopher. + </p> + <p> + Galileo was reading the open volume of the sky, but Shakespeare did not + mention him. This to me is the most marvellous thing connected with this + most marvellous man. + </p> + <p> + At that time England was prosperous—was then laying the foundation + of her future greatness and power. + </p> + <p> + When men are prosperous, they are in love with life. Nature grows + beautiful, the arts begin to flourish, there is work for painter and + sculptor, the poet is born, the stage is erected—and this life with + which men are in love, is represented in a thousand forms. + </p> + <p> + Nature, or Fate, or Chance prepared a stage for Shakespeare, and + Shakespeare prepared a stage for Nature. + </p> + <p> + Famine and faith go together. In disaster and want the gaze of man is + fixed upon another world. He that eats a crust has a creed. Hunger falls + upon its knees, and heaven, looked for through tears, is the mirage of + misery. But prosperity brings joy and wealth and leisure—and the + beautiful is born. + </p> + <p> + One of the effects of the worlds awakening was Shakespeare. We account for + this man as we do for the highest mountain, the greatest river, the most + perfect gem. We can only say: He was. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "It hath been taught us from the primal state + That he which is was wished until he were." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + IN Shakespeare's time the actor was a vagabond, the dramatist a + disreputable person—and yet the greatest dramas were then written. + In spite of law, and social ostracism, Shakespeare reared the many-colored + dome that fills and glorifies the intellectual heavens. + </p> + <p> + Now the whole civilized world believes in the theatre—asks for some + great dramatist—is hungry for a play worthy of the century, is + anxious to give gold and fame to any one who can worthily put our age upon + the stage—and yet no great play has been written since Shakespeare + died. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare pursued the highway of the right. He did not seek to put his + characters in a position where it was right to do wrong. He was sound and + healthy to the centre. It never occurred to him to write a play in which a + wife's lover should be jealous of her husband. + </p> + <p> + There was in his blood the courage of his thought. He was true to himself + and enjoyed the perfect freedom of the highest art. He did not write + according to rules—but smaller men make rules from what he wrote. + </p> + <p> + How fortunate that Shakespeare was not educated at Oxford—that the + winged god within him never knelt to the professor. How fortunate that + this giant was not captured, tied and tethered by the literary Liliputians + of his time. + </p> + <p> + He was an idealist. He did not—like most writers of our time—take + refuge in the real, hiding a lack of genius behind a pretended love of + truth. All realities are not poetic, or dramatic, or even worth knowing. + The real sustains the same relation to the ideal that a stone does to a + statue—or that paint does to a painting. Realism degrades and + impoverishes. In no event can a realist be more than an imitator and + copyist. According to the realist's philosophy, the wax that receives and + retains an image is an artist. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare did not rely on the stage-carpenter, or the scenic painter. He + put his scenery in his lines. There you will find mountains and rivers and + seas, valleys and cliffs, violets and clouds, and over all "the firmament + fretted with gold and fire." He cared little for plot, little for + surprise. He did not rely on stage effects, or red fire. The plays grow + before your eyes, and they come as the morning comes. Plot surprises but + once. There must be something in a play besides surprise. Plot in an + author is a kind of strategy—that is to say, a sort of cunning, and + cunning does not belong to the highest natures. + </p> + <p> + There is in Shakespeare such a wealth of thought that the plot becomes + almost immaterial—and such is this wealth that you can hardly know + the play—there is too much. After you have heard it again and again, + it seems as pathless as an untrodden forest. + </p> + <p> + He belonged to all lands. "Timon of Athens" is as Greek as any tragedy of + Eschylus. "Julius Caesar" and "Coriolanus" are perfect Roman, and as you + read, the mighty ruins rise and the Eternal City once again becomes the + mistress of the world. No play is more Egyptian than "Antony and + Cleopatra"—the Nile runs through it, the shadows of the pyramids + fall upon it, and from its scenes the Sphinx gazes forever on the + outstretched sands. + </p> + <p> + In "Lear" is the true pagan spirit. "Romeo and Juliet" is Italian—everything + is sudden, love bursts into immediate flower, and in every scene is the + climate of the land of poetry and passion. + </p> + <p> + The reason of this is, that Shakespeare dealt with elemental things, with + universal man. He knew that locality colors without changing, and that in + all surroundings the human heart is substantially the same. + </p> + <p> + Not all the poetry written before his time would make his sum—not + all that has been written since, added to all that was written before, + would equal his. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing within the range of human thought, within the horizon of + intellectual effort, that he did not touch. He knew the brain and heart of + man—the theories, customs, superstitions, hopes, fears, hatreds, + vices and virtues of the human race. + </p> + <p> + He knew the thrills and ecstacies of love, the savage joys of hatred and + revenge. He heard the hiss of envy's snakes and watched the eagles of + ambition soar. There was no hope that did not put its star above his head—no + fear he had not felt—no joy that had not shed its sunshine on his + face. He experienced the emotions of mankind. He was the intellectual + spendthrift of the world. He gave with the generosity, the extravagance, + of madness. + </p> + <p> + Read one play, and you are impressed with the idea that the wealth of the + brain of a god has been exhausted—that there are no more + comparisons, no more passions to be expressed, no more definitions, no + more philosophy, beauty, or sublimity to be put in words—and yet, + the next play opens as fresh as the dewy gates of another day. + </p> + <p> + The outstretched wings of his imagination filled the sky. He was the + intellectual crown o' the earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + THE plays of Shakespeare show so much knowledge, thought and learning, + that many people—those who imagine that universities furnish + capacity—contend that Bacon must have been the author. + </p> + <p> + We know Bacon. We know that he was a scheming politician, a courtier, a + time-server of church and king, and a corrupt judge. We know that he never + admitted the truth of the Copernican system—that he was doubtful + whether instruments were of any advantage in scientific investigation—that + he was ignorant of the higher branches of mathematics, and that, as a + matter of fact, he added but little to the knowledge of the world. When he + was more than sixty years of age, he turned his attention to poetry, and + dedicated his verses to George Herbert. + </p> + <p> + If you will read these verses you will say that the author of "Lear" and + "Hamlet" did not write them. + </p> + <p> + Bacon dedicated his work on the <i>Advancement of Learning, Divine and + Human</i>, to James I., and in his dedication he stated that there had not + been, since the time of Christ, any king or monarch so learned in all + erudition, divine or human. He placed James the First before Marcus + Aurelius and all other kings and emperors since Christ, and concluded by + saying that James the First had "the power and fortune of a king, the + illumination of a priest, the learning and universality of a philosopher." + This was written of James the First, described by Macauley as a + "stammering, slobbering, trembling coward, whose writings were deformed by + the grossest and vilest superstitions—witches being the special + objects of his fear, his hatred, and his persecution." + </p> + <p> + It seems to have been taken for granted that if Shakespeare was not the + author of the great dramas, Lord Bacon must have been. + </p> + <p> + It has been claimed that Bacon was the greatest philosopher of his time. + And yet in reading his works we find that there was in his mind a strange + mingling of foolishness and philosophy. He takes pains to tell us, and to + write it down for the benefit of posterity, that "snow is colder than + water, because it hath more spirit in it, and that quicksilver is the + coldest of all metals, because it is the fullest of spirit." + </p> + <p> + He stated that he hardly believed that you could contract air by putting + opium on top of the weather glass, and gave the following reason: + </p> + <p> + "I conceive that opium and the like make spirits fly rather by malignity + than by cold." + </p> + <p> + This great philosopher gave the following recipe for staunching blood: + </p> + <p> + "Thrust the part that bleedeth into the body of a capon, new ripped and + bleeding. This will staunch the blood. The blood, as it seemeth, sucking + and drawing up by similitude of substance the blood it meeteth with, and + so itself going back." + </p> + <p> + The philosopher also records this important fact: + </p> + <p> + "Divers witches among heathen and Christians have fed upon man's flesh to + aid, as it seemeth, their imagination with high and foul vapors." + </p> + <p> + Lord Bacon was not only a philosopher, but he was a biologist, as appears + from the following: + </p> + <p> + "As for living creatures, it is certain that their vital spirits are a + substance compounded of an airy and flamy matter, and although air and + flame being free will not mingle, yet bound in by a body that hath some + fixing, will." + </p> + <p> + Now and then the inventor of deduction reasons by analogy. He says: + </p> + <p> + "As snow and ice holpen, and their cold activated by nitre or salt, will + turn water into ice, so it may be it will turn wood or stiff clay into + stone." + </p> + <p> + Bacon seems to have been a believer in the transmutation of metals, and + solemnly gives a formula for changing silver or copper into gold. He also + believed in the transmutation of plants, and had arrived at such a height + in entomology that he informed the world that "insects have no blood." + </p> + <p> + It is claimed that he was a great observer, and as evidence of this he + recorded the wonderful fact that "tobacco cut and dried by the fire loses + weight;" that "bears in the winter wax fat in sleep, though they eat + nothing;" that "tortoises have no bones;" that "there is a kind of stone, + if ground and put in water where cattle drink, the cows will give more + milk;" that "it is hard to cure a hurt in a Frenchman's head, but easy in + his leg; that it is hard to cure a hurt in an Englishman's leg, but easy + in his head;" that "wounds made with brass weapons are easier to cure than + those made with iron;" that "lead will multiply and increase, as in + statues buried in the ground;" and that "the rainbow touching anything + causeth a sweet smell." + </p> + <p> + Bacon seems also to have turned his attention to ornithology, and says + that "eggs laid in the full of the moon breed better birds," and that "you + can make swallows white by putting ointment on the eggs before they are + hatched." + </p> + <p> + He also informs us "that witches cannot hurt kings as easily as they can + common people;" that "perfumes dry and strengthen the brain;" that "any + one in the moment of triumph can be injured by another who casts an + envious eye, and the injury is greatest when the envious glance comes from + the oblique eye." + </p> + <p> + Lord Bacon also turned his attention to medicine, and he states that + "bracelets made of snakes are good for curing cramps;" that the "skin of a + wolf might cure the colic, because a wolf has great digestion;" that + "eating the roasted brains of hens and hares strengthens the memory;" that + "if a woman about to become a mother eats a good many quinces and + considerable coriander seed, the child will be ingenious," and that "the + moss which groweth on the skull of an unburied dead man is good for + staunching blood." + </p> + <p> + He expresses doubt, however, "as to whether you can cure a wound by + putting ointment on the weapon that caused the wound, instead of on the + wound itself." + </p> + <p> + It is claimed by the advocates of the Baconian theory that their hero + stood at the top of science; and yet "it is absolutely certain that he was + ignorant of the law of the acceleration of falling bodies, although the + law had been made known and printed by Galileo thirty years before Bacon + wrote upon the subject. Neither did this great man understand the + principle of the lever. He was not acquainted with the precession of the + equinoxes, and as a matter of fact was ill-read in those branches of + learning in which, in his time, the most rapid progress had been made." + </p> + <p> + After Kepler discovered his third law, which was on the 15th of May, 1618, + Bacon was more than ever opposed to the Copernican system. This great man + was far behind his own time, not only in astronomy, but in mathematics. In + the preface to the "Descriptio Globi Intellectualisa" it is admitted + either that Bacon had never heard of the correction of the parallax, or + was unable to understand it. He complained on account of the want of some + method for shortening mathematical calculations; and yet "Napier's + Logarithms" had been printed nine years before the date of his complaint. + </p> + <p> + He attempted to form a table of specific gravities by a rude process of + his own, a process that no one has ever followed; and he did this in spite + of the fact that a far better method existed. + </p> + <p> + We have the right to compare what Bacon wrote with what it is claimed + Shakespeare produced. I call attention to one thing—to Bacon's + opinion of human love. It is this: + </p> + <p> + "The stage is more beholding to love than the life of man. As to the + stage, love is ever matter of comedies and now and then of tragedies, but + in life it doth much mischief—sometimes like a siren, sometimes like + a fury. Amongst all the great and worthy persons there is not one that + hath been transported to the mad degree of love, which shows that great + spirits and great business do keep out this weak passion." + </p> + <p> + The author of "Romeo and Juliet" never wrote that. + </p> + <p> + It seems certain that the author of the wondrous Plays was one of the + noblest of men. + </p> + <p> + Let us see what sense of honor Bacon had. + </p> + <p> + In writing commentaries on certain passages of Scripture, Lord Bacon tells + a courtier, who has committed some offense, how to get back into the + graces of his prince or king. Among other things he tells him not to + appear too cheerful, but to assume a very grave and modest face; not to + bring the matter up himself; to be extremely industrious, so that the + prince will see that it is hard to get along without him; also to get his + friends to tell the prince or king how badly he, the courtier, feels; and + then he says, all these failing, "let him contrive to transfer the fault + to others." + </p> + <p> + It is true that we know but little of Shakespeare, and consequently do not + positively know that he did not have the ability to write the Plays—but + we do know Bacon, and we know that he could not have written these Plays—consequently, + they must have been written by a comparatively unknown man—that is + to say, by a man who was known by no other writings. The fact that we do + not know Shakespeare, except through the Plays and Sonnets, makes it + possible for us to believe that he was the author. + </p> + <p> + Some people have imagined that the Plays were written by several—but + this only increases the wonder, and adds a useless burden to credulity. + </p> + <p> + Bacon published in his time all the writings that he claimed. Naturally, + he would have claimed his best. Is it possible that Bacon left the + wondrous children of his brain on the door-step of Shakespeare, and kept + the deformed ones at home? Is it possible that he fathered the failures + and deserted the perfect? + </p> + <p> + Of course, it is wonderful that so little has been found touching + Shakespeare—but is it not equally wonderful, if Bacon was the + author, that not a line has been found in all his papers, containing a + suggestion, or a hint, that he was the writer of these Plays? Is it not + wonderful that no fragment of any scene—no line—no word—has + been found? + </p> + <p> + Some have insisted that Bacon kept the authorship secret, because it was + disgraceful to write Plays. This argument does not cover the Sonnets—and + besides, one who had been stripped of the robes of office, for receiving + bribes as a judge, could have borne the additional disgrace of having + written "Hamlet." The fact that Bacon did not claim to be the author, + demonstrates that he was not. Shakespeare claimed to be the author, and no + one in his time or day denied the claim. This demonstrates that he was. + </p> + <p> + Bacon published his works, and said to the world: This is what I have + done. + </p> + <p> + Suppose you found in a cemetery a monument erected to John Smith, inventor + of the Smith-churn, and suppose you were told that Mr. Smith provided for + the monument in his will, and dictated the inscription—would it be + possible to convince you that Mr. Smith was also the inventor of the + locomotive and telegraph? + </p> + <p> + Bacon's best can be compared with Shakespeare's common, but Shakespeare's + best rises above Bacon's best, like a domed temple above a beggar's hut. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + OF course it is admitted that there were many dramatists before and during + the time of Shakespeare—but they were only the foot hills of that + mighty peak the top of which the clouds and mists still hide. Chapman and + Marlowe, Heywood and Jonson, Webster, Beaumont and Fletcher wrote some + great lines, and in the monotony of declamation now and then is found a + strain of genuine music—but all of them together constituted only a + herald of Shakespeare. In all these Plays there is but a hint, a prophecy, + of the great drama destined to revolutionize the poetic thought of the + world. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare was the greatest of poets. What Greece and Rome produced was + great until his time. "Lions make leopards tame." + </p> + <p> + The great poet is a great artist. He is painter and sculptor. The greatest + pictures and statues have been painted and chiseled with words. They + outlast all others. All the galleries of the world are poor and cheap + compared with the statues and pictures in Shakespeare's book. + </p> + <p> + Language is made of pictures represented by sounds. The outer world is a + dictionary of the mind, and the artist called the soul uses this + dictionary of things to express what happens in the noiseless and + invisible world of thought. First a sound represents something in the + outer world, and afterwards something in the inner, and this sound at last + is represented by a mark, and this mark stands for a picture, and every + brain is a gallery, and the artists—that is to say, the souls—exchange + pictures and statues. + </p> + <p> + All art is of the same parentage. The poet uses words—makes pictures + and statues of sounds. The sculptor expresses harmony, proportion, + passion, in marble; the composer, in music; the painter in form and color. + The dramatist expresses himself not only in words, not only paints these + pictures, but he expresses his thought in action. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare was not only a poet, but a dramatist, and expressed the ideal, + the poetic, not only in words, but in action. There are the wit, the + humor, the pathos, the tragedy of situation, of relation. The dramatist + speaks and acts through others—his personality is lost. The poet + lives in the world of thought and feeling, and to this the dramatist adds + the world of action. He creates characters that seem to act in accordance + with their own natures and independently of him. He compresses lives into + hours, tells us the secrets of the heart, shows us the springs of action—how + desire bribes the judgment and corrupts the will—how weak the reason + is when passion pleads, and how grand it is to stand for right against the + world. + </p> + <p> + It is not enough to say fine things,—great things, dramatic things, + must be done. + </p> + <p> + Let me give you an illustration of dramatic incident accompanying the + highest form of poetic expression: + </p> + <p> + Macbeth having returned from the murder of Duncan says to his wife: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Methought I heard a voice cry: + Sleep no more, Macbeth does murder sleep; the innocent sleep; + Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, + The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, + Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, + Chief nourisher in life's feast." * * * + + "Still it cried: + Sleep no more, to all the house, + Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor + Shall sleep no more—Macbeth shall sleep no more." +</pre> + <p> + She exclaims: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy + Thane, you do unbend your noble strength + To think so brain-sickly of things; get some water, + And wash this filthy witness from your hand. + Why did you bring the daggers from the place?" +</pre> + <p> + Macbeth was so overcome with horror at his own deed, that he not only + mistook his thoughts for the words of others, but was so carried away and + beyond himself that he brought with him the daggers—the evidence of + his guilt—the daggers that he should have left with the dead. This + is dramatic. + </p> + <p> + In the same play, the difference of feeling before and after the + commission of a crime is illustrated to perfection. When Macbeth is on his + way to assassinate the king, the bell strikes, and he says, or whispers: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell." +</pre> + <p> + Afterward, when the deed has been committed, and a knocking is heard at + the gate, he cries: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Wake Duncan with thy knocking. I would thou couldst." +</pre> + <p> + Let me give one more instance of dramatic action. When Antony speaks above + the body of Cæsar he says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "You all do know this mantle: I remember + The first time ever Cæsar put it on— + 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, + That day he overcame the Nervii: + Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through: + See what a rent the envious Casca made! + Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, + And as he plucked his cursed steel away, + Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + THERE are men, and many of them, who are always trying to show that + somebody else chiseled the statue or painted the picture,—that the + poem is attributed to the wrong man, and that the battle was really won by + a subordinate. + </p> + <p> + Of course Shakespeare made use of the work of others—and, we might + almost say, of all others. Every writer must use the work of others. The + only question is, how the accomplishments of other minds are used, whether + as a foundation to build higher, or whether stolen to the end that the + thief may make a reputation for himself, without adding to the great + structure of literature. + </p> + <p> + Thousands of people have stolen stones from the Coliseum to make huts for + themselves. So thousands of writers have taken the thoughts of others with + which to adorn themselves. These are plagiarists. But the man who takes + the thought of another, adds to it, gives it intensity and poetic form, + throb and life,—is in the highest sense original. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare found nearly all of his facts in the writings of others and + was indebted to others for most of the stories of his plays. The question + is not: Who furnished the stone, or who owned the quarry, but who chiseled + the statue? + </p> + <p> + We now know all the books that Shakespeare could have read, and + consequently know many of the sources of his information. We find in <i>Pliny's + Natural History</i>, published in 1601, the following: "The sea Pontis + evermore floweth and runneth out into the Propontis; but the sea never + retireth back again with the Impontis." This was the raw material, and out + of it Shakespeare made the following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Like to the Pontic Sea, + Whose icy current and compulsive course + Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on + To the Propontic and the Hellespont——— + + "Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, + Shall ne'er turn back, ne'er ebb to humble love, + Till that a capable and wide revenge + Swallow them up." +</pre> + <p> + Perhaps we can give an idea of the difference between Shakespeare and + other poets, by a passage from "Lear." When Cordelia places her hand upon + her father's head and speaks of the night and of the storm, an ordinary + poet might have said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "On such a night, a dog + Should have stood against my fire." +</pre> + <p> + A very great poet might have gone a step further and exclaimed: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "On such a night, mine enemy's dog + Should have stood against my fire." +</pre> + <p> + But Shakespeare said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, + Should have stood, that night, against my fire." +</pre> + <p> + Of all the poets—of all the writers—Shakespeare is the most + original. He is as original as Nature. + </p> + <p> + It may truthfully be said that "Nature wants stuff to vie strange forms + with fancy, to make another." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + THERE is in the greatest poetry a kind of extravagance that touches the + infinite, and in this Shakespeare exceeds all others. + </p> + <p> + You will remember the description given of the voyage of Paris in search + of Helen: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The seas and winds, old wranglers, made a truce, + And did him service; he touched the ports desired," +</pre> + <p> + And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "He brought a Grecian queen whose youth and freshness + Wrinkles Apollo, and makes stale the morning." +</pre> + <p> + So, in Pericles, when the father finds his daughter, he cries out: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O Helicanus! strike me, honored sir; + Give me a gash, put me to present pain, + Lest this great sea of joys, rushing upon me, + O'erbear the shores of my mortality." +</pre> + <p> + The greatest compliment that man has ever paid to the woman he adores is + this line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Eyes that do mislead the morn." +</pre> + <p> + Nothing can be conceived more perfectly poetic. + </p> + <p> + In that marvellous play, the "Midsummer Nights Dream," is one of the most + extravagant things in literature: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Thou rememberest + Since once I sat upon a promontory, + And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back + Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath + That the rude sea grew civil at her song, + And certain stars shot madly from their spheres + To hear the sea-maid's music." +</pre> + <p> + This is so marvellously told that it almost seems probable. + </p> + <p> + So the description of Mark Antony: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "For his bounty + There was no winter in't—an autumn t'was + That grew the more by reaping. + His delights Were dolphin-like—they showed his back above + The element they lived in." +</pre> + <p> + Think of the astronomical scope and amplitude of this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Her bed is India—there she lies a pearl." +</pre> + <p> + Is there anything more intense than these words of Cleopatra? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Rather on Nilus mud lay me stark naked + And let the water-flies blow me into abhorring." +</pre> + <p> + Or this of Isabella: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, + And strip myself to death as to a bed + That longing I've been sick for, ere I yield + My body up to shame." +</pre> + <p> + Is there an intellectual man in the world who will not agree with this? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Let me not live + After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff + Of younger spirits." +</pre> + <p> + Can anything exceed the words of Troilus when parting with Cressida: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "We two, that with so many thousand sighs + Did buy each other, most poorly sell ourselves + With the rude brevity and discharge of one. + + "Injurious time now with a robber's haste + Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how; + As many farewells as be stars in heaven, + With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them, + He fumbles up into a loose adieu, + And scants us with a single famished kiss, + Distasted with the salt of broken tears." +</pre> + <p> + Take this example, where pathos almost touches the grotesque. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? + Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, + And that the lean, abhorred monster keeps thee here + I' the dark, to be his paramour?" +</pre> + <p> + Often when reading the marvellous lines of Shakespeare, I feel that his + thoughts are "too subtle potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness, for the + capacity of my ruder powers." Sometimes I cry out, "O churl!—write + all, and leave no thoughts for those who follow after." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + SHAKESPEARE was an innovator, an iconoclast. He cared nothing for the + authority of men or of schools. He violated the "unities," and cared—nothing + for the models of the ancient world. + </p> + <p> + The Greeks insisted that nothing should be in a play that did not tend to + the catastrophe. They did not believe in the episode—in the sudden + contrasts of light and shade—in mingling the comic and the tragic. + The sunlight never fell upon their tears, and darkness did not overtake + their laughter. They believed that nature sympathized or was in harmony + with the events of the play. When crime was about to be committed—some + horror to be perpetrated—the light grew dim, the wind sighed, the + trees shivered, and upon all was the shadow of the coming event. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare knew that the play had little to do with the tides and + currents of universal life—that Nature cares neither for smiles nor + tears, for life nor death, and that the sun shines as gladly on coffins as + on cradles. + </p> + <p> + The first time I visited the Place de la Concorde, where during the French + Revolution stood the guillotine, and where now stands an Egyptian obelisk—a + bird, sitting on the top, was singing with all its might.—Nature + forgets. + </p> + <p> + One of the most notable instances of the violation by Shakespeare of the + classic model, is found in the 6th Scene of the I. Act of Macbeth. + </p> + <p> + When the King and Banquo approach the castle in which the King is to be + murdered that night, no shadow falls athwart the threshold. So beautiful + is the scene that the King says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air + Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself + Unto our gentle senses." +</pre> + <p> + And Banquo adds: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This guest of summer, + The temple-haunting martlet, does approve + By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath + Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, + Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird + Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle. + Where they most breed and haunt, + I have observed + The air is delicate." +</pre> + <p> + Another notable instance is the porter scene immediately following the + murder. So, too, the dialogue with the clown who brings the asp to + Cleopatra just before the suicide, illustrates my meaning. + </p> + <p> + I know of one paragraph in the Greek drama worthy of Shakespeare. This is + in "Medea." When Medea kills her children she curses Jason, using the + ordinary Billingsgate and papal curse, but at the conclusion says: "I pray + the gods to make him virtuous, that he may the more deeply feel the pang + that I inflict." + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare dealt in lights and shadows. He was intense. He put noons and + midnights side by side. No other dramatist would have dreamed of adding to + the pathos—of increasing our appreciation of Lear's agony, by + supplementing the wail of the mad king with the mocking laughter of a + loving clown. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + THE ordinary dramatists—the men of talent—(and there is the + same difference between talent and genius that there is between a + stone-mason and a sculptor) create characters that become types. Types are + of necessity caricatures—actual men and women are to some extent + contradictory in their actions. Types are blown in the one direction by + the one wind—characters have pilots. + </p> + <p> + In real people, good and evil mingle. Types are all one way, or all the + other—all good, or all bad, all wise or all foolish. + </p> + <p> + Pecksniff was a perfect type, a perfect hypocrite—and will remain a + type as long as language lives—a hypocrite that even drunkenness + could not change. Everybody understands Pecksniff, and compared with him + Tartuffe was an honest man. Hamlet is an individual, a person, an actual + being—and for that reason there is a difference of opinion ias to + his motives and as to his character. We differ About Hamlet as we do about + Cæsar, or about Shakespeare himself. + </p> + <p> + Hamlet saw the ghost of his father and heard again his father's voice, and + yet, afterwards, he speaks of + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns." +</pre> + <p> + In this there is no contradiction. The reason outweighs the senses. If we + should see a dead man rise from his grave, we would not, the next day, + believe that we did. No one can credit a miracle until it becomes so + common that it ceases to be miraculous. + </p> + <p> + Types are puppets—controlled from without—characters act from + within. There is the same difference between characters and types that + there is between springs and water-works, between canals and rivers, + between wooden soldiers and heroes. + </p> + <p> + In most plays and in most novels the characters are so shadowy that we + have to piece them out with the imagination. + </p> + <p> + One waking in the morning sometimes sees at the foot of his bed a strange + figure—it may be of an ancient lady with cap and ruffles and with + the expression of garrulous and fussy old age—but when the light + gets stronger, the figure gradually changes and he sees a few clothes on a + chair. + </p> + <p> + The dramatist lives the lives of others, and in order to delineate + character must not only have imagination but sympathy with the character + delineated. The great dramatist thinks of a character as an entirety, as + an individual. + </p> + <p> + I once had a dream, and in this dream I was discussing a subject with + another man. It occurred to me that I was dreaming, and I then said to + myself: If this is a dream, I am doing the talking for both sides—consequently + I ought to know in advance what the other man is going to say. In my dream + I tried the experiment. I then asked the other man a question, and before + he answered made up my mind what the answer was to be. To my surprise, the + man did not say what I expected he would, and so great was my astonishment + that I awoke. + </p> + <p> + It then occurred to me that I had discovered the secret of Shakespeare. He + did, when awake, what I did when asleep—that is, he threw off a + character so perfect that it acted independently of him. + </p> + <p> + In the delineation of character Shakespeare has no rivals. He creates no + monsters. His characters do not act without reason, without motive. + </p> + <p> + Iago had his reasons. In Caliban, nature was not destroyed—and Lady + Macbeth certifies that the woman still was in her heart, by saying: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Had he not resembled my father as he slept, I had done it." +</pre> + <p> + Shakespeare's characters act from within. They are centres of energy. They + are not pushed by unseen hands, or pulled by unseen strings. They have + objects, desires. They are persons—real, living beings. + </p> + <p> + Few dramatists succeed in getting their characters loose from the canvas—their + backs stick to the wall—they do not have free and independent action—they + have no background, no unexpressed motives—no untold desires. They + lack the complexity of the real. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare makes the character true to itself. Christopher Sly, + surrounded by the luxuries of a lord, true to his station, calls for a pot + of the smallest ale. + </p> + <p> + Take one expression by Lady Macbeth. You remember that after the murder is + discovered—after the alarm bell is rung—she appears upon the + scene wanting to know what has happened. Macduff refuses to tell her, + saying that the slightest word would murder as it fell. At this moment + Banquo comes upon the scene and Macduff cries out to him: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Our royal master's murdered." +</pre> + <p> + What does Lady Macbeth then say? She in fact makes a confession of guilt. + The weak point in the terrible tragedy is that Duncan was murdered in + Macbeth's castle. So when Lady Macbeth hears what they suppose is news to + her, she cries: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What! In our house!" +</pre> + <p> + Had she been innocent, her horror of the crime would have made her forget + the place—the venue. Banquo sees through this, and sees through her. + </p> + <p> + Her expression was a light, by which he saw her guilt—and he + answers: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Too cruel anywhere." +</pre> + <p> + No matter whether Shakespeare delineated clown or king, warrior or maiden—no + matter whether his characters are taken from the gutter or the throne—each + is a work of consummate art, and when he is unnatural, he is so splendid + that the defect is forgotten. + </p> + <p> + When Romeo is told of the death of Juliet, and thereupon makes up his mind + to die upon her grave, he gives a description of the shop where poison + could be purchased. He goes into particulars and tells of the alligators + stuffed, of the skins of ill-shaped fishes, of the beggarly account of + empty boxes, of the remnants of pack-thread, and old cakes of roses—and + while it is hardly possible to believe that under such circumstances a man + would take the trouble to make an inventory of a strange kind of + drug-store, yet the inventory is so perfect—the picture is so + marvellously drawn—that we forget to think whether it is natural or + not. + </p> + <p> + In making the frame of a great picture—of a great scene—Shakespeare + was often careless, but the picture is perfect. In making the sides of the + arch he was negligent, but when he placed the keystone, it burst into + blossom. Of course there are many lines in Shakepeare that never should + have been written. In other words, there are imperfections in his plays. + But we must remember that Shakespeare furnished the torch that enables us + to see these imperfections. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare speaks through his characters, and we must not mistake what + the characters say, for the opinion of Shakespeare. No one can believe + that Shakespeare regarded life as "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound + and fury, signifying nothing." That was the opinion of a murderer, + surrounded by avengers, and whose wife—partner in his crimes—troubled + with thick-coming fancies—had gone down to her death. + </p> + <p> + Most actors and writers seem to suppose that the lines called "The Seven + Ages" contain Shakespeare's view of human life. Nothing could be farther + from the truth. The lines were uttered by a cynic, in contempt and scorn + of the human race. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare did not put his characters in the livery and uniform of some + weakness, peculiarity or passion. He did not use names as tags or brands. + He did not write under the picture, "This is a villain." His characters + need no suggestive names to tell us what they are—we see them and we + know them for ourselves. + </p> + <p> + It may be that in the greatest utterances of the greatest characters in + the supreme moments, we have the real thoughts, opinions and convictions + of Shakespeare. + </p> + <p> + Of all writers Shakespeare is the most impersonal.. He speaks through + others, and the others seem to speak for themselves. The didactic is lost + in the dramatic. He does not use the stage as a pulpit to enforce some + maxim. He is as reticent as Nature. + </p> + <p> + He idealizes the common and transfigures all he touches—but he does + not preach. He was in-terested in men and things as they were. He did not + seek: to change them—but to portray, he was <i>Nature's mirror</i>—and + in that mirror Nature saw herself. + </p> + <p> + When I stood amid the great trees of California that lift their spreading + capitals against the clouds, looking like Nature's columns to support the + sky, I thought of the poetry of Shakespeare. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + WHAT a procession of men and women—statesmen and warriors—kings + and clowns—issued from Shakespeare's brain. What women! + </p> + <p> + Isabella—in whose spotless life love and reason blended into perfect + truth. + </p> + <p> + Juliet—within whose heart passion and purity met like white and red + within the bosom of a rose. + </p> + <p> + Cordelia—who chose to suffer loss, rather than show her wealth of + love with those who gilded lies in hope of gain. + </p> + <p> + Hermione—"tender as infancy and grace"—who bore with perfect + hope and faith the cross of shame, and who at last forgave with all her + heart. + </p> + <p> + Desdemona—so innocent, so perfect, her love so pure, that she was + incapable of suspecting that another could suspect, and who with dying + words sought to hide her lover's crime—and with her last faint + breath uttered a loving lie that burst into a perfumed lily between her + pallid lips. + </p> + <p> + Perdita—A violet dim, and sweeter than the lids of Junos eyes—"The + sweetest low-born lass that ever ran on the green sward." And Helena—who + said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I know I love in vain, strive against hope— + Yet in this captious and intenable sieve + I still pour in the waters of my love, + And lack not to lose still, + Thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore + The sun that looks upon his worshipper, + But knows of him no more." +</pre> + <p> + Miranda—who told her love as gladly as a flower gives its bosom to + the kisses of the sun. + </p> + <p> + And Cordelia, whose kisses cured and whose tears restored. And stainless + Imogen, who cried: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What is it to be false?" +</pre> + <p> + And here is the description of the perfect woman: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; + To keep her constancy in plight and youth— + Outliving beauty's outward with a mind + That doth renew swifter than blood decays." +</pre> + <p> + Shakespeare done more for woman than all the other dramatists of the + world. + </p> + <p> + For my part. I love the Clowns. I love <i>Launce</i> and his dog Crabb, + and <i>Gobbo</i>, whose conscience threw its arms around the neck of his + heart, and <i>Touchstone</i>, with his lie seven times removed; and dear + old <i>Dogberry</i>—a pretty piece of flesh, tedious as a king. And + <i>Bottom</i>, the very paramour for a sweet voice, longing to take the + part to tear a cat in; and <i>Autolycus</i>, the snapper-up of + unconsidered trifles, sleeping out the thought for the life to come. And + great <i>Sir John</i>, without conscience, and for that reason unblamed + and enjoyed—and who at the end babbles of green fields, and is + almost loved. And ancient <i>Pistol</i>, the world his oyster. And <i>Bardolph</i>, + with the flea on his blazing nose, putting beholders in mind of a damned + soul in hell. And the poor <i>Fool</i>, who followed the mad king, and + went "to bed at noon." And the clown who carried the worm of Nilus, whose + "biting was immortal." And <i>Corin</i>, the shepherd—who described + the perfect man: "I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat—get that I + wear—owe no man aught—envy no man's happiness—glad of + other men's good—content." + </p> + <p> + And mingling in this motley throng, <i>Lear</i>, within whose brain a + tempest raged until the depths were stirred, and the intellectual wealth + of a life was given back to memory—and then by madness thrown to + storm and night—and when I read the living lines I feel as though I + looked upon the sea and saw it wrought by frenzied whirlwinds, until the + buried treasures and the sunken wrecks of all the years were cast upon the + shores. + </p> + <p> + And <i>Othello</i>—who like the base Indian threw a pearl away + richer than all his tribe. + </p> + <p> + And <i>Hamlet</i>—thought-entangted—hesitating between two + worlds. + </p> + <p> + And <i>Macbeth</i>—strange mingling of cruelty and conscience, + reaping the sure harvest of successful crime—"Curses not loud but + deep—mouth-honor,—breath." + </p> + <p> + And <i>Brutus</i>, falling on his sword that Cæsar might be still. + </p> + <p> + And <i>Romeo</i>, dreaming of the white wonder of Juliet's hand. And <i>Ferdinand</i>, + the patient log-man for Miranda's sake. And <i>Florizel</i>, who, "for all + the sun sees, or the close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide," would + not be faithless to the low-born lass. And <i>Constance</i>, weeping for + her son, while grief "stuffs out his vacant garments with his form." + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of tragedies and tears, of love and laughter and crime, + we hear the voice of the good friar, who declares that in every human + heart, as in the smallest flower, there are encamped the opposed hosts of + good and evil—and our philosophy is interrupted by the garrulous old + nurse, whose talk is as busily useless as the babble of a stream that + hurries by a ruined mill. + </p> + <p> + From every side the characters crowd upon us—the men and women born + of Shakespeare's brain. They utter with a thousand voices the thoughts of + the "myriad-minded" man, and impress themselves upon us as deeply and + vividly as though they really lived with us. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare alone has delineated love in every possible phase—has + ascended to the very top, and actually reached heights that no other has + imagined. I do not believe the human mind will ever produce or be in a + position to appreciate, a greater love-play than "Romeo and Juliet." It is + a symphony in which all music seems to blend. The heart bursts into + blossom, and he who reads feels the swooning intoxication of a divine + perfume. + </p> + <p> + In the alembic of Shakespeare's brain the baser metals were turned to gold—passions + became virtues—weeds became exotics, from some diviner land—and + common mortals made of ordinary clay outranked the Olympian Gods. In his + brain there was the touch of chaos that suggests the infinite—that + belongs to genius. Talent is measured and mathematical—dominated by + prudence and the thought of use. Genius is tropical. The creative instinct + runs riot, delights in extravagance and waste, and overwhelms the mental + beggars of the world with uncounted gold and unnumbered gems. + </p> + <p> + Some things are immortal: The plays of Shakespeare, the marbles of the + Greeks, and the music of Wagner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <h3> + Shakespeare was the greatest of philosophers. + </h3> + <p> + He knew the conditions of success—of happiness—the relations + <i>that men, sustain</i> to each other, and the duties of all. He knew the + tides and currents of the heart—the cliffs and caverns of the brain. + He knew the weakness of the will, the sophistry of desire—and "That + pleasure and revenge have ears more deaf than adders to the voice of any + true decision." + </p> + <p> + He knew that the soul lives in an invisible world—that flesh is but + a mask, and that "There is no art to find the mind's construction In the + face." + </p> + <p> + He knew that courage should be the servant of judgment, and that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "When valor preys on reason it eats the sword It fights with." +</pre> + <p> + He knew that man is never "master of the event, that he is to some extent + the sport or prey of the blind forces of the world, and that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "In the reproof of chance lies the true proof of men." +</pre> + <p> + Feeling that the past is unchangeable, and that that which must happen is + as much beyond control as though it had happened, he says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Let determined things to destiny Hold unbewailed their way." +</pre> + <p> + Shakespeare was great enough to know that every human being prefers + happiness to misery, and that crimes are but mistakes. Looking in pity + upon the human race, upon the pain and poverty, the crimes and cruelties, + the limping travelers on the thorny paths, he was great and good enough to + say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "There is no darkness but ignorance." +</pre> + <p> + In all the philosophies there is no greater line. This great truth fills + the heart with pity. + </p> + <p> + He knew that place and power do not give happiness—that the crowned + are subject as the lowest to fate and chance. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Within the hollow crown + That rounds the mortal temples of a king + Keeps death his Court, and there the antic sits + Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, + Allowing him a brief and little scene + To monarchize by fear and kill with looks, + Infusing him with self and vain conceit— + As if this flesh that walls about our life + Were brass impregnable; and humored thus, + Comes at the last and with a little pin + Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king!" +</pre> + <p> + So, too, he knew that gold could not bring joy—that death and + misfortune come alike to rich and poor, because: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "If thou art rich thou art poor; + For like an ass whose back with ingots bows + Thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, + And death unloads thee." +</pre> + <p> + In some of his philosophy there was a kind of scorn—a hidden meaning + that could not in his day and time have safely been expressed. You will + remember that Laertes was about to kill the king, and this king was the + murderer of his own brother, and sat upon the throne by reason of his + crime—and in the mouth of such a king Shakespeare puts these words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "There's such divinity doth hedge a king." +</pre> + <p> + So, in Macbeth + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "How he solicits + Heaven himself best knows; but strangely visited people + All swollen and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, + The mere despairs of surgery, he cures; + Hanging a golden stamp about their necks. + Put on with holy prayers; and 'tis spoken + To the succeeding royalty—he leaves + The healing benediction. + + "With this strange virtue + He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, + And sundry blessings hang about his throne, + That speak him full of grace." +</pre> + <p> + Shakespeare was the master of the human heart—knew all the hopes, + fears, ambitions, and passions that sway the mind of man; and thus + knowing, he declared that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Love is not love that alters + When it alteration finds." +</pre> + <p> + This is the sublimest declaration in the literature of the world. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare seems to give the generalization—the result—without + the process of thought. He seems always to be at the conclusion—standing + where all truths meet. + </p> + <p> + In one of the Sonnets is this fragment of a line that contains the highest + possible truth: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Conscience is born of love." +</pre> + <p> + If man were incapable of suffering, the words right and wrong never could + have been spoken. If man were destitute of imagination, the flower of pity + never could have blossomed in his heart. + </p> + <p> + We suffer—we cause others to suffer—those that we love—and + of this fact conscience is born. + </p> + <p> + Love is the many-colored flame that makes the fireside of the heart. It is + the mingled spring and autumn—the perfect climate of the soul. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + IN the realm of comparison Shakespeare seems to have exhausted the + relations, parallels and similitudes of things, He only could have said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tedious as a twice-told tale + Vexing the ears of a drowsy man." + + "Duller than a great thaw. + Dry as the remainder biscuit after a voyage." +</pre> + <p> + In the words of Ulysses, spoken to Achilles, we find the most wonderful + collection of pictures and comparisons ever compressed within the same + number of lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, + Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,— + A great-sized monster of ingratitudes— + Those scraps are good deeds passed; which are devoured + As fast as they are made, forgot as soon + As done; perseverance, dear my lord, + Keeps honor bright: to have done is to hang + Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. + + "Take the instant way; + For honor travels in a strait so narrow + Where one but goes abreast; keep then the path; + For emulation hath a thousand sons + That one by one pursue; if you give way, + Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, + Like to an entered tide, they all rush by + And leave you hindmost: + Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, + Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, + O'errun and trampled on: then what they do in present, + Tho' less than yours in past, must o' ertop yours; + For time is like a fashionable host + That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, + And with his arms outstretched as he would fly, + Grasps in the comer: + Welcome ever smiles, + And Farewell goes out sighing." +</pre> + <p> + So the words of Cleopatra, when Charmain speaks: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Peace, peace: + Dost thou not see my baby at my breast + That sucks the nurse asleep?" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + NOTHING is more difficult than a definition—a crystallization of + thought so perfect that it emits light. Shakespeare says of suicide: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "It is great to do that thing + That ends all other deeds, + Which shackles accident, and bolts up change." +</pre> + <p> + He defines drama to be: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Turning the accomplishments of many years + Into an hour glass." +</pre> + <p> + Of death: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This sensible warm motion to become a kneaded clod, + To lie in cold obstruction and to rot." +</pre> + <p> + Of memory: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The warder of the brain." +</pre> + <p> + Of the body: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This muddy vesture of decay." +</pre> + <p> + And he declares that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Our little life is rounded with a sleep." +</pre> + <p> + He speaks of Echo as: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The babbling gossip of the air"— +</pre> + <p> + Romeo, addressing the poison that he is about to take, says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Come, bitter conduct, come unsavory guide, + Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on + The dashing rocks thy sea-sick, weary bark." +</pre> + <p> + He describes the world as + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This bank and shoal of time." +</pre> + <p> + He says of rumor— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "That it doubles, like the voice and echo." +</pre> + <p> + It would take days to call attention to the perfect definitions, + comparisons and generalizations of Shakespeare. He gave us the deeper + meanings of our words—taught us the art of speech. He was the lord + of language—master of expression and compression. + </p> + <p> + He put the greatest thoughts into the shortest words—made the poor + rich and the common royal. + </p> + <p> + Production enriched his brain. Nothing exhausted him. The moment his + attention was called to any subject—comparisons, definitions, + metaphors and generalizations filled his mind and begged for utterance. + His thoughts like bees robbed every blossom in the world, and then with + "merry march" brought the rich booty home "to the tent royal of their + emperor." + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare was the confidant of Nature. To him she opened her "infinite + book of secrecy," and in his brain were "the hatch and brood of time." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + THERE is in Shakespeare the mingling of laughter and tears, humor and + pathos. Humor is the rose, wit the thorn. Wit is a crystallization, humor + an efflorescence. Wit comes from the brain, humor from the heart. Wit is + the lightning of the soul. + </p> + <p> + In Shakespeare's nature was the climate of humor. He saw and felt the + sunny side even of the saddest things. "You have seen sunshine and rain at + once." So Shakespeare's tears fell oft upon his smiles. In moments of + peril—on the very darkness of death—there comes a touch of + humor that falls like a fleck of sunshine. + </p> + <p> + Gonzalo, when the ship is about to sink, having seen the boatswain, + exclaims: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I have great comfort from this fellow; + Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; + His complexion is perfect gallows." +</pre> + <p> + Shakespeare is filled with the strange contrasts of grief and laughter. + While poor Hero is supposed to be dead—wrapped in the shroud of + dishonor—Dogberry and Verges unconsciously put again the wedding + wreath upon her pure brow. + </p> + <p> + The soliloquy of Launcelot—great as Hamlet's—offsets the + bitter and burning words of Shylock. + </p> + <p> + There is only time to speak of Maria in "Twelfth Night," of Autolycus in + the "Winter's Tale," of the parallel drawn by Fluellen between Alexander + of Macedon and Harry of Monmouth, or of the marvellous humor of Falstaff, + who never had the faintest thought of right or wrong—or of Mercutio, + that embodiment of wit and humor—for of the grave-diggers who + lamented that "great folk should have countenance in this world to drown + and hang themselves, more than their even Christian," and who reached the + generalization that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "the gallows does well because it does well to those who do ill." +</pre> + <p> + There is also an example of grim humor—an example without a parallel + in literature, so far as I know. Hamlet having killed Polonius is asked: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Where's Polonais?" + "At supper." + "At supper! where?" + "Not where he eats, but where he is eaten." +</pre> + <p> + Above all others, Shakespeare appreciated the pathos of situation. + </p> + <p> + Nothing is more pathetic than the last scene in "Lear." No one has ever + bent above his dead who did not feel the words uttered by the mad king,—words + born of a despair deeper than tears: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Oh, that a horse, a dog, a rat hath life + And thou no breath!" +</pre> + <p> + So Iago, after he has been wounded, says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I bleed, sir; but not killed." +</pre> + <p> + And Othello answers from the wreck and shattered remnant of his life: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I would have thee live; + For in my sense it is happiness to die." +</pre> + <p> + When Troilus finds Cressida has been false, he cries: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Let it not be believed for womanhood; + Think! we had mothers." +</pre> + <p> + Ophelia, in her madness, "the sweet bells jangled out o' tune," says + softly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I would give you some violets; + But they withered all when my father died." +</pre> + <p> + When Macbeth has reaped the harvest, the seeds of which were sown by his + murderous hand, he exclaims,—and what could be more pitiful? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I 'gin to be aweary of the sun." +</pre> + <p> + Richard the Second feels how small a thing it is to be, or to have been, a + king, or to receive honors before or after power is lost; and so, of those + who stood uncovered before him, he asks this piteous question: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I live with bread, like you; feel want, + Taste grief, need friends; subjected thus, + How can you say to me I am a king?" +</pre> + <p> + Think of the salutation of Antony to the dead Cæsar: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth." +</pre> + <p> + When Pisanio informs Imogen that he had been ordered by Posthumus to + murder her, she bares her neck and cries: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The lamb entreats the butcher: + Where is thy knife? + Thou art too slow + To do thy master's bidding when I desire it." +</pre> + <p> + Antony, as the last drops are falling from his self-inflicted wound, + utters with his dying breath to Cleopatra, this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I here importune death awhile, until + Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips." +</pre> + <p> + To me, the last words of Hamlet are full of pathos: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I die, Horatio. + The potent poison quite o'er crows my spirit * * * + The rest is silence." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + SOME have insisted that Shakespeare must have been a physician, for the + reason that he shows such knowledge of medicine—of the symptoms of + disease and death—was so familiar with the brain, and with insanity + in all its forms. + </p> + <p> + I do not think he was a physician. He knew too much—his + generalizations were too splendid. He had none of the prejudices of that + profession in his time. We might as well say that he was a musician, a + composer, because we find in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" nearly every + musical term known in Shakespeare's time. + </p> + <p> + Others maintain that he was a lawyer, perfectly acquainted with the forms, + with the expressions familiar to that profession—yet there is + nothing to show that he was a lawyer, or that he knew more about law than + any intelligent man should know. + </p> + <p> + He was not a lawyer. His sense of justice was never dulled by reading + English law. + </p> + <p> + Some think that he was a botanist, because he named nearly all known + plants. Others, that he was an astronomer, a naturalist, because he gave + hints and suggestions of nearly all discoveries. + </p> + <p> + Some have thought that he must have been a sailor, for the reason that the + orders given in the opening of "The Tempest" were the best that could, + under the circumstances, have been given to save the ship. + </p> + <p> + For my part, I think there is nothing in the plays to show that he was a + lawyer, doctor, botanist or scientist. He had the observant eyes that + really see, the ears that really hear, the brain that retains all + pictures, all thoughts, logic as unerring as light, the imagination that + supplies defects and builds the perfect from a fragment. And these + faculties, these aptitudes, working together, account for what he did. + </p> + <p> + He exceeded all the sons of men in the splendor of his imagination. To him + the whole world paid tribute, and nature poured her treasures at his feet. + In him all races lived again, and even those to be were pictured in his + brain. + </p> + <p> + He was a man of imagination—that is to say, of genius, and having + seen a leaf, and a drop of water, he could construct the forests, the + rivers, and the seas—and in his presence all the cataracts would + fall and foam, the mists rise, the clouds form and float. + </p> + <p> + If Shakespeare knew one fact, he knew its kindred and its neighbors. + Looking at a coat of mail, he instantly imagined the society, the + conditions, that produced it and what it, in turn, produced. He saw the + castle, the moat, the draw-bridge, the lady in the tower, and the knightly + lover spurring across the plain. He saw the bold baron and the rude + retainer, the trampled serf, and all the glory and the grief of feudal + life. + </p> + <p> + He lived the life of all. + </p> + <p> + He was a citizen of Athens in the days of Pericles. He listened to the + eager eloquence of the great orators, and sat upon the cliffs, and with + the tragic poet heard "the multitudinous laughter of the sea." He saw + Socrates thrust the spear of question through the shield and heart of + falsehood. He was present when the great man drank hemlock, and met the + night of death, tranquil as a star meets morning. He listened to the + peripatetic philosophers, and was unpuzzled by the sophists. He watched + Phidias as he chiseled shapeless stone to forms of love and awe. + </p> + <p> + He lived by the mysterious Nile, amid the vast and monstrous. He knew the + very thought that wrought the form and features of the Sphinx. He heard + great Memnon's morning song when marble lips were smitten by the sun. He + laid him down with the embalmed and waiting dead, and felt within their + dust the expectation of another life, mingled with cold and suffocating + doubts—the children born of long delay. + </p> + <p> + He walked the ways of mighty Rome, and saw great Cæsar with his legions in + the field. He stood with vast and motley throngs and watched the triumphs + given to victorious men, followed by uncrowned kings, the captured hosts, + and all the spoils of ruthless war. He heard the shout that shook the + Coliseums roofless walls, when from the reeling gladiator's hand the short + sword fell, while from his bosom gushed the stream of wasted life. + </p> + <p> + He lived the life of savage men. He trod the forests' silent depths, and + in the desperate game of life or death he matched his thought against the + instinct of the beast. + </p> + <p> + He knew all crimes and all regrets, all virtues and their rich rewards. He + was victim and victor, pursuer and pursued, outcast and king. He heard the + applause and curses of the world, and on his heart had fallen all the + nights and noons of failure and success. + </p> + <p> + He knew the unspoken thoughts, the dumb desires, the wants and ways of + beasts. He felt the crouching tigers thrill, the terror of the ambushed + prey, and with the eagles he had shared the ecstasy of flight and poise + and swoop, and he had lain with sluggish serpents on the barren rocks + uncoiling slowly in the heat of noon. + </p> + <p> + He sat beneath the bo-tree's contemplative shade, wrapped in Buddha's + mighty thought, and dreamed all dreams that light, the alchemist, has + wrought from dust and dew, and stored within the slumbrous poppy's subtle + blood. + </p> + <p> + He knelt with awe and dread at every shrine—he offered every + sacrifice, and every prayer—felt the consolation and the shuddering + fear—mocked and worshipped all the gods—enjoyed all heavens, + and felt the pangs of every hell. + </p> + <p> + He lived all lives, and through his blood and brain there crept the shadow + and the chill of every death, and his soul, like Mazeppa, was lashed naked + to the wild horse of every fear and love and hate. + </p> + <p> + The Imagination had a stage in Shakespeare's brain, whereon were set all + scenes that lie between the morn of laughter and the night of tears, and + where his players bodied forth the false and true, the joys and griefs, + the careless shallows and the tragic deeps of universal life. + </p> + <p> + From Shakespeare's brain there poured a Niagara of gems spanned by Fancy's + seven-hued arch. He was as many-sided as clouds are many-formed. To him + giving was hoarding—sowing was harvest—and waste itself the + source of wealth. Within his marvellous mind were the fruits of all + thought past, the seeds of all to be. As a drop of dew contains the image + of the earth and sky, so all there is of life was mirrored forth in + Shakespeare's brain. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare was an intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores + of thought; within which were all the tides and waves of destiny and will; + over which swept all the storms of fate, ambition and revenge; upon which + fell the gloom and darkness of despair and death and all the sunlight of + content and love, and within which was the inverted sky lit with the + eternal stars—an intellectual ocean—towards which all rivers + ran, and from which now the isles and continents of thought receive their + dew and rain. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare, by Robert G. 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