diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54165-0.txt | 8883 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54165-0.zip | bin | 206390 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54165-h.zip | bin | 387282 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54165-h/54165-h.htm | 9905 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54165-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 158943 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 17 insertions, 18788 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aed784f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54165 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54165) diff --git a/old/54165-0.txt b/old/54165-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1cc766f..0000000 --- a/old/54165-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8883 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille, by Benedetto Croce - -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/license - - -Title: Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille - -Author: Benedetto Croce - -Translator: Douglas Ainslie - -Release Date: February 15, 2017 [EBook #54165] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE, CORNEILLE *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (back online -soon in an extended version, also linking to free sources -for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational -materials,...) (Images generously made available by the -Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE AND CORNEILLE - -BY - -BENEDETTO CROCE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -DOUGLAS AINSLIE - - -RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.I -LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN, LTD. - -1920 - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE - - -Evviva L'Italia! Italy, Britain's ancient friend and loyal ally, has -been an important factor both in winning the war and in bringing it to -an earlier conclusion. The War! That greatest practical effort that -the world has ever made is now over and we must all work to make it a -better place for all to live in. - -Now at the hands of her philosopher-critic, Italy offers us a first -effort at reconstruction of our world-view with this masterly treatise -on the greatest poet of the English-speaking world, so original and so -profound that it will serve as guide to generations yet unborn. And it -will not be only the critics of Shakespeare who should benefit by this -treatise, but all critics and lovers of poetry--including prose--who -go beyond the passive stage of mere admiration. The essays on Ariosto -and Corneille are also unique and the three together should inaugurate -everywhere a new era in literary criticism. - -These are the first of Benedetto Croce's literary criticisms to see the -light in English. - -They are profound and suggestive, because based upon theory, the -_Theory of Aesthetic,_ with which some readers will be acquainted in -the original, others in the version by the present translator. These -will not need to be told that Croce's theory of the independence and -autonomy of the aesthetic fact, which is intuition-expression, and of -the essentially lyrical character of all art, is the only one that -completely and satisfactorily explains the problem of poetry and the -fine arts. - -But this is not the place for philosophical discussion, although -it is important to stress the point, that all criticism is based -upon philosophy, and that therefore if the philosophy upon which it -is based is unsound, the criticism suffers accordingly. Croce has -elsewhere shown that the shortcomings of such critics as Sainte-Beuve, -Taine, Lemaître and Brunetière are due to incorrect or insufficient -philosophical knowledge and a similar criterion can be applied at home -with equal truth. - -The translator will be satisfied if the present version receives equal -praise from the author with that accorded to the four translations of -the Philosophy into English, which Croce has often declared to come -more near to his spirit than those in any other language--and he has -been translated into all the great European languages--the _Aesthetic_ -even into Japanese. The object adhered to in this translation has been -as close a cleaving as possible to the original, while preserving a -completely idiomatic style and remaining free from all pedantry. - -A translation should not in any case be taken as a pouring from the -golden into the silver vessel, as used to be erroneously supposed, for -Croce has proved that in so far as the translator rethinks the original -he is himself a creator. This explains why so many writers have been -addicted to translation--in English we have Pope, Fitzgerald, Rossetti, -to name but three of many--and the author of the Philosophy of the -Spirit, Croce himself, has published a splendid Italian version of -Hegel's _Encyclopaedia of the Philosophic Sciences._ - -DOUGLAS AINSLIE. - - The Athenaeum, - Pall Mall, London, - October, 1920. - - - -CONTENTS - -PART I - -LUDOVICO ARIOSTO - - I A CRITICAL PROBLEM - II THE LIFE OF THE AFFECTIONS IN ARIOSTO, AND THE HEART OF HIS HEART - III THE HIGHEST LOVE: HARMONY - IV THE MATERIAL FOR THE HARMONY - V THE REALISATION OF HARMONY - VI HISTORICAL DISASSOCIATIONS - -PART II - -WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE - - VII THE PRACTICAL PERSONALITY AND THE POETICAL PERSONALITY - VIII SHAKESPEAREAN SENTIMENT - IX MOTIVES AND DEVELOPMENT OF SHAKESPEARE'S POETRY - X THE ART OF SHAKESPEARE - XI SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM - XII SHAKESPEARE AND OURSELVES - -PART III - -PIERRE CORNEILLE - - XIII CRITICISM OF THE CRITICISM - XIV THE IDEAL OF CORNEILLE - XV THE MECHANISM OF THE CORNELIAN TRAGEDY - XVI THE POETRY OF CORNEILLE - -INDEX - - - - -PART I - -LUDOVICO ARIOSTO - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -A CRITICAL PROBLEM[1] - - -The fortune of the _Orlando Furioso_ may be compared to that of a -graceful, smiling woman, whom all look upon with pleasure, without -experiencing any intellectual embarrassment or perplexity, since it -suffices to have eyes and to direct them to the pleasing object, in -order to admire. Crystal clear as is the poem, polished in every -particular, easily to be understood by whomsoever possesses general -culture, it has never presented serious difficulties of interpretation, -and for that reason has not needed the industry of the commentators, -and has not been injured by their quarrelsome subtleties; nor has it -been subject, more than to a very slight extent, to the intermittences -from which other notable poetical works have suffered, owing to the -varying conditions of culture at different times. Great men and -ordinary readers have been in as complete agreement about it, as, for -instance, about the beauty, let us say, of a Madame Récamier; and -the list of great men, who have experienced its fascination, goes -from Machiavelli and the Galilei, to Voltaire and to Goethe, without -mentioning names more near to our own time. - -Yet, however unanimous, simple and unrestrainable be the aesthetic -approbation accorded to the poem of Ariosto, the critical judgments -delivered upon it are just as discordant, complicated and laboured; -and indeed this is one of those cases where the difference of the two -spiritual moments, intuitive or aesthetic, the apprehension or tasting -of the work of art, and intellective, the critical and historical -judgment,--a difference wrongly disputed from one point of view by -sensationalists and from another by intellectualists,--stands out so -clearly as to seem to be almost spatially divided, so that one can -touch it with one's hand. Anyone can easily read and live again the -octaves of Ariosto, caressing them with voice and imagination, as -though passionately in love; but to say whence comes that particular -form of enchantment, to determine that is to say, the character of -the inspiration that moved Ariosto, his dominant poetical motive, -the peculiar effect which became poetry in him, is a very different -undertaking and one of no small difficulty. - -The question has tormented the critics from the time when literary -and historical criticism acquired individual prominence and energy, -that is to say at the origin of romantic aestheticism, when works of -art were no longer examined in parts separated from the whole, or in -their external outline, but in the spirit that animated them. Yet we -must not think that earlier times were without all suspicion of this, -for an uncertain suggestion of it is to be found even in the eccentric -enquiries, as to whether the _Furioso_ be a moral poem or not, or -whether it should be looked upon as serious or playful. But intellects -such as Schiller and Goethe, Humboldt and Schelling, Hegel, Ranke, -Gioberti, Quinet and De Sanctis, treated or touched upon it in the last -century, and very many others during and after their times, and the -theme has again been taken up with renewed keenness, in dissertations, -memoirs and articles, some of them foreign, but mostly Italian. - -Many of the problems or formulas of problems, which one at one time -critically discussed have been allowed to disappear, like cast-off -clothes as the results of the new conception of art: that is to say, -not only those we have mentioned, as to whether the _Furioso_ were or -were not an epic, whether it were serious or comic, but also a throng -of other problems, such as whether it possessed unity of action, a -protagonist or hero, whether its episodes were linked to the action, -whether it maintained the dignity of history, whether it afforded -an allegory, and if so, of what sort, whether it obeyed the laws of -modesty and morality, or followed good examples, whether it could be -credited with invention, and if so in what measure, whether it were -finer than the _Gerusalemme_ or less fine, and as to what it was finer -or less fine; and so on. All these problems have become obsolete, -because they have been solved in the only suitable way, that is to -say, they have been shown to be fallacious in their theoretical terms; -and to say that they are obsolete does not mean that there have not -been some, both in the nineteenth century and at the present time, -who have set to work to solve them, and have arrived at unfortunate -conclusions in different ways. The unity of action of the _Furioso_ -has also been investigated and determined (by Panizzi, for example, -and by Carducci); its immorality has also been blamed (by Cantù, for -instance); the book of the debts of Ariosto to his predecessors has -been re-opened and charged with so very many figures on the debit side -that the final balance-sheet of credit and debit presents an enormous -deficit (Rajna); the comparison with examples from prototypes under -the name of _"Evolutionary History of Romantic Chivalry,"_ in which -the _Furioso,_ according to some, does not represent the summit, but -rather a deviation and decadence from the ideal prototype (Rajna -again); according to others, the _Furioso_ gave final and perfect form -to "The French Epic of Germanic Heroes" (Morf); allegory, contained in -a moral judgment as to Italian life at the time of the Renaissance, -lost in its pursuit of love, like the Christian and Saracen knights in -their pursuit of Angelica (Canello). But whether in their primitive or -in their more modern forms these problems are obsolete, for us who -are aware of the mistakes and errors in aesthetic, from which they -arise; and others of more recent date must also be held obsolete with -these, such theories as these for instance (to quote one of them) which -undertake to study the _Furioso_ in its "formation," understanding by -formation the literary presuppositions of its various parts, beginning -with the title. Decorated with the name of _Scientific Study,_ this is -mere inconclusive or ill-conclusive philology. - -The work of modern criticism does not restrict itself to the clearing -away of these idle and unnecessary enquiries, but also includes a -varied and thorough investigation into the poetry of Ariosto, whose -every aspect we may claim to have illuminated in turn, and to have -given all the solutions as to the true character of the problem that -can be suggested. And it almost seems now that anyone who wishes -to form an idea upon the subject needs but select from the various -existing solutions, that one which shows itself to be clearly superior -to all others, owing to its being supported by the most valid -arguments, after he has possessed himself of the critical literature -relating to Ariosto. It seems impossible to suggest a new solution, -and as though the argument were one of those of which it may be said -that "there is no hope of finding anything new in connection with it." - -And this is very nearly true, but only very nearly, for a -non-superficial examination of those various solutions leads to -the result that none of them is valid in the way it is presented, -that is to say, with the arguments that support it. It is therefore -advisable to indicate some of these arguments, which have already been -given, and to deduce from them other consequences, though we may not -succeed in framing others which shall shine with amazing novelty. But -upon consideration, this will be nothing less than providing a new -solution, just because the problem has been differently presented and -differently argued: a novelty of that serious sort which is a step -forward upon what has already been observed and acquired, not that sort -of extravagant novelty agreeable to false originality and to sterile -subtlety. - -There are two fundamental types of reply to the question as to the -character of Ariosto's poetry; of these the more important is the -first, either because, as will be seen, really here near to the truth, -or because supported with the supreme authority of De Sanctis. Prior -to De Sanctis, it is only to be vaguely discerned as suggested by the -eighteenth century writer, Sulzer, and more clearly in the German -aesthetic writer, Vischer; it was afterwards repeated, prevailed and -was accepted, among others by Carducci. According to De Sanctis and -to his precursors and followers, in the _Furioso_ Ariosto has no -subjective content to express, no sentimental or passionate motive, -no idea become sentiment or passion, but pursues the sole end of art, -singing for singing's sake, representing for representation's sake, -elaborating pure form, and satisfying the one end of realising his own -dreams. - -This affirmation is not to be taken in a general sense, the words in -which it is formulated must not be construed literally, for in that -case it would be easy to raise the reasonable objection, that not only -Ariosto, but every artist, just because he is an artist, never has any -end but that of art, of singing for singing's sake, representing for -representation's sake, of elaborating pure form, and of satisfying -the need that he feels to realise his own dreams: woe to the artist, -who has an eye to any other ends, and tries to teach, to persuade, -to shock, to move, to make a hit or an effect, or anything else -extraneous to art. The theory of art for art, opposed by many, is -incontestable from this point of view, it is indeed indubitable and -altogether obvious. The critics who attribute that end as a character -of Ariosto's poetry, mean rather to affirm, that the author of the -_Furioso_ proceeded in his own individual proper manner with respect -to other poets; and they then proceed to determine their thoughts upon -the subject in two ways, differing somewhat from one another. Both of -these are to be found mingled and confused in the pages of De Sanctis. -Ariosto is held to have allowed to pass in defile within him the chain -of romantic figures of knights and ladies and the stories of their arms -and audacious undertakings, of their loves and their love-making, with -the one object of _delighting the imagination._ Ariosto is held to have -depicted that various human world without interposing anything between -himself and things, without reflecting himself in things, without -sinking them in himself or in his own feelings. He is held to have -been solely an _objective observer._ Now, taking the first case, that -is to say, if the work of Ariosto be really resolved into a plaything -of the imagination, although he might have pleased himself by doing -something agreeable to himself and to others, yet he would not have -been a poet, "the divine Ariosto," because the pleasure of the fancy -belongs to the order of practical acts, to what are called games or -diversion. And in the second case, when he has been praised for being -perfectly objective, this is not only at variance with the actual -creation of the poet, but is also in contradiction to it--and indeed -in contradiction to every form of spiritual production. As though -things existed outside the spirit and it were possible to take them up -in their supposed objectivity and to externalise them by putting them -on paper or canvas. The theory of art for art, when taken as a theory -of merely fanciful pleasure or of indifferent objective reproduction -of things, should be firmly rejected, because it is at variance with -and contradicts the nature of art and of the universal spirit. At the -most, these two paradigms,--art as mere fancy and art as extrinsic -objectivity,--might be of avail as designating two artistic forms of -deficiency and ugliness, _futile_ art and _material_ art, that is to -say, in both cases, non-art; and in like manner the theory of art for -art's sake would in those cases be the definition of one or more forms -of artistic perversion. - -Owing to the impossibility of denying to Ariosto any content, and -at the same time of enjoying him and of acclaiming him a poet,--an -impossibility more or less obscurely felt by some, although without -discovering and demonstrating it as has been done above,--it has -come about that not only other critics, but those very critics who, -like De Sanctis, had described him as a poet of pure fancy or pure -objectivity, have been led to recognise in him a content, and sometimes -several contents, one upon the top of the other, in a heap. One of -such contents, perhaps that most generally admitted, is without doubt -the _dissolution of the world of chivalry,_ brought about by Ariosto -through irony: a historical position conferred upon him by Hegel, and -amply illustrated by De Sanctis. But what do they mean by saying that -Ariosto expresses the dissolution of the world of chivalry? Certainly -not simply that in his poem are to be found documents concerning -the passing of the ideals of chivalry, because whether this be true -or not, it does not concern the concrete artistic form, but its -abstract material, considered and treated as a source of historical -documentation. Nor can it mean that he was inspired with aversion to -the ideals of chivalry and in favour of new ideals, because polemic -and criticism, negation and affirmation, are not art. So what was -really meant was (although those who maintain this interpretation often -understand it in one or other of those meanings, which are external to -art), that Ariosto was animated with a true and real feeling toward -the ideals of the life of chivalry, and that this feeling supplied -the lyrical motive for his poem. This motive has been disputed in -its details in various ways, some holding it to have been aversion, -others a mixture of aversion and of love, others of admiration and of -pleasure; but before we engage in further investigation, we must first -ascertain if there exist, that is to say, if Ariosto really endowed -with his own feeling--whatever it be, prevailing aversion or prevailing -inclination or a prevalent alternation of the two,--the material of -chivalry, rendering it serious and emotional, through the seriousness -and emotion of his own feeling. And this does not exist at all, for -what all feel and see as chivalry in Ariosto's mode of treatment, is -on the contrary a sort of aloofness and superiority, owing to which -he never engages himself up to the hilt in admiration or in scorn or -in passionate disagreement with one or the other; and this impression -which his narratives of sieges and combats, of duels and feats of -arms produce upon us, has afforded the ground for the above-mentioned -opposed theories as to his objective attitude and as to his cultivation -of a mere pastime of the imagination. Had Ariosto really aimed, as is -said, at an exaltation or a semi-exaltation or at an ironisation of -chivalry, he would clearly have missed the mark, and this failure would -have been the failure of his art. - -What has been remarked concerning the content of chivalry is to be -repeated for all the other contents which have been proposed in turn, -each one or all of them together as the true and proper leading -motive; and of these (leaving out the least likely, because we are -not here concerned with collecting curious trifles of Ariostesque -criticism, but are resuming the essential lines of this criticism -with the intention of cutting into it more deeply and with greater -certainty), the next thing to mention, immediately after chivalrous -ideality or anti-ideality, is the philosophy of life, the _wisdom,_ -which Ariosto is supposed to have administered and counselled. This -wisdom is supposed to have embraced love, friendship, politics, -religion, public and private life, and to have been directed with -great moderation and good sense, noble without fanaticism, courageous -and patient, dignified and modest. We admit that these things are to -be found in the _Furioso,_ just as chivalrous things are to be found -there also; but they are there in almost the same way, that is to -say, with the not doubtful accent of aloofness and remoteness, which -at once places a great chasm between Ariosto and the true poets of -wisdom, such as were for instance, Manzoni and Goethe. The latter of -these, in the fine verses (of the _Tasso)_ in praise of Ariosto,--who -is held to have there draped in the garb of fable all that can render -man dear and honoured, to have exhibited experience, intelligence, -good taste, the pure sense of good, as living persons, crowned with -roses and surrounded with a magic winged presence of Amorini,--somewhat -transfigured the subject of his eulogy, by approaching him to himself: -although, as we perceive from the images that he employed, it did not -escape him that in the case of the lovable singer of the _Furioso,_ -the wisdom was covered, and as it were smothered beneath a cloud -of many coloured flowers. Thus the two principal solutions hitherto -given of the critical problem presented by Ariosto, the only two which -appear thinkable,--that the _Furioso_ has no content; that it has this -or that content,--each finds countenance in the other and arguments -in its favour. This means that they confute one another in turn. And -since it is impossible that there should be no content in Ariosto, -and on the other hand, since all those to which attention was first -directed (admiration or contempt of chivalry, wisdom of life) turn out -to be without existence, it is clear that there is no way out of the -difficulty, save that of seeking another content, and such an one as -shall show how the truth has been improperly symbolised in the formulas -of "mere imagination," of "indifferent objectivity" and of "art for -art's sake." - - -[Footnote 1: In the preparation of this essay, I believe that I have -examined all, or almost all, the literature of erudition and criticism, -old and new, in connection with Ariosto; this will not escape the -expert reader, although particular discussions and quotation of -titles and pages of books have seemed to me to be superfluous on this -occasion. But in judging this work, the reader should have present -in his mind above all the chapter of De Sanctis on the _Furioso_ -(illustrated with fragments from his lectures at Zurich upon the poetry -of chivalry), which forms the point of departure for these later -investigations and conclusions.] - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -THE LIFE OF THE AFFECTIONS IN ARIOSTO, - -AND THE HEART OF HIS HEART - - -Ariosto had ordinary emotional experiences in life, and this has -been shown to be true, not so much through the biographies of his -contemporaries and documents which have later come to light, as -through his own words, because he took great pleasure, if not exactly -in confessing himself, at any rate in giving vent to his feelings. -It is well known that he was without profound intellectual passions, -religious or political, free from longing for riches and honours, -simple and frugal in his mode of life, seeking above all things peace -and tranquillity and freedom to follow his own imagination, to give -himself over to the studies that he loved. Rarely or only for brief -spaces of time was it given to him to live in his own way, owing to -the necessity, always on his shoulders, for providing for his younger -brothers and sisters and for his mother, and also the necessity -of obtaining bread for himself. All these circumstances together -constrained him to undertake the hard work and the annoyances of a -court life. He was admirable in the fulfilment of family duties, -perfectly honest and reliable on every occasion, full of good, just and -generous sentiments, and therefore the recipient of universal esteem -and confidence. Owing to reasons connected with his office, he was -obliged to associate with greedy, violent, unscrupulous men, but he -did not allow himself to be stained by their contact, preserving the -attitude of an honest employee towards his patrons, attentive to the -formal duties with which he was charged. He is discreet, but pure and -dignified, refraining from taking part whatever in the secret plots and -machinations of those whose orders he obeys. He was thus enabled to -carry out the instructions of his superiors, whom he regarded solely -as filling a certain lofty rank, idealising them in conformity with -their rank, praising them, that is to say, for their attainments, -their ability and their noble undertakings, either because they really -possessed them and really accomplished the things for which he praised -them, or because they should have possessed them and accomplished the -feats in question, as attributes inherent to their social station. - -Among these duties and labours one single passion ran like an ever warm -stream through his brain: love, or rather the need of woman's society, -to have with him a beloved woman, to enjoy her beauty, her laughter, -her speech: and although he frequently alludes to this passion, it -is as one ashamed of a weakness, but aware that he can by no means -dispense with the sweetness that it procures for him and which is a -vital element of his being. But even his love for woman, however strong -it may have been, found its correct framework in his idyllic ideal and -in his reflective and temperate spirit: it contained nothing of the -fantastic, the adventurous, the Donjuanesque; and after the customary -evil and evanescent adventures of youth, he took refuge in her "for -whom he trembled with amorous zeal" and (as his friend Hercules -Bentivoglio tells us in verse): in that Alexandra, who was his friend -for twenty years, and finally his more or less legal wife. United to -his desire for quietude, there was thus a potent stimulus not to remove -himself at all, or if at all, then as little as possible, from her -who was warmth and comfort for him, and to whom he clung like a child -to the bosom of its mother. His latter years, in which, recalled from -his severe sojourn at Garfagnana, he occupied himself with correcting -his poems at Ferrara, with the woman he loved at his side, were perhaps -the happiest he knew; and he passed away in that peace for which he had -sighed, ere attaining to old age. - -Such tendencies of soul and the life which resulted from them, have -sometimes been admired and envied, as for instance by the sixteenth -century English translator of the _Furioso,_ Harrington. After having -described them, and having disclaimed certain sins, indeed as he said, -the single _pecadillo of love,_ he concludes with a sigh: "_Sic me -contingat vivere, Sicque mori._" Sometimes too they have been looked -upon from above and almost with compassion, as by De Sanctis and -others, who have insisted upon the negative aspects of the character -of Ariosto. These negative aspects are however nothing but the -limits, which are found in everyone, for we are not all capable of -everything; and really Italian critics, especially in the period of the -Risorgimento, were often wrong in laying down as a single measure for -everyone, civil, political, patriotic, religious, excellence, forgetful -that judgment of an individual's character should depend upon his -natural disposition, his temperament. Certainly, the life of Ariosto -was not rich and intense, nor does it present important problems in -respect of social and moral history; and the industry of the learned, -although it has been able to increase its collections and conjectures -as to his economic and family conditions, as to his official duties -as courtier, as ambassador and administrator for the Duke of Ferrara, -as to his loves and as to the names and persons of the women whom he -loved, as to the house which he built and inhabited, and other similar -particulars, anecdotes and curiosities concerning him (the collection -of which shows with how much religion or superstition a great man is -surrounded, and also sometimes the futility of the searcher), has not -added anything substantial to what the poet tells us himself, far less -has been able to furnish materials for a really new biography, which -should be at once profound and dramatic. - -Nevertheless, such as it was, the life of a good and of a poor man, -of one tenaciously devoted to love and poetry, it found literary -expression in the minor works of the author: in the Latin songs, in the -Italian verses, and in the satires. - -In saying this, we shall set aside the comedies, which seem to be the -most important of those minor works and are notwithstanding the least -significant, so that they might be almost excluded from the history -of his poetical development, connected rather with his doings as a -courtier, as an arranger of spectacles and plays, for which purpose he -decided to imitate the Latin comedy, for he did not believe there was -anything new to be done in that field, since the Latins had already -imitated the Greeks. No doubt Ariosto's comedies stand for an important -date in the history of the Italian theatre and of the Latin imitation -which prevailed there, that is to say, the history of culture, but not -in that of poetry. There they are mute. They are works of adaptation -and combination, and therefore executed with effort; there is nothing -new, even about their form, and a proof of this is that Ariosto, after -he had made a first attempt to write them in prose, finally put them -into monotonous and tiresome ante-penultimate hendecasyllabics, which -have never pleased anyone's ear, because they were not born, but -constructed according to design, with evident artifice and with a view -to giving to Italy the metre of comedy, analogous to the Roman iambic. -Whoever (to cite an instance from the same period and "style") calls -to memory the _Mandragola_ of Machiavelli, instinct with the energetic -spirit, the bitter disdain of the great thinker, or even the sketches -thrown upon paper anyhow by the ne'er-do-well Pietro Aretino, is at -once sensible of the difference between dead ability and living force, -or at any rate careless vigour. Nor does the dead material come alive, -as some easily contented critics maintain, from the fact that Ariosto -introduced, especially into the later of those comedies, allusions to -persons, places and customs of Ferrara, or satirical gibes at the vices -of the time; all these things are light as straws and quite indifferent -when original inspiration lacks, as in the present case. - -On the other hand, there are many pure and spontaneous parts in the -minor works: even the imitations of Horace, of Catullus, of Tibullus -in the Latin poems, do not produce a sense of coldness, because we -feel that they are inspired with devotion of the humanists for the -Latins, for "my Latins," as he affectionately called them; and the -heart of the poet often beats with theirs, whether he be lamenting -the death of a friend and companion, or drawing the portrait of some -fair lady, or describing the delights of the country, or inveighing -against some treacherous and venal woman. In like manner, we observe -some fine traits of lofty emotion among the Italian poems, such as the -two songs for Philiberta of Savoy; and the true accents of his love -find their way to utterance among the Petrarchan, the madrigalesque and -the courtly qualities of others. Such is the song celebrating their -first meeting, in which he records the Florentine _festa,_ where he -saw her who was to become his mistress, and who immediately occupied a -place above all other women in his eyes, her whose fair, dense hair, -as it shaded her cheeks and neck and fell upon her shoulders, whose -rich silken robe adorned with scarlet and gold, became part of his -soul; and the elegy which is an outburst of joy upon having attained -the desired felicity; and that other which records the lovers' meeting -at night; then too the chapter upon the visit to Florence, where all -the attractions of the sweet city failed to secure fer him a moment's -respite, eager as he was to return to the longed-for presence of -the loved one, whom he describes poetically in her absence as a fair -magician: - - "Oltra acque, monti, a ripa l'onda vaga - Del re de' fiumi, in bianca e pura stola, - Cantando ferma il sol la bella maga, - Che con sua vista può sanarmi sola." - -and in the sonnet which ends: - - "Ma benigne accoglienze, ma complessi - Licenziosi, ma parole sciolte - D'ogni freno, ma risi, vezzi e giuochi." - -They are often echoes of the erotic Latin poets, refreshed by the true -condition of his own spirit which, in the passion of love, never went -beyond a tender and somewhat slight degree of sensuality. It would be -vain to seek in him what he does not possess--that suave imagining, -those cosmical analogies, those moral finesses and lofty thoughts, -which are to be found in other poets of love. - -For this reason, reflections upon himself and upon the society in -which it was his fate to live, confidences about his own various ways -of feeling and the recital of his adventures, follow and accompany -the brief lyrical effusions of this eroticism. When Ariosto limits -himself to the thoughts and happenings of his daily life, it is -rather a question of narrating than creating, and the culmination -of the minor works are known as the _Satires,_ which must not be -limited to the seven which bear this title in the printed editions, -but should be extended to include other compositions of like tone and -content, to be found among the elegies and the capitals, and even -among the odes, such as the elegy _De diversis amoribus._ In all of -these, Ariosto is writing his autobiography in fragments, or rather -as a series of confidential letters to his friends, such as he did -not write in prose, at least none are to be found among those of his -that remain. These are all connected with business, dry, summary, -and written in haste, only here and there revealing the personality -of the writer; whereas, when he expressed himself in verse, he made -his own soul the subject, paying attention to the vivacity of the -representation and the precise accuracy of what he said. This is a -most pleasing versified correspondence, where we hear him lamenting, -losing patience, telling us what he wants, forming projects, refusing, -begging a favour, candidly laying bare for us his true disposition, his -lack of docility, his volubility and his caprices, discussing life -and the world, smiling at others and at himself; we converse with an -Ariosto in his dressing-gown, who experiences great pleasure and has -no compunction about showing us himself as he is, and we know how he -abhorred any sort of restraint. But these letters in verse, although -perfect in quality, vivacious and eloquent as only the writings of a -man who speaks of things that concern himself can be, yet are letters, -confessions, autobiography: they are not pure poetry; their metrical -form is to them something of a delicate pleasing whim, in harmony -with such a definition of the soul. In saying this, we do not wish -to detract in any way from their value, which is great, but only to -prevent their true character from escaping us. - -It is no marvel then if a connection, such as prevails between hills -and valleys, seems to run between these lesser works, the odes, the -verses of the satires, and the _Furioso._ It is sufficient to read -an octave or two of the poem to discover at once the difference in -altitude separating it from the most delicious of the love-songs, from -the most nimble and picturesque of the satires, which express the -feelings of the author far more directly than does the _Furioso._ -It is further to be noted that Ariosto never wished to publish, and -certainly never would have had published a great number of them, with -the exception of the comedies, even after his death, except perhaps the -satires; but since the minor works are nevertheless the expression of -his feelings in real and ordinary life, it follows that if we wish to -discover the inspiration of the _Furioso,_ the passion which informed -and gave to it its proper content, we must seek for this beyond his -ordinary life, not in the heart which we know as that of a son, a -brother, a poor man, a lover: it is something hidden yet more deeply -within him, the heart of his heart. - -That there really was a hidden affection; that Ariosto really had a -heart of his heart shut up within himself; that beyond and above the -beloved woman he worshipped another woman or goddess, with whom he -daily held religious converse, is apparent from his whole habit of -life. Why had he so lofty a disdain for practical ambitions, why was -life at court and business so wearisome to him, why did he renounce so -much, sigh so often and so often pray for leisure and rest and freedom, -save to celebrate that cult, to give himself over to that converse, -to work upon the _Furioso,_ which was its altar, or the statue which -he had sculptured for it and was perfecting with his chisel? What was -the origin of his well-known "distraction," that mind of his so aloof -from his surroundings, ever dwelling upon something else, which his -contemporaries observe and about which curious anecdotes are preserved? -His need of love and of feminine caresses did not present itself to him -as a supreme end, as with people desirous of ease and pleasure, but -seemed to him to be rather a means to an end: as though it were the -surrounding of serene joy, of tumult appeased, which he prepared for -himself and for that other more lofty love. Carducci has successfully -defined this psychological situation in his sonnet on the portrait of -Ariosto, where he says that the only longed for and accepted "prize -for his poems" was for the great dreamer "a lovely mouth--which should -appease the burning of his Apollonian brow--with kisses ..." - -The proof of the scrupulous attention which he devoted to the -_Furioso,_ is to be found in the twelve years, during which he worked -upon it in the flower of his age, "with long vigils and labours," as he -wrote to the Doge of Venice, when requesting the privilege of printing -the first edition of 1516; and in his having always returned to it, -to chisel smooth and to soften it in innumerable delicate details, -or to amplify it, or in the throwing away of five cantos, which he -had written by way of amplification, but which did not go well with -the general design, and finally failed to content him. For these he -substituted as many more, and personally superintended the edition of -1532, which also failed to content him altogether, so that he began -to work upon it again during the few months which separated him from -death. His son Virginio attests that he "was never satisfied with -his verses, that he kept changing them again and again, and for this -reason never remembered any of them ..."; and contemporaries never -cease marvelling at his diligence as a corrector and a maker of perfect -things: Giraldi Cinzio, to mention but one witness, says that after -the first edition, "not a single day passed," during sixteen years, -"that he was not occupied upon it with pen and with thought," and that -he was also desirous of obtaining the opinions and impressions of the -greatest men of letters and humanists in Italy as to every part of it, -men such as Bembo, Molza, Navagero; and as Apelles with his paintings, -Ariosto kept his work for two years "in the hall of his house, leaving -it there that it might be criticised by everyone"; and he particularly -said that he wished his critics merely to mark with a stroke of the pen -those parts which did not please them, without giving any reason for so -doing, that he might find it out for himself, and then discuss it with -them, and so arrive at a decision and a solution in his own way. He -pushed his minute delicacy of taste so far as to be preoccupied about -the choice of modes of spelling, refusing, for instance, to remove the -"h" from those words which possessed it by tradition, thus opposing the -suggestion of Tolomei and the new fashion of the illiterate crowd, by -jocosely replying that "He who removes the _h_ from _Huomo,_ does not -know _Huomo_ (man), and he who removes it from _Honore,_ is not worthy -of honour." - -What then was the passion which he thus expressed, who was the goddess, -for whom, since he could not raise a temple and a marble statue in the -little house which he longed for and built in the Via Mirasole, he -constructed the architecture, the forms and the poetical adornments of -the _Furioso? _ He never uttered her name, because none of the other -great Italian poets was so little a theorist or critic as Ariosto. He -never discussed his art or art in general, limiting himself to saying -very simply, and indeed very inadequately, that what he meant by art -was "A work containing pleasing and delightful things"; nor, as we have -seen, have the critics told us who she was, since they have at the most -indicated vaguely and indirectly in their illogical formula that "his -Goddess was Art." - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -THE HIGHEST LOVE: HARMONY - - -But we on the other hand shall name her, and we shall call her Harmony, -and we shall prove that those who assign a simple aim to Ariosto in the -_Furioso,_ Art or Pure Form, were gazing at her and seeing her as it -were through a veil of clouds. In doing this, we shall at the same time -define the concept of Harmony. We cannot avoid entering upon certain -theoretical explanations in relation to this matter; but it would be -wrong to look upon them as digressions, since it is only by their means -that the way can be cleared to the understanding of the spirit which -animates the _Furioso._ There is something comic or at least ironic in -this necessity in which we find ourselves, of weighting with philosophy -a discourse relating to so transparent a poet as Ariosto; but we have -already warned the reader at the beginning that it is one thing to read -and let sing to him the verses of a poet, and another to understand -him, and that what is easy to learn may sometimes be very difficult to -understand. - -It is therefore without doubt contradictory to state that an artist has -for his special and particular end or content, art itself, art which -is the general end of every artist: as contradictory as to say that an -individual has for his concrete and proper end, not this or that work -and profession, but life. And there is also no doubt that since every -error contains in it an element of truth, those erroneous theories -aimed at something effectively existing: a particular content, which -they were not able to define, and which could never be in any case art -for art. Two sorts of judgments of that formula have nevertheless been -expressed in relation to two different groups of works of art: those -relating to works which seemed to be inspired by a particular form of -art, and those which seem to be inspired by the idea of Art itself, by -Art in universal; and for this reason our rapid investigation must be -divided and directed first to the one and then to the other case. - -The first case includes the poetry which may be called "humanistic" -or "classicistic": not the classicism and humanism of pedants without -talent or taste, but that lively humanism and classicism which we -are wont to admire and enjoy in several poets of our Renaissance in -the Latin language, such as Sannazaro, Politian and Pontano, and also -in later times those extremely lettered writers in Italian, of whom -Monti, in his best work, may be said to be the greatest representative -and we might add to him Canova, although he has not poetised in verse. -What is there that pleases us in them, in their imitations, their -re-writing, their cantos of classical phrases and measures? And what -was it that warmed and carried them away, so that they were able to -transmit their emotion to us and obtain our delighted sympathy? It -has been answered that this was due to their remaining faithful to -the already sacred traditions of beautiful form, handed down by the -school; but this answer is not satisfactory, because pedants also can -be mechanically faithful in repeating; we have alluded to these and -shown that on the contrary they weary and annoy us. The truth is that -the former hold to those forms of art, because they are the suitable -symbol, the satisfactory expression of their feeling, which is one -of affection for the _past,_ as being venerable, glorious, decorous, -national or super-national and cultural; and their content is not -literary form by itself, but love for that past, love for some one or -other _historical_ age of art. And if this be true, we must place those -romantic archaisers in the same class of art with the humanists or -classicists, when considering the substantial nature of things. For the -former nourish the same feeling and employ the same procedure, not in -relation to the Greek and Roman past, but in relation to the Christian -and medieval past, particularly in Germany, where they let us hear -again the rude accent of the medieval epic, and represent the ingenuous -forms of pious legends and sacred dramatic representations, and make -themselves the echo of ancient popular songs: this re-writing has often -something in it of the pastiche (as the humanists and classicists also -have something of the pastiche, which with them is pedantry), yet -sometimes produce passages of delicate art, which if not profound, were -certainly agreeable to the heart that remembers, to the eternal heart -of childhood which is in us. - -Ariosto was also a more or less successful humanist in certain of his -minor works, as we have said, but in the _Furioso,_ although he took -many schemes and details from Latin poets, he stands essentially -outside their line of inspiration, for instead of directing his spirit -towards the past, he always draws the past towards his spirit, and -there is no observable trace in it of Latin-Augustan archaism, or of -the archaism of medieval chivalry. For this reason, the view that he -had Art itself as his content must be taken as applicable without doubt -in the other sense to him and to certain other artists: as devotion to -Art as universal, to Art in its Idea, a devotion which is bodied forth -in his narratives, his figures and his verse. - -Now it must be remembered that Art in its Idea is nothing but -expression or--representation of the real,--of the real which is -conflict and strife, but a conflict and a strife that are always being -settled; that it is multiplicity and diversity, but at the same time -unity, dialectic and development, and also and through that, cosmos and -Harmony. And since Art cannot be the content of Art, that is to say, -it is impossible to represent representation (as it is impossible to -think thought, so that if thought is made the object of thought, it is -always itself and the other, that is to say, the whole), by eliding -the term which is superfluous and has been unduly retained, we obtain -the result that when it is stated of Ariosto or of other artists -that they have for content pure Art or pure Form, it is really to be -understood that they have for content devotion to the pure rhythm of -the universe, for the dialectic which is unity, for the development -which is _Harmony._ Thus, if humanistic or otherwise archaistic artists -do not as is generally believed love beautiful forms, but rather the -past and history, it may be said of those others that they do not love -pure Art, but the _pure and universal content_ of Art, not this or that -particular strife and Harmony (erotic, political, moral, religious, and -so on), but strife and _Harmony_ in idea and eternal. - -The concept of cosmic Harmony, which has also been called pure -Beauty or absolute Beauty, and indeed God, has been much employed in -old philosophy, and notably in the old aesthetic (old always being -understood in its logical-historical sense, which is still tenacious of -life and reappears in our own day, where it might be least expected), -and has made an elaboration of the new theory, which conceives of art -as lyrical intuition or expression, very laborious. For many reasons -that it would occupy too much time and be out of place to detail -here, Harmony or Beauty came to be considered as the true essence of -Art; hence the impossibility of accounting, not only for many works -of art, but for art in general, and the artificial attempts made by -the upholders of this doctrine and by criticism to pervert facts in -support of a partial and incorrect principle. For the reasons given -above, it is easy for us to discern the origin of the error, which -lay in transferring one of the classes of particular contents which -Art is able to elaborate, to serve as the end and essence of Art. And -the one selected was precisely that which owing to its religious and -philosophical dignity, appeared to have the power to absorb Art into -itself together with everything else and to dissolve the whole in a -sort of mysticism. This is confirmed by the historical course of the -doctrine, the first conspicuous form of which was Neoplatonism, which -reappeared on several occasions in the Middle Ages, at the time of the -Renaissance and during the Romantic period. De Sanctis himself, owing -to the romantic origins of his thought, was never altogether free from -it; and his judgment upon Ariosto bears traces of the transcendental -conception of Art as an actualisation of pure Beauty. - -Similar traces are to be found in another& doctrine to which De -Sanctis held and formulated as the distinction and opposition between -the _poet_ and the _artist:_ a doctrine which it is desirable to make -clear, not only with a view of strengthening the concept to which -we have had recourse, but also because Ariosto himself is numbered -among the poets to whom the distinction has been chiefly applied, as -he has been held to be distinct and opposed, along with Politian and -Petrarch, and perhaps others, as artists, to Dante or to Shakespeare, -as poets. The doctrine appears to be endorsed by facts, and therefore -looks plausible and is readily accepted and continually reproduced, -as on several occasions in the history of aesthetic ideas. It was -not altogether unknown in the days of Ariosto himself, if Giraldo -Cinzio can be held to have suggested it, when in his description of an -allegorical picture, in which were to be seen the two great Tuscans -"in a green and flowery meadow upon a hill of Helicon," Dante, with -his robe fastened at the knees, "manipulated the circular scythe, -cutting all the grass that his scythe met with," while Petrarch, -"robed in senatorial robe, lay there selecting among the noble -herbs and the delicate flowers." In spite of this, it is altogether -unsustainable as an exact theory, because it introduces an unjustified -and unjustifiable dualism, which it is altogether impossible to -mediate, since each of the two distinct terms contains in itself the -other and nothing else, thus demonstrating their identity: the poet -is poet because he is an artist, that is to say, he gives artistic -form to feeling, and the artist would not be an artist, if he were -not a poet, that is to say, if he had not a feeling to elaborate. The -apparent confirmation of this theory by facts arises from this, that -there are as we know, artists who have a devotion for cosmic Harmony -as their chief content, and others who have other devotions: and this -proves that it is advisable to make a very moderate and restrained -use of the distinction between poets and artists, between those who -represent the beautiful and those who represent the real, as is the -case with all empirical distinctions. Sometimes the same distinction, -taken from the bosom of poetry or of some other special art, has been -thrown into the midst of the series of the so-called arts, severing -those arts which have cosmic Harmony, absolute Beauty, ideal Beauty, -the rhythm of the Universe for their object, from others which have -for their object individual feelings and life. Among the former were -numbered (as in the school of Winckelmann) the art of sculpture and -certain sorts of painting at least, and among the latter, poetry; or -(according to Schelling and Schopenhauer) bestowing upon music alone -the whole of the first field. Music would thus be opposed to the other -arts and would possess the value of an unconscious Metaphysic, in so -far as it directly portrayed the rhythm of the Universe itself. A -clumsy doctrine, which we only mention here, because Ariosto would -furnish the best example of all among the poets, against the exclusion -of poetry from among the arts which alone were able to portray the -rhythm of the Universe or Harmony: Ariosto, who, if he had seemed to -an Italian philologist to be nothing less than "a poet who was an -excellent observer and reasoner," has yet appeared to Humboldt, whose -ear was more sensitive to the especially "musical" _musikalisch,_ and -to Vischer more especially as one who developed his fables of chivalry -41 in a melodious labyrinth of images, which produced in its sensual -serenity the same enjoyment as the rocking and dying of the Italian -"canzone," thus giving the reader "the pure pleasure of moving without -matter." When empirical classifications are not handled with caution -and with a consciousness of their limits, not only do they deprive the -principles of science of their rigour and vigour, but also carry with -them the unfortunate result of making it seem possible to distinguish -concretely what has been roughly divided for the purpose of aiding -the creation of images. The double class of poets and of artists, the -one moved by particular affections, the other by universal Harmony, -does not hold as a logical duality, because the love of Harmony is -itself one of many particular affections, and forms part of the -series comprising the comic, tragic, humorous, melancholy, jocose, -pessimistic, passionate, realistic, classicistic poets, and so on. But -even when it has been reduced to the level of the others, there is no -necessity, either in its case or in that of the others, to fall into -the illusion that there really exist poets who are only tragic or only -comic, only realistic or only classicistic, singers only of Harmony, -without the other passions, or solely passionate without the passion -for Harmony. The love of traditional forms, for example, which we have -seen to be the base of classicism, exists in a certain measure in every -poet, for the reason that every poet employs, re-lives and renews the -words of a given language, which has been historically formed, and is -therefore charged with a literary tradition and full of historical -meaning. And the love of Harmony exists also in every poet worthy of -the name, since he cannot represent his drama of the affections, save -as a particular mode of drama and of the dramatic or dialectic cosmic -Harmony, which is therefore contained and dwells in it as the universal -in the particular. - -Are we ourselves overthrowing our own distinctions, immediately after -asserting them? We are not overthrowing the principles which we had -established in connection with the nature of Art, and with the nature -of Harmony and Beauty in the super-aesthetic and cosmical sense; but -it was necessary clearly to state and to overthrow the definition of -Ariosto as poet of Harmony, because in doing so, we cease to preserve -it in its abstractness, but make use of it as a living principle. In -other words, by thus defining him, we have attained the first object -of our quest, which was no longer to leave him hidden beneath the -nebulous description of a poet of art for art's sake, nor beneath -that other equally fallacious description of him as a satirical and -ironical poet, or as a poet of prudence and wisdom, and so on; and -we have pointed out _where the principal accent of his art falls._ -Passing now to other determinations, in order to show in what matter -and in what way or tone that accent is realised, maintained and -developed, even when it happens that we can do this in the best -possible manner, we shall not allow ourselves to be ensnared by the -fatuous belief, in vogue with certain critics of the day, that we -have supplied an equivalent to Ariosto's poetry with our aesthetic -formulas: such an equivalent would not only be an arrogance, but it -would also be useless, because Ariosto's poetry is there, and anyone -can see it for himself. The new determinations must however also be -asserted and refuted, only the new results being preserved, analogous -to those already obtained, by means of which we shall dispose of other -false ideas circulated by the critics concerning Ariosto and point -out the salient characteristics of the material which he selected for -treatment, together with the mode and the tone of his poem. The poetry -of the _Furioso,_ as for that matter all poetry, is an _individuum -ineffabile,_ and Ariosto, the poet of Harmony, limited in this -direction and that, never at any time exactly coincides with Ariosto, -the Ariostesque poet, the poet of Harmony, and not only of Harmony as -denned in the way we have defined it, but also in other ways understood -or indefinable. We do not propose to exhaust or to take the place of -the concrete living Ariosto; he is indeed present to the imagination -of our readers as to our own and forms the perpetual criterion of -our critical explanations, which without this criterion would be -unintelligible. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -THE MATERIAL FOR THE HARMONY - - -Had Ariosto been a philosopher or a poet-philosopher, he would have -given us a hymn to Harmony, similar to a good many others which are to -be found in the history of literature, celebrating that lofty Idea, -which enabled him to understand the discordant concord of things and -while satisfying his intellect, filled his soul with peace and joy. But -Ariosto was the opposite of a philosopher, and certainly, were he able -to read what we are now investigating and discovering in him, first he -would be astonished, then he would smile and finally he would comment -upon our work with some good-natured jest. - -His love for Harmony never took the form of a concept, it was not -love of the concept and of the intelligence, that is to say of things -answering to a need which he did not experience: it was love for -Harmony directly and ingenuously perceived, for sensible Harmony: a -harmony, therefore, which did not arise from a loss of his humanity and -an abandonment of all particular sentiments, a religious mounting up -to the world of the ideas, but existed for him rather as a sentiment -among sentiments, a dominant sentiment, surrounding all the others and -assigning to each its place. In this respect, he really belonged to one -of the chief spiritual currents of the period of the Renaissance, or -more accurately, of the early Cinquecento: to the period, that is to -say, when Leonardo, Raphael, Fra Bartolommeo, Andrea del Sarto, with -their beautiful, harmonious decorum and majestic forms, had succeeded -to Ghirlandaio, to Botticelli, to Lippi, when it seemed (in the words -of Wölfflin, a historian of art) "as though new bodies had suddenly -grown up in Italy," a new and magnificent population, resplendent -in painting and sculpture, which was indeed the reflection of a new -psychical attitude, of a different direction and of a new centre of -interest. - -Now if we undertake to consider the sentiments which form part of the -_Furioso,_ if we disassociate them from the connection established -among them by the harmonising sentiment of Harmony, and therefore in -their particularity, disaggregation and materiality, we shall have -before us the _material_ of the _Furioso._ For the "material" of Art -is nothing but this, when ideally distinguished from the _content,_ in -which the sentiments themselves are fused in the dominant sentiment, -whether it be called the leading motive or the lyrical motive: a -content which in its turn can be only ideally distinguished from the -_form,_ in which it expresses itself or is possessed and present -in the spirit. Philological criticism, deprived of philosophical -enlightenment, philology in its bad sense or philologism, means rather -by "material" or "sources," as they are also called, external things, -such as the books which the poet had read or the stories that he had -heard told, and on the pretext of supplying in this way the genesis of -a work of art _ab ovo,_ it penetrates to the sources of the sources, -let us say to the origins of warrior women, of the ogress and the -hippogryph of Ariosto. Their procedure suggests that of one who when -asked what language a poet found in circulation in his time, should -open for that purpose an etymological dictionary of the Italian -language, or of the romance languages, or of Indo-European languages, -which expound formative ideological processes, either forgotten or -thrown into the background of the speaker's consciousness when engaged -in speaking. But even if we do not lose our way in such learned and -interminable dissertations, if we escape the error referred to above, -of forming judgments as to merit upon them, philologistic search -for sources and for material becomes capricious and ends by being -impossible; because it takes as sources only certain literary lumber -scattered here and there, and were we to unite this with the whole -of the rest of literature, with the figurative and musical arts, and -with other external things which actually surround the poet, public -and private events, scientific teachings and disputes, beliefs, -customs, and so on, we should find ourselves involved in all endless -and infinite enumeration, convincing proof of the illogical nature -of such an inquiry. Nor do we make any progress in the determination -of the material by limiting it to more modest terms, that is to say, -only to certain things which the poet had before him (even if they be -documents and information, not without use for certain ends), because -the true _material_ of art, as has been said, is not _things_ but -the _sentiments_ of the poet, which determine and explain one another, -why and for what reason he turns to certain things and not to others, to -these things rather than to those. Since we have already described -Ariosto's character and shown its reflection in his minor works, now -that we are examining the material of the _Furioso,_ we shall find the -same character, that is to say, the same complex of sentiments which -it will be desirable to illustrate and to distinguish in a somewhat -different manner, with an eye no longer directed to the psychology of -the man or to the minor works, but just to the _Furioso._ - -And we shall find above all _an amorous_ Ariosto, Ariosto perpetually -in love, whom we already know: an Ariosto for whom love and woman are -an important affair, a great pleasure which he is not able to renounce, -a great torment from which he cannot set himself free. That love is -always altogether sensual, love for a beautiful bodily form, shining -forth in the luminous eyes, seductive, charming; virtuous too, but -relatively virtuous, just as much as avails to prevent too much poison -entering into the delicate linked tenderness of love; and for this -reason, all ethical or speculative idealisation, in the new or Platonic -style, is excluded "Not love of a lady of theology ...": here too, -Carducci saw clearly and spoke well. Absent too or extraneous are the -consecration and purification of love in "matrimony"; the choice of a -wife, the treatment of a wife, are for Ariosto, things differing but -slightly from the choice and the breaking in of a horse, and matrimony -in its noble ethical sense belongs at the most to his intellect, and -to his intellect in so far as it is passive: in the _Furioso_ are -to be found the politics and not the poetry of matrimony, and among -innumerable ties of free love, the chaste sighing of Bradamante alone -aims at "the conjugal tie" with Ruggiero. But the love of Ariosto is -healthy and natural in its warm sensuality; it is not sophisticated -with luxurious images, it is conscious of its own limits; nor does it -suffer from mad or inextinguishable desires, but only from that which -was known in the language of the time as the "cruelty" of woman, her -refusal or her coldness; but it tortures itself yet more with jealousy -and the anxious working of the imagination. The Ferrarese Garofalo, -a contemporary biographer, bears witness to the very lively jealousy -of Ariosto, saying that since he loved "with a great vehemence," he -was "above measure jealous," and "always carried on his love affairs -in secret and with great solicitude, accompanied with much modesty"; -but this is evident in the matter of the poem itself, being exhibited -in many of his personages, descriptions and situations, and finding -complete expression in the verse which closes on so pathetic a note: -"believe one who has had experience of it." Cruelty on the one side and -jealousy on the other, although they torture, do not make him sad or -cause him to give vent to desperate utterances, because, since he had -not too lofty nor too madly an intransigent idea of love, although it -greatly delighted him, he is not apt to expect too much from it, and -knowing the infidelity and the fragility of man, a sort of sense of -justice forbids him from bringing his hand down too heavily upon the -infidelity and the fragility of woman. Hence comes, not forgiveness, -but resignation and indulgence. "My lady is a lady, and every lady -is weak"; remarks Rinaldo wisely. Ariosto's is an indulgence without -moral elevation, but also without cynicism and inspired with a certain -element of goodness and humanity. Reciprocal deception and illusion -are inherent to love affairs; but how can they be done away with, -without also doing away at the same time with the charm of that bitter -but amiable sport? The lover takes care to preserve the illusion by -his very passion, which blinds him to what is visible and makes the -invisible visible, leading him to believe what he desires, to believe -the person who fascinates him, as does Brandimarte with his Fiordiligi, -wandering about the world and returning to him uncontaminated: "To -fair Fiordiligi, of whom I had believed greater things." Thus the -imagination of Ariosto, as these various equal and conflicting -sentiments wove their own images, became quite filled with marvellous -seductive beauties, perfect of limb, and with voluptuous forms and -scenes (Alcina and her arts, Angelica in the arms of Ruggiero who had -set her free, Fiordispina); of others which oscillate between the -passionate and the comic (Gicondo and Fiametta, the knight who tests -the wife he loves too much, the judge Anselmo and his Argia): of others -whose love was unworthy or criminal (Origille, whom Griffone strives -to save from the punishment that she deserves, notwithstanding her -wickedness proved on several occasions and her known treachery; the -sons of King Marganorre; Gabrina, who did receive punishment, perhaps -because her depraved old age was so repulsive); and above all of the -woman who symbolises Woman, for whom the bravest knights sustain every -sort of labour and danger, and because of whom a big strong man loses -control of himself, and who, herself slave of a love which owns no -law outside itself, ends by bestowing her hand upon a "poor servant" -(Angelica, Orlando and Medoro). These are but a few instances of the -many places in the _Furioso,_ bearing upon love in its various modes -of presentation, in addition to the introductions to the cantos and -the digressions into which Ariosto pours his whole store of feeling -or sets forth his reflections. And the love matter is of so great a -volume as to dominate all the rest, possibly in extent, certainly in -relief and intensity; so much so, that it is a marvel that among the -many attempts to establish the true motive and argument of the poem, by -abstracting it from its subject matter, and to determine its design and -unity in the same way, no one has yet insisted upon considering it, or -has been able to consider it as "the poem of love," of the casuistry -of love, to which knightly and warlike life should but provide the -decorative background. This theory would certainly seem to be less -unlikely than the other, which assigns to it as its end and unity the -war between Carlo and Agramante. In any case, this motive is placed -second in the protasis to the _Furioso,_ where the first word is not by -chance "women," and the first verse ends with "loves" (and in the first -edition we even read: "The ancient loves of ladies and of knights"); -and the scene with which the poem opens is the flight of Angelica, who -is immediately met by Sacripante and Rinaldo who are in love with her, -and that with which it concludes is the marriage feast of Ruggiero and -Bradamante, disturbed yet heightened in its solemnity of celebration by -the incident of the duel with Rodomonte. - -Love matter dominates in the _Furioso,_ because it dominated in the -heart of Ariosto, where it easily passed over into more noble feelings, -into piety that goes beyond the tomb, into justice rendered to -calumniated innocence, into kindness ill-recompensed, into admiration -for the sacred tie of friendship. Hence, in marked contrast to the -beautiful Doralice, so crudely sensual, that when her lover's body is -still warm, she is capable of looking with desire upon his slayer, the -valiant Ruggiero, Isabella deliberately decides upon putting herself -to death that she may keep faith with her dead lover; and Fiordiligi, -whose pretty little face, upon which still flitters something of the -impudence attributed to her by Boiardo, becomes furrowed with anguish -and sublime with sorrow, when she apprehends the loss of Brandimarte. -And Olympia stands by the side of Ginevra, trapped and drawn to the -brink of ruin by a wicked man, and is rescued by Rinaldo, the righter -of wrongs, Olympia whom Orlando twice saves, the second time not only -from death, but from desperation at the desertion of her most thankless -husband. Zerbino, brother of Ginevra and lover of Isabella, is a flower -of nobility among the knights. He alone understands and pities the -affectionate deed of Medoro, careless of his own life and absorbed in -the anxiety to obtain burial for the body of his lord. When his former -friend who has shown himself to be a most infamous traitor, is dragged -before him in chains, he cannot find it in him to inflict upon him the -death he deserves, for he remembers their long and close friendship. -Devoted to the greatness of Orlando and in gratitude for what he had -done in saving and taking care of Isabella, he collects the arms of -the Paladin, scattered at the outbreak of his madness, and sustains a -combat with Mandricardo for these arms, dying rather for sorrow at -not having been able to defend them than from his wound. Cloridano -and Medoro, Orlando and Brandimarte, are other idealisations of a -friendship which lasts beyond the tomb; and anyone searching the poem -for motives of commiseration and indignation for oppressed virtue, -for unhappy peoples trodden beneath the heel of the tyrant, robbed, -tortured and allowed to perish like cattle and goats, would find other -instances of the goodness and generosity which burned in the mild -Ariosto. - -Goodness and generosity were also the substance of his political -sentiment, which was that of the honest man of all times, who laments -the misfortunes of his country, loathes the domination of foreigners, -judges the oppression of the nobles with severity, is scandalised by -the corruption and hypocrisy of the priests and of the Church, regrets -that the united arms of Europe cannot prevail against the Turks, that -barbarian "of ill omen"; but it does not go beyond this superficial -impressionability, and ends by accepting his own times and respecting -the powerful personages who have finally prevailed. For this reason -there is but slight interest in noting (and it can be noted in the -_Furioso_ itself) the variety of the political ideas of Ariosto, -first hostile to the Spaniards, as we see from several references to -them, and from certain attributes given to the Spaniard Ferraù, and -finally to the French, who had lost the game in Italy, and we find him -extolling the Spanish-Imperial Carlo V., and those who maintain his -cause in Italy, whether they were Andrea Doria or the Avalos. But on -the other hand, as Ave have already said, it is unjust to reprove him -for not having been a champion of italianity and of rebellion against -tyrants and foreigners,--such existed in those days, although they were -rare--or a passionate political thinker and prophet, like Machiavelli. -The famous invective against firearms suffices to indicate the quality -of Ariosto's politics: for him politics were morality, private -morality, a morality but little combative and very idyllic, although -not vulgar, disdainful indeed of the vulgar of all sorts, however -fortunate and highly placed. Thus it was not such as to create figures -and scenes in the poem, like love and human piety; suffice that if it -insinuated itself here and there among the reflective, exclamatory and -hortatory octaves. - -His feeling towards his own sovereign lords, the Estes, has not, as -we have suggested, either in his soul or in the _Furioso,_ anything -in it of the specifically political, although he admired them for the -splendour of art and letters, which they and their predecessors had -conferred upon the country, and for the strength of their rule. And -he praised them with words and comparisons, which he introduced into -his poem on a large scale, and into the general scheme itself. These -have at times been held to be base adulation or a subtle form of irony -almost amounting to sarcasm; they were however neither, being serious -celebrations of glorious military enterprises and of magnanimous acts -(it does not matter whether they really were so or seemed so and were -bound to seem so to him); and for the rest, and especially as far as -concerned Cardinal Hippolyto, they resemble the madrigals addressed -to ladies or their attendants, which always contain a vein of mockery -mingled with the hyperbole of their compliments. In fact he treated -this material as an imaginative theme, now decorous and grave, now -elegant and polished as by a courtier; and he would have been still -more inclined to treat the Estes in this way, had they in return for -his words and "works of ink" dispensed him from the duties of his -post, and particularly from those which obliged him to run hither and -thither, to behave like a "teamster." Like many peaceful individuals, -who have no taste for finding themselves in the midst of battles, or -for changing the place of their abode, or for travelling to see foreign -races, or for voyages, or for rapid ups and downs and adventures, or -for anything of an upsetting and extraordinary nature that happens -unexpectedly, he was quite ready to accept all these things in his -imagination, where he preserved, caressed and made idols of them. His -inclination imaginatively to decorate the Estes, the nobles of Italy, -great ladies, artists, good or bad men of letters of any sort, to make -radiant statues of them, had the same root as his inclination for -stories of knightly romance. - -These stories were the favourite reading, the "pleasant literature" of -good society, especially in Ferrara, where the Estes possessed a fine -collection in their library, whence had come the majority of Italian -poets, who had versified them during the previous century, setting them -free from plebeian prose and verse. Ariosto must have read very many -of these in his youth, and must have delighted in them, and we know -that he himself translated some from French and Spanish. Here were to -be found terrible and tremendous battles, duels of hard knocks and of -masterly blows, combats with giants and monsters, tragical situations, -magnanimous deeds, proofs of steadfast faith, a vying together of -loyalty and courtesy, persecutions and favours and aid afforded by -prodigious beings, by fairies and magicians, travels in distant lands, -by sea or by flight, enchanted gardens and palaces, knights of immense -strength, Christian and Saracen, warlike women and women who were -women, royally: all this gave him the desirable and agreeable pleasure -of one who looks on at a variously coloured exhibition of fireworks, -and owing to this pleasure they gave, he incorporated a great number -of them in the _Furioso._ It is superfluous to inquire whether the -material of chivalry appeared to him to be serious or burlesque, when -we have understood the feeling which led him in that direction: it -was beyond all judgment of that sort, because we do not judge rockets -or fireworks morally or economically, with approval or reproof. It -can of course be remarked that knightly tales had henceforth been -reduced to such an extent in Italy and in the spirit of Ariosto that -they were not only without the religious and national feeling of the -ancient epic, but even without what is still to be found in certain -popular Italian compilations, such as the _Monarchs of France;_ but -this observation, though correct and important enough in the history of -culture, has no meaning whatever as regards Ariosto's poetry. The fact -that Ariosto was sometimes entranced and carried away as it were by the -spectacles which his fancy presented to him, and sometimes kept aloof -from them, with a smile for commentary, or turned away towards the real -world that surrounded him, goes without saying, and does not appear to -demand the discussions and the intellectual efforts which have been -devoted to it. - -His was on the other hand a distinctly jesting outlook upon religious -beliefs, God, Christ, Paradise, angels and saints; and Charlemagne's -prayer to God, the vision of the angel Michael upon earth and the -voyage of Astolfo to the world of the Moon, his conversations with John -the Evangelist, the deeds and words of the hermit with whom Angelica -and Isabella find themselves, and finally those of the saintly hermit -who baptises Ruggiero, accord with this laughing and almost mocking -spirit. Here we do not find even the seriousness of the game and in -the game, with which he treats of knightly doings; nor could there be, -because relation towards religion admits only of complete reverence -or complete irreverence. And Ariosto was irreverent, or what comes -to the same thing, indifferent; his spirit was as areligious as it -was aphilosophical, untormented with doubts, not concerned with human -destiny, incurious as to the meaning and value of this world, which he -saw and touched, and in which he loved and suffered. He was altogether -outside the philosophy of the Renaissance, whether Ficino's or -Pomponazzi's, as he was outside every sort of philosophy. This limits -and as it were deprives of importance his mockeries and to salute him -as some have done "the Voltaire of the Renaissance" or as a precursor -of Voltaire, and Voltaire himself who so much enjoyed Ariosto's -profanations of sacred things, maliciously underlining the witticism -that escapes from the lips of St. John about "my much-praised Christ" -(after having said that writers turn the true into the false, and -the false into the true, and that he also had been a "writer" in the -world), has given Ariosto a place which does not belong to him at all. -Voltaire was not areligious or indifferent, and was only irreligious in -so far as he attacked all historical religions with a religion of his -own, which was deism or the religion of the reason; and for this reason -his satires and his lampoons possess a polemical value, which is not to -be found in the jests of Ariosto. - -Presented in its outstanding features, and to the extent which suits -our purpose, such is the complex of sentiments which flowed together -to form the _Furioso_ and to produce the images of which it consists. -They produced them all the same, where he seems to have taken them from -other poems or books, from Virgil or from Ovid, from French or Spanish -romances, because in the taking and with the taking of them, he made -them images of his own sentiment, that is to say, he breathed into -them a new life and poetically created them in so doing. But although -this material of the poem may seem to us who have considered it to be -anterior and external to the poem itself and owing to our analysis, -disaggregated, it must not be supposed that those sentiments ever -existed in the spirit of Ariosto as mere matter or in an amorphous -condition, because there is nothing in the spirit without some form -and without its own form. Indeed, we have seen a great part of it -take form in the minor works, while some dwelt in his mind, expressed -and realised in their own way, even if unfulfilled or if we lack -written record of their existence. But they possessed a different -aspect in this anterior form, differing therefore from that which -they assumed in the poem. In the lyrics and satires, words of love -and nostalgia, of friendship and complaint, of anger and indignation -against princes who take little interest in poets, of impatience and -contempt for the ambitious throng, and the like, are more lively and -direct; and it would be easy to find parallels for identical thoughts -appearing with different intonations in the two different places. Had -Ariosto always accorded artistic treatment to those sentiments at the -moment of experiencing them, he would have continued to write songs, -sonnets, epistles and satires, and would not have set to work upon -the _Furioso._ An examination of the poem upon Obizzo D'Este as to -the material of chivalry, or if we like the sound of it better, as to -feats of arms and of daring, will at least yield us a glimpse of what -it would have become, had it received immediate treatment, whether this -poem belongs to the early years of Ariosto, prior to the composition -of the _Furioso,_ or whether (as is more probable), it be later than -the composition of the poem and the appearance of the first edition. -The fragment is notable for its great limpidity and narrative fluency, -but one sees that if the poet had continued in this direction, the poem -would have been nothing but an elegant book of songs; Ariosto did not -wish to be a song-writer, so he ceased the work which had been begun. -Had he versified his mockeries of sacred things, he would have become a -wit, a collector of burlesque surprises, capable of arousing laughter -about friars and saints; but Ariosto disdained such a trade, Ariosto -whose many grandiose distractions are on record, but no witticisms -or smart sayings: he was too much of a dreamer, too fine an artist -to take pleasure in such things. His sentiment for Harmony aided him -to turn the pleasant stories of chivalry and capricious jesting into -poetry, and lesser erotic or narrative and argumentative poetry into -more complex poetry, to accomplish the passage and ascent from the -minor works to that which is truly great, to mediate the immediate, by -transforming his various sentiments in the manner that we are about to -consider. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -THE REALISATION OF HARMONY - - -The first change to manifest itself in them so soon as they were -touched by the Harmony which sang at the bottom of the poet's heart, -was their loss of autonomy, their submission to a single lord, their -descent from being the whole to becoming a part, their becoming -occasions rather than motives, instruments rather than ends, their -common death for the benefit of the new life. - -The magical power which accomplished this prodigy was the _tone_ of the -expression, that self-possessed, lightness of tone, capable of adopting -a thousand forms and remaining ever graceful, known to the old school -of critics as "the confidential air," and remembered among the other -"properties" of the "style" of Ariosto. But not only does his whole -style consist of this, but since style is nothing but the expression -of the poet and of his soul, this was all Ariosto himself and his -harmonious singing. - -This work of disvaluation and destruction is to be detected in the -expressive tone in the proems to the separate cantos, in the digressive -argumentations, in the observations interjected, in the repetitions, in -the use of vocables, in the phrasing and the arrangement of periods, -and above all in the frequent comparisons that form pictures which -rather than intensifying the emotion, cause it to take a different -path, in the interruptions to the narrative, sometimes occurring at -their most dramatic point, in the nimble passage to other narratives of -a different and often opposite nature. Yet the palpable part of this -whole, what it is possible to segregate and to analyse as elements of -style, forms but a small part of the impalpable whole, which flows -along like a tenuous fluid, and since it is soul, we feel it with our -soul, though we cannot touch it with our hands, even though they be -armed with scholastic pincers. - -And this tone is the often noted and named, but never clearly defined -_irony_ of Ariosto; it has not been well-defined, because described as -a kind of jesting or mockery, similar or coincident with what Ariosto -sometimes employed in his descriptions of knightly personages and their -adventures. It has thus been both restricted and materialised, but -what we must not lose sight of is that the irony is not restricted -to one order of sentiments, as for instance those of knighthood or -religion, and so spares the rest, but encompasses them all, and thus is -no futile jesting, but something far more lofty, more purely artistic -and poetical, the victory of the dominant sentiment over all the others. - -All the sentiments, sublime and mirthful, tender and strong, the -effusions of the heart and the workings of the intellect, from the -pleadings of love to the laudatory lists of names, from representations -of battles to witticisms, are alike levelled by the irony and find -themselves uplifted in it. The marvellous Ariostesque octave rises -above them all as they fall before it, the octave which has a life of -its own. To describe the octave as smiling, would be an insufficient -qualification unless the smile be understood in the ideal sense, as -a manifestation of free and harmonious life, poised and energetic, -throbbing in veins rich with good blood and satisfied in this incessant -throbbing. The octaves sometimes have the quality of radiant maidens, -sometimes of shapely youths, with limbs lithe from exercise of the -muscles, careless of exhibiting their prowess, because it is revealed -in their every gesture and attitude.--Olympia comes ashore with her -lover on a desolate and deserted island, after many misfortunes, and a -long, tempestuous sea voyage: - - Il travaglio del mare e la paura, - che tenuta alcun di l'aveano desta; - Il ritrovarsi al lito ora sicura, - lontana da rumor, nella foresta: - e che nessun pensier, nessuna cura, - poi che'l suo amante ha seco, la molesta; - fûr cagion ch'ebbe Olimpia si gran sonno - che gli orsi e i ghiri aver maggior nol ponno.[1] - -Here we have the complete analysis of the reasons why Olympia fell -into the deep sleep, expressed with precision; but all this is clearly -secondary to the intimate sentiment expressed by the octave, which -seems to enjoy itself, and certainly does so in describing a motion, -a becoming, which attain completion.--Bradamante and Marfisa vainly -pursue King Agramante, to put him to death: - - Come due belle e generose parde - che fuor del lascio sien di pari uscite, - poscia ch' i cervi o le capre gagliarde - indarno aver si veggano seguite, - vergognandosi quasi che fûr tarde, - sdegnose se ne tornano e pentite; - così tornâr le due donzelle, quando - videro il Pagan salvo, sospirando.[2] - -Here we find a like process and a like result, but we observe a like -process and result where there appears to be nothing whatever of -intrinsic interest in the subject, that is to say, where the thought -is merely conventional, a complimentary expression of courtly homage -or an expression of friendship and esteem. To say of a fair lady: "She -seemed in every act of hers to be a Goddess descended from heaven," is -not a subtle figure, but it is so turned and so inspired with rhythm by -Ariosto that we assist at the manifestation of the Goddess as she moves -majestically along, witnessing the astonishment of those present and -seeing them kneel devoutly down, as the little drama unrolls itself: - - - - Julia Gonzaga, che dovunque il piede - volge e dovunque i sereni occhi gira, - non pur ogn' altra di beltà le cede, - ma, come scesa dal ciel Dea, l'ammira.[3] ... - -To rattle off a list of mere names with a view to affording honourable -mention, and without varying any of them beyond the addition of -some slight word-play, is an exercise even less subtle; but Ariosto -arranges the names of contemporary painters as though upon a Parnassus, -according to the greatest among them the most lofty place, in such a -manner that those bare names each of them resound (owing to the mastery -of the many stresses in the verse), so as to seem alive and endowed -with sensation: - - E quei che fùro a' nostri di, o sono ora, - Leonardo, Andrea Mantegna, Gian Bellino, - duo Dossi, e quel ch' a par sculpe e colora, - Michel, più che mortale, Angel divino ...[4] - -The "reflections" of Ariosto, which were held to be "commonplaces" by -De Sanctis, "not profound and original observations," have by others -been described as "banal" and "contradictory." But they are reflections -of Ariosto, which should not be meditated upon but sung: - - Oh gran contrasto in giovanil pensiero, - desir di laude, ed impeto d' Amore! - Nè, chi più vaglia, ancor si trova il vero, - che resta or questo or quello superiore....[5] - -It could be said of the irony of Ariosto, that it is like the eye of -God, who looks upon the movement of creation, of all creation, loving -all things equally, good and evil, the very great and the very small -in man and in the grain of sand, because he has made it all, and finds -in it nought but motion itself, eternal dialectic, rhythm and harmony. -From the ordinary meaning of the word "irony" has been accomplished the -passage to the metaphysical meaning assumed by it among Fichtians and -Romantics. We should be ready to apply their theory to the inspiration -of Ariosto, save that these critics and thinkers confused with irony -what is called humour, strangeness and extravagance, that is to say, -extra-aesthetic facts, which contaminate and dissolve art. Our theory -on the contrary is less pretentious and exaggerated, confining itself -rigorously within the bounds of art, as Ariosto confined himself within -the bounds of art, never diverging into the clumsy or humouristic, -which is a sign of weakness: his irony was the irony of an artist, sure -of his own strength. This perhaps is the reason or one of the reasons -why Ariosto did not suit the taste of the dishevelled Romantics, who -were inclined to prefer Rabelais to him and even Carlo Gozzi. - -To weaken all orders of sentiment, to render them all equal in their -abasement, to deprive beings of their autonomy, to remove from them -their own particular soul, amounts to converting the world of spirit -into the world of _nature:_ an unreal world, which has no existence -save when we perform upon it this act of conversion, and in certain -respects, the whole world becomes nature for Ariosto, a surface -drawn and coloured, shining, but without substance. Hence his seeing -of objects in their every detail, as a naturalist making minute -observations, his description that is not satisfied with a single -trait which suffices as inspiration for other artists, hence his lack -of passionate impatience with its inherent objections to certain -material. It may seem that the figure of St. John is drawn in the way -it is, as a jest: - - Nel lucente vestibulo di quella - felice casa un Vecchio al Duca occorre, - Che'l manto ha rosso e bianca la gonnella, - che l'un più al latte, l'altro al minio opporre; - i crini ha bianchi e bianca la mascella - di folta barba ch'al petto discorre ...[6] - -But the beauty of Olympia is portrayed in a like manner, forgetful of -the chastity of the lady, which might have seemed to ask a different -sort of description or rather veiling: - - Le bellezze d' Olimpia eran di quelle - che son più rare; e non la fronte sola, - gli occhi e le guancie, e le chiome avea belle, - la bocca, il naso, gli omeri e la gola....[7] - -Finally, Medoro is described in the same way, Medoro whose brave and -devoted heart and youthful heroism might seem to ask in its turn a -less attentive observation of its fresh youthfulness: - - Medoro avea la guancia colorita, - e bianca e grata ne la età novella.[8] ... - -The very numerous similes between the personages and the situations in -which they find themselves and the spectacles afforded by the life of -animals or the phenomena of nature, also form an almost prehensible -and palpable part of this conversion of the human world into the world -of nature. We shall not give details of it, for this has already been -done in an irritatingly patient manner by a German philologist, whose -cumbrous compilation effectually precludes one from desiring to dwell -even for a moment upon Ariosto's similes, comparisons and metaphors. - -This apparent naturalism, this objectivism, of which we have -demonstrated the profoundly subjective character, has led to the -erroneous statement, already met with, as to Ariosto's form consisting -of indifference and chilly observation, directed to the external -world. He has been coupled with his contemporary Machiavelli in this -respect. Machiavelli examined history and politics with a sagacious -eye, describing--as they say--their mode of procedure and formulating -their laws, to which he gave expression in his prose with analogously -inexorable objectivity and scientific coldness. It is true that both -did in a certain but in a very remote sense, destroy a prior spiritual -content and naturalised in different fields and with different ends -(Machiavelli destroyed the mediaeval religious conception of history -and politics). But this judgment of Machiavelli amounts to nothing more -than a brilliant or principal remark, for Machiavelli, as a thinker, -developed and explained facts with his new vigorous thought, and as a -writer gave an apparently cold form to his severe passion. Ariosto's -naturalistic and objective tendency is also to be regarded as nothing -more than a metaphor, because Ariosto reduced his material to nature, -in order to spiritualise it in a new way, by creating spiritual forms -of Harmony. - -From the opposite point of view and arising out of what we have just -said, we must refrain from praising Ariosto for his "epicity," for -the epic nobility and decorum which Galilei praised so much in him, -or for the force and coherence of his personages, so much admired by -the old as well as by new and even recent critics. How could there be -epicity in the _Furioso,_ when the author not only lacked the ethical -sentiments of the epos and when even that small amount, which he might -be said to have inherited, was dissolved with all the rest in harmony -and irony? And how could there be true and proper characters in the -poem, if characters and personages in art are nothing but the notes of -the soul of the poet themselves, in their diversity and opposition? -These become embodied in beings who certainly seem to live their own -proper and particular lives, but really live, all of them, the same -life variously distributed and are sparks of the same central power. -One of the worst of critical prejudices is to suppose that characters -live on their own account and can almost continue living outside the -works of art of which they form a part and in which they in no wise -differ nor can be disassociated from the strophes, the verses and the -words. Since there is no free energy of passionate sentiments in the -_Furioso,_ we do not find there characters, but figures, drawn and -painted certainly, but without relief or density, portrayed rather as -general or typical than individual beings. The knights resemble and -mingle with one another, though differentiated by their goodness or -wickedness, their greater polish or greater rudeness, or by means of -external and accidental attributes, often by their names alone; in -like manner the women are either amorous or perfidious, virtuous and -content with one love, or dissolute and perverse, often distinguished -merely by their different adventures or the names that adorn them. The -same is to be said of the narratives and descriptions (typical and -non-individual, or but little individual, is the madness of Orlando, -to compare which with Lear's is a rhetorician's fancy), and of natural -objects, landscapes, palaces, gardens, and all else. Reserves have been -and can with justice even be made as to the coherence of the characters -taken as a whole and forming part of a general scheme, for Ariosto's -personages take many liberties with themselves, according to the course -of the events with which they find themselves connected, or rather -according to the services which the author asks of them. - -Such warnings as these are indispensable, because, if some readers -realise their expectation of finding objectively described and -coherent characters in Ariosto and consequently praise him for creating -them, others with like expectations equally unfounded are disappointed -and consequently blame him. Thus for De Sanctis Ariosto's feminine -characters have seemed to be inferior to those of Dante, of Shakespeare -and of Goethe: but this is an impossible comparison, because Angelica, -Olympia, and Isabella, although they certainly lack the passionate -intensity of Francesca, Desdemona and Margaret, yet the latter for -their part lack the harmonious octaves in which the first trio lives -and has its being, consisting of just these octaves. And what is more, -neither trio suffers from the imperfections, which are imperfections -only in the light of imperfect critical knowledge and consequent -prejudice, but not real imperfections and poetical contradictions in -themselves. De Sanctis also blamed Ariosto for his lack of sentiment -for nature, as though it were a defect; but what is called sentiment -for nature (as for that matter the great master De Sanctis himself -taught) does not depend upon nature, but rather upon the attitude of -the human spirit, upon the feelings of comfort, of melancholy or of -religious terror, with which man invests nature and finds them where -he has placed them; but this attitude was foreign to the fundamental -attitude of Ariosto, and were there to be by chance some reference to -it in the poem, were some note of sentiment to sound there, we should -immediately be sensible of the discord and impropriety. To Lessing, -another objective critic, the portrayal of the beauties of Alcina -seemed to be a mistake and to exceed the limit of poetry, to which -De Sanctis replied that this materiality which Lessing blamed was -the secret of the poetry, because the beauty of the magician Alcina -required a material description, since it was fictitious in its nature. -This blame was unjust, and although the answer to it was ingenious, -yet it was perhaps not perfectly correct, for we have already seen -that Ariosto always described thus both true and imaginary beauties, -Olympias and Alcinas. The true answer seems to be the one already -given, that it would be useless to seek for features of energy in -Ariosto, lively portraits dashed off in a couple of brush strokes, for -these things presuppose a mode of feeling that he lacked altogether or, -at any rate suppressed. Those "laughing fleeting" eyes, which are all -Sylvia, "le doux sourire amoureux et souffrant," which are the whole -of the spiritual sister-soul of the _Maison du Berger,_ do not belong -to Ariosto, but to Leopardi and to De Vigny. - -There are two ways in which the _Furioso_ should not be read: the -first is the way in which one reads a work of rhythmic and lofty -moral inspiration, like the _Promessi Sposi,_ tracing, that is to -say, the development of a serious human affection, which circulates -in and determines every part alike, even to the smallest detail; the -second is that suitable for such works as _Faust,_ where the general -composition, which is more or less guided by mental concepts, does not -at all coincide with the poetical inspiration of the separate parts. -Here the poetical should be separated from the unpoetical parts, -and the poetically endowed reader will neglect the one to enjoy the -other. In the _Furioso,_ this inequality of work is absent or only -present to a very slight extent (that is to say, to the extent that -imperfection must ever be present in the most perfect work of man) -and it is as equally harmonious as the _Promessi Sposi;_ but it lacks -that particular form of passionate seriousness, to be found throughout -Manzoni's work and in stray passages of Goethe's. The _Furioso_ -should therefore be read in a third manner, namely by following a -content which is ever the same, yet ever expressed in new forms, -whose attraction consists in the magic of this ever-identical yet -inexhaustible variety of appearances, without paying attention to the -material element of the narratives and descriptions. - -As we see, this too amounts to accepting with a rectification a common -judgment on the _Furioso,_ which may be said to have accompanied the -poem from the moment of its first appearance: namely, that it is a -work devoid of seriousness, being of a light, burlesque, pleasing -and frivolous sort. It was described as "_ludicro more_" by Cardinal -Sadoleto, when according the license for printing the edition of 1516 -in the name of Leo X, although he added to this, perhaps translating -the declaration of the poet himself, "_longo tamen studio et -cogitatione, multisque vigiliis confectum."_ Bernardo Tasso, Trissino -and Speroni, and other suchlike grave pedantic personages, did not -fail to blame Ariosto for having dedicated his poem to the sole end -of pleasing. Boileau looked upon it simply as a collection of _fables -comiques,_ and Sulzer called it a "poem with the sole end of pleasing, -not directed by the reason"; and even to-day are to be found its merits -and defects noted down to credit and debit account in many a scholastic -manual; on the credit side stand the perfection of the octave, the -vivacity of the narrative, the graceful style, to the debit account -lack of profound sentiment, light which shines but does not warm and -failure to touch the heart. We accept and rectify this judgment with -the simple observation that those who regard the poem thus see clearly -enough everything that is on a level with their own eyes, but do not -raise them to regard what is above their heads and is the principal -quality of the _Furioso,_ owing to which the frivolity of Ariosto -reveals itself as profound seriousness of rare quality, profound -emotion of the heart, but of a noble and exquisite heart, equally -remote from the emotions of what is generally looked upon as life and -reality. - -Apart, but not separated from, nor alien to, nor indifferent: and in -respect to this we must resume and develop the analysis already begun -by setting readers on their guard against the easy misunderstanding -of the "destruction," which we have already spoken of as brought -about by the tone and the irony of Ariosto. This must not be looked -upon as total destruction and annihilation, but as destruction in -the philosophic sense of the word, which is also conservation. Were -this otherwise, what could be the function of the varied material or -emotional content, which we have examined in the poem? Are the stars -stuck into the sky like pin-heads in a pin-cushion (Don Ferrante would -sarcastically enquire)? The eloquence of other's but not Ariosto's -poetry, arises from a total indifference of sentiment and an absence -of content: theirs is the rouge on the corpse, not the rosy cloud -that enfolds and adorns the living. Such eloquence produces soft and -superficially musical versification of the _Adone,_ not the octave of -the _Furioso;_ and to quote Giraldi Cinzio once more, the lover of -Ariosto (who gave the advice to readers not to confuse the "facility" -of the _Furioso_ with verses "of sweet sound but no feeling"), the -eight hundred "stanzas," by one of the composers of that time, which -Giraldi once had to read, "which seemed to be collections made among -the flowery gardens of poetry, so full were they of beauty from stanza -to stanza, but put together, were vain things, seeming, so far as sense -is concerned, to have been born of the soil of childishness," because -their author was "intent only upon the pleasure that comes from the -splendour and choice of words, and had altogether neglected the dignity -and assistance afforded by sensibility." - -Had Ariosto while in the act of composition not been keenly stirred -in the various ways described, by the varied material employed in his -poem, he would have lacked the impetus, the vivacity, the thought, -the intonation, which were afterwards reduced and tempered by the -harmonious disposition of his soul. He would have been a cold writer of -poetry, and no one ever succeeded in writing poetry coldly. This was -the case, as it seems to me, with the _Cinque Canti,_ which he excluded -from the _Furioso_ and for which he substituted others. In them the -cunning of Ariosto's hand is everywhere to be found in the descriptive -passages and transitions, as are also all the elements of the every-day -world, stories of war, knightly adventures, tales of love (the love -of Penticone for the wife of Otto and that of Astolfo for the wife of -Gismondo), satirical tales (the foundation of the city of Medea, with -the sexual law which she imposed upon it), astonishing fancies (such -as the knights imprisoned in the body of the whale, where they have -their beds, their kitchen and their tub), copious moral and political -reflections (on jealousy, ambition, wicked men, mercenary soldiers); -yet we feel nevertheless that Ariosto wrote them in an unhappy moment, -when Minerva was reluctant or averse: the poet did not take sufficient -interest and lacked the necessary heat. And is there no part of -the _Furioso_ itself that languishes? It would seem so, not indeed -in the forty cantos of the first edition, which originated in his -twelve-year-old poetical springtime, but in the parts which were added -later, all of them (as could be shown) more or less intellectualiste -of origin, and therefore (save the episode of Olympia) not among the -most read and most popular. The most intellectualistic of all is the -long delay introduced toward the end of the poem, the double betrothal -of Bradamante and the contest in courtesy between Leone and Ruggiero, -where the tone becomes here and there altogether pedestrian. It is true -that philologists who have given themselves to art have discovered -progress in Ariosto in just these languid parts, and above all in the -_Cinque Canti,_ where he has lost his bearings and is out of tune. Here -they suppose him to have become "serious," to join hands with no less -a personage than Torquato Tasso. - -The process of "destruction" effected upon the material may possibly be -rendered clear to those who do not appreciate philosophical formulas -or find them too difficult, by means of the comparison with what in -the technique of painting is called "concealing a colour," which does -not mean its cancellation, but its toning down. In such an equally -distributed toning down, all the sentiments which go to form the web of -the poem, not only preserve their own physiognomy, but their reciprocal -proportions and connections; so that although they certainly appear in -the "transparent polished glasses" and in the "smooth shining waters" -of the octaves, pale as "pearls on a white forehead" to the sight, yet -they retain their distinctness and are more or less strong according -to the greater or less strength which they possessed in the soul of -the poet. The comic, at once lowered and raised, nevertheless remains -comical, the sublime remains sublime, the voluptuous voluptuous, the -reflective reflective, and so on. And sometimes it happens that Ariosto -reaches the boundary, which if he were to pass, he would abandon his -own tone, but he never does abandon it, because he always refrains -from passing the boundary. Everyone remembers the most emotional -words and passages of the _Furioso_: Medoro, who, when surrounded and -surprised by his enemies, makes a sort of tower of himself, using the -trees as a shield, and never abandoning the body of his lord, Zerbino, -who feels penetrated with pity and stays his hand as he looks on his -beautiful countenance, when on the point of slaying him; Zerbino, who -when about to die, is desperate at leaving his Isabella alone, the prey -of unknown men, while she bursts into tears and speaks sweet words -of eternal faithfulness; Fiordiligi, who hears the news, or rather -divines the death of her husband ... We always catch our breath, and -something--I know not what--comes into our eyes, as we repeat these -and similar verses. Here is Fiordiligi, who shudders as she feels the -presentiment: - - E questa novità d' aver timore - le fa tremar di doppia tema il core.[9] - -The fatal news comes to hand: Astolfo and Sansonetto, the two friends -who happen to be where she has remained, hide it from her for an -hour or so, and then decide to betake themselves to her that they may -prepare her for the misfortune that has befallen: - - Tosto ch'entrano, e ch'ella loro il viso - Vide di gaudio in tal vittoria privo, - Senz' altro annunzio sa, senz' altro avviso, - Che Brandimarte suo non è più vivo....[10] - -Another moment of the same narrative, where suffering appears to resume -its strength and to grow upon itself, is that in which Orlando, who is -awaited, enters the temple where the funeral of Brandimarte is being -celebrated: Orlando, the friend, the companion, the witness of his -death: - - Levossi, al ritornar del Paladino, - Maggiore il grido e raddoppiossi il pianto.[11] - -Before such words and images as these, De Sanctis used to say to his -pupils, when explaining to them the _Furioso_: "See how much heart -Ariosto had!" But he always kept telling them this truth also: -that "Ariosto never pushes situations to the point of painfulness," -forbidden to him by the tone of his poetry; and he used to show them -how Ariosto used sometimes to make use of interruptions, sometimes of -graceful similitudes, or reflections, or devices of style, in order to -restrain the painfulness ready to break through. Those critics who for -instance are shocked by the octaves on the name of "Isabella" are too -exigent, or ask too much, and what they ought not to ask (this name -of Isabella was destined by God to adorn beautiful, noble, courteous, -chaste and wise women from this time forth, and was originally intended -as homage from Ariosto to the Marchesana of Mantua, Isabella of Este). -With these octaves he concludes the narrative of the sacrifice of -her life made by Isabella to keep faith with Zerbino; they do not -understand that those octaves and the _Proficiscere_ which precedes -them ("Go thou in peace, thou blessed soul") and the very account of -the drunken bestiality of Rodomonte, and prior to that, the semi-comic -scene of the saintly hermit who presides over the virtue of Isabella, -"like a practised mariner and is quite prepared to offer her speedily -a sumptuous meal of spiritual food," the hermit whom Rodomonte seizes -by the neck and throws three miles into the sea, are all words and -representations so accentuated as to produce the effect of allowing -Isabella to die without plunging the _Furioso_ into tragedy with its -correspondingly tragical catharsis; for the _Furioso_ has its own -general and perpetually harmonious catharsis, which we have now made -sufficiently clear. - -It is precisely owing to the action of this sentimental and passionate -material, in spite of and through its effectual surpassing, that the -varied colouring arising from it enters the poem and confers upon it -that character of humanity, which led us to declare at the outset of -our analysis that when we define Ariosto as the _Poet of Harmony,_ we -proposed only to indicate where the _accent_ of his work falls, but -that he is the poet of Harmony and also of something else, of harmony -developed in a particular world of sentiments, and in fact that the -harmony to which Ariosto attains, is not harmony in general, but an -_altogether Ariostesque Harmony._ - - -[Footnote 1: Tempestuous seas and haunting fear which had kept her -waking for days now gave place to a feeling of security: deep in the -forest and removed from care and noise, Olympia clasped her lover to -her breast and fell into sleep as deep as that of bears and dormice.] - -[Footnote 2: As two fair generous leopards issuing simultaneouly from -the slips return full of shame and repentance as though weighed down by -the disgrace of having vainly pursued the lusty goats or stags which -had tempted them to the chase: So returned the two damsels sighing when -they saw the Pagan was saved.] - -[Footnote 3: Wherever Julia Gonzaga sets her foot or turns her serene -gaze, not only does she excel all in beauty but compels adoration like -a Goddess.] - -[Footnote 4: And the painters who lived in former days as well as those -still with us:--Leonardo, A. Mantegna, Gian Bellino, the two Dossi and -Michael who sculptures and portrays with more than mortal skill.] - -[Footnote 5: Oh powerful contrast in the breast of youth aflame with -desire for valorous renown and the passion of love; nor can one say -which is the more delectable, since each lays claim alternately to -superiority.] - -[Footnote 6: An aged man goes to encounter the Duke along the bright -vestibule of that fortunate house: the sage is clad in red cloak and -white robe, the former white as milk, the latter vermilion, vivid as a -rose. His hair is white and his chin snowy with the thick beard flowing -over his chest.] - -[Footnote 7: Olympia's loveliness was of rarest excellence: not only -was she fair of face with forehead, eyes, cheeks glowing amidst the -hair which waved over her shoulders: all else was perfection.] - -[Footnote 8: Medoro's cheek showed white and red in the fresh flourish -of youth.] - -[Footnote 9: The novel feeling of fear caused her heart to tremble, -doubly terrified.] - -[Footnote 10: As she saw them enter without joyous exultation over so -great a victory, with no announcement or any direct word of it, she was -aware her Brandimarte had been slain.] - -[Footnote 11: On the return of the Paladin, the cry arose more loudly -and the wail redoubled.] - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -HISTORICAL DISASSOCIATIONS - - -From these last words, there can be no difficulty in seeing what must -be our opinion as to the confrontations and comparative judgments -instituted between Ariosto and Pulci or Boiardo, and even Cieco da -Ferrara, and all the other Italian poets of chivalry. These have -sometimes been extended so as to include poetical humourists, such -as Folengo and Rabelais, or burlesque writers like Berni, Tassoni, -Forteguerri, or neo-epical poets, like Tasso and Camoens, and finally -to Cervantes, that direct and fully conscious ironist of chivalry. This -is as perfectly admissible as it is natural that classes of "poems of -chivalry" or "narrative poems" or "romances," should be formed, when -once rhetoricians and writers of treatises have invented the genus and -that these should be disposed in a series under such headings, thus -forming a sort of artificial history, with no real foundation beyond -the accidents of certain abstract literary forms, which are really -representative of certain social tendencies and institutions. And it -is equally, indeed more admissible, because relating to more nearly -connected problems, that these documents afforded by poems of chivalry -should be made use of among other documents in the investigation -of the gradual dissolution of the ideal of chivalry in the first -period of modern society. Salvemini has not neglected to do this in a -temperate manner, in his monograph relating to "knightly dignity" in -the commune of Florence. But the aesthetic judgment, which they strive -to deduce from these comparisons, is inadmissible and illegitimate: -when for instance they bestow the palm on this or that poet for having -better observed than others the "genus" or a particular "species" and -"variety" of the genus; or because chivalry or anti-chivalry has been -better represented by one than by another. We can explain the fact that -De Sanctis was sometimes entangled in this sociological net, in spite -of his exquisite sense of individuality and poetry, when we consider -the condition of studies in his time and his philosophical origins; -but it is none the less true that the judgments which he pronounced -upon this matter, deviate from true and proper aesthetic criticism, and -carry with them the bad effects of every deviation. - -Having ourselves refused to be among those whose feet are caught in -the insidious net of Caligorante, we shall have nothing further to say -as to comparisons with Ariosto, because the poet of the _Furioso_ has -always come out of those maladroit confrontations and the arbitrary -judgments of merit which result from them, crowned above all others -with the sign of victory, or at least unconquered by any other, and -admitting but a very few as his equals. The preference accorded by -romantic German men of letters to Boiardo (recently revived to some -extent in Italy, by Panzini) belongs rather to the domain of anecdote -than to the history of criticism: Boiardo is looked upon by them as -the poet of grand heroic dreams, while Ariosto is a mere citizen -poet; or Boiardo again is lauded for having better represented the -logical form of the Italian poem of chivalry, prescribed according -to a chemical combination drawn up in the philological laboratory of -the anti-Ariostesque Professor Rajna, who is in other respects a most -worthy and well-deserving person. But there is no denying that the -peculiar beauty of Ariosto has often injured Boiardo, Pulci, Tasso -and other poets, who have been illegitimately compared with him; and -therefore, without talking of Tasso--who has now won his case, although -he numbered a Galilei among the ranks of those who under-estimated -him when making the above-mentioned confrontation,--it will not be -inopportune to cast a rapid glance upon Pulci and Boiardo. - -Looking at Pulci in Pulci and not at Ariosto, since to place one -physiognomy on the top of another is not a good way of seeing, what -do we find? What is the _Morgante?_ It is above all a whimsicality, -one of those works, born of a caprice or a bet, to which the author -neither devotes himself after the necessary previous meditations, nor -works at with the scrupulosity of the artist, who expends his powers -and employs his utmost endeavour to do the best he can everywhere. But -the occasion or the inspiration is never the substance of a work, which -on the contrary always consists of what the author really brings to it -in the course of his labour; and the mention of the occasional origin -of the _Morgante_ only avails here to account for its ill-digested -and undoubtedly chaotic nature. Nor is it to the purpose to recall -what certainly seems to have been Pulci's intention, namely, to -satisfy in his own way a wish of the pious Lucrezia Tornabuoni, by -composing or re-writing a Christian poem of chivalry, for this in its -turn only explains certain superficialities and extrinsicalities, -such as the general plan of the poem and the parts of it possessing -religious tone, which are successful to the extent that they could -be successful with such a brain as Pulci's. A commencement will have -been made towards a proper understanding of the substance of the -_Morgante,_ its proper and intrinsic inspiration, by referring it first -to the curiosity with which educated Florentine citizens observed and -reproduced the customs and the psychology of the people of the city and -the surrounding districts, productive of the poetry of Politian, of -Lorenzo and of Pulci himself, author of the _Beca di Dicomano,_ each -with its various popular appeal. That inspiration contains something -both of the sympathetic and of the ironical, as we observe in all -poetry based upon popular themes and use of dialect, in the German -romantic _Lieder_ and _Balladen_ and in the dialect literature of the -Italy of to-day (one feels inclined to call the _Morgante_ "dialect" -and not "Italian"): and in Pulci there vibrated a sympathetic-ironic -chord, peculiar to himself and therefore naturally not exactly the -same as in Lorenzo, or still less in Politian. But it did not vibrate -pure and clear, being prevented from doing so, not so much owing to -initial eccentricity and to the intention above-mentioned, as to the -accumulation of other inspirations, arising in the fertile spirit of -Pulci. For Pulci had in mind, in addition to the reconstruction of a -sympathetic-ironic popular poem of the popular story-tellers, something -that might be called a "Picaresque romance," understanding thereby -not only tales of the sort to be found in Spanish literature, but -also certain other tales of Boccaccio and a great part of Folengo's -_Baldus._ Picaresque romance asked in its turn sympathy and irony, but -of a different sort to the preceding, no longer sympathy for popular -ingenuity, but for cleverness, trickiness, for an irony, which should -no longer be simply that of superior culture, but also of superior -morality; and this too was in some measure and in his own way in Pulci; -but he often spoilt this disposition of mind by inadvertently passing, -like a person lacking refinement of education, from Picaresque romance -to Picaresque intonation, from the representation of a blackguard -to the blackguard himself. And there is something else also in the -_Morgante_: the imaginings and caprices of Pulci himself, his own -personal moral opinions, religious or philosophical; things that are -sometimes thought about even by those who do not think much about them, -and which, owing to this casual hasty thinking, become nevertheless -opinions or semi-opinions. Finally the _Morgante_ is a skein formed -of strands of different colour and make, some of them thicker or -thinner than others: it is a poem that is not in tune with a single -dominant inspiration, and if we take one of those elements that we -have described and transport it to the principal place, we immediately -have the feeling that we are depriving the complex nature of the work -of its vigour. Nevertheless the _Morgante_ must be looked upon as one -of the most richly endowed works of our literature, where we meet at -every step with delightful figures and traits of expression: Morgante, -Margutte, Fiorinetta, Astarotte, Farfarello, Archbishop Turpin, certain -touches of character in Orlando, and especially in Rinaldo, and also in -Antea, together with certain descriptions, anecdotes and acute remarks. -Margutte, plunged deep in vice, but quite shameless and aware that he -cannot be other than what nature made him, is also human, incapable -of treachery, capable of affection for Morgante and of enduring his -all-consuming voracity; so that when his companion dies, he never -ceases recalling him to mind, and talking about him even with Orlando: - - E conta d'ogni sua piacevolezza, - E lacrimava ancor di tenerezza.[1] - -Rinaldo, ardent and furious for revenge, seeks to slay Carlo Magno, who -has been hidden from him; but after a few days Orlando leads him to -believe that the Emperor has died of desperation, and tells him that he -has appeared to him in vision, whereupon Rinaldo changes countenance -and begins to wish him alive again, to feel pity for him, to repent him -of his fury, so that in this way peace and reconciliation are effected. -After a great battle, the conquered as they leave the field, recognise -their dead ones where they lie, and we hear them lamenting a father, a -brother or a friend: - - Eravi alcun che cavava l'elmetto - al suo figliolo, al suo cognato, o padre; - poi lo baciava con pietoso affetto, - E dicea: "Lasso, fra le nostre squadre - non tornerai in Soria più, poveretto; - che dirén noî alla tua afflitta madre, - o chi sarà più quel che la conforti? - Tu ti riman cogli altri al campo morti."[2] - -And this is an apology, by means of which Orlando explains to Rinaldo -that he has remarked his new affection, and that it is of no use that -he should try to deceive him with words: - - Rispose Orlando:--Noi sarem que' frati - che mangiando il migliaccio, l'un si cosse; - l'altro gli vede gli occhi imbambolati, - e domando quel che la cagion fosse. - Colui rispose: "Noi sián due restati - a mensa, e gli altri sono or per le fosse, - ché trentatré fummo e tu lo sia: - Quand' io vi penso, io piango sempre mai." - Quell' altro, che vedea che lo 'ngannava, - finse di pianger, mostrando dolore; - e disse a quel che di ciò domandava: - "E anco io piango, anzi mi scoppia il core, - che noi sián due restati"; e sospirava, - "Ed è già l'uno all' altro traditore." - Cosi mi par che faccian noi, Rinaldo: - "che nol di tu che'l migliaccio era caldo?"[3] - -And here is an octave in which Pulci makes it psychologically clear why -King Carlo allowed himself to be led astray and deceived by Gano: - - Molte volte, anzi spesso, c'interviene - che tu t'arrecchi un amico e fratello, - e ciò che fa ti par che facci bene, - dipinto e colorito col pennallo. - Questo primo legame tanto tiene, - che, s' altra volta ti dispiace quello, - e qualcha cosa ti parà molesta, - sempre la prima impression pur resta.[4] - -"These are not the octaves of Ariosto ": we have said as much. -Certainly they are not, just as the octaves of Ariosto are not those of -Pulci, and Ariosto, whatever trouble he might have taken, could never -have attained to the inventions, the emotions, the clevernesses and -the accents of the _Morgante,_ which are just as inimitable in their -way as are the graces of the _Furioso._ And it is really unjust and -almost odious that the reader, face to face with the treasures of fresh -and original poetry, which Pulci throws without counting into his lap, -should pull a wry face and ungratefully remark that Pulci's poetry -is not that other poetry which he is now thinking about, and that it -should be abolished, or made perfect by the other poetry! - -Almost the same thing is to be repeated about the author of the -_Innamorato,_ who has also been tormented, condemned and executed by -means of a comparison with the author of the _Furioso,_ sometimes -conducted with such a refinement of cruelty that the strophes of the -one are printed facing the strophes of the other, and selected as -bearing upon similar situations, so that every word and syllable may -be weighed; as though the strophes of a poet are not to be considered -solely in themselves and in the poem of which they form part, and to -be condemned, if occasion arise for condemnation, within that circle -to which are confined the real conditions of judgment. Boiardo, to one -who reads him without any sort of preconception and abandons himself -to the simple impressions of reading, immediately shows himself to be -altogether different from what some critics maintain, the pedantic -singer of chivalry taken seriously, who gives way now and then to -involuntary laughter and to a harsh intonation which should be toned -down and softened by the skill of an Ariosto. He is quite other also -than the epic bard, which some people have imagined him to be; he could -not be epic, because he had no national sentiment, no feeling for -class or religion, and the marvellous in him is all fancy, a marvel -of the fairies; nor was he a pedant, for he obviously follows his own -spontaneous inclinations, without any secondary purpose. No, Boiardo -was on the contrary a soul passionately devoted to the primitive and -the energetic, his was the energy of the lance-thrust, of the brand -wielded, but also the energy of a proud will, of ferocious courage, -of intransigent honour, of marvellous devices. And it is owing just -to this energy, which has a value of its own, that he lives to unite -poetically the cycles of Charlemagne and of Arthur, the Carlovingian -and the Breton traditions, arms and adventures and love, both of them -primitive cycles, the second being remarkable for the extraordinary -nature of its adventures and the violence of its loves; whereas, if -that heroism had continued to be full and substantial, it would have -been difficult to make it a theme for erotic treatment, representing a -different and opposed sentiment. To ask of him delicacy of treatment -in the representation of his knights, or delicacy of thoughts and -words in his treatment of women and love, and in general, beauty -of sentiment, is to ask of him what is external to his fundamental -motive. To be astonished that he sometimes laughs or smiles, is to -be astonished at what happens every day among the people (and there -are traces of it in the ingenuous epic) when they are listening to -the recital of great deeds, which do not forbid an occasional comic -remark. To lament his supposed neglect of art, his lack of polish of -language and versification, is to censure him as a grammarian who -employs pre-established models or dwells upon minute details to which -he attributes sovereign importance. How on the other hand can it be -forgotten, when praise of his rich fancy and robust frankness of style -and composition is opposed to censures or interlarded among them, that -we must explain whence came to him these merits, for they are not to -be snatched, but are born only of the soul. Whence came they, if not -from true poetical inspiration and from his already mentioned passion -for the energetic and the primitive? Hence the admiration aroused by -his vast canvases, his vivid narratives:--Angelica, who by merely -appearing at Carlo's banquet, makes everyone fall in love with her, -and whom even the Emperor himself cannot refrain from admiring, though -with discretion, lest he should compromise his gravity, Angelica, -whom the greatest champions of Christianity and Paganism follow with -admiration, refusing herself to all and loving only him who alone -abhors her;--the solemn council of war, held by Agramante previous -to entering France, with the speeches of the kings who surround him, -courageous or prudent, the sudden appearance of the youthful Rodomonte, -who dominates all with his tremendous energy;--the joyful courage of -Astolfo, never disconcerted by headlong mishaps, whom fortune succours -by furnishing him with a lance, by means of which, to the astonishment -of all, he accomplishes prodigies, while he himself remains -unastonished;--Brunello, as to whose doings one would like to apply -Vico's phrase about "heroic thieving," Brunello, who wanders about the -earth, stealing the most carefully guarded objects, with an audacious -dexterity and so comic an imagination, Brunello, revelling in his -joyous virtuosity and vainly-pursued over the whole world by Marfisa of -the viper's eye, which spirts venom, Marfisa who wishes to put him to -death; but he flies from her, turning from time to time in his flight -to laugh in her face and make gestures of mockery;--Then again there -are the colloquies of Orlando and Agricane, during the pauses in their -bitter duel, which must end in the death of one of them; Rinaldo's -caustic reply to Orlando, who has reproved him for wishing to carry -away the golden couch from the fairy's garden; and that other no less -caustic repartee of the courageous highway robber to Brandimarte; and -many and many another most beautiful passage?--Yet the _Innamorato,_ -notwithstanding its poetical abundance, has never been numbered among -really classical works, so that after the vogue which for ephemeral -reasons it enjoyed in its own day, it has not received and does not -receive the affection and homage of any but those who love what is -little loved and prize what is pure, spontaneous and rude. The poem -does not conclude in itself; it is not satisfied with itself: there is -a break somewhere in the circle: the representation of the energetic -and primitive, which is a sort of formal epicity, has something in -it of the monotonous and arid, and the pleasure derived from it has -something of the solitary and sterile. Like the charger that sniffs the -battle, so says Boiardo: - - Ad ogni atto degno e signorile, - Quai se raconti di cavalleria, - sempre se allegra l'animo gentile, - come nel fatto fusse tuttavia, - manifestando fuore il cor virile....[5] - -That is well, but the manly heart is not slow to express a certain -feeling of delusion, when it recognises that the images in question -are all body, without depth of soul, and without the guidance and -inspiration of a superior spirit. He says somewhere else: - - Già molto tempo m'han tenuto a bada - Morgana, Alcina e le incantazioni, - Nè ve ho mostrato un bel colpo di spada, - E pieno il cel de lancie e de tronconi....[6] - -But there are too many lances that meet and clash, too many limbs -flying about without our ever seeing the cause, the meaning or the -justification of all that fighting--even Boiardo himself becomes -melancholy, when he thinks of those blows exchanged in a spiritual -void, exclaiming in one of those frequent purely spontaneous epigrams, -which invest his noble person with sympathy: - - Fama, seguace degli imperatori, - Ninfa, che e' gesti a' dolci versi canti, - che dopo morte ancor gli uomini onori, - e fai coloro eterni, che tu vanti, - ove sei giunta? a dir gli antichi amori, - e a narrar battaglie de' giganti; - mercè del mondo, che al tuo tempo è tale, - che più di fama o di virtù non cale. - Lascia a Parnaso quella verde pianta, - che da salvivi ormai perso è il cammino, - e meco al basso questa istoria canta - del re Agramante, il forte Saracino....[7] - -Pulci and Boiardo then, not to mention others, are to be placed neither -above nor below Ariosto, for they are not even related to him. Proof of -this is to be found in the fact that thought has gone to other artists, -to Ovid for example, in the search for his parallel in literature -among the Latins, to Petrarch and to Politian among Italians, or to -architects like Bramante and Leon Baptista Alberti, and yet more to -painters, like Raphael, Correggio and Titian, comparisons having been -instituted with all of these and with others whom it is unnecessary to -mention. Now as regards quality of artistic inspiration, affinity is -certainly more intrinsic than are relations established from the use -of similar abstract material; yet it is itself abstract and extrinsic, -because it always accepts one or certain aspects of inspiration, not -the full inspiration. Thus, for example, when a comparison is drawn -between Ariosto and Ovid, who was a story-teller, lacking altogether -in religious feeling for mythological fables and attracted to them -solely by their beauty and variety, we must immediately hasten to add -that with the exception of this side, which they share in common, -Ariosto is different and superior to the Latin poet in every other, -for Ovid had not a delicate taste in art, being merged altogether in -his pleasing and delightful themes. He improvised and overflowed, -owing to his incapacity for firm design and lack of control: he would -be better described as the model of the luxurious Italian versifiers -of the seventeenth century than as the model of Ariosto, whose art -was most chaste. If again he be superficially compared with Politian, -the comparison breaks up immediately, because the _Stanze_ are -inspired by the voluptuousness of the sensible world, contemplated -in all its fugitive brilliance and with that trembling accompaniment -of anxiety and suffering, inseparable from it, while Ariosto soars -above the pathos of voluptuousness. To note affinities is of avail in -a work introductory to the general study of literature, and to draw -comparisons and point out contrasts and successive approximations may -also serve as a useful aid to the accurate description of an artist's -special character. But we do not propose to supply here such a -didactic introduction, for the use of such a method is superfluous, -as we have already described Ariosto's characteristics in the manner -proposed. We shall not therefore form a group of artists, as related to -him in this or that respect, for such cannot be expected of us, nor has -it for us any special attraction. - -Observations as to affinities have another use also, as providing a -basis for sparkling and resonant metaphors, as when it is observed of -an artist that he is the "Raphael of poetry," of another that he is -"the Dante of sculpture," or of a third that he is "the Michael Angelo -of sound," or as was said (by Torquato Tasso, perhaps as a witticism, -and certainly with little truth), that Ariosto is "the Ferrarese -Homer." We already possess many pages of magnificent metaphors to the -honour and glory of the author of the _Furioso,_ nor do we intend to -depreciate their merit; but the present writer begs to be excused from -the labour of increasing their number, since he is in general little -disposed to oratory and has allowed what slight gift of the sort he -might have possessed to flow away and lose itself, while conversing -with so unrhetorical and so conversational a poet as was Ludovico -Ariosto. - - -[Footnote 1: Saying how delightful he was and still weeping for tender -recollection.] - -[Footnote 2: Sometimes one would remove the helmet from his son, his -cousin, or his father, kissing him with pious affection, and saying -"alas, poor fellow, never again will he return to our ranks in Soria; -what shall we say to his afflicted mother, who among us can comfort -her? But thou remainest with the others who lie dead on the field."] - -[Footnote 3: Orlando answered:--We shall be like the friars one of -whom burnt himself in eating his gruel; the other seeing his eyes -watering asked the reason. His neighbour replied: "Here we are, two of -us remained sitting at table, while the others are in the tomb; well -thou knowest that we were thirty-three; it always makes me weep to -think of it." The other, who saw the deception, in his turn made belief -to lament and grieve and when asked the reason: "Yea, I also weep; my -heart indeed is bursting to think that we two remain"; then sighing he -continued, "And that one of us two is betraying the other. We seem to -be doing much the same thing, Rinaldo: why won't you confess that the -gruel was hot?"] - -[Footnote 4: It often happens that a friend becomes like a brother to -you, and whatever he does seems to be so well done as to deserve being -made a picture. This first bond holds so firmly that when he finally -does something you do not like--injures you in some way--nevertheless -the first impression remains the same.] - -[Footnote 5: The gentle soul rejoices at every worthy, noble deed -recounted of knighthood, as it does when the deed was accomplished, -which revealed the manly heart.] - -[Footnote 6: Morgana, Alcina and their incantations have long held me -in their chains, so that I have been unable to show you aught of fine -sword play, the sky full of lances and limbs....] - -[Footnote 7: Where art thou gone, O fame that followest emperors and -singest their brave deeds in gentle verse, thou that honorest men after -death and conferrest eternity upon those thou vauntest? This is the -fault of the world. Thou art gone to sing of ancient loves and to tell -of the battles of the giants, thanks to this world of ours that cares -no longer for courage or for fame. Leave upon Parnassus that growth -of green, since none knows now the upward path that leadeth thither, -and sing here below with me this history of King Agramante, the mighty -Saracen....] - - - - -PART II - - -WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -THE PRACTICAL PERSONALITY AND THE POETICAL PERSONALITY - - -To state at the outset, that the practical personality of Shakespeare -is not the object of study for the critic and historian of art, but his -poetical personality; not the character and development of his life, -but the character and development of his art, will perhaps seem to be -superfluous, but as a matter of fact it will aid us in proceeding more -rapidly. - -We do not aim at forbidding the natural curiosity, which leads to the -enquiry as to what sort of men in practical life were those whom we -admire as poets, thinkers and scientists. This curiosity often leads -to delusion, because there is nothing to be found behind the poet, -the philosopher, or the man of science, which can arouse interest, -though it is sometimes fruitful. It would certainly be agreeable to -raise that sort of mysterious veil that surrounds Shakespeare. We -should like to know what sort of passions, what ethical, philosophical -and mental experiences were his, and above all what he thought about -himself--whether, as appeared to those who rediscovered him a century -or so later, he were really without feeling the greatness of his genius -and of his own work. For what reason, too, if there were a special -reason, did he not take the trouble to have his plays printed, but -exposed them to the risk of being lost to posterity? Was it due to the -ingenuousness and innocence of the poet, or to proud indifference on -the part of a man, who disdains the world's applause and the mirage of -glory, because he is completely satisfied with the greatness of his -work? Or was it due to simple indolence, or to a settled plan, or to -the web of events? Did he suppose, as has been suggested, that those -plays, written for the theatre, would have continued ever to live in -the theatre, under the care of his companions in art, in accordance -with his intentions and in a manner suitable to their merit? But it -is clear that these and such like questions concern the biography, -rather than the artistic history of Shakespeare, which gives rise to an -altogether different series of researches. - -We do not however wish to assert that these two series of different -questions are without relation: even different things have some -relation to one another, which resides in their diversity itself -and is connected above them. The critic and historian of art would -certainly find it advantageous for the studies that he was about to -undertake, to know the chronology, the circumstances, the details, the -compositions, the recompositions, the recastings and the collaborations -of the Shakespearean drama. He would thus avoid the obligation of -vexing his mind as to certain interpretations, and of remaining more or -less perplexed for a greater or lesser space of time, before certain -peculiarities, discordances and inequalities, doubtful, that is to -say, as to whether they be errors in art, or art forms of which it is -difficult to seize the hidden connection. But he would gain nothing -more from this advantage (with the conjoined admonition, to beware of -the prejudices that such information is apt to cause). His judgment -would of necessity be founded, in final analysis, upon intrinsic -reasons of an artistic nature, arising from an examination of the works -before him. The chronology that he will succeed in fixing, will not be -a real or material chronology, but an ideal and an aesthetic one, for -these are two forms of chronology which only coincide approximately and -sometimes altogether diverge from one another. Were the authenticity -of the works all clearly settled, the critic would be preserved from -proclaiming that certain works or parts of works are Shakespeare's, -when they are really, say, Greene's or Marlowe's, which is an -inexactitude of nomenclature, as also is the treating of Shakespeare's -work as being by someone else or anonymous. But this onomastic -inexactitude is already corrected by the presumption that the critic -has his eye fixed, not on the biographical and practical personage -of Shakespeare, but on the poetical personage. He is thus able to -face with calmness the danger, which is not a danger and is extremely -improbable, of allowing to pass under the colours of Shakespeare a work -drawn from the same or a similar source of inspiration, which stands at -an equal altitude with others, or of adding another work to those of -inferior quality and declining value assigned to the same name, because -he is differentiating aesthetic values and not title-deeds to legal -property. - -As we have said, it has not seemed superfluous to repeat these -statements, because in the first place, the silent and tenacious, -though erroneous conviction, as to the unity and identity of the two -histories, the practical and the poetical, or at least the obscurity as -to their true relation, is the hidden source of the vast and to a large -extent useless labours, which form the great body of Shakespearean -philology. This in common with the philology of the nineteenth century -in general, is unconsciously dominated by romantic ideas of mystical -and naturalistic unity, whence it is not by accident that Emerson -is found among the precursors of hybrid biographical aesthetic, and -the romanticizing Brandes among its most conspicuous supporters. -These labours are animated with the hope of obtaining knowledge -of the poetry of Shakespeare in its full reality, by means of the -discovery of the complete chronology, of biographical incidents, of -allusions, and of the origin of his themes. The ranks of the seekers -are also swollen by those who are animated with like hopes and wish -to exhibit their cleverness in the solution of enigmas, or are urged -by the professional necessity of producing dissertations and theses. -Unfortunately, the documents and traditions relating to the life of -Shakespeare are very few. All or nearly all, relate to external and -insignificant details. We are without letters, confessions or memoirs -by the author, and also without authentic and abundant collections of -facts relating to him. Although almost every year there appears some -new _Life of Shakespeare,_ it is now time to recognise with resignation -and clearly to declare that it is not possible to write a biography of -Shakespeare. At the most, an arid and faulty biographical chronicle -can be composed, rather as proof of the devotion of posterity, -longing to possess even a shadow of that biography, than as genuinely -satisfying a desire for knowledge. Owing to this lack of documents, the -above-mentioned philological literature consists, almost altogether, -of an enormous and ever increasing number of conjectures, of which -the one contests, impugns, or varies the other, and all are equally -incapable of nourishing the mind. It suffices to glance through a -few pages of a Shakespearean annual or handbook, to hear of the -"Southampton theory," the "Pembroke theory," and of other theories, in -relation to the _Sonnets;_ that is to say, whether the person concealed -beneath the initials W. H. in the printer's dedication, is the Earl -of Southampton, or the Earl of Pembroke, or a musician of the name -of Hughes, or even William Harvey, the third husband of Southampton's -mother, or the retail bookseller, William Hell, or an invention of -the printer, or a joke of the poet, who should thus indicate himself -(William Himself); and so on, with the "Fitton theory," the "Davenant -theory," and the like, that is to say, whether the "dark lady," -celebrated in some of the sonnets, be a court lady of the name of Mary -Fitton, or the hostess by whom Shakespeare is said to have become -the father of the poet Davenant (and one of the critics has dared -admit that he spent fifteen years in research and meditation on this -point alone), or the French wife of the printer Field, or finally a -conventional and imaginary personage of Elizabethan sonneteering, which -was based upon the manner of Petrarch. And in the same way as with the -_Sonnets,_ there have been conjectures of the most varied sorts as to -Shakespeare's marriage, his relations with his wife, the incidents -of his family and of his profession. Passing to the plays, there are -and have been discussions without apparent end, as to whether _Titus -Andronicus_ be an original work, or has been patched up by him; as to -whether _Henry VI_ be all of it his, or only a part, or revised and -enlarged by him; as to which portions of _Henry VIII_ and of _Pericles_ -are his and which Fletcher's, or whether by other hands; as to whether -_Timon_ be a sketch finished by others or a sketch by others finished -by Shakespeare; whether and to what extent there persists in _Hamlet_ a -previous _Hamlet_ by Kyd or by another author; whether certain of the -so-called "apocryphas," such as _Arden of Feversham_ and _Edward III,_ -are on the contrary to be held to be authentic. In like manner, the -difficulties connected with the chronology are great and conjectures -numerous. The _Dream,_ for instance, is by some placed in the year -1590, by others in 1595, _Julius Caesar_ now in 1606, now in 1599, -_Cymbeline_ in 1605 and 1611, _Troilus and Cressida,_ by some in 1599, -by others in 1603, by others still in 1609, by yet others resolved into -three parts or strata, form 1592 to 1606, and 1607, with additions by -other hands. For the majority, the _Tempest_ belongs to the year 1611, -but is by others dated earlier, and as regards _Hamlet_ again, in -its first form, there are some who believe that it was composed, not -by any means in 1602, but between 1592 and 1594. And so on, without -advantage being taken of the few sure aids offered by stylistic or -metrical measurements, as one may prefer to call them. Now conjectures -are of use as heuristic instruments, only in so far as it is hoped -to convert them into certainties, by means of the documents of which -they aid in the search and the interpretation. But when this is not -possible, they are altogether vain and vacuous, and consequently, were -they convertible into certainties, would not give the solution or the -criterion of solution of the critical problems relating to the poetry -of Shakespeare. When they are not to be so converted and remain mere -vague imagining, they do not even supply the practical and biographical -history, which others delude themselves with the belief that they -can construct piecemeal by means of them. Hence it has happened that -careful writers, who have wished to give the character and life of -Shakespeare, as far as possible without hypotheses and fancies, have -been obliged to retail a series of general assertions, in which all -individualisation is lost, even if Shakespeare be pronounced good, -honest, gentle, serviceable, prudent, laborious, frank, gay, and the -like. - -But the majority convert the less probable conjectures into -certainties, and proceed from conjecture to conjecture and from -assertion to assertion, finally producing, under the title, _Life of -Shakespeare,_ nothing but a romance, which, however, always turns -out to be too colourless to be called artistic. A rapacious hand is -stretched out to seize the poetical works themselves, with the view -of writing this sort of fiction since (to quote the author of one of -these unamusing fictions, Brandes) it cannot be admitted that it is -impossible to know by deducing them from his writings, the life, the -adventures, and the person of a man who has left about forty plays -and poems. And it is certainly possible to deduce all these things -from the poetical writings, but the life, and the poetical adventures -and personages, not the practical and biographical; save in the case -(which is not that of Shakespeare,) where definitely informative, -autobiographical statements and excursions are to be found among the -poems, that is to say, passages that are not poetical, but prosaic. -In every other instance, the poetical emotion does not lead to the -practical, because the relation between the two is not _deterministic,_ -from effect to cause, but _creative,_ from material to form, and -therefore incommensurable. The moment it is raised to the sphere of -poetry, a sentiment that has really been experienced is plucked from -its practical and realistic soil, and made the motive of composition -for a world of dreams, one of the infinite possible worlds, in which it -is as useless to seek any longer the reality of that sentiment, as it -is vain to seek a drop of water poured into the ocean, and transformed -from what it was previously by ocean's vast embrace. One feels almost -inclined to repeat as warning that strophe from the _Sonnets,_ where -the poet said of his mistress to his friend: - - "Nay, if you read this line, remember not - The hand that writ it; for I love you so, - That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, - If thinking on me then should make you woe." - -For this reason, when we read in Brandes's book (which we select for -quotation here, because it has been widely circulated), such statements -as that Richard III, the deformed dwarf, whom we feel to be superior -in intellect, adumbrates Shakespeare himself, obliged to adopt the -despised profession of the actor, but full of the pride of genius, -it is not a case of rejecting or accepting his statements, but of -simply looking upon them as so many conjectures founded upon air and -as such, devoid of interest. This criterion can also be applied in the -following cases: that the pitiful death of the youthful Prince Arthur, -in _King John,_ shows traces of the loss of one of his sons, sustained -by the author at the moment when he was composing that drama; that -the riotous youth of Henry V is a symbol of the youth of Shakespeare -during his first years in London; that Brutus, in _Julius Caesar,_ has -reference to the persons of Essex and Southampton, protectors of the -poet and unsuccessful conspirators against the queen; that Coriolanus, -disdainful of praise, is Shakespeare in the attitude that it suited -him to take up towards the public and the critics; that the feeling of -King Lear, appalled with ingratitude, is that of the poet, appalled at -the ingratitude he experienced at the hands of his colleagues, of the -impresarii and of his pupils; and finally that Shakespeare must have -written those terrible dramas in the nocturnal hours, although he most -probably worked as a rule in the early morning; together with many -other fancies of a similar sort; it is not a case of accepting or of -confuting them, but of just taking them for what they are, conjectures -based upon air, and as such of no interest. - -The like may be said of another volume, which has also been much -discussed, that of Harris. Here, in a view based upon the inspection of -his lyrics and dramas, he is represented as sensual and neuropathic, -almost affected with erotic mania, weak of will, attracted and -tyrannised over during almost the whole of his life, by a fascinating -and faithless dark lady, named Mary Fitton. Hence the origin of his -most poignant tragedies, and the mystery that conceals his last years, -when he withdrew to Stratford, by no means with the intention of -there enjoying the peace of the country as a _foenerator Appuis,_ but -because, ruined in body and soul, he wished there to nurse his ills, or -rather to die there, as soon afterwards he did. - -The period of the great tragedies, especially, has been connected -with circumstances in the private life of the author and with events -in English public life. This too may or may not be true: Shakespeare -may or may not have been extremely excitable, both in personal and -practical matters; he may on the other hand have remained perfectly -calm and watched the tossing sea from the shore, with that tone -of feeling proper to artists, described by psychologists as -_Scheingefühle,_ a feeling of appearance and dream. No value also is -to be attributed to conjectures as to the models that Shakespeare -sometimes had before him: for Shylock in the shape of some adventurer -of his time, or for Prospero in the person of the Emperor Rudolph II, -who was interested in science and magic, and the like, because the -relation between art and its model is incommensurable. In reading the -works of Shakespeare, one is sometimes inclined to think (as for that -matter in the case of other poets), that some affection or incident -of the life of the author is to be found in the words of this or that -character, as for example in _Cymbeline,_ where Posthumus says, - - "Could I find out - The woman's part in me! But there's no motion - That tends to vice in man, but I affirm - It is the woman's part!" - -or in those others of _Troilus and Cressida_: - - "Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing - else holds fashions: a burning devil take them!" - -in the same way as some have suspected a personal memory in the case -of Dante, in the Francesca episode of the reading and inebriation. -But there is nothing to be done with this suspicion and the thought -that suggested it. Nor is there anything to be built upon in those rare -passages, where it may seem that the poet breaks the coherence and -aesthetic level of his work, in order to lay stress upon some real or -practical feeling of his own, by over-accentuation; because, even if we -admit that there are such passages in Shakespeare, it always remains -doubtful whether for him, as for other poets, the true motive for -this inopportune emphasis, is to be found in the eruption of his own -powerful feelings, or rather in some other accidental motive. - -We may also save ourselves from wonder and invective of the "Baconian -hypothesis," by means of this indifference of the poetical work towards -biography. This hypothesis maintains that the real author of the plays, -which pass under the name of Shakespeare, was Francis Bacon. We are -likewise preserved from those others of more recent date and vogue, -which maintain that the author was Roger, fifth Earl of Rutland, or -that Rutland collaborated with Southampton, or that there really -existed a society of dramatic authors, (Chettle, Heywood, Webster, -etc.) with the final revision entrusted to Bacon, or finally (the -latest discovery of the sort) that he was William Stanley, sixth Earl ->of Derby. A thousand or more volumes, opuscules and articles have been -printed to deal with these conjectures, and although--to the severe eye -of the trained philologist--they may justly seem to be extravagant, -yet they retain the merit of being a sort of involuntarily _ironic -treatment_ of the purely philological method and of its abuse of -conjecture. - -But even if we grant the unlikely contention that in the not very -great brain of the philosopher Bacon, there lodged the brain of a very -great poet, from which proceeded the Shakespearean drama, nothing -would thereby have been discovered or proved, save a singular marvel, -a joke, a monstrosity of nature. The artistic problem would remain -untouched, because that drama remains always the same; Lear laments -and imprecates in the same manner, Othello struggles furiously, Hamlet -meditates and wavers before the problem of humanity and the action that -he is called upon to take, and in the same manner, all are enwrapped in -the veil of Eternity, It is a good thing to shake off this weight of -erroneous philology (another philology exists alongside of it, which -is not erroneous, since it preserves the probably genuine text, and -interprets the vocabulary and the historical references with a genuine -feeling for art), not only because, whether or no it attain the end -of biography, it distracts attention from the right and proper object -of artistic criticism, but also because it employs the biography, -true or false, for the purpose of clouding and changing the artistic -vision. Confounding art and document, it transports into art whatever -it has discovered or believes itself to have discovered by means of -research, turning the serene compositions of the poet into a series -of shudders, cries, restless motions, convulsions, ferocious springs, -manifestations, now of sentimental rapture, now of furious desire. - -We know that it is necessary to make an effort of abstraction, to -forget biographical details concerning the poets, in those cases where -they abound, if we wish to enjoy their art, in what it possesses of -ideality, which is truth. We know, too, that poets and artists have -always experienced dislike and contempt for those gossip-mongers, who -investigate and record the private occurrences of their lives, in -order to extract from them the elements of artistic judgment. This is -the reason why a poet's contemporaries and his fellow-countrymen and -fellow-townsmen are said not to be good judges and that no one is a -poet or prophet among his familiars and in the place of his birth. - -The advantage of the lack of a bar to artistic contemplation, one of -the good consequences of this lack of biographical detail relating to -Shakespeare, is thrown away by these conjecturers, who, like the mule -of Galeazzo Florimonte, bring stones to birth that they may stumble -upon them. - -We can observe the re-immersion of Shakespearean poetry in -psychological materiality in the already mentioned book of Brandes (and -also to some extent in the more subtle and ingenious work of Frank -Harris) and in the case of Brandes, the readjustment of values that is -its consequence, as with _King Lear_ and _Timon,_ both documents of -misanthropy induced by ingratitude; and even the sinking of values into -non-values, when he fails to effect his psychological reduction, even -by means of those extravagant methods, as in the case of _Macbeth,_ -where he declares that this play, which is one of the dramatic -masterpieces, appears to him to possess but "slight interest," because -he does not feel "the heart of Shakespeare beating there," that is to -say, of the Shakespeare endowed with certain practical objects and -interests by his imagination. - -This error is also to be found in the so-called "pictures of the -society of the time," by means of which another group has striven to -interpret the art of Shakespeare. These are not less extrinsic and -disturbing than the others, assuming that they are composed with like -historical ignorance. Taine, for instance, having got it into his head -that the English of the time of Elizabeth were "_des bêtes sauvages_," -describes the drama of the time as a reproduction "_sans choix_" of -all "_les laideurs, les bassesses, les horreurs, les détails crus, -les mœurs déréglées et féroces_" of that time, and the style of -Shakespeare as "_un composé d'expressions forcenées,_" in such wise -that when one reads the famous _Histoire de la littérature anglaise,_ -it is difficult to say whether poets or assassins are passing across -the stage, whether these be artistic and harmonious contests, or -dagger-thrust struggles. The opinion of Goethe is opposed to all these -deformations, to the Shakespeare who moans and shrieks on the wind of -the wild passions of his time, to that other Shakespeare who reveals -the wounds of his own sickly soul with bitter sarcasm and disgust. In -the conversations with Eckermann, he gives as his impression that the -plays of Shakespeare were the work "of a man in perfect health and -strength, both in body and spirit"; he must indeed have been healthy -and strong and free, when he created something so free, so healthy and -so strong as his poetry. - -In a calmer sphere of considerations, those who make the personages and -the action of the plays depend upon the political and social events -of the time commit a similar deterministic error--upon the victory -over the Armada, the conspiracy of Essex, the death of Elizabeth, the -accession of James, the geographical discoveries and colonisation of -the day, the contests with the Puritans, and the like. - -Others err in tracing the different forms of the poetry to the course -of his reading, to the Chronicle of Holinshed, to Italian novels, to -the Lives of Plutarch, and especially to the _Essais_ of Montaigne -(where Chasles and others of more recent date have placed the origin -of the new great period of his poetical work); others again have found -it in the circumstances of the English stage of the time, and in the -various tastes of the "reserved" and "pit" seats, as in the so-called -"realistic" criticism of Rümelin. - -The poetry, then, should certainly be interpreted historically, but in -the proper sense, disconnected, that is to say from a history that is -foreign to it and with which its only connection is that prevailing -between a man and what he disregards, puts away from him and rejects, -because it either injures him or is of no use, or, which comes to the -same thing, because he has already made sufficient use of it. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -SHAKESPEAREAN SENTIMENT - - -Everyone possesses at the bottom of his heart, as it were, a synthetic -or compendious image of a poet like Shakespeare, who belongs to the -common patrimony of culture, and in his memory the definitions of him -that have been given and have become current formulae. It is well -to fix the mind upon that image, to remember these formulae, and to -extract from them their principal meanings, with the view of obtaining, -at least in a preliminary and provisory manner, the characteristic -spiritual attitude of Shakespeare, his poetical sentiment. - -The first observation leaps to the eye and is generally admitted: -namely, that no particular feeling or order of feelings prevails -in him; it cannot be said of him that he is an amorous poet, like -Petrarch, a desperately sad poet like Leopardi, or heroic, as Homer. -His name is adorned rather with such epithets as _universal_ poet, -as perfectly _objective,_ entirely _impersonal,_ extraordinarily -_impartial._ Sometimes even his _coldness_ has been remarked--a -coldness certainly sublime, "that of a sovran spirit, which has -described the complete curve of human existence and has survived all -sentiment" (Schlegel). - -Nor is he a poet of _ideals,_ as they are called, whether they be -religious, ethical, political, or social. This explains the antipathy -frequently manifested towards him by apostles of various sorts, of -whom the last was Tolstoi, and the unsatisfied desires that take fire -in the minds of the right thinking, urging them always to ask of any -very great man for something more, for a supplement. They conclude -their admiration with a sigh that there should really be something -missing in him--he is not to be numbered along those who strive for -more liberal political forms and for a more equable social balance, -nor has he had bowels of compassion for the humble and the plebeian. A -certain school of German critics (Ulrici, Gervinus, Kreyssig, Vischer, -etc.), perhaps as an act of opposition to such apparent accusations -(I would not recommend the reading of these authors, whom I have felt -obliged to peruse owing to the nature of my task) began to represent -Shakespeare as a lofty master of morality, a casuist most acute and -reliable, who never fails to solve an ethical problem in the correct -way, a prudent and austere counsellor in politics, and above all, an -infallible judge of actions, a distributor of rewards and punishments, -graduated according to merit and demerit, paying special attention that -not even the slightest fault should go unpunished. Now setting aside -the fact that the ends attributed to him were not in accordance with -his character as a poet and bore evidence only to the lack of taste of -those critics; setting aside that the design of distributing rewards -and punishments according to a moral scale, which they imagine to exist -and praise in him, was altogether impossible of accomplishment by any -man or even by any God, since rewards and punishments are thoughts -altogether foreign to the moral consciousness and of a purely practical -and judicial nature; setting aside these facts, which are generally -considered unworthy of discussion and jeered at in the most recent -criticism, as the ridiculous survivals of a bygone age, even if we make -the attempt to translate these statements into a less illogical form, -and assume that there really existed in Shakespeare an inclination for -problems of that sort, they shew themselves to be at variance with -simple reality. Shakespeare caressed no ideals of any sort and least -of all political ideals; and although he magnificently represents -political struggles also, he always went beyond their specific -character and object, attaining through them to the only thing that -really attracted him; life. - -This _sense of life_ is also extolled in his work, which for that -reason is held to be eminently _dramatic,_ that is to say, animated -with a sense of life considered in itself, in its eternal discord, its -eternal harshness, its bitter-sweet, in all its complexity. - -To feel life potently, without the determination of a passion or an -ideal, implies feeling it unilluminated by faith, undisciplined by -any law of goodness, not to be corrected by the human will, not to be -reduced to the enjoyment of idyllic calm, or to the inebriation of -joy; and Shakespeare has indeed been judged in turn not religious, not -moral, no assertor of the freedom of the will, and no optimist. But no -one has yet dared to judge him to be irreligious, immoral, a fatalist, -or a pessimist, for these adjectives are seen not to suit him, as soon -as they are pronounced. - -And here too were required the strange aberration of fancy of a Taine, -his singular incapacity for receiving clear impressions of the truth, -in order to portray the feeling of Shakespeare towards man and life as -being fundamentally irrational, based on blind deception, a sequence of -hasty impulses and swarming images, without an autonomous centre, where -truth and wisdom are accidental and unstable effects, or appearances -without substance. These are simply exercises in style, repeated with -variants from other writers; they do not even present a caricature -of the art of Shakespeare, since even for this, some connection with -fact is necessary. Shakespeare, who has so strong a feeling for the -bounds set to the human will, in relation to the Whole, which stands -above it, possesses the feeling for the power of human liberty in equal -degree. As Hazlitt says, he, who in some respects is "the least moral -of poets," is in others "the greatest of moralists." He who beholds the -unremovable presence of evil and sorrow, has his eye open and intent -in an equal degree upon the shining forth of the good, the smile of -joy, and is healthy and virile as no pessimist ever was. He who nowhere -in his works refers directly to a God, has ever present within him the -obscure consciousness of a divinity, of an unknown divinity, and the -spectacle of the world, taken by itself, seems to him to be without -significance, men and their passions a dream, a dream that has for -intrinsic and correlative end a reality which, though hidden, is more -solid and perhaps more lofty. - -But we must be careful not to insist too much upon these positive -definitions and represent his sentiment as though it were one in which -negative elements were altogether overcome. The good, virtue, is -without doubt stronger in Shakespeare than evil and vice, not because -it overcomes and resolves the other term in itself, but simply because -it is light opposed to darkness, because it is the good, because it is -virtue. This is because of its special quality, which the poet discerns -and seizes in its original purity and truth, without sophisticating -or weakening it. Positive and negative elements do really become -interlaced or run into one another, in his mode of feeling, without -becoming reconciled in a superior harmony. Their natural logic can be -expressed in terms of rectitude, justice and sincerity; but their logic -and natural character also finds its expression in terms of ambition, -cupidity, egoism and satanic wickedness. The will is accurately aimed -at the target, but also, it is sometimes diverted from it by a power, -which it does not recognise, although it obeys it, as though under -a spell. The sky becomes serene after the devastating hurricane, -honourable men occupy the thrones from which the wicked have fallen, -the conquerors pity and praise the conquered. But the desolation of -faith betrayed, of goodness trampled upon, of innocent creatures -destroyed, of noble hearts broken, remains. The God that should pacify -hearts is invoked, his presence may even be felt, but he never appears. - -The poet does not stand beyond these struggling passions, attraction -and repugnance, love and hate, hope and despair, joy and sorrow; but -he is beyond being on the side of one or the other. He receives them -all in himself, not that he may feel them all, and pour tears of -blood around them, but that he may make of them his unique world, the -Shakespearean world, which is the world of those undecided conflicts. - -What poets appear at first sight more different than Shakespeare and -Ariosto? Yet they have this in common, that both look upon something -that is beyond particular emotions, and for this reason it has been -said of both of them, more than once, that "they speak but little to -the heart." They are certainly sentimental and agitated by the passions -to a very slight degree; the "humour" of both has been referred to, a -word that we avoid here, because it is so uncertain of meaning and of -such little use in determining profound emotions of the spirit. Ariosto -veils and shades all the particular feelings that he represents, by -means of his divine irony; and Shakespeare, in a different way, by -endowing all with equal vigour and relief, succeeds in creating a sort -of equilibrium, by means of reciprocal tension, which, owing to its -mode of genesis, differs in every other respect from the harmony in -which the singer of the _Furioso_ delights. Ariosto surpasses good -and evil, retaining interest in them only on account of the rhythm of -life, so constant and yet so various, which arises, expands, becomes -extinguished and is reborn, to grow and again to become extinguished. -Shakespeare surpasses all individual emotions, but he does not -surpass, on the contrary, he strengthens our interest in good and -evil, in sorrow and joy, in destiny and necessity, in appearance and -reality, and the vision of this strife is his poetry. Thus the one has -been metaphorically called "imaginative"; the other "realistic," and -the one has been opposed to the other. They are opposed to one another, -yet they meet at one point, not at the general one of both being poets, -but at the specific point of being cosmic poets, not only in the sense -in which every poet is cosmical, but in the particular sense above -explained. Let us hope that it is not necessary to recommend that this -should be understood with the necessary reservations, that is to say, -as the trait that dominates the two poets in a different way and does -not exclude the other individual traits of feature, above all not -that which belongs to all poetry whatsoever. The limits set to every -critical study, which should henceforth be known to all, are laid -down by the impossibility of ever rendering in logical terms the full -effect of any poetry or of other artistic work, since it is clear that -if such a translation were possible, art would be impossible, that is -to say, superfluous, because admitting of a substitute. Criticism, -nevertheless, within those limits, performs its own office, which is to -discern and to point out exactly where lies the poetical motive and to -formulate the divisions which aid in distinguishing what is proper to -every work. - -For the rest, if Ariosto has often been compared to contemporary -painters, with the object of drawing attention to his harmonic -inspiration, Ludwig has been unable to abstain from making similar -comparisons for Shakespeare. He found the most adequate image for -his dramas in the portraits and landscapes of Titian, of Giorgione, -of Paul Veronese, as contrasting with the amiability of Correggio, -the insipidity of the Caracci, the affected manner of Guido and of -Carlo Dolce, the crudity of the naturalists Caravaggio and Ribera. -In Shakespeare, as in those great Venetians, there is everywhere -"existence," life upon earth, transfigured perhaps, but devoid of -restlessness, of aureoles and of sentimentalisms, serene even where -tragic. - -This sense of strife in vital unity, this profound sense of life, -prevents the vision from becoming simplified and superficialised in the -antitheses of good and evil, of elect and reprobate beings, and causes -the introduction of conflict, in varying measure and degree, in every -being. Thus the battle is fought at the very heart of things. Hence the -aspect of mystery that surrounds the actions and events portrayed by -Shakespeare, which is not to be understood in the general sense that -every vision of art is a mystery, but rather in the special sense of a -course of events of which the poet not only does not possess (and could -not possess) the philosophical explanation, but never discovers the -reposeful term, peace after war, the acceptance of war as a means to a -more lofty peace. For this reason is everywhere diffused the terror of -the Unknown, which surrounds on every side and conceals a countenance -that may be more terrible than terrible life itself, in the development -of which human beings are involved--a countenance terrible for what -it will reveal, and perhaps sublime and ecstatic, giving in its very -terribleness, terror and rapture together. The mystery lies not only in -the occasional appearance of spectres, demons, witches, in the poetry, -but in the whole atmosphere of which they form only a part, assisting -by their presence in a more direct determination. This mystery was well -expressed by the first great critics who penetrated into the world of -Shakespearean poetry, Herder and Goethe, to the second of whom belongs -the simile of the Shakespearean drama as "open books of Destiny, in -which blows the wind of emotional life here and there stripping their -leaves in its violence." In Shakespeare's musicality we are everywhere -sensible of a voluptuous palpitation before the mystery which at times -reflects upon itself and supplies the link between music and love, -music and sadness, music and unknown Godhead. - -We must insist upon the word "sentiment," which we have adopted for -the description of this spiritual condition, in order that it may not -be mistaken for a concept or mode of thought Or philosopheme, which -occurs when the word "conception" or "mode of conceiving life" is taken -in a literal and material manner as applied to Shakespeare and in -general to the poets--when, for instance, it is asked by what special -quality does Shakespeare's "conception of tragedy" differ from Greek -and French tragedy, and the like, as though in such a case, it were a -question of concepts and systems. Shakespeare is not a philosopher: -his spiritual tendency is altogether opposed to the philosophic, which -dominates both sentiment and the spectacle of life with thought that -understands and explains it, reconciling conflicts under a single -principle of dialectic. Shakespeare, on the contrary, takes both and -renders them in their vital mobility--they know nothing of criticism -or theory--and he does not offer any solution other than the evidence -of visible representation. For this reason, when he is characterised -and receives praises for his "objectivity," his "impersonality," his -"universality," and those who do this are not satisfied even with -their incorrect description of the real psychological differences -noted above, but proceed to claim a philosophical character for his -spiritual attitude, it is advisable to reject them all, confronting his -objectivity with his poetic subjectivity, his impersonality with his -personality, his universality with his individual mode of feeling. The -cosmic oppositions, in imagining which he symbolises reality and life, -not only are not philosophical solutions for him in his plays, but they -are not even problems of thought; only rarely do they tend to take the -form of bitter interrogations, which remain without answer. Equally -fantastic and arbitrary are the attempts to compose a philosophical -theory from the work of Shakespeare who is alternately, theistic, -pantheistic, dualistic, deterministic, pessimistic and optimistic, -by extracting it from his plays in the same manner as that employed -in the case of the philosophy implied in a historical or political -treatise; because there is certainly a philosophy implied in these -latter cases, embodied in the historical and political judgments which -they contain. In the case of Shakespeare, however, which is that of -poets in general, to extract it means to place it there, that is, to -think and to draw conclusions ourselves under the imaginative stimulus -of the poet, and to place in his mouth, through a psychological -illusion, our own questions and answers. It would only be possible to -discuss a philosophy of Shakespeare if, like Dante, he had developed -one in certain philosophical sections of his poems; but this is not so, -because the thoughts that he utters fulfil no other function than that -of poetical expressions, and when they are taken from their contexts, -where they sound so powerful and so profound, they lose their virtue -and appear to be indeterminate, contradictory or fallacious. - -It is quite another question as to whether his sentiment was based upon -what are called mental or philosophical _presumptions_ and as to what -these, properly speaking, were; because, as regards the first point, -it must be at once admitted that a sentiment does not appear without a -basis of certain mental presumptions or concepts, that is to say, of -certain convictions, affirmations, negations and doubts. As regards the -second point, the legitimacy of the enquiry will be admitted, and it -will also be noted that this forms one of several historical enquiries, -relating to Shakespeare in his poetry, to which belongs the place -unduly usurped by ineptitudes and superficialities on the theme of his -private affairs; his domestic relations, his business transactions, and -his pretended love intrigues with Mary Fitton and the hostess Madam -Davenant. - -It is also true that the researches into the mental presumptions of -Shakespeare have often strayed into the external and the anecdotic, as -is the case with such problems as the religion that he followed and -his political opinions. Stated in this way, they likewise sink to the -level of biographical problems, indifferent to art. That Shakespeare -belonged to the Anglican and not to the Catholic confession (as some -still maintain, and in 1864 Rio wrote a whole book on the subject), -and opposed Puritanism in one quality or the other; that he supported -Essex in his conspiracy, or on the contrary was on the side of Queen -Elizabeth, has nothing to do with the mental presuppositions immanent -in his poetry. He may have been impious and profane in active practical -life as a Greene or a Marlowe, or a devout papist, worshipping with -secret superstition, like an adept of Mary Stuart, and nevertheless he -may have composed poetry with different presuppositions, upon thoughts -that had entered his mind and had there become formed and dominated in -his spirit, without for that reason having changed the faith previously -selected and observed. The research of which we speak does not concern -the superficial, but the profound character of the man; it is not -concerned with the congealed and solidified stratum, but with the tide -that flows beneath it, which others would call the unconscious in -relation to the conscious, whereas, it would be more exact to invert -the two qualifications. Presuppositions are the philosophemes that -everyone carries with him, gathering them from the times and from -tradition, or forming them anew by means of his own observations and -rapid reflections. In poetical works, they form the condition remote -from the psychological attitude, which generates poetical visions. - -In this depth of consciousness, Shakespeare shows himself clearly to -be outside, not only Catholicism, but also Protestantism, not only -Christianity, but every religious, or rather every transcendental and -theological conception. Here he also resembles the Italian poet of -the Renaissance, Ariosto, though reaching the position by different -ways and with different results. His sentiment would have appeared -in an altogether different guise, if a theological conception, such -as the belief in an eternal life, in a judging God, in rewards and -punishments beyond this world, in the view that earthly life is a trial -and a pilgrimage, had been lively and active in him. He knows no other -than the vigorous passionate life upon earth, divided between joy and -sorrow, with around and above it, the shadow of a mystery. - -It is with natural wonder, then, that we read of Shakespeare, -especially among German authors, as a spirit altogether dominated by -the Christian ideas proper to the Reformation, whereas, with regard -to Christianity, he was altogether lacking, both in the theology -of Judaic-Hellenic origin and in the tendency to asceticism and -mysticism. On the other hand we cannot admit the opposite statement -that he was a pagan, in the somewhat popular sense of self-satisfied -hedonism, because it is not less evident that his moral discernment, -his sense of what is sinful, his delicacy of conscience, his humanity, -bear a strong imprint of Christian ethics. Indeed, it is precisely -owing to this lofty and exquisite ethical judgment, united to the -vision of a world, which moves by its own power or anyhow by some -mysterious power, frequently opposing or overthrowing or perverting the -forces directed to the good, that this tragic conflict arises in him. -To this double presupposition must be added, as inference, a third, -the negation, the scepticism, or the ignorance of the conception of -a rational course of events and of a Providence that governs it. Not -even does he accept inexorable Fate as sole master of men and Gods; -nor the determinism of individual character as another kind of Fate, -a naturalistic Fate, as some of his interpreters have believed; he -remains unaffected by the hard Asiatic or African dualistic idea of -predestination; on the contrary, he recognizes human spontaneity and -liberty, as forces that prove their own reality in the fact itself, -though he nevertheless permits liberty and necessity to clash and the -one sometimes to overpower the other, without establishing a relation -between the two, without suspecting their identity in opposition, -without discovering that the two elements at strife form the single -river of the real, and therefore failing to rise to the level of the -modern theodicy, which is History. Our wonderment bursts forth anew, -in observing the emphatic and insistent statements of such writers as -for instance Ulrici as to the historicity of the thought and of the -tragedies of Shakespeare, where just what is altogether absent is the -historical conception of life, which was possessed by Dante, though in -the form of the mediaeval philosophy of history. And since historicity -is both political and social ideality, Shakespeare must have been and -is wanting, as has been said, in true political faith and passion. -He has however been credited with this by publicists and political -polemists like Gervinus, who have desired to count so great a name -among their number, have imagined him possessed with the passion for it -and even believed that it was crowned in him with doctrinal wisdom. - -It is difficult to decide by what ways and means these presuppositions -were formed in his inmost soul, for with this question we reenter the -biographical problem as to his education, the company he kept, his -reading, his experiences; and upon all these subjects little or no -exact information is available. Did he observe the fervour of life -which prevailed in the England of his day with sympathetic soul and -vigilant eye? Did he lend an ear to discussions upon theological and -metaphysical questions and carry away from them a sense of their -emptiness? Did he frequent the youth of the universities, which just at -that time gave several university wits to literature and to the drama? -Did he read the _Laus Stultitiae_ of Erasmus, moral and religious -dialogues and treatises, the English humanists, the Platonicians, -the ancient and modern historians, as he certainly read Montaigne -at a later date? Did he read Machiavelli and the other political -writers of Italy, and those who had begun to sketch the doctrine of -the temperament and the passions, such as Huarte and Charron, did he -know Bruno, or had he heard of him and of his doctrines? Or did the -influence of these men and books reach him by various indirect paths, -at second or third hand, through conversation, or as by a figure of -speech we say, from his environment? And what part of those doubts, -negations and beliefs of his, was due to his vivacity and certainty of -intuition, or to his own continuous and steady rumination in himself, -rather than to the course of his studies? But even if we possessed -abundant notes on this subject, we should still remain without much -information, because the processes of the formation of the individual -escape for the most part the observation of others and frequently even -the memory of him in whom they have actually occurred, and the facility -with which they are forgotten proves that what is really important to -preserve, is not these, but their result. - -And what is here of importance is the relation of these mental -presuppositions with the life of the time, with the general culture -of the period, with the historical phase through which the human -spirit was then passing. In these respects, Shakespeare was truly, as -he has appeared to those who have best understood him, a man of the -Renaissance, of that age, which, with its navigation, its commerce, its -philosophies, its religious strifes, its natural science, its poems, -its pictures, its statues, its graceful architecture, had set earthly -life in full relief, and no longer permitted it to lose its colours, -become pallid and dissolve in the rays of another world external to -it, as had happened through the long period of the Middle Ages. But -Shakespeare did not belong to the pleasure-seeking, joyous and pagan -Renaissance, which is but a small aspect of the great movement, but -rather to that side of it which was animated with new wants, with new -religious tendencies, with the spirit of new philosophical research, -full of doubts, permeated with flashes from the future. These flashes, -which appeared only in the great thinkers, who were not yet able to -arrest them and make of them distributors of a calm and equable light, -were also irreducible to a radiant centre in its greatest poet, in whom -philosophy served as a presupposition and did not form the essence -of his mental life. It is therefore vain to seek in Shakespeare for -what neither Bruno nor Campanella attained, nor even Descartes and -Spinoza at a later date, namely the historical concept, of which we -have already spoken, and it is also vain to talk of his Spinozistic or -Shellingian pantheism. - -Shakespeare nevertheless has assumed in the past and sometimes assumes -even in our eyes, the appearance of a philosopher and of a master, or -a precursor of the loftiest truths, which have since come to light. -It is a fact that modern idealistic and historical philosophy has not -experienced equal attraction towards any other poet, recognising in -him the soul of a brother. How can this be? The answer is contained -in what we have been noting and establishing. Shakespeare's mental -presuppositions, which rejected the Middle Ages and were on a level -with the new times, seeking and failing to find unity and harmony -and above all that vigorous feeling of his for the cosmic strifes, -breaking out from them and rising to the sphere of poetry, seems to -offer material already prepared and to some extent also shaped to the -dialectician, for he sometimes almost suggests the right word to the -moralist, the politician, the philosopher of art. He might also be -called a "pre-philosopher," owing to this power of stimulation that -he possesses, and this appellation would have the further advantage -of making it well understood that there is no use attempting to make -of him a philosopher. And precisely because it is impossible to -extract a definite and particular doctrine from his pre-philosophy -and poetry, can many of different kinds be extracted, according to -diversity of minds and the progress of the times. Hence, if some -have maintained that the logical complement of that poetical vision -is speculative idealism, dialectic, anti-ascetic morality, romantic -aesthetic, realistic politics, the historical conception of the real, -and have maintained this with reason, basing their views upon doctrines -which they believed to be true, and have justly thought that the -logical complement of beauty is truth; others have possibly arrived at -pessimistic conclusions from that vision and assertion of conflicts; -and others have striven and are striving to effect the restauration of -some of the presumptions that are negated or are absent, such as faith -in another world and in divine and transcendental justice. This latter -position has been maintained as well as it possibly could have been, -with the aid of much research, by an Italian mind of the first order, -Manzoni, who was both a severe Catholic and a fervent Shakespearean. He -found in the profundity of Shakespeare the profoundest morality, and -remarked that "the representation of profound sorrows and indeterminate -terrors," as given by Shakespeare, "comes near to virtue," because -"when man comes inquisitively forth from the beaten path of things -known and from the accidents that he is accustomed to combat, and -finds himself in the infinite region of possible evils, he feels his -weakness, the cheerful ideas of defence and of vigour abandon him. Then -he thinks that virtue only, a clear conscience, and the help of God -alone can be of some succour to his mind in that condition." And thus -he concluded with characteristic certainty: "Let everyone look into -himself after reading a tragedy of Shakespeare, and observe whether he -does not experience a similar emotion in his own soul." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -MOTIVES AND DEVELOPMENT OF SHAKESPEARE'S POETRY - - -I - - -THE "COMEDY OF LOVE" - - -What we have hitherto described as the sentiment of Shakespeare -corresponds to the Shakespeare carven in the general consciousness, -that which is Shakespeare in an eminent degree, almost, we might say, a -symbol of his greater self, the poet of the great tragedies _(Othello, -Macbeth, King Lear, Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, Hamlet)_ and -of the tragic portions of those that are less intense and less perfect. -But the work that bears his name is far more varied in tones and -personalities and in order to prepare the way for the passage of more -particular characteristics, we must distinguish (and here the students -of Shakespeare have always been industrious) the various configurations -and degrees, or sources of inspiration of the poet, and make of them -groups, which may then be arranged in a series of relations, an ideal -succession. - -On casting the eye over the rich extent of his works, the attention -is at once drawn to certain of them, whose fresh, smiling colours -indicate that their principal and proper theme is love. Not the love -that becomes joined to other graver passions and unified with them, -forms a complex, as in the _Othello,_ or in _Antony and Cleopatra,_ -thus acquiring a profoundly tragic quality, but love and love alone, -love considered in itself. These passions then are to be found rather -in the _comedy of love_ than in the tragedies or dramas: in love, -regarded certainly with affectionate sympathy, but also with curiosity, -instinct with softness and tenderness, indeed, one might almost say, -with the superiority of an expert mind and thus with delicate irony. -The mind that accompanies this amorous heart, observes the caprices and -illusions, recognising their inevitability and their necessity, but yet -knowing them for what they are, imaginings, however irresistible and -delicious they be, caprices, though noble and beautiful, weaknesses, -deserving of indulgence and of gentle treatment, because human, and -belonging to man as he passes through the happy and stormy season of -youth. This mode of experiencing love is something that manifests -itself only episodically in the Greek, Latin and medieval poets. With -them we find love represented, sometimes as a pleasant, a sensual -strife, or as a furious blind passion, fearless of death, or as a -spiritual cult of lofty and superhuman beauty. Sometimes indeed, as in -the comedy of Menander and its long suite of descendants and posterity -among the Latins and the Italians, it gives rise to a general and -rather cold psychological simplification, in which love is not found to -differ much from any other passion or desire, such as avarice, courage -or greed. In the form we have described, it belongs entirely to the -mode of feeling of the Renaissance, to one of those attitudes which -the anti-ascetic and realistic view of human affairs developed and -bequeathed in a perfected form to modern times. Here we must again note -the similarity between Shakespeare and Ariosto, for both painted the -eternal comedy of love in the same manner. - -That love is sincere, yet deceives and is deceived; it imagines itself -to be firm and constant, and turns out to be fragile and fleeting; -it claims to be founded upon a dispassionate judgment of the mind and -upon luminous moral choice, whereas, on the contrary, it is guided in -an altogether irrational manner by impressions and fancies, fluctuating -with these. Sometimes, too, it is represented as repugnance and -aversion, whereas it is really irresistible attraction; it is content -to suppress itself with deliberate humbleness before works and thoughts -that are more austere, but reappears on the first occasion, more -vehement, tenacious and indomitable than ever. - -"In his men, as in his women," says Heine, with his accustomed grace, -when talking of the Shakespearean comedy, "passion is altogether -without that fearful seriousness, that fatalistic necessity, which it -manifests in the tragedies. Love does in truth wear there, as ever, a -bandage over his eyes and bears a quiver full of darts. But these darts -are rather winged than sharpened to a deadly point, and the little god -sometimes stealthily and maliciously peeps out, removing the bandage. -Their flames too rather shine than burn; but they are always flames, -and in the comedies of Shakespeare, love always preserves the character -of truth." Of truth, and for this reason, none of these comedies -descends altogether to the level of farce, not even those that most -nearly approach it, such as _Love's Labour Lost, The Taming of the -Shrew,_ nor even _The Comedy of Errors,_ where some element of human -truth always leads us back to the seriousness of art. Still less is -there satire there, intellectual and angular satire, constructor of -types, exaggerates in the interest of polemic; always we find there -suavity of outline, the soft veil of poetry. Even in the most feeble, -as _The Two Gentlemen of Verona,_ we enjoy the fresh love scenes, -mingled with the saltatory course of the narrative, the abundant -dialogues, the misunderstandings and the verbal witticisms. Even in -those that are developed in a somewhat mechanical and superficial -manner, which we should now describe as being _à thèse,_ there is -vivacity, joking, festivity, and an eloquence so flowery (for instance -in the scene where Biron defends the rights of youth and of love) that -it has almost lyrical quality. - -In this last comedy there is a king and his three gentlemen, who, -in order to devote themselves to study and to attain to fame and -immortality, have sworn to one another that they will not see a woman -for three years. All three of them fail of this and fall in love almost -as soon as the Princess of France arrives with her three ladies. These -ladies, when they have received the most solemn declarations of love -from the four of them, each one faithless to himself, punish them in -their turn for their levity by condemning them to wait for a certain -period, before receiving a reply to their offers. Thus it was that -Angelica, in the Italian poems of chivalry, succeeded in setting the -hearts of the most obdurate cavaliers aflame with love, even of those -who held severest discourse. She made them all follow the queen of -love, whom no mortal could resist. - -In the _Taming of the Shrew,_ Petruchio the male, who knows what he -wants and wants his own ease and comfort, hits immediately upon the -right line of conduct, a line that is, however, altogether spiritual, -because based upon psychological knowledge and volitional resolve. He -espouses the terrible Catherine and reduces her to lamblike obedience, -afraid of her husband, no longer able not only to say, but even to -think, anything save what he has forced her to think. Yet who can tell -that she does not love him who maltreats and tyrannises over her? - -In _Twelfth Night,_ we behold the Duke vainly sighing for the beautiful -widow Olivia, and the love that suddenly blossoms in her for the -intermediary sent by the Duke, a woman dressed as a man; while the -steward Malvolio, the Puritan, the pedantic Malvolio, is urged on to -the most ridiculous acts, by hope and the illusion of being loved. -Finally, fortune in this case making the single beloved into two, a -man and a woman (in a more modest but identical manner to that in the -adventure of Fiordispina with Bradamante and Ricciardetto) brings about -a happy ending for all. - -In _All's Welly_ the Countess of Roussillon, receives the discovery -that poor Helena, the orphan child of the family doctor, is in love -with her son, rather with benevolence than with hostility and reflects: - - "Even so it was with me when I was young: - If we are nature's, these are ours;... - By our remembrance of days foregone, - Such were our faults though then we thought them none." - -The amorous couples of princesses, exiles or fugitives, and of exile -and fugitive gentlemen, wander about the forest of Arden, in _As You -Like It,_ alternating and mingling with the couples of rustic lovers. - -Perhaps the best example of this "comedy of love" is the fencing of -the two unconscious lovers, Beatrice and Benedick, in _Much Ado About -Nothing._ This young couple seek one another only to measure weapons, -to sneer and to fence, with the fine-pointed swords of biting jest and -disdain, they believe themselves to be antipathetic, disbelieve one -another; yet the simplest little intrigue of their friends suffices -to reveal each to each as whole-heartedly loving and desiring the -adversary. The union of the two is sealed, when they find themselves -united in the same sentiment to defend their friend, who has been -calumniated and rejected, thus discovering that their perpetual -following of one another to engage in strife, had not concealed the -struggle, which implies affinity of sex, but the spiritual affinity of -two generous hearts. - - _Benedick._ And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad faults - didst thou first fall in love with me?... - -And the other, speaking with tenderness and ceasing to carry on the -pinpricking: - - "Suffer love,--a good epithet! - I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will." - -A light touch permeates the treatment of these characters and suffices -to animate them and make them act. The dramatic or indeed tragic -situations, which at times arise, are treated as it were with the -implied consciousness of their slight gravity and danger, which shall -soon be evident and dispel all the apprehensions of those who doubt. -They sometimes consist of nothing but an external action or occurrence, -suited to the theatre, and more frequently a decorative background. -Parallelism of personages and symmetry of events also abound in these -plays, suitable to the merry teaching that pervades them. - -The quintessence of all these comedies (as we may say of _Hamlet_ in -respect of the great tragedies) is the _Midsummer Night's Dream._ Here -the quick ardours, the inconstancies, the caprices, the illusions, the -delusions, every sort of love folly, become embodied and weave a world -of their own, as living and as real as that of those who are visited by -these affections, tormented or rendered ecstatic, raised on high or -hurled downward by them, in such a way that everything is equally real -or equally fantastic, as you may please to call it. The sense of dream, -of a dream-reality, persists and prevents our feeling the chilly sense -of allegory or of apology. The little drama seems born of a smile, so -delicate, refined and ethereal it is. Graceful and delicate to a degree -is also the setting of the dream, the celebration of the wedding of -Theseus and Hippolyta and the theatrical performance of the artisans, -for these are not merely ridiculous in their clumsiness; they are -also childlike and ingenuous, arousing a sort of gay pity: we do not -laugh at them: we smile. Oberon and Titania are at variance owing to -reciprocal wrongs, and trouble has arisen in the world. Puck obeys the -command of Oberon and sets to work, teasing, punishing and correcting. -But in performing this duty of punishing and correcting, he too makes -mistakes, and the love intrigue becomes more complicated and active. -Here we find a resemblance to the rapid passage into opposite states -and the strange complications that arose in Italian knightly romances, -as the result of drinking the water from one of two opposite fountains -whereof one filled the heart with amorous desires, the other turned -first ardours to ice. In Titania, who embraces the Ass's head and raves -about him, caressing and looking upon him as a graceful and gracious -creature, the comedy creates a symbol so ample and so efficacious as -rightly to have become proverbial. Puck meanwhile, astonished at the -effect upon men of the subtle intoxication that he has been himself -distributing, exclaims in his surprise "Lord, what fools these mortals -be!"; and Lysander, one of the madmen who are constantly passing from -one love to another, from one thing to its opposite, is nevertheless -perfectly convinced that - - "The will of man is by his _reason_ sway'd; - And _reason says_ you are the _worthier_ maid." - -Yet the individual reality of the figures appears through this -exquisite version of the eternal comedy, as though to remind us that -they really belong to life. Helena follows the man she loves, but who -does not love her, like a lapdog, which, the more it is beaten, the -more it runs round and round its master; she trembles at the outbreak -of furious jealousy in her little friend Hermia, who threatens to put -out her eyes, believing her to be capable of it, when she remembers -the time when they were at school together: - - "O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! - She was a vixen when she went to school: - And though she be but little she is fierce." - -When we read _Romeo and Juliet,_ after the _Dream,_ we seem not to have -left that poetical environment, to which Mercutio expressly recalls -us, with his fantastic embroidery around Queen Mab, above all, when -we consider the style, the rhyming and the general physiognomy of -the little story. All have inclined to suave and gentle speech and -metaphor, when speaking of _Romeo and Juliet._ For Schlegel it was -scented with "the perfumes of springtide, the song of the nightingales, -the freshness of a newly budded rose." Hegel too found himself face -to face with that rose: "sweet rose in the valley of the world, torn -asunder by the rude tempest and the hurricane." Coleridge too speaks -of that sense of spring: "The spring with its odours, its flowers and -its fleetingness." All have looked upon it as the poem of youthful -love and have remarked that the play reaches its acme in the two love -scenes in the garden at night, and in the departure after the nuptial -night, in which some have seen the renovation of the traditional forms -of love poetry, "the epithalamium," "the dawn." This play is not only -closely connected with the _Dream,_ but also with the other comedies of -love; Romeo passes there with like rapidity, indeed suddenness to the -personages of those comedies from love of Rosalind to love of Juliet. -At the first sight of Juliet he is conquered and believes that he then -loves for the first time: - - "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! - For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night." - -Saintly Friar Laurence, a mixture of astonishment, of being scandalised -and of good nature, sometimes almost plays there the part of Puck. When -he learns that Romeo no longer loves Rosalind, about whom he had been -so crazy; he says: - - "So soon forsaken! Young men's love there lies - Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. - Jesu Maria!" - -When Juliet enters her cell, the friar remarks with admiration her -lightsome tread, which will never wear out the pavement, and reflects -that a lover "may bestride the gossamer that idles in the wanton -summer air, and yet not fall; so light is vanity." Is it tragedy or -comedy? It is another situation of the eternal comedy: the love of two -young people, almost children, which surmounts all social obstacles, -including the hardest of all, family hatred and party feud, and goes -on its way, careless of these obstacles and as though they had no -importance for their hearts, no existence in reality. And in truth -those obstacles seem to yield before their advance, or rather their -winged flight, like soft clouds. Certainly, those obstacles reappear -solidly enough later on, asserting their value and taking their -revenge, so much so, that the young lovers are obliged to separate -and Romeo goes into exile. But it will be only for a little while, -for Friar Laurence has promised to interest himself in their affairs, -to obtain the pardon of the Prince, to reconcile the parents and the -other relations, and to obtain sanction for their secret marriage. -And if nothing of all this happens, if the subtle previsions and the -acuteness of Friar Laurence turn out to be fallacious, if a sequence of -misunderstandings makes them lose their way and take a wrong turning, -if the two young lovers perish, it is the result of chance, and the -sentiment that arises from it is one of compassion, of compassion not -divorced from envy, a sorrow, which, as Hegel said, is "a dolorous -reconciliation and an unhappy beatitude in unhappiness." This too then -is tragedy, but tragedy in a minor key, what one might call the tragedy -of a comedy. - - "A greater power than we can contradict - Hath thwarted our intents." - -But that power is not the mysterious power, something between destiny -and providence and moral necessity, which weighs upon the great -tragedies; rather is it Chance, which Friar Laurence hardly succeeds in -dignifying with the words of religion: - - "So hath willed it God." - -There is a metaphor which is repeated in the terrible accents of _King -Lear,_ and which is itself able to reveal the difference between the -two tragedies. Romeo, whose life has been spared and who has been sent -into exile, thinks that what has been done for him, is torture rather -than pardon, because Paradise is only where Juliet lives: - - "And every cat, and dog, - And little mouse, every unworthy thing, - Live here in heaven, and may look on her; - But Romeo may not!" - -Juliet, who is preparing to drink the medicine that may be poisonous, -is the shy and timid young girl of Leopardi's _Amore e Morte,_ who -"feels her hair stand on end at the very name of death," but when she -has fallen in love "dares meditate at length on steel and on poison." -The very sepulchral cave shines, and Romeo after having stabbed Paris -at the feet of Juliet, whom he believes to be dead, feels that he is a -companion in misfortune and wishes to bury him there "In a triumphant -grave." - - "A grave, O no, a lantern, slaughtered youth, - For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes - This vault a feasting presence full of light." - -Such words of admiration for love and for the youthful lovers are found -in other poets, for instance in Dante's words for Beatrice: "Death, I -hold thee very sweet: Thou must ever after be a noble thing, since thou -hast been in my lady." - -If we find love in rather piteous guise in _Romeo and Juliet,_ comedy -reappears in the wise Portia, bound to the promise of allowing, her -fate to be decided by means of a guess, because although she submits -to selection by chance, she has already chosen in her heart, not among -the dukes and princes of the various nationalities, indeed of various -continents, who are competing for her hand, but a youthful Venetian, -something between a student and a soldier, half an adventurer, but -courteous and pleasing in address, who has contrived to please, not -only mistress, but maid, which shows, in this agreement of feminine -choice, where feminine taste really lies. "By my troth, Nerissa, my -little body is a-weary of this great world" (she sighs, with gentle -coquettishness toward herself), perhaps with that languor, which is -the desire of loving and of being loved, the budding of love; weary, -as those amorous souls feel, weary, who vibrate with an exquisite -sensibility. And indeed she is most sensible to music and to the -spectacles of nature; and the music that she hears in the night causes -her to stay and listen to it, and it seems to her far sweeter than when -heard in the daytime. Nocturnal moonlight gives her the impression of a -day that is ailing, of a rather pallid day when the sun is hidden. - -In the _Merchant of Venice,_ there is also the couple of Jessica -and Lorenzo, those two lovers who do not feel the want of moral -idealisation, nor, one would be inclined to say, any solicitude for the -esteem of others. The man steals without scruple from the old Jew his -daughter and his jewels, and the girl has not even a slight feeling of -pity for the father, both alike plunged in the happy egotism of their -pleasure. Jessica is unperturbed, sustaining and exchanging epigrams -with her husband and the salacious jesting and somewhat insolent -familiarity of the servant Lancellotto, though abandoning herself all -the time to ecstasy, a sensual ecstasy, for she too is sensible to -music and attains by means of it to a melancholy of the only sort that -she is capable of experiencing, namely, the sensual. - -There is malice, almost mockery, though tempered with other elements, -in the portrayal of these loves of the daughter of Shylock. But in -those of Troilus and Cressida, we meet at once with sarcasm, a bitter -sarcasm. The same background, the doings of the Trojan war, which in -other comedies has the superficial charm of a decoration, is here also -a decoration, but treated with sarcasm and bitterness. Thersites -fills the part of the cynic among the Greek warriors, in the relations -between Troilus and Cressida, as does Pandarus in Troy. The hastening -of the last scenes should be noted, the large amount of fighting, the -tumult: the world is dancing as in a puppet show, while the story of -Troilus and Cressida is drawing to its close, amid the imprecations of -the nauseated Troilus and the grotesquely burlesque lamentations of -Pandarus. Another great artist of the Renaissance comes to mind, in -relation to this play: not Ariosto, but Rabelais. The theme is still, -however, the comedy of love, but a comedy bordering on the faunesque, -the immoral, the baser instinct, upon lust and feminine faithlessness. -Pandarus is ever the go-between; he laughs and enjoys himself, for he -is an expert at this sort of business, a battle-stained warrior, as -it were, bearing traces of that long amorous warfare, if not in his -soul, in his old bones; he is the living destruction of love, of the -credulous, sensual cupidity of man and of the non-credulous, frivolous -vanity of woman. His too is the obsession of love-making: he is unable -to extricate himself from it, taking an almost devilish delight in -involving those who have recourse to him. Troilus does not displease -Cressida, on the contrary, he pleases her greatly, yet she fences with -him, because she is already in full possession of feminine wisdom and -philosophy. She knows that women are admired, sighed after and desired -as angels, while being courted, but once they have said yes, all is -over. She knows that the true pleasure lies _in the doing,_ in the act -and not in the fact, in the becoming, not in the become. She knows that -in yielding, she is committing a folly, by breaking the law, which is -known to her, but she puts everything she now undertakes upon Pandarus: -"Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you." How different -is her union with her lover, to that of Romeo and Juliet! There is an -ironic-comic solemnity in the rite performed by the pander uncle and in -the oaths of constancy and loyalty, which all three of them exchange, -while the uncle intones: "Say amen," and the two reply, "Amen," and -are then pushed into the nuptial chamber by the profane priest. How -different too is "the dawn," their separation in the morning! - - "But that the busy day, - Waked by the lark, hath raised the ribald crows - And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, - I would not from thee." - -Whereupon the uncle begins to utter improper epigrams and plays upon -words, which the impatient Cressida repays, by sending him to the -devil. Cressida begins the new intrigue with Diomede, as soon as she is -face to face with him alone, in spite of this scene and the numerous -oaths that preceded and followed it. She is perfectly aware that she is -betraying her love for Troilus and that she has no excuse for doing so. -She gives to Diomede the gift of Troilus and when he asks her to whom -it belongs, she replies: - - "'Twas one that lov'd me better than you will, - But now you have it, take it." - -Here we find consciousness of her own feminine levity, looked upon -not merely as a natural force dragging her after it, but almost as a -right, as the exercise of a mission or vocation. Cressida can even be -sentimental, as she abandons herself to another! - - "Troilus farewell, one eye yet looks on thee; - But with my heart the other eye doth see. - Ah! poor our sex!" - -Troilus is meanwhile indignant, not from a sense of injured morality, -for that sort of love does not admit of such a thing: he is mad with -masculine jealousy. "Was Cressida here?" ... and further on: "Nothing -at all, unless that they were she ..." - -The figures of Ferdinand and Miranda bring us back to love, youthful -and pure, all the more pure, because it reveals itself, not in the -midst of a great court or city, but in a desert island. The young man -comes there ship-wrecked, cut off from the world that once was his, -born as it were anew; the maiden has been brought up in solitude. -Yet her love is awakened at first sight, in the beautiful phrase of -Marlowe, which Shakespeare was so fond of quoting: "Who ever loved that -loved not at first sight?" It is love, law of beings as of things, -which returns eternally new and fresh as the dawn, making his Goddess -appear to the youth, her God to the maiden, each to each as beings -without their equal upon earth: - - "I might call him - A thing divine, for nothing natural - I ever saw so noble." "Most sure, the goddess, - On whom these airs attend," says Ferdinand. - -The choice is soon made, firm, resolute and determined. When Prospero -tells her that there are men in the world, compared with whom, the -youth she admires would seem a monster, Miranda replies: - - "My affections - Are then most humble; I have no ambition - To see a goodlier man." - -All noble things that can be imagined surround and elevate their loves: -misfortune, compassion, chaste desire, virginal respect. These things, -though infinitely repeated in the world's history seem new, as the two -live through them, "surprised withal," surprised and ravished at the -mystery, which in them is celebrated once more. - - - -2 - - -THE LONGING FOR ROMANCE - - -Another motive, related to the preceding, may be described as the -longing for romance, but this expression must be taken with all due -limitations. - -Amorous damsels don the travesty of masculine attire, in order to -follow their faithless or cruel lovers, to escape persecution, or to -perform wondrous deeds; brothers, or brothers and sisters, who resemble -one another, are taken for one another, and thus form a centre for the -most curious adventures; with like objects in view, princes travesty -themselves as shepherds; gentlemen are discovered in forests with -bandits and are themselves bandits; children of royal blood, ignorant -of their origin, live like peasants, yet are moved by inclinations, -which make them impatient of their quiet, humble lives, urging them -on to great adventures; sovereigns move, disguised and unknown, among -their subjects, listening to the free speech around them and observant -of everything; rustic or city maidens become queens and countesses, or -are discovered to be of royal stock; brothers, who are enemies, become -reconciled; those who are innocent and having been wrongfully accused -and condemned, are believed to have died or been put to death, survive, -to reappear at the right moment, thus gratifying the long-cherished -hopes of those who had once believed them guilty and had mourned their -loss. - -Strange rules and compacts are imposed, strange understandings come to, -such as the winning of husband or wife upon the solution of an enigma, -or upon the discovery of some object; then there is the bet as to the -virtue of a woman, won with a trick by the punster or by the perfidious -accuser; the betrothed or unwilling husband, finally obtained by the -substitution of another person; there are miraculous events, dreams, -magical arts, work of spirits of earth and sky ... Men and women are -tossed from land to sea, from city to forest and desert, from court to -country, from a civil and cultured, to a rustic and simple life. These -latter situations are peculiar to romance in the form of the idyll, -which is really the most romantic of romanticisms, though it may seem -to be the opposite. This is so true that even Don Quixote, when he saw -the way closed for the time being to the performance of chivalrous -feats of knight errantry, thought of retiring to the country, there -to pasture herds and to pipe songs to the beloved, in the company of -Sancho Panza. - -Several of Shakespeare's plays derive both plot and material from -suchlike things and persons, as for instance, _As You Like It, Twelfth -Night, All's Well That Ends Well, Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale, -Pericles, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Much Ado About Nothing, The -Merchant of Venice, Measure for Measure._ These plays may be said -to be altogether or in part, of literary origin, or suggested by -books, in a sense different from that in which Shakespeare treated -the other plays, where, although not bookish, he gathered his raw -materials from the English chroniclers, from ancient historians, or -Italian novelists, breathing upon it a new spirit and thus making of -it something altogether new to the world. Here on the other hand, he -found the spirit itself, the general sentiment, in the literature of -his time. Italy had worked upon the ancient poetry of Greece and Rome, -upon Hellenistic and Byzantine romances, upon mediaeval romances, -upon poems and plays, novels and comedies, and with Italy was also -Spain, whose _Amadigi_ and _Diane_ were known throughout Europe. The -genesis of these themes and of his attraction towards them, is to be -sought, therefore, rather in the times than in Shakespeare himself, -and for this reason we shall not delay our progress, to show how -the play of sentiment within made dear to him that wandering away -in imagination to the idyllic life of the country, far from pomp -and artifice, the deceits and the delusions of courts; though this -idyllic life itself became in its turn refined and artificial at his -hand, a pastoral theme. It is important to note, too, that all the -above-mentioned material of situations and adventures had already been -fashioned and arranged for the theatre, in the course of the second -half of the century. This was especially due to the Italian theatre of -improvisation or of "art," as it was called. This literature, so often -of a most romantic and imaginative kind, has had but little attention -at the hand of investigators into Shakespeare's sources of inspiration. - -Both material derived from books and literary inspiration combine to -throw light upon certain of Shakespeare's works, which have given -great trouble to the historians of his art. It is quite natural that -writers should draw upon what they have done before and should execute -variations upon it, particularly in their earlier years, but also later -in the course of their lives, when they have afforded far greater -proofs of their capacity. Shakespeare was no exception to this, any -more than the great contemporary poet of _Don Quixote,_ who was also -the author of the _Galatea_ and of _Persiles y Sigismunda. The Comedy -of Errors,_ as we know, consists of a motive from Plautus, repeated -and rearranged innumerable times by the dramatists of the Renaissance. -In treating this theme, Shakespeare rendered it on the one hand yet -more artificial, while on the other, he endowed it with a more marked -tendency towards the romantic, and notwithstanding the frivolity and -frigidity of misunderstandings arising from identity of appearance, -he yet revived them here and there according to his wont with a touch -of the reality of life. The intrigue of the Menecmi, or of very close -resemblance, pleased him so much that he introduced it in _Twelfth -Night,_ where the pair are of different sex. This variation was first -employed by Cardinal Bibbiena in his _Calandria,_ but the Cardinal made -use of it to increase the lubricity of the intrigue, while Shakespeare -drew from it a theme for most graceful poetic inspiration. - -One would think that the tragic theme of _Titus Andronicus_ (which -many critics would like to say was not by Shakespeare, but dare not, -because here the proofs of authenticity are very strong), was also -born of a love for literary models, for the tragedy of horrors, so -common in Italy in those days of the _Canaci_ and the _Orbecchi,_ -which were rather imitations of Seneca than of Sophocles and Euripides, -and had already inspired plays to the predecessors of Shakespeare, -with slaughter for their theme. What more natural then, than that -Shakespeare as a young man should strike this note? The splendid -eloquence with which he adorned the horrible tale is Shakespearean. - -His two poems, _Venus and Adonis_ and _The Rape of Lucrèce,_ are to -be attributed to this same literary taste for favorite models. These -poems received much praise from contemporaries, but are so far from the -"greater Shakespeare," that they might almost appear not to be his, -always, that is to say, if the greater Shakespeare be turned into a -rigidly historical and conventional personage. Their literary origin -is evident, not only to those who know well the English literature of -the period of the Renaissance (when Marlowe was composing _Hero and -Leander)_, but yet more to those versed in the Italian literature of -the same period, where the themes of the two little poems were in great -favour. As regards the first of these, Giambattista Marino, who was -destined to expand it into a long and celebrated poem, was already born -at Naples. Shakespeare here flaunts his virtuosity like our Italian -composers of melodious and voluptuous octaves, revelling in a wealth -of flowery image phrase, in his abundant, rhetorical capacity and in a -formal beauty which contains something of aesthetic voluptuousness. - -The _Sonnets_ are also based upon Italian models, where we find -exhortations addressed to admired youth set upon a pinnacle, similar to -those that passed between Venus and Adonis. The beautiful youth, posing -as Adonis, and treated like him, became very common in our lyric poetry -of the time of Marino, in the seventeenth century, as were also love -sonnets addressed to ladies, possessing some peculiar characteristic, -such as red hair or a dark complexion, or even something different -or unfamiliar in their beauty, such as too lofty or too diminutive a -stature. - -Notwithstanding this literary tendency in his inspiration, Shakespeare -does not cease to be a poet, because he is never altogether able to -separate himself from himself, everywhere he infuses his own thoughts -and modes of feeling, those harmonies, peculiar to himself, those -movements of the soul, so delicate and so profound. This has endowed -the _Sonnets_ with the aspect of a biographical mystery, of a poem -containing some hidden moral and philosophical sense. When we read -verses such as these: - - The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye - As the perfumed tincture of the roses, - Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly - When summer's breath their masked buds discloses. - But, for their virtue only is their show, - They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; - Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; - Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.... - -we feel the commonplace of literature, revived with lyric emotion. Note -too in the _Sonnets_ their pensiveness, their exquisite moral tone, -their wealth of psychological allusions, in which we often recognise -the poet of the great plays. Sometimes there echoes in them that -malediction of the chains of pleasure, which will afterwards become -_Anthony and Cleopatra_[1]; at others we hear Hamlet, tormented and -perplexed; yet more often we catch glimpses of reality as appearance -and appearance as reality, as in the _Dream_ or the _Tempest._ The -truth is that the soul of Shakespeare, poured into a fixed and -therefore inadequate mould, his lyrical impulse confined to the -epigrammatic, cause the poetry to flow together there, but deny to -it complete expansion and unfolding. To note but one example, the -celebrated sonnet LXVI ("Tired with all these for restful death I -cry"), is in the manner of Hamlet, but developed analytically, by -means of enumerations and parallelisms, and in obedience to literary -usage, and is obliged to terminate on the cadence of a madrigal, -in the last rhymed couplet. The soft, flexible verse of the early -_Venus and Adonis_ is also free of Marino's cold ingenuity, of his -external sonority and melody, and is inspired rather with a sense of -voluptuousness, a grace, an elegance, which recall at times the stanzas -of Politian: - - The night of sorrow now is turned to day; - Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth, - Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array - He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth: - And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, - So is her face illumined with her eye. - -In Shakespeare is nothing of the cold literary exercise; he takes a -vivid interest even in the play of fancy, in the bringing about of -marvellous coincidences, of unexpected meetings, in the romantic and -the idyllic. He loves all these things, composing them for his own -enjoyment and fondling them with the magic of his style. He cannot of -course make them what they are not, he cannot change their intimate -qualities into something different from what they are; he cannot -destroy their externality, since they came to him from without. What -he can and does put into them is above all their attractiveness as -images. For this reason, the poetry that we find here is of necessity -rather superficial and tenuous, far more so than the poetry of the -love dramas, where his powers have a wider scope for observation, for -reflexion and for meditation upon human affections. - -What has been said above as to the inventions and fables, which serve -as a decorative background to certain of the comedies of love, is also -applicable to these romantic and idyllic plays, in which the decorative -background takes the first place and becomes the principal theme. For -the rest, it goes without saying that the plots or decorations referred -to are also to be included (as has been done) in the present argument, -because it turns upon the different motives of Shakespeare's poetry, -not upon the works that are materially distinct, where several motives -usually meet and are sometimes so very loosely connected, as to form no -more intimate a unity than the rather capricious one, of general tone. - -A sense of _unreality_ is therefore diffused upon the romantic plays, -not of falsity, but just of unreality, such as we experience in the -play of fancy, when we recount a fairy tale, well aware that it is -a fairy tale, yet greatly enjoying the passage to and fro before us -of the prince, the beauty, the ogre and the fairy. A proof of this -is to be found in the summary treatment of the characters and the -turning-points or crises of the action, the easy pardoning and making -of peace, and the bizarre expedients adopted to bring the intrigue to -an end. Instances of the second sort are the adventure of the lion in -the Forest of Arden the reconciliation of the two enemy brothers in -_As You Like It,_ the dream of Posthumus in _Cymbeline,_ the advent -of the bear and the ship-wreck in the _Winter's Tale,_ and the like. -And as regards summary treatment, where could we find a more off-hand -Iago than the Hyacinth of _Cymbeline,_ guilty of the most audacious -and perverse betrayals, as though by chance, yet later on, when he, -confesses his sins, he is forgiven and starts again, so far as we can -see, a gentleman and perfect knight. We do not speak of Posthumus, -of Cloten, of King Cymbeline and of so many personages in this and -others of the romantic plays. The wicked turn out to be all the more -harmless, the greater their wickedness; the good are good _nunc et -semper,_ without intermission, exactly as introduced at the beginning -of the play; the most desperate situations, the most terrible passes, -are speedily and completely overcome, or one foresees that they will be -overcome. Here romance has no intention whatever of ending unhappily -or in pensive sadness; it wishes to stimulate the imagination, but at -the same time to keep it agile and happy and to leave it contented. -Indeed, in those rare cases when we do meet with painful or terrible -motives, which are not easily overcome in the course of the imaginative -development of the work, we are sensible of being slightly jarred, -and this is perhaps the reason for that "displeasure," which such -fine judges as Coleridge note in _Measure for Measure,_ so rich, -nevertheless, in splendid passages, worthy of Shakespeare. Not only -does this comedy verge upon tragedy, but here and there it becomes -immersed in it, vainly attempting to return to the light romantic vein -and end like a fairy story, with everyone happy. - -Another element which adds to the imaginative unreality and the gay -lightsomeness of the romantic dramas, is to be found in the clown, -the burlesque incidents, which abound in all of them: Malvolio and -Uncle Toby in _Twelfth Night,_ Parolles in _All's Well,_ the watch -in _Much Ado_ and so on. Certain personages also, who might seem to -be characters, such as the melancholy Jacques in _As You Like It_ or -Autolycus in the _Winter's Tale,_ are treated rather as character -studies. - -These comedies excel in the weaving of intricate incidents, they are -replete with grace and winsomeness, melodious with songs inspired by -idyllic themes. They are far superior in emotional quality, as is the -rustic, woodland, pastoral poetry of Shakespeare, to that of Italy and -of Spain, not only to the _Pastor Fido,_ but also to the _Aminta,_ -because Shakespeare succeeds in grafting his gay and gentle heart -upon his artificial and conventional models. Take for instance in _As -You Like It_ the scenes in the third act, between Rosalind and Celia, -Rosalind and Orlando, Corin and Touchstone, and in general, the whole -life led by the young men and maidens, the shepherds and gentlemen, in -that idyllic Forest of Arden; or the open air banquet, in the _Winter's -Tale,_ at which the king surprises his son on the point of marrying -Perdita; or in _Cymbeline,_ Hyacinth's contemplation of the chaste and -tender beauty of the sleeping Imogen; and in the same play, all the -scenes among the mountains between Bellario and the two refugee sons of -the king, Guiderio and Arviragus. - -They correspond to that most beautiful utterance in exquisite verse of -Tasso's Hermione Among the Shepherds. His thoughts come back in such -lines as the following: - - "O, this life - Is nobler than attending for a check, - Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, - Prouder than rustling in unpaid for silk: - Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine...." - -or - - "Come, our stomachs - Will make what's homely savoury: weariness - Can snore upon the flint, when rusty sloth - Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, - Poor house that keepest thyself!" - -But Shakespeare can rise yet higher, to that most tender of songs by -the two brothers over Imogene, whom they believe to be dead. - - -[Footnote 1: See Sonnet CXXIX: "The expense of spirit in a waste of -shame."] - - - -3 - - -SHAKESPEARE'S INTEREST IN PRACTICAL ACTION - - -The third conspicuous aspect of Shakespeare's genius corresponds to -what are known as the "historical plays." Only here and there do we -find a critic who takes them to be the loftiest form of Shakespearean -poetry, while the majority on the other hand hold them to be merely a -preparatory form for other poetry, and the general view (always worthy -consideration) is that they are less happy or less intense than the -"great tragedies." - -It is also said of them that they represent the period of the -"historical education," which Shakespeare undertook, with a view to -acquiring a full sense of real life and the capacity for drawing -personages and situations with firmness of outline. One critic -has defined them as a series of "studies," studies of "heads," of -"physiognomies," of "movements," taken from historical life or reality, -in order to form the eye and the hand, something like the sketch-books -and collections of designs of a future great painter. - -The defect of such critical explanations lies in continuing to conceive -of the artistic process as something mechanical, and the unrecognised -but understood presumption of some sort of "imitation of nature." Had -Shakespeare intended to educate himself "historically," by writing the -historical plays, (assuming, but not admitting, that to run through the -English chronicles, and even Plutarch's lives, can be called historical -education), he would have developed and formed his historical thought -and become a thinker and a critic, he would not have conceived and -realised the scenes and personages of the plays. Neither Shakespeare -nor any other artist can ever attempt to reproduce external nature or -history turned into external reality (since they do not exist in a -concrete form) even in the period of first attempts and studies; all he -can do is to try to produce and recognise his own sentiment and to give -it form. We are thus always brought back and confined to the study of -sentiment, or, as in the present case, to the sentiment which inspired -what are known as the historical plays. - -Among these are to be numbered all those that deal with English -history, _The Life and Death of King John, Richard II, Henry IV, V, -VI,_ and _Richard III,_ setting aside for certain reasons _Henry VIII,_ -but including among the plays from Roman history (or from Plutarch as -they are also called), _Coriolanus,_ while _Julius Caesar_ and _Anthony -and Cleopatra_ are connected with the great tragedies. The historical -quality of the material, in like manner, with every other material -determination, is not conclusive as to the quality of the poetic works, -and is therefore not independently valid in the estimation of the -critic, as a criterion for separation or conjunction. A reconsideration -of the plays mentioned above and their prominent characteristics, does -not lead to accepting them as a kind of "dramatised epic," or as "works -which stand half way between epic and drama" (Schlegel, Coleridge), not -that there is any difficulty in the appearance of epic quality in the -form of theatrical dialogue, but just because epic quality is absent in -those dramas. It would indeed be strange to see epic quality appearing -in an episodic manner in an author, during the period of youth alone. -Epicity, in fact, means feeling for human struggles, but for human -struggles lit with the light of an aspiration and an ideal, such as -one's own people, one's own religious faith and the like, and therefore -containing the antitheses of friends and foes, of heroes on both -sides, some on the side finally victorious, because protected by God -or justice, others upon that which is to be discomfited, subjected, or -destroyed. Now Shakespeare, as has already been said and is universally -recognized, is not a partisan; he marches under no political or -religious banner, he is not the poet of particular practical ideals, -_non est de hoc mundo,_ because he always goes beyond, to the universal -man, to the cosmic problem. - -Commentators have, it is true, laboured to extract from these and -others of his plays, the ideals which they suppose him to have -cultivated, concerning the perfect king, the independence and greatness -of England, the aristocracy, which in their judgment was the main-stay -and glory of his country. They have discovered his Achilles (in the -double form of "Achilles in Sciro" and of "Achilles at Troy") in Prince -Henry, and his _pius Aeneas,_ in the same prince become Henry V, who, -grown conscious of his new duties, resolutely and definitely severs -himself, not from a Dido, but from a Falstaff. They have discovered -his paladins in the great representatives of the English aristocracy, -and as reflected in the Roman aristocracy, by a Coriolanus, and on -the other hand the class which he suspected and despised, in the -populace and plebeians of all time, whether of those that surrounded -Menenius Agrippa or who created tumult for and against Julius Caesar -in the Forum, or those others who bestowed upon Jack Cade a fortune -as evanescent as it was sudden. Finally, his Trojans or Rutulians, -enemies of his people, are supposed by them to be the French. But if -the epic ideal had possessed real force and consistency in the mind -of Shakespeare, we should not have needed industrious interpreters -to track it down and demonstrate it. On the other hand, it is clear -that the author of _Henry VI,_ in treating as he did Talbot and the -Maid of Orleans, and the author of _Henry V,_ in his illustration of -the struggles between the English and the French and the victory of -Agincourt, restricted himself to adopting the popular and traditional -English view, without identifying that with his spiritual self, or -taxing it as his guide to the conception of the English and Roman -plays. - -Nor is there any value in another view, to the effect that Shakespeare -in these plays set the example and paved the way for what was -afterwards called historical and romantic drama. Had he sought this -end, he would not only have required some sort of political, social -and religious ideal, but also historical reflection, the sense of what -distinguishes and gives character to past times in respect to present, -and also that nostalgia for the past, which both Shakespeare and the -Italian and English Renaissance were altogether without. About two -centuries had to elapse before an imitator of Shakespeare, or rather -of some of his external forms and methods, arose, in the composer -of _Goetz von Berlichingen._ He had assimilated the new historical -curiosity and affection for the rude and powerful past, and there -provided the first model of what was soon afterwards developed as -historical romance and drama, especially by Walter Scott. - -Whoever tries to discover the internal stimulus, the constructive idea, -the lyrical motive, which led Shakespeare to convert the Chronicles -of Holinshed and the Lives of Plutarch into dramatic form, when his -possession of the epic ideal and nostalgia for the past have been -excluded, finds nothing save an interest in and an affection for -practical achievement, for action attentively followed, in its cunning -and audacity, in the obstacles that it meets, in the discomfitures, -the triumphs, the various attitudes of the different temperaments and -characters of men. This interest, finding its most suitable material -in political and warlike conflicts, was naturally attracted to history -and to that especial form of it, which was nearest to the soul and to -the culture of the poet of his people and of his time, English and -Roman history. This material had already been brought to the theatre -by other writers and was in this way introduced to the attention and -used by the new poet. A psychological origin of this sort explains the -vigour of the representations, which Shakespeare derived from history, -incomprehensible, if as philologists maintain, he had simply set -himself to cultivate, a "style" that was demanded in the theatre and -known as _chronicle plays,_ or had there set himself a merely technical -task, with a view to attaining dexterity. - -That psychological interest, too, in so far as separated from a -supreme end or ideal, towards which actions tend, or rather in so far -as it remains uncertain and vague in this respect, limiting itself to -questions of loss or gain, of success or failure, of living or dying, -is not a qualitative, but a _formal_ interest. It can also be called -political, if you will, but political in the sense of Machiavelli and -the Renaissance, in so far as politics are considered for themselves, -and therefore only formally. Hence the impression caused by the -historical plays of Shakespeare, of being now "a gallery of portraits," -now "a series of personal experiences," which the poet is supposed to -have achieved in imagination. - -It is certain that their richness, their brilliancy, their attraction, -lie in the emotional representation of practical activity. Bolingbroke -ascends the throne, by the adoption of violent and tortuous means, -knowing when to withdraw himself and when to dare. Later he recounts -to his son how artfully he composed and maintained the attitude, -which caused him to be looked upon with sympathy and reverence by the -people, affecting humility and humanity, but preserving at the same -time the element of the marvellous, so that his presence, _like a robe -pontifical,_ was _ne'er seen but wondered at._ He causes the blood of -the deposed king to be shed, while protesting after the deed his great -grief _that blood should sprinkle me to make me grow,_ and promising -to undertake a voyage of expiation to the Holy Land. Facing him is the -falling monarch, Richard II, in whose breast consciousness of his own -sacred character as legitimate sovereign and of the inviolable dignity -attached to it, the sense of being to blame, of pride humiliated, of -resignation to destiny or divine decree, of bitterness, of sarcasm -towards himself and towards others, succeed, alternate and combat -one another, a swarm of writhing sentiments, an agony of suffocated -passions. - - "O, that I were as great - As is my grief, or lesser than my name! - Or that I could forget what I have been! - Or not remember what I must be now! - Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to - beat...." - -Elsewhere we find the same inexorable conqueror, Bolingbroke, as Henry -IV, triumphant on several occasions against different enemies, now -infirm and approaching death, raving from lack of sleep, and envying -the meanest of his subjects, blindly groping in the vain shadows -of human effort, as once his conquered predecessor, and filled with -terror, as he views the whole extent of the universe and the - - "Revolution of the times - Make mountains level, and the continent, - Weary of solid firmness, melt itself - Into the sea!... - And changes fill the cup of alteration - With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, - The happiest youth,--viewing his progress through - What perils past, what crosses to ensue,-- - Would shut the book and sit him down and die." - -And hearing of some friends becoming estranged and of others changing -into enemies, he is no longer indignant nor astonished: - - "Are these things then necessities? - Then let us meet them as necessities." - -Henry V meditates upon the singular condition of kings, upon their -majesty, which separates them from all other men and by thus elevating, -loads them with a weight equal to that which all men together have to -carry, while taking from them the joys given to others, and depriving -them of hearing the truth or of obtaining justice. - -He feels himself to be more than a king in those moments when he tears -off his own kingly mask and mirrors himself in his naked reality as -man. Facing the enemies who are drawn up on the field of battle and -ready to attack him, he murmurs to himself the profound words: - - "Besides they are our _natural consciences._ - And preachers to us all; admonishing - That we should dress us fairly for our end." - -Death reigns above all else in these dramas, death, which brings every -great effort to an end, all torment of burning passion and ambition, -all rage of barbarous crimes, and is therefore received as a lofty and -severe matron; in her presence, countenances are composed, however -ardently she has been withstood, however loudly the brave show of life -has been affirmed. Death is received thus by all or nearly all the men -in Shakespeare, by the tortured and elegiac Richard II, by the great -sinner Suffolk, by the diabolic Richard III, down to the other lesser -victims of fate. The vileness of the vile, the rascality of rascals, -the brutal stupidity of acclaiming or imprecating crowds, are felt and -represented with equal intensity, without once permitting anything of -the struggle of life to escape, so vast in its variety. - -The personages of these plays arise like three-dimensional statues, -that is to say they are treated with full reality, and thus form a -perfect antithesis to the figures of the romantic plays. These are -superficial portraits, vivid, but light and vanishing into air; they -are rather types than individuals. This does not imply a judgment of -greater or lesser value or a difference in the art of portraying the -true; it only expresses in other words and formulas the different -sentiment that animates the two different groups of artistic creations, -that which springs from delight in the romantic and that due to -interest in human action. A Hotspur, introduced upon the scene of the -romantic dramas, would break through them like a statue of bronze -placed upon a fragile flooring of boards and painted canvas. He is -the true "formal" hero, volitional, inrushing, disdainful, impatient, -exuberant; we walk round him, admiring his lofty stature, his muscular -strength, his potent gestures. He is like a splendid bow, with its -mighty string drawn tight to hurl the missile, but wherefore or whither -it will strike, we cannot tell. He is all rebellion and battle, yet -his wit and satire is worthy of an artist; he loves, too, with a pure -tenderness. But wit and satire and the words of love, alike, bear even -the imprint and are hastened by impetuosity, as of a man engaged in -conversation between one combat and another, still joyful and hot from -the battle that is over, already hot and joyful for that which is to -begin. "Away, away, you trifler," he says to his wife, "you that are -thinking of love. Love! I love thee not, - - I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world - To play with memmets and to tilt with lips: - We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, - And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse! - What say'st thou, Kate? What would'st thou have - with me?" - -His parallel (perhaps slightly inferior artistically), is the Roman -Coriolanus, as brave, as violent and as disdainful as he, a despiser -of the people and of the people's praise; he too rushes over the -precipice to death and is also a "formal" hero, because his bravery is -not founded upon love of country, or upon a faith or ideal of any kind, -one might almost say that it was without object or that its object was -itself. Nor, on the other hand, is Coriolanus a superman, in the sense -suggested by the works of some of the predecessors and contemporaries -of Shakespeare. He is not less tenderly demonstrative towards his -mother or his silent wife (_"my gracious silence"_), than is Hotspur -to Kate, or when, yielding to a woman's prayers, he stays the course -of his triumphant vengeance. It would be tedious to record all the -personages of indomitable power that we meet with in these historical -dramas, such as the bastard Faulconbridge, in _King John,_ and most -popular of all, though not the most artistically executed, Richard -III, replete with iniquity, who clears the way by dealing death around -himself without pity, and dies in the midst of combat with that last -cry of desperate courage, "A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!" -At their side stand, not less powerfully delineated, and set in relief, -those queens Constance and Margaret: deprived of their power and full -of maledictions, terrible in their fury, they are either ferocious or -shut themselves up in their majestic sorrow. Queen Constance, when she -sees herself abandoned by her protectors in the face of her enemies, -who have become their allies, says, as she lets herself fall to the -ground: - - "Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great - That no supporter but the huge firm earth - Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; - Here is my throne: bid kings come bow to it." - -This gallery of historical figures is most varied; we find here not -only the vigorous and proud, the sorrowful and troubled, but also the -noble and severe, like Gaunt, the touching, like the little princes -destined to the dagger of the assassins, Prince Arthur and the sons of -Edward IV, down to the laughing and the credulous, to those who defy -prejudice to wallow in debauch. - -Sir John Falstaff is the first of these latter, and it is important -not to misunderstand him, as certain critics have done, especially -among the French. They have looked upon him as a jovial, comic type, -a theatrical buffoon, and have compared him with the comic theatrical -types of other stages, arriving at the conclusion that he is a less -happy and less successful conception than they, because his comicality -is exclusively English, and is not to be well understood outside -England and America. But we must on the other hand be careful not to -interpret the character moralistically, as an image of baseness, darkly -coloured with the poet's contempt, as one towards whom he experienced -a feeling of disgust. Falstaff could call himself a "formal" hero in -his own way: magnificent in ignoring morality and honour, logical, -coherent, acute and dexterous. He is a being in whom the sense of -honour has never appeared, or has been obliterated, but the intellect -has developed and become what alone it could become, namely, _esprit,_ -or sharpness of wit. He is without malice, because malice is the -antithesis of moral conscientiousness, and he lacks both thesis and -antithesis. There is in him, on the contrary, a sort of innocence, the -result of the complete liberty of his relation toward all restraint -and towards ethical law. His great body, his old sinner's flesh, his -complete experience of taverns and lupanars, of rogues male and female, -complicates without destroying the soul of the boy that is in him, a -very vicious boy, but yet a boy. For this reason, he is sympathetic, -that is to say, he is sympathetically felt and lovingly depicted by the -poet. The image of a child, that is to say of childish innocence, comes -spontaneously to the lips of the hostess, as she tells of how he died: -"Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went -to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a fine end, and went away, an it had been -any Christom child...." - -Shylock the Jew also finds a place in the historical gallery, for -the very reason that he is a Jew, "the Jew," indeed, a historical -formation, and Shakespeare conceives and describes him with the -characteristics proper to his race and religion, one might almost say, -sociologically. It has been asserted that for Shakespeare and for -his public Shylock was a comic personage, intended to be flouted and -laughed at by the pit; but we do not know what were the intentions of -Shakespeare and as usual they matter little, because Shylock lives -and speaks, himself explaining what he means, without the aid of -commentaries, even such as the author might possibly have supplied. -Shylock crying out in his desperation: "My daughter! O my ducats!..." -may have made laugh the spectators in the theatre, but that cry of the -wounded and tortured animal does not make the poetical reader laugh; -he forms anything but a comic conception of that being, trampled down, -poisoned at heart and unshakeable in his desire for vengeance. On the -other hand the pathetic and biassed interpretations of Shylock that -have been given during the nineteenth century, are foreign to the -ingenuousness of a creation, without a shadow of humanitarianism or of -polemic. What Shakespeare has created, fusing his own impressions and -experiences in the crucible of his attentive and thoughtful humanity, -is the Jew, with his firm cleaving to the law and to the written word, -with his hatred for Christian feeling, with his biblical language, -now sententious now sublime, the Jew with his peculiar attitude of -intellect, will and morality. - -Yet we are inclined to ask why Shylock, seen in the relations in -which he is placed in the _Merchant of Venice,_ arouses some doubt -in our minds; he would seem to require a background which is lacking -to him there. This background cannot be the romantic story of Portia -and the three caskets, or of the tired and melancholy Antonio. The -reader is not convinced by the rapid fall of so great an adversary, -who accepts the conversion to Christianity finally imposed upon him. -But apart also from the particular mixture of real and imaginary, of -serious and light, which we find in the _Merchant of Venice,_ it does -not appear that the characters of the strictly historical plays find -the ideal complement which they should find in the plays where they -appear. The reason for this is not to be found in the looseness and -reliance upon chronicles for which they have so often been blamed, -since this is rather a consequence or general effect of Shakespeare's -attitude towards the practical life, described above. This attitude, -as we have seen, lacks a definite ideal, is indeed, without passion -for any sort of particular ideals, but is animated with sympathy for -the varying lots of striving humanity. For this reason, it is entirely -concentrated, on the one hand upon character drawing, and on the other -is inclined to accept somewhat passively the material furnished by -the chronicles and histories. On the one hand it is all force and -impetus, while on the other it lacks idealisation and condensation. The -marvelous Hotspur appears in the play, in order that he may confirm -the glory of youthful Prince Hal, that is to say, that he may provide -a curious anecdote of what was or appeared to be the scapegrace youth -of a future sage sovereign; that is, he is not fully represented. -Coriolanus runs himself into a blind alley; and even if the poet -portrays with historical penetration, the patricians and plebeians of -Rome, it would be vain to seek in the play for the centre of gravity -of his feelings, of his predilictions, or of his aspirations, because -both Coriolanus, the tribunes and his adversaries are looked upon -solely as characters, not as parts and expressions of a sentiment -that should justify one or other or both groups. Finally, Falstaff is -sacrificed, because, like Hotspur, he has been used for the purpose -of enhancing the greatness of the future Henry V; for this reason, he -declines in prestige from the first to the last scenes of the first -part of Henry IV, not to speak of the _Merry Wives of Windsor,_ where -we find him reduced to being a merely farcical character, flouted and -thrashed. And when his former boon companion, Prince Hal, now on the -throne, answers his advances, familiar and confidential as in the -past, with hard, cold words, we do not admire the new king for his -seriousness, because we are sensible of a lack of aesthetic harmony. -Aesthetically speaking, Falstaff did not deserve such treatment, or at -least Henry V, who inflicts it upon him, should not be given the credit -of possessing an admirable moral character, which he does not possess, -for it cannot be maintained that he is a great man, lofty in heart and -mind, when he shows us that he has failed to understand Falstaff, and -to grant him that indulgence to which he is entitled, after so lengthy -a companionship. Falstaff's friends know that poor Sir John, although -he has tried to put a good face on his cruel reception by his young -friend, is unconsolable in the face of this inhuman estrangement, this -chill repulse: - - "The king hath run bad humours in the knight, - His heart is fracted and corroborate." - -And Mistress Quickly, although a woman of bad character and a -procuress, shows that she possesses a better heart and a better -intellect than the great king, when she attends the dying Sir John with -feminine solicitude. The narrative, of which we had occasion to quote -the first phrase above, continues in the following pitiful strain: - -"'A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning of the -tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers -and smile upon his fingers ends, I knew there was but one way; for his -nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. 'How now, -Sir John,' quoth I, 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So 'a cried out -'God, God, God,' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a -should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself -with any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: -I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any -stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was -as cold as any stone." And since the friends of the tavern have heard -that he raved of sack, of his favourite sweet sack, Mistress Quickly -confirms that it was so; and when they add that he raved of women, she -denies it, thus defending in her own way the chastity of the poor dead -man. - - - -4 - - -THE TRAGEDY OF GOOD AND EVIL - - -The three aspects, with which we have hitherto dealt, compose what -may be called the _lesser_ Shakespeare, in contradistinction to the -_greater_ Shakespeare, of whom we are about to speak. By "lesser," -we do not wish to suggest that the works thus designated are -artistically weak and imperfect, because there are among them some true -masterpieces, nor that they are less perfect by comparison with others, -because every true work of art is incomparable and contains in itself -its proper perfection. What is intended to be conveyed is that they -are "less complex," in the same way as the sentiment of a mature or an -old man is distinguished by complexity of experiences from that of a -young man, which is not for that reason less genuine. There are major -and minor works in this sense in the production of poets and of all -artists; and in this sense the greater works themselves of the various -historical epochs stand to one another in the relation of greater or -less richness, although each one is an entire world and each is most -beautiful and incomparable in itself. In the case of Shakespeare, the -distinction has already been approximately made by the common accord of -readers and critics. It is among things accepted and we have acted upon -this assumption. - -Whoever, for example, passes from the most excellent "historical plays" -to _Macbeth,_ is immediately sensible, not only of the diversity, but -also of the greater complexity, proper to the new work which he has -begun to study. In the former, we find a vision that might be described -in general terms, as psychological or practical; in the latter, the -vision is wider, it seems to be almost philosophical, yet it does -not exclude the particular psychological or practical vision of the -former, but includes it within itself. In the historical plays, we find -individuals, powerful yet limited, as we find them when we consider the -social competition and the political struggles of the day; in the great -plays, the characters are more than individuals; they represent eternal -positions of the human spirit. In the former, the plot hinges upon -the acquisition or loss of a throne, or of some other worldly object; -in the latter, there is also this external gain or loss, but over and -above it the winning or losing of the soul itself, the strife of good -and evil at the heart of things. - -Evil: but if this evil were so altogether and openly, if it were -altogether base and repugnant, the tragedy would be finished before it -had begun. But evil was called _greatness_ for Macbeth: that greatness, -which the fatal sisters had prophesied to him and the destined course -of events immediately begins to bestow, pointing out to him that all -the rest is both near and certain, provided that he does not remain -passive, but extends his hand to grasp it. It shines before Macbeth, -as a beautiful and luminous idea shines before an artist, assuming for -this warlike and masterful man, the form of power, supreme, sovereign -power. Shall he miss the mark? Shall he fail of the mission of his -being? Shall he not harken to the call of Destiny? The idea fascinates -him: _nothing_ now _is but what is not_ in his eyes; it also fascinates -and draws along with it his wife, his second self, who has instantly -and with yet more irresistible violence, thrown herself into the -non-existing, which creates itself and already exists. - - "Thy letters," (she says), "have transported me beyond - This ignorant present, and I feel now - The future in the instant." - -The idea, for her, is visible to the eye, it is "the golden circle," -which "fate and metaphysical aid," appear already to have placed upon -her brow. The two tremble together, as at the springs of being, in the -abode of the mysterious Mothers. They are both doers and sufferers in a -process of things, in the appearance of a new greatness: they tremble -in that experience, at that creative moment of daring, which demands -resolute dedication of the whole man. - -But the obstacle towards the realisation of their daring plan, is not -a material obstacle, nor is it the cowardice that sometimes attacks -the bravest; it is a good of a different sort, not less vigorous, but -of a more lofty quality, gentle and serene, planted in the heart of -Macbeth and called by the name of loyalty, duty, justice, respect for -the being of others, human piety. Thus he feels himself thrown at once -into confusion by the idea that has flashed before him, so great is the -savage desire, which it has set alight in his breast, and such on the -other hand the reverence which the other idea inspires into his deeper -being, and against which he prepares for a desperate struggle. The -supernatural challenge keeps undulating in his mind, now divine, now -diabolical: _cannot be ill, cannot be good._ But his wife, in whom the -power of desire displays itself as absolute and whose determination of -will is rectilinear, knowing not struggle or only struggles speedily -and completely suppressed, his wife, is ready to take his place, -when he shows his weak side, or at the moments of his vacillation. -In the logical clarity of vision that comes to her as the result of -the clearness of view with which she contemplates the achievement of -her end, she has discovered an element of danger. It is concealed in -the "milk of human kindness," circulating in the blood of Macbeth, -whereby he would attain to greatness, without staining himself with -crime. Having discovered the cause of the weakness, she applies the -remedy. This does not consist in making a frontal attack upon his moral -consciousness, or by negating it, but in exciting or strengthening the -will for action, the will pure and simple, taking pleasure in itself -alone, by making it feel the necessity of expressing in action what -seems to it to be beautiful and delightful, and by making it ashamed -of not knowing how to remain at the level of the desire which it -has encouraged, of the plan that it has formed. Macbeth holds back -troubled, because, though he is as bold as man can be in facing danger, -he yet feels that the deed now required of him would take away from -him the very character of man; but for his wife, that deed would make -of him more than a man. The sophistry of the will, to the aid of which -comes the conquering seduction of desire, exercises its irresistible -action and the deed is accomplished. - -It is accomplished, but with it, as Macbeth says to himself, nothing is -accomplished or concluded: the same atrocious discord, which appeared -with the first thought of the crime, and which has accompanied its -preparation and execution, continues to act, and Macbeth is never -able to get the better of it, being incapable both of achieving -insensibility to the pricks of conscience and at the same time of -repentance. He persists in his attitude of the first moment, drunk with -greatness, devoured with remorse. He neither can nor will go back, and -does go forward; but he goes forward, increasing both the terms of the -discord, the sum of his crimes, and the torment of his conscience. -No way of salvation opens itself before him: neither the complete -redemption of the good, nor the opposite redemption of the completeness -of evil; neither the tears that relieve the ferocious soul, nor -absolute hardening of the heart. If he had to blame anything for his -course of crimes and torments, he would blame life itself, that _fitful -fever,_ that stupidity of life, which is - - "a tale - told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, - signifying nothing." - -And if there is any image that attracts him from time to time, -filling him with the suavity of desire, it is that of sleep, and -beyond that, the great final, dissolving sleep, which Duncan, whom -he has slaughtered, already enjoys. Thus Macbeth consumes himself, -and his other self, his wife, consumes herself also, in a different -way, because what was in him an implacable call, to which he could -do violence, but could not suppress, presents itself to his wife as -the fascinating idea had presented itself to her, in sensible images, -and therefore as an obscure rebellion of nature. For this reason, -the woman from whose hand the dagger had fallen, when she faced the -sleeping Duncan, who seemed to her to be her father, wanders in the -night, vainly seeking to remove from her small hands the nauseating -odour of blood, which, it seems to her, still clings to them. Both are -already dead, before they die, owing to these bitter, long, continuous, -internal shocks and corrosions. Macbeth receives the news of the death -of her who was his wife, of her whom he had loved and who loved him, -with the desolate coldness of one who has renounced all particular -affections, and the life of the affections themselves. Yet he will not -die like a "Roman fool," he will not slay himself, but will provoke -death in battle, still seeking, not death, but victory. For even in his -last moments, the internal conflict in him has not ceased, even in -those instants, the impulse for greatness rules him and urges him on. -To kill himself would be to admit that he was wrong, and he does not -admit to himself that he was wrong or right: his tragedy lies in this -incapacity to hold himself right or wrong; it is the tragedy of reality -contemplated at the moment of conflict and before the solution has been -obtained. Therefore he dies austerely, representing a sacred mystery, -covered with religious horror. - -In _Macbeth,_ the good appears only as revenge taken by the good, as -remorse, punishment. It is not personified. The amiable king Duncan -glides along on the outside of things, unsuspectful of betrayals, -without an inkling of what is passing in the mind of Macbeth, whom he -has rewarded and exalted. The honest Macduff, reestablisher of peace -and justice, is a warrior pitted against a warrior. Lady Macduff and -her son are innocent victims, who flee the knife of the murderers in -vain. The boy with his childish logic expresses his wonderment that the -good in the world does not choke the evil and replies to his mother, -who says that the honest man must do justice upon wicked men and -traitors: "Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars -and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them...." - -In _King Lear,_ that tempestuous drama, which is nothing but a sequence -of betrayals and horrible torments, goodness is impersonated and takes -the name of Cordelia, shining in the midst of the tempest, as when the -sky is dark and we look, not upon the darkness, but upon the single -star that is scintillating there. - -An infinite hatred for deceitful wickedness has inspired this work: -egoism pure and simple, cruelty, perversity, arouse repugnance and -horror, but do not directly lead to that tremendous doubt as to -the non-existence of goodness, or still less as to its not being -recognisable and separable from its contrary, since that moral deceit, -which takes the appearance of rectitude, generosity, loyalty, and when -it has realised its purpose, discovers itself as impure cupidity, -aridity, hardness of heart, which alone were present throughout. Poor -humanity, which has thus allowed itself to be deceived, enters into -such a fury, when it has discovered its illusion, both against itself -and against the world that has permitted so atrocious an illusion or -delusion, as to reach the point of madness. And humanity goes by the -name of King Lear, proud, imperious, full of confidence in himself and -in his own power and strength of judgment, quite sure that others will -agree with his wishes, all the more so, since he is their benefactor -and they owe him, not only obedience, but duty and gratitude. King -Lear is a creation of pity and of sarcasm: pitiful in his cries of -injured pride, of old age deserted, in the shadow of the madness that -is falling upon him. He has been sarcastically, though sorrowfully, -realised by his creator, because he was mad before he became mad, and -the clown who keeps him company, has been and is more serious and -clear-sighted than he. But the creative impulse of Shakespeare goes -so deeply into the heart of reality, or rather it creates so great a -reality, that he neglects everything suggestive of the obvious, vulgar -side of things, as seen from an average and mediocre point of view. -King Lear assumes gigantic proportions in his sorrow, in his madness, -in his piteousness, in his sarcasm, because the passion that shakes him -is gigantic. The figures of the two deceitful daughters who are opposed -to him, are also gigantic, especially Goneril, to whom Regan, who is -somewhat the younger, gives relief. Goneril's are the guiding mind -and the initiating will; she it is, who first counsels and instructs -her sister, who first faces and dominates her father, and who first -recognises her own equal in the iron will of the evil Edmund, loving -him and despising her own husband, so weak in his goodness, strives -with her sister for the loved one, finally slaying her sister and -immediately afterwards, herself. Regan has here and there a fugitive -moment, not of piety, but of hesitation and almost of suggestion, and -shows herself to be the less strong, just because she always allows -herself to be led by the other. Each of them, although both are thus -powerfully individuated, express the same force of egoism without -scruples, untamed and extreme in its boundlessness. Their personalities -are concentrated, felt and expressed, with the whole-hearted hatred of -an expert. - -Yet we come to think that in this tragedy the inspiration of love--of -immense love--is equal to or greater than the inspiration of hate. -Perhaps intensity of hatred, making more intense the attraction of -goodness, helped to create the figure of Cordelia, which is not -a symbol or allegory of abstract goodness, but is all compact of -goodness, of a need for purity, for tenderness, for adoration, which -has here thrown its real and unreal appearance, an appearance which -has poetical reality. Cordelia is goodness itself in its original -well-spring, limpid and shining as it gushes forth: she represents -moral beauty and is therefore both courageous and hesitating, modest -and dignified, ready to disdain contests, where they are of no avail, -but also ready to fight bravely, when to do so is of service. Hers -is a true and complete goodness, not simply softness, mildness and -indulgence. Words have been so misused for purposes of deceit that she -has almost abandoned that inadequate means of communication: she is -silent, when speech would be vain or would set her truthfulness on the -same level as the lies of others. But since she has clear knowledge -and a fine sense of her own self and its contrary, she does not allow -herself to be confused or enticed by false splendours. _"I know you -what you are,"_ she says, looking her sisters in the eyes, as she takes -leave of them. And since goodness is also sympathetic intelligence, she -understands, pardons and lovingly assists her old father, so unjust -and so wanting in understanding toward herself. And since goodness -cannot adopt the form of blind passion, even in the act of defence and -offence, and even when it refuses to tolerate evil, is forced to bow -to the law of severe resignation, which governs the world, and thus -entrusts her with its best duty, so Cordelia does not burst into a rage -against the wickedness of her sisters, when she hears how King Lear has -been driven out and despised, but at once resigns herself to patience -in the affliction, "like," as says one who has seen her at that moment, -to - - "Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears - Were like a better day." - -There are other personages in the play, who affirm the reality of good -against the false assertion of it: the pure and faithful Kent, the -loyal though unintelligent Gloucester, the brave Edgar, the weak but -honest Duke of Albany, the husband of Goneril, who says: - - "Where I could not be honest, - I never yet was valiant." - -Finally the perfidious Edmund, when he sees himself near death, hastens -to accomplish a good action and to pay homage to virtue. But all these -belong to the earth: Cordelia is on the earth, earthly herself and -mortal, but she is made of celestial substance, of purest humanity, -which is therefore divine. It has occurred to me to compare her with -the Soul, whom Friar Jacob likened to the only daughter and heiress -of the King of France, and whom her father, for that he loved her -infinitely, had adorned "with a white stole," and her fame flew "to -every land." - -No greater spiritual triumph can be conceived than that of Cordelia, -throughout the drama, from the first scene to the last, although she -first appears as denied and rejected by her father, and later, when she -comes with arms to the aid of the unfortunate Lear against the infernal -sisters and the treacherous Edmund, is conquered, thrown into prison -and there strangled by the hangman. Why? Why does not goodness triumph -in the material world? And, why, thus conquered, does she increase -in beauty, evoke ever more disconsolate desire, until she is finally -adored as something sacred? The tragedy of King Lear is penetrated -throughout with this unexpressed yet anguished interrogation, so -full of the sense of the misery of life. The king, acquiring new -sensibility in his madness, as though a veil had been withdrawn from -before his eyes, sees and receives for the first time in himself, -suffering humanity, weeping and trembling, like a child, defenceless, -ill-treated. The fool, who accompanies him, sings, along with much -else, his prophecy to the effect that when calumnies cease, when kings -are punished, and usurers and thieves give up their trade, then all the -kingdom of Albion will be in great confusion. But the sorrow of sorrows -is that of Lear, when, having found Cordelia, he dreams of being ever -after at her side, adoring, and sees the prison transformed into a -paradise: they will sing, he will kneel before her, they will pray, -and tell one another ancient tales. But she is brutally slain before -his eyes and her dead body lies in his arms, as he vainly strives to -reanimate it, and he too dies, uttering the last cry of desperation: - - "Thou'lt come no more, - Never, never, never, never!--" - -In the tragedy of _Othello,_ evil takes on another face, and here the -sentiment that answers to it, is not condemnation mixed with pity, -not horror for hypocrisy and cruelty, but astonishment. Iago does not -represent evil done through a dream of greatness, or evil for the -egoistic satisfaction of his own desires, but evil for evil's sake, -done almost as though through an artistic need, in order to realise his -own being and feel it strong, dominating and destructive, even in the -subordinate social condition in which he is placed. Certainly, Iago, in -what he says, wishes it to be believed or makes himself believe that -he is aiming only at his "own advantage," as Guicciardini would have -said, and that he despises those who have different rule of conduct and -manage to live honestly, the _honest knaves._ But the truth is that he -does not obtain any material advantage for himself, and that the path -he has selected was not necessary for that object and does not lead to -it. Feelings of vengeance for injustices and affronts suffered lead to -it still less, though at times he says they do, and wishes it to be -believed or tries to believe it himself. What results from his acts is -evil as an end in itself, arising from a turbid desire to prove himself -superior to the rest of the world, to delude and to make it dance to -the tune of his own mind, and in proof of this to bring it to ruin. -The fact that he gives various reasons, with the object of justifying -and of explaining his acts, demonstrates that he himself failed to -understand that peculiar form of evil which possessed his spirit. -None of those about him suspect him: not Othello, a simple, impetuous -soldier, who understands open strife and plotting, but both in war and -between one enemy and another. He is quite unable to conceive this -refined and intellectual degradation. Desdemona, too, a young woman -newly married, rejoicing in the happiness of realized affection and -disposed to find everyone about her good and to make everyone happy, -is unsuspicious, as also is Cassio, who trusts Iago, as a brave and -loyal comrade, and his wife, the experienced Emilia, who knows him from -long habit. The epithets of "good Iago," of "honest Iago" ring through -the whole play and are a bitter and ironical comment underlining the -illusion that possesses them all. He is weaving, without reason, and -as it were for amusement, a horrible web of calumnies, of moral and -physical tortures and of death: a good and generous man, rendered -blind and mad with jealousy and injured honour, is thus led to murder -his innocent and beloved wife. Pity and terror arise together in the -soul, as we see Othello poisoned drop by drop, excited, changed Into a -wild beast: one feels that in Desdemona the warrior possessed all the -sweetness and all the force of life, the happiness on which reposed -all the rest, and that in her person he had found all that one can -conceive as most noble, most gentle and most pure in the world. When he -suspects that she has betrayed him, not only is he pierced with sensual -jealousy, (this too there is, certainly), but injured in what he holds -sacred, and therefore the death that he deals to Desdemona is not -simply vengeance for the shame done him, but above all expiation and -purification, as though he wished to purify the world of such impurity, -and to cleanse her from a stain, which irremediably defiled her. "O, -the pity of all this, Iago! O, Iago, the pity of all this!" He kisses -her before he kills her, kissing his own ideal, which he lays at that -moment in the sepulchre. But he still trembles with love, and perhaps -hopes somehow to get her back and to be united with her forever, by -means of that bloody sacrifice. Desdemona is not aware of the fury -raging around her, sure as she is of her love and of Othello's. Owing -to her very innocence, she affords involuntary incentives to the -jealousy of Othello and easy occasion to the artifice of Iago. Her very -unconsciousness makes her fate the more moving. Such is the infamy -of the crime thus accomplished against her, that the prosaic, shifty -wife of Iago becomes sublime with indignation and courage, when she -sees her dying, rising to poetic nobility and defying every menace. -Transpierced by her husband, she falls at the side of her mistress and -dying sings the willow song, which she had caught from the lips of -Desdemona. Othello also dies, when the deceit has been revealed to him. -The leader whom Venice had held in great honour and in whom she had -reposed complete faith, charging him with commands and governments, is -now nothing but a wretch deserving punishment. But in slaying himself, -he returns in memory to what he was, substituting that image of himself -for his present misery, and using the memory of the warrior that he -was, to drive the sword deeper into his throat. - -On the other hand, the rallying-point or centre of the whole play is -not the ruin of the valiant Othello, not the cruel fate of the gentle -Desdemona, but the work, of Iago, of that demidevil, of whom one might -ask in vain, why, as Othello asked, why he had thus noosed the bodies -and souls of those men, who had never nourished any suspicion of him? - - "Demand me nothing; what you know, you know - From this time forth I never will speak word." - -This was the answer to the poet from that most mysterious form of evil, -when he met with it, as he was contemplating the universe: perversity, -which is an end and a joy to itself. - - - -5 - - -THE TRAGEDY OF THE WILL - - -The tragedy of the good and evil will, is sometimes followed, sometimes -preceded by another tragedy, that of the will itself. Here the will, -instead of holding the passions in control--making its footstool of -them--allows itself to be dominated by them in their onrush; or it -seeks the good, but remains uncertain, dissatisfied as to the path -chosen; or finally, when it fails to find its own way, a way of some -sort, and does not know what to think of itself or of the world, it -preys upon itself in this empty tension. - -A typical form of this first condition of the will is voluptuousness, -which overspreads a soul and makes itself mistress there, inebriating, -sending to sleep, destroying and liquefying the will. When we think -of that enchanting sweetness and perdition, the image of death arises -at the same instant, because it truly is death, if not physical, yet -always internal and moral death, death of the spirit, without which -man is already a corpse in process of decomposition. The tragedy of -_Anthony and Cleopatra_ is composed of the violent sense of pleasure, -in its power to bind and to dominate, coupled with a shudder at its -abject effects of dissolution and of death. - -He moves in a world all kisses and caresses, languors, sounds, -perfumes, shimmer of gold and splendid garments, flashing of lights or -silence of deep shadows, enjoyment, now ecstatic, now spasmodic and -furious. Cleopatra is queen of this world, avid for pleasure, which she -herself bestows, diffusing around her its quivering sense, instilling -a frantic desire for it into all, offering herself as an example and -an incitement, but while conferring it on others, remaining herself a -regal and almost a mystical personage. A Roman who has plunged into -that world, spoke then of her, astonished at her power, demoniac or -divine; - - "Age cannot wither nor custom stale - Her infinite variety." - -Cleopatra asks for songs and music, that she may melt into that sea of -melody, which heightens pleasure: - - "Give me some music; music, moody food - Of us that trade in love!" - -She knows how to toy with men, keeping their interest alive by her -denials: - - "If you find him sad, - Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report - That I am sudden sick." - -Her words express sensual fascination in its most terrible form: - - "There is gold, and here - My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings - Have lipped, and trembled kissing." - -All around her dance to the same tune and imitate the rhythmic folly of -her life. Note the scene of the two waiting women, who are joking about -their loves, their future marriages, and the manner of their deaths, -with the soothsayer. Listen to the first words of Carminia, so mirthful -and caressing in her playful coquetry: "Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most -anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer -that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew this husband, which, -you say, must charge his horns with garlands!" ... - -Anthony is seized and dragged into this vertiginous course of pungent -pleasures, as soon as he appears. In his inebriation the rest of the -world, all the active, real world, seems heavy, prosaic, contemptible -and displeasing. The very name of Rome has no longer any power over him. - - "Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch - Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space. - Kingdoms are clay: one dungy earth alike - Feeds beast as man." - -As he folds Cleopatra in his arms, he feels that they form a pair -who make life more noble, and that in them alone it assumes real -significance. - -This feeling is not love: we have already called it by its proper name: -voluptuousness. Cleopatra loves pleasure and caprice, and the dominion, -which both of them afford her; she also loves Anthony, because he is, -and in so far as he is, part of her pleasures and caprices, and serves -her as an instrument of dominion. She busies herself with keeping him -bound to her, struggles to retain him when he removes himself from her, -but she always has an eye to other things, which are equally necessary -for her, even more so than he, and in order to retain them, she would -be ready if necessary to give Anthony in exchange. Anthony too, does -not love her; he clearly sees her for what she is, imprecates against -her, and enfolds her in his embrace without forgiveness. - - "Shed not a tear; give me a kiss: - Even this repays me." - -Love demands union of some sort between two beings for an objective -end, with the moral consent of both; but here we are outside morality, -and even outside the will. We are caught in the whirlwind and carried -along. - -Anthony it is, who weakens and is conquered. He has lived an active -life, which, in the present moment of folly, he holds of no account. -He has known war, political strife, the government of States; he has -even been brushed with the wing of glory and of victory. He tries -several times to grasp his own past and to direct his future. He has -not lost his ethical judgment, for he recognizes Cleopatra as she -really is, bows reverently before the memory of Fulvia, and treats his -new wife Octavia, whom also he will abandon, with respect. For a brief -moment, he returns to the world he once knew, takes part in political -business, comes to terms with his colleagues and rivals. It would seem -that he had disentangled himself from the chain that bound him. But -the effort is not lasting, the chain encircles him again; vainly and -with ever declining power of resistance, he yields to that destiny, -which is on the side of Octavius, the man without loves, so cold and -so firm of will. Bad fortune dogs every step of the voluptuary: those -that surround him remark a change in his appearance from what he was -formerly. They see him betray this change by uttering thoughts that are -almost ridiculously feeble, and making inane remarks. They are led to -reflect that the mind of man is nothing but a part of his fortune and -that external things conform to things internal. He himself feels that -he is inwardly dissolving, and compares himself to the changing forms -of the clouds, dissolved with a breath of wind, like water turning to -water. Yet the man, who is thus in process of disaggregation, was once -great, and still affords flashes of greatness, bursting forth in feats -of warlike prowess, accompanied with lofty speech and generous actions. -His generosity confounds Enobarbus, who had deserted him and now takes -his own life for very shame. Around him are yet those ready to die -for sake of the affection that he inspires. Cleopatra stands lower or -higher: she has never known nor has ever desired to know any life but -that of caprice and pleasure. There is logic, will, consistency, in her -vertiginous abandonment. She is consistent also in taking her own life, -when she sees that she would die in a Roman prison, thus escaping shame -and the mockeries of the triumphant foe, and selecting a death of regal -voluptuousness. And with her die her faithful handmaids, by a similar -death; they have known her as their queen and goddess of pleasure, and -now as despising _this vile world_ and a life no longer worthy of being -lived, because no longer beautiful and brilliant. Carminia, before she -slays herself takes a last farewell of her mistress: - - "Downy windows close; - And golden Phoebus never be beheld - Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; - I'll mend it, and then play." - -The tragedy of the will, which is most poetically lofty in _Anthony and -Cleopatra,_ is nevertheless morally a low form, that is to say, it is -simple and elementary in its roughness, such as would manifest itself -in a soldier like Anthony, the bloody, quarrelsome, pleasure-seeking, -crapulous Anthony. - -It shows itself in an atmosphere far more subtle with Hamlet. Hamlet, -the hero so refined intellectually, so delicate in taste, so conscious -of moral values, comes to the action, not from the Roman forum or -from the battlefields of Gaul or Pharsalia, but from the University -of Wittenberg. In _Hamlet,_ the seductions of the will are altogether -overcome; duty is no longer a condition, or a vain effort, but a -spontaneous and regular attitude. The obstacle against which it -strives is not external to it, it is no inebriation of the senses; it -is internal, the will itself in the dialectic of its becoming, in its -passage from meditation to purpose and from purpose to action, in its -becoming will, true, concrete, factual will. - -Hamlet has with reason often been recognised as a companion and -precursor of Brutus in _Julius Caesar,_ a play which differs from the -"historical tragedies," more substantially even than _Anthony and -Cleopatra,_ which is restricted to the practical activity. _Hamlet_ -attains to a more lofty significance. Here too we find a tragedy of -the will in a man whose ethical conscientiousness is not internally -troubled, for he lives upon a sublime plane; and here too the -obstacle arises from the very bosom of the will. Brutus differs from -Hamlet, in that he comes to a decision and acts; but his action is -accompanied with disgust and repugnance for the impurity with which -its accomplishment must be stained. He reproves, condemns and abhors -the political end towards which Caesar is tending, but he does not -hate Caesar; he would like to destroy that end, to strike at the soul -of Caesar, but not to destroy his body and with it his life. He bows -reluctantly to necessity and with the others decides upon his death, -but requests that honours should be payed to Caesar dead, and spares -Anthony contrary to the advice of Cassius, because, as he says, he -is a priest bound to sacrifice the necessary victim; but he is not a -butcher. Melancholy dogs every step toward the achievement of his end. -He differs here from Cassius, who does not experience like scruples -and delicacy of feeling, but desires the end, by whatever means. He -differs too from Anthony, who discovers at once the path to tread -and enters it; cautious and resolute, he will triumph over him. He -finds everywhere impurity: Cassius, his friend, his brother, behaves -in such a way as to make him doubt his right to shed the blood of -the mighty Julius, because, instead of that justice, which he has -thought to promote and to restore by his act, he now sees only rapine -and injustice. But if the spiritual greatness of Brutus shrouds him -in sadness, it does not deprive him of the capacity for feeling and -understanding human nature. His difference with Cassius comes to an -end with his friend's sorrow, that friend who loves and admires him -sincerely, and yet cannot be other than he is, hoping that his friend -will not condemn too severely his faults and vices, but pass them -over in indulgent silence. The reconciliation of the two is sealed -when Brutus reveals his wounded heart, as he briefly tells his friend -of Portia's death. He enfolds himself in his grief. Brutus is among -those who have always meditated upon death and fortified themselves -with the thought of it. His suffering is not limited to virtue forced -into contamination; for he is haunted by doubt unexpressed. He feels -that man is surrounded with mystery, the mystery of Fate, or, as we -should say, with the mystery surrounding the future history of the -world; he seems to be anxiously asking of himself if the way that he -has chosen and followed is the best and wisest way, or whether some -evil genius has not introduced itself into his life, in order to drive -him to perdition? He hears at night the voice of the evil genius amid -the sounds and songs that should give rest and repose to his agitated -spirit. He prepares himself to face the coming battle, with the same -invincible sadness. It is the day that will bring to an end the work -begun on the Ides of March. He takes leave of Cassius, doubtful if he -will ever see him again, saying farewell to him for ever: - - "If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; - If not, why then, this parting was well made." - -O, if man could know the event of that day before it befell! But it -must suffice to know that day will have an end, and that the end will -be known. Mighty powers govern the world, Brutus resigns himself to -them: they may have already judged him guilty or be about to do so. - -_Hamlet_ has generally been considered the tragedy of Shakespearean -tragedies, where the poet has put most of himself, given us his -philosophy, and with it the key to the other tragedies. But strictly -speaking, Shakespeare has not put himself, that is to say his poetry, -into _Hamlet,_ either more or less than into any of the others; there -is not more philosophy, as judge of reality and of life here than -in the others; there is perhaps less, because it is more perplexed -and vague than the others, and even the celebrated monologue (_To -be or not to be,_) though supremely poetical, is irreducible to a -philosopheme or to a philosophic problem. Finally, it is not the key -or compendium of the other plays, but the expression of a particular -state of the soul, which differs from those expressed in the others. -Those who read it in the ingenuous spirit in which it was written and -conceived, find no difficulty about taking it for what it is, namely -the expression of disaffection and distaste for life; they experience -and assimilate that state of the soul. Life is thought and will, but a -will which creates thought and a thought which creates will, and when -we feel that certain painful impressions have injured and upset us, it -sometimes happens that the will does not obey the stimulus of thought -and becomes weak as will; then thought, feeling in its turn that it -is not stimulated and upheld by the will, begins to wander and fails -to make progress: it tries now this and now that, but grasps nothing -firmly; it is thought not sure of itself, it is not true and effective -thought. There is, as it were, a suspension of the rapid course of the -spirit, a void, a losing of the way, which resembles death, and is -in fact a sort of death. This is the state of soul that Shakespeare -infused into the ancient legend of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, on whom -he conferred many noble aptitudes and gifts, and the promise or the -beginning of a fervent life. He then interrupted and suspended Hamlet's -beginning of life, and let it wander, as though seeking in vain, not -only its proper task, but even the strength necessary to propose it -to himself, with that firmness which becomes and is, indeed, itself -action. Hamlet is a generous and gentle youth, with a disposition -towards meditation and scientific enquiry, a lover of the beautiful, -devoted to knightly sports, prone to friendship, not averse to love, -with faith in the human goodness and in those around him, especially -in his father and mother, and in all his relations and friends. He -was perhaps too refined and sensitive, too delicate in soul; but -his life proceeded, according to its own law, towards certain ends, -caressing certain hopes. In the course of this facile and amiable -existence, he experienced, first the death of his father, followed -soon after by the second marriage of his mother, who seems to have -very speedily forgotten her first husband in the allurement of a new -love. He feels himself in every way injured by this marriage, and with -the disappearance of his esteem for his mother, a horrible suspicion -insinuates itself, which is soon confirmed by the apparition of his -father's restless ghost, which demands vengeance. And Hamlet will, nay -must and will carry it out; he would find a means to do so warily and -effectually, if he had not meanwhile begun to die from that shock to -his sentiments. That is to say, he began to die without knowing it, to -die internally: the pleasures of the world become in his eyes insipid -and rancid, the earth and the sky itself lose their colours. Everything -that is contrary to the ideal and to the joy of life, injustice, -betrayal, lies, hypocrisy, bestial sensuality, greed of power and -riches, cowardice, perversity and with them the nullity of worldly -things, death and the fearful unknown, gather themselves together in -his spirit, round that horrible thing that he has discovered, the -assassination of his father, the adultery of his mother; they tyrannise -over his spirit and form a barrier to his further progress, to his -living with that former warmth and joyous vigour, as indispensable to -thought as it is to action. Hamlet can no longer love, for love is -above all love of life; for this reason he breaks off the love-idyll -that he had begun with Ophelia, whom he loved and whom in a certain -way, he still loves infinitely, but as we love one dead, knowing her to -be no longer for us. Hamlet can laugh no more: sarcasm and irony take -the place of frank laughter on his lips. He fails to coordinate his -acts, himself becoming the victim of circumstances, though constantly -maintaining his attitude of contempt, or breaking out into unexpected -resolves, followed by hasty execution. - -Sometimes he still rises to the level of moral indignation, as in the -colloquy with his mother, but this too is a paroxysm, not a coordinated -action. Joy is needed, not only for love, but also for vengeance; -there must be passion for the activity that is being exercised; but -Hamlet is in such a condition that he should give himself the same -advice as he gives to the miserable Ophelia--to get her to a nunnery -and there practice renunciation and restraint. But he is not conscious -of the nature of his malady, and it is precisely for this reason that -he is ill; instead of combating it by applying the right remedy, he -cultivates, nourishes and increases it. At the most, what is taking -place within him excites his astonishment and moves him to vain -self-rebuke and equally vain self-stimulation, as we observe after his -dialogue with the players, and after he has heard the passion, fury and -weeping they put into their part, and when he meets the army led by -Fortinbras against Poland. - - "I do not know - Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do'; - Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means - To do't. Examples, gross as earth exhort me: - Witness this army, of such mass and charge, - Led by a delicate and tender prince; - Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd, - Makes mouths at the invisible event, - Exposing what is miserable and unsure - To all that fortune death and danger dare - Even for an egg-shell.... O, from this time forth, - My thought be bloody or be nothing worth!" - -Finally, he accomplishes the great vengeance, but alas, in how small a -way, as though jestingly, as though it were by chance, and he himself -dies as though by chance. He had abandoned his life to chance, so his -death must be due to chance. - -We too have termed the condition of spirit that ruins Hamlet, an -illness; but the word is better applied to a doctor or a moralist, -whereas the tragedy is the work of a poet, who does not describe an -illness, but sings a song of desperate and desolate anguish, and so -lofty a song is it, to so great a height does it attain, that it -would seem as though a newer and more lofty conception of reality and -of human action must be born of it. What was perdition for Hamlet, -is a crisis of the human soul, which assumed so great an extension -and complexity after the time of Shakespeare as to give its name to -a whole historical period. Yet it has more than historical value, -because, light or serious, little or great, it returns to live again -perpetually. - - -6 - - -JUSTICE AND INDULGENCE - - -It would be vain to seek among the songs of Shakespeare for the song of -reconciliation, of quarrels, composed of inner peace, of tranquillity -achieved, but the song of justice echoes everywhere in his works. -He knows neither perfect saints, nor perfect sinners, for he feels -the struggle at the heart of reality as necessity, not as accident, -artifice, or caprice. Even the good, the brave and the pure have evil, -impurity and weakness in them: "fragility" is the word he utters most -often, not only with regard to women; and on the other hand, even -the wicked, the guilty, the criminal, have glimpses of goodness, -aspirations after redemption, and when everything else is wanting, they -have energy of will and thus possess a sort of spiritual greatness. One -hears that song as a refrain in several of the tragedies, uttered by -foes over the foes whom they have conquered. Anthony pronounces this -elegy over the fallen Brutus: - - "This was the noblest Roman of them all: - All the conspirators, save only he, - Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; - He only in a general honest thought - And common good to all, made one of them. - His life was gentle and the elements - So mix'd in him that nature might stand up - And say to all the world 'This was a man.'" - -Octavian, when he hears of the death of Anthony, exclaims: - - "O Anthony! - ... We could not stall together; but yet let me lament, - With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, - That thou, my brother, my competitor - In top of all design, my mate in empire, - Friend and companion in the front of war, - Unreconciliable should divide - Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars - Unreconciliable should divide - Our equalness to this." - -It is above all in _Henry VIII_ that this feeling for justice widens -into a feeling towards oneself and others. We find a particularly good -instance of it in the dialogues between Queen Catherine and her great -enemy Wolsey. When the queen has mentioned all the grave misdeeds of -the dead man in her severe speech, Griffith craves permission to record -in his turn all the good there was in him; and with so persuasive an -eloquence does he record this good, that the queen, when she has heard -him, concludes with a sad smile: - - "After my death I wish no other herald, - No other speaker of my living actions, - But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. - Whom I most hated living thou hast made me, - With thy religious truth and modesty, - Now in his ashes honour: peace be with him!" - -One who feels justice in this way, is inclined to be indulgent, and in -Shakespeare we find the song of indulgence, in the _Tempest:_ a lofty -indulgence, for his discernment of good and evil was acute, his sense -alike for what is noble and for what is base, exquisite. He could never -be of those who slip into some form of false indulgence, which lowers -the standard of the ideal, in order to approach the real, cancelling -or rendering uncertain, in greater or lesser measure, the boundaries -between virtue and vice. Prospero it is, who is indulgent in the -_Tempest,_ the sage, the wise, the injured, the beneficent Prospero. - -The _Tempest_ is an exercise of the imagination, a delicate pattern, -woven perhaps as a spectacle for some special occasion, such as a -marriage ceremony, for it adopts the procedure of some fanciful, -jesting scenario from the popular Italian comedy. Here we find islands -unknown, aerial spirits, earthly beings and monsters; it is full of -magic and of prodigies, of shipwrecks, rescues and incantations; -and the smiles of innocent love, the quips of comical creatures, -variegate pleasantly its surface. We have already noted the traces -of Shakespeare's tendency toward the romantic, and those echoes of -the comedy of love, of Romeo and Juliet, who are not unfortunate but -fortunate, when they are called Ferdinand and Miranda, with their -irresistible impulse towards love and joy. But although the work has -a bland tone, there are yet to be found in it characters belonging to -tragedy, wicked brothers, who usurp the throne, brothers who meditate -and attempt fratricide. In Caliban we find the malicious, violent -brute, abounding in strength and rich in possibilities. He listens -ecstatically to the soft music, with which the isle often resounds, he -knows its natural secrets and is ready to place himself at the service -of him who shall aid him in his desire for vengeance and shall redeem -him from captivity. Henceforth Prospero has all his enemies in his -power; he can do with them what he likes. But he is not on the same -plane with them, a combatant among combatants: meditation, experience -and science have refined him: he is penetrated with the consciousness -of humanity, of its instability, its illusions, its temptations, its -miseries. Where others think they see firm foothold, he is aware of -change and insecurity; where others find everything clear as day, he -feels the presence of mystery, of the unsolved enigma: - - "We are such things - As dreams are made of and our little life - Is rounded with a sleep." - -Will he punish? Finally, even his sprite Ariel, his minister of air, -feels compassion for those downcast prisoners, and when asked by -Prospero, does not withhold from him, that in his place he would be -human. - - "And mine shall. - Hast thou, which are but air, a touch, a feeling - Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, - One of their kind, which relish all as sharply, - Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?" - -The guilty are pardoned, and finally Caliban, the monstrous Caliban, -is pardoned also, promising to behave himself better from that moment -onward. Prospero divests himself of his magic wand, which gave him so -absolute a power over his like, and while yet in his possession, caused -him to incur the risk of behaving towards them in a more than human, -perhaps an inhuman way. - -Shakespeare can and does attain to indulgence towards men; but since in -him the contest between good and evil, positive and negative, remains -undecided, he is unable to rise to a feeling of cheerful hope and -faith, nor, on the other hand, to submerge himself in gloomy pessimism. -In his characters, the love of life is extraordinarily vigorous and -tenacious; all of them are agitated by strong passions; they meditate -great designs and pursue them with indomitable vigour; all of them -love infinitely and hate infinitely. But all of them, almost without -exception, also renounce life and face death with fortitude, serenity, -and as though it were a sort of liberation. The motto of all is uttered -by Edgar, in _King Lear,_ in reply to his old father, Gloucester, who -loses courage and wishes to die, when he hears of the defeat of the -king and of Cordelia. Edgar reminds his father that men must face -"their coming here even as their going hence," and that _"ripeness -is all." _ They die magnificently, either in battle, or offering -their throats to the assassin or the executioner, or they transpierce -themselves with their own hands, when nothing is left but death or -dishonour. They know how to die; it seems as though they had all -_"studied death,"_ as says a character in _Macbeth,_ when describing -one of them. - -And nevertheless the ardour of life never becomes lessened or -extinguished. Romeo indeed admired the tenacity of life and the fear -of death in him who sold him the poison; miserable, hungry, despised, -suspected by men and by the law, as he was. In _Measure for Measure,_ -in the scene where Claudio is in prison and condemned, the usual order -is inverted; first we have the prompt persuasion and decision to -accept death with serenity, and a few moments later the will to live -returns with furious force. The make-believe friar, who assists the -condemned man, sets the nullity of life before him in language full -of warm and rich imagery: it is troublous and such as "none but fools -would keep," a constant heart-ache for the fear of losing it, a craving -after happiness never attained, a falsity of affections, a crepuscular -condition, without joy or repose; and Claudio drinks in these words and -images, feeling that to live is indeed to die, and wishes for death. -But his sister enters, and when she tells him how she has been offered -his life as the price of her dishonour, he instantly clutches hold -again of life at that glimmer of hope, of hope stained with opprobrium, -and dispels with a shudder of horror the image of death: - - "To die and go we know not where; - To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; - This sensible and warm motion to become - A kneaded clod; 'tis too horrible! - The weariest and most loathed worldly life - That age, ache, penury and imprisonment - Can lay on nature is a paradise - To what we fear of death...." - -And in the same play the singular personage of Barnadine is placed -before us, perfect in a few strokes, Barnadine, the criminal and almost -animal, indifferent to life and death, but who yet lives, gets drunk -and then stretches himself out and sleeps soundly, and when he is -awakened and called to the place of execution, declares firmly, that -he is not disposed to go there that day, so they had better leave him -alone and not trouble him; he turns his shoulders on them and goes back -to his cell, where they can come and find him, if they have anything -to say. Here too the feeling of astonishment at an eagerness for life, -which does not exclude the tranquil acceptance of death, is accentuated -almost to the point of becoming comic and grotesque. - - - -7 - - -IDEAL DEVELOPMENT AND CHRONOLOGICAL SERIES - - -It is clear that in considering the principal motives of Shakespeare's -poetry and arranging them in series of increasing complexity, we -have not availed ourselves of any quantitative criterion or rule of -measurement, but have considered only the philosophical concept of the -spirit, which is perpetual growth upon itself, and of which every new -act, since it includes its predecessors, is in this sense more rich -than they. We declare in the same way, that prose is more complex than -poetry, because it follows poetry, assumes and dominates, while making -use of it, and that certain concepts and problems imply and presuppose -certain others; we further declare that a particular equality in poetry -presupposes other poetry of a more elementary quality, and that a -pessimistic song of love or sorrow, presupposes a simple love-song. - -Thus, in the succession of his works as we have considered them, which -might be more closely defined and particularised, we have nothing less -than the ideal development of Shakespeare's spirit, deduced from the -very quality of the poetical works themselves, from the physiognomy -of each and from their reciprocal relations, which cannot but appear -in relations which are serial and evolutionary. The comedies of love -and the romantic comedies have the vagueness of a dream, followed by -the hard reality of the historical plays, and from these we pass to -the great tragedies, which are dream and reality and more than dream -and reality. The general line followed by the poet even offered the -temptation to construct his development by means of the dialectic triad -of thesis, antithesis and synthesis. But we do not recommend this -course, or if followed, it should only be with the view of reaching and -adopting a compendious and brilliant formula, without suppressing in -any way the consciousness of complexity and variety of many effective -passages, much less the positive value of individual expressions. - -This development does not in any case coincide with the chronological -order, because the chronological order takes the works in the order in -which they are apprehensible from without, that is to say, in the order -in which they have been written, acted or printed, and arranges them in -a series that is qualitatively irregular, or in other words, chronicles -them. Now this arrangement must not be opposed to or placed on a -level with the other, as though it were the real opposed to the ideal -development, for the ideal is the only truly real development, while -the chronological is fictitious or arbitrary, and thus unreal; that is -to say, in clear terms, it does not represent development, but simply -a series or succession. To make this point yet more clear, by means of -an example taken from common experience, we have all known men, who in -their youth have practised or tried to practise some form of activity -(music, versification, painting, philosophy, etc.) which they have -afterwards abandoned for other activities, more suitable, because in -them susceptible of richer development. These men, later on, in their -maturity, or when old age is approaching, revert to those earlier -occupations, and take delight in composing verses or music, in painting -or in philosophising, returning, as they say, to their old loves. -Such returns are certainly never pure and simple returns: they are -always coloured to some extent by what has occurred in the interval. -But they really and substantially belong to the anterior moment; the -differences that we observe in them some part of that particular -consideration which we have disregarded in considering the development -of Shakespeare, while recommending it as a theme for special study. -As we find in works which represent a return to the period of youth, -echoes of the mature period, so in youthful works we sometimes find -anticipations and suggestions of the mature period. This is the case -with Shakespeare, not only in certain situations and characters of -the historical plays, but also in certain effects of the _Dream,_ the -_Merchant of Venice_ and _Romeo and Juliet._ - -As the result of our argument, we cannot pass from the ideal to the -extrinsic or chronological order, and therefore it could only indicate -caprice, were we to conclude from the fact that _Titus Andronicus_ -represents a literary Shakespeare or a theatrical imitator, that it -must chronologically precede _Romeo and Juliet,_ or even _Love's -Labour's Lost._ The same applies to the argument that because -_Cymbeline,_ the _Winter's Tale_ and _Pericles_ are composed of -romantic material similar to that of _All's Well,_ of _Much Ado_ and -of _Twelfth Night_ (where we find innocent maidens falsely accused and -afterwards triumphant, dead women, who turn out to be alive, women -dressed as men, and the like), that they must all have been written at -the same time. The same holds good of the historical plays: we cannot -argue from the fact that these plays represent a more complex condition -of the soul than the love comedies and the romantic plays, that the -historical plays are all of them to be dated later than the two groups -above-mentioned; or that for the same reasons, _Hamlet,_ the first -_Hamlet,_ could not by any means have been composed by Shakespeare in -his very earliest period, about 1592, as Swinburne asserts, swears and -takes his solemn oath is the case: and who knows but he is right? - -In like manner, we cannot pass from the chronological to the ideal -order, and since the chronology, documentary or conjectural, places -_Coriolanus_ after _Hamlet,_ and also after _Othello, Macbeth, Lear_ -and _Anthony and Cleopatra,_ must not, therefore, insist upon finding -in it profound thoughts, which it does not contain, or deny that it -belongs to the period of the "historical plays" with which it has the -closest connection. Again, although the chronology places _Cymbeline_ -and the _Winter's Tale,_ as has been said, in the last years of -Shakespeare's life, we must not insist upon finding profound meanings -in those works, or talk, as some have done, of a superior ethic, a -"theological ethic," to which Shakespeare is supposed at last to -have attained, or dwell upon the gracious idyllic scenes to be found -in them, weighing them down with non-existent mysteries, making out -that the Imogens and Hermiones are beings of equal or greater poetic -intensity than Cordelia, or Desdemona, or take Leontes for Othello, -Jacques for Iago, whereas, in the eyes of those possessed of poetic -sentiment, the former stand to the latter in the relation of little -decorative studies compared to works by Raphael or Giorgione. Proof of -this is to be found in the fact that the latter have become popular and -live in the hearts and minds of all, while the former please us, we -admire them, and pass on. - -All that can be admitted, because comformable to logic and experience, -is that the two orders in general--but quite in general, and therefore -with several exceptions and disagreements--big and little--correspond -to one another. Indeed, if we take the usual chronological order, as -fixed by philologists and to be found in all Shakespearean manuals -and at the head of the plays, with little variation, we see that the -first comedies of love and the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, including -the romantic element, which is common to all of them, belong to the -first period, between 1591 and 1592. We next find the historical plays, -the comedies of love and the romantic dramas, closely associated; -then begins the period of the great tragedies, _Julius Caesar_ and -_Anthony and Cleopatra;_ then again,--after a return to anterior -forms with _Coriolanus, Cymbeline_ and the _Winter's Tale,_--we reach -the _Tempest,_ which seems to be the last, or among the last of -Shakespeare's works. - -Biographers have tried to explain the last period of Shakespeare's -poetry in various ways, sometimes as the period of his _"becoming -serene,"_ sometimes as that of his _"poetical exhaustion"_ sometimes -as _"an attempt after new forms of art"_; but with such utterances as -these, we find ourselves among those conjectural constructions, which -we have purposely avoided, if for no other reason than that so many -people, who are good for nothing else, make them every day, and we do -not wish to deprive them of their occupation. - -The _biographical_ character of that period can be interpreted, as we -please, as one of repose, of gay facility, of weariness, of expectation -and training for new works, and so on: but the _poetical_ character -of the works in question, is such as we have described, and such as -all see and feel that it is. It is too but a biographical conjecture, -however plausible,--but certainly most graceful and pleasing--, which -maintains that the magician Prospero, who breaks his wand, buries his -book of enchantments, and dismisses his aerial spirit Ariel, ready -to obey his every nod, symbolizes William Shakespeare himself, who -henceforth renounces his art and takes leave of the imaginary world, -which he had created for his own delight and in obedience to the law of -his own development and where till then he had lived as sovereign. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -THE ART OF SHAKESPEARE - - -The motives of Shakespeare's poetry having been described, there is -no occasion for the further question as to the way in which he has -made of them concrete poetry, in other words, as to the _form_ he -gave to that affective content. Form and content cannot be separated -from one another and considered apart. For this reason, everything -remarked of Shakespeare's poetry, provided that it is something real -and well observed, must be either a repetition applied to Shakespeare -of the statement as to the characteristics, that is to say, the -unique character of all poetry, or a description in language more -or less precise, beneath the title of "formal characteristics," of -what constituted the physiognomy of the sentiment or sentiments of -Shakespeare, thus returning to that determination of motives, of which -we have treated above. Still less can we engage in an enquiry as to the -_technique_ of Shakespeare, because the concept of technique is to be -altogether banished from the sphere of aesthetic criticism, technique -being concerned solely with the practical purposes of extrinsication, -such as for poetry would be the training of a reciter's voice, or the -making of the paper and the type, with which it is printed. There is -no trade secret in Shakespeare, which can be communicated, no "part" -that "can be taught and learned" (as has been maintained); in the best -sense "technique" has value as a synonym of artistic form and in that -way returns to become part of the dilemma above indicated. - -Easy confirmation of this fact is to be found in any one of the many -books that have been written on the "form" or on the "technique" of -Shakespeare. Take for example the most intelligent of all, that by -Otto Ludwig, written with much penetration of art in general and of -Shakespearean art in particular, which contains the words that have -been censured above. There we read, that in Shakespeare "everything is -individualised, and at the same time idealised, by means of loftiness -and power: every speech accords with the sentiment that has called -it forth, every action with the character and situation, every -character and situation depends upon every other one, and both upon -the individuality of the time; every speech and every situation is -yet more individualised by means of time and place, even by means of -natural phenomena; in such a way that each one of his plays has its own -atmosphere, now clearer, now more dark." - -But of what poetry that is poetry cannot this individuated idealisation -be affirmed or demanded? We read in the same volume that Shakespeare -"is never speculative, but always holds to experience, as Shylock to -the signature on the bond." But what poetry that is poetry ever does -abandon the form of the sensible for the concept or for reasoning? -The "supreme truth" of every particular of the representation is -praised, but this does not exclude the use of the "symbolical," that -is, of particulars which are not found in nature, but mean what they -are intended to mean, and "give the impression of the most persuasive -reality, although, indeed precisely because, not one word of them can -be said to be true to nature." With such a statement as this, the -utmost attained is a confutation of the pertinacious artistic heresy as -to imitation of nature. We find "Shakespearean totality" exalted, by -means of which "a passion is like a common denominator of the capital -sum, and the capital sum becomes in its turn the general denominator -of the play." This "totality" is clearly synonymous with the lyrical -character, which constitutes the poetry of every poem, including those -that are called epic and dramatic, or narrative, and those in the form -of dialogue. We find here too that nearly all the tragedies assume -in a sense the "form of a sonata," which contains in close relation -and contrast the theme, the idea of the hero and the counter-theme, -and in the passages aforesaid develops the motives of the theme with -"harmonious and contrapuntal characteristics" and "in the third part -resumes the whole theme in a more tranquil manner, and in tragedy in a -parallel minor key." But this imaginary technical excellence is nothing -but the "musical character" of all art, which, like the "lyrical -character," is certainly worth insisting upon as against the materially -figurative and realistic interpretation of artistic representations. -Analogous observations avail as to the "ideality" of "time" and -"place," which Ludwig discovers in Shakespeare, and which are to be -found in every poem, where rhythm and form obey rules, which are by no -means arithmetical or geometrical, but solely internal and poetic. They -also avail against all the other statements of Ludwig and other critics -as to typicity, impersonality, constancy of characteristics, which is -also variability, and the like. These are all similes or metaphors -for poetry, which is unique. It is true that some of these things are -noted, just with a view to differentiate Shakespeare from other poets, -and therefore assume a proper individual meaning, when we take truth as -being the particular Shakespearean truth, his vision of things, and the -sense which he reveals for the indivisible tie between good and evil -existing in every man; for "impersonality," his attitude of irresolute -but energetic dialectic, and so on; but in certain other cases, it is -not a question of the form of Shakespeare, but, as has been said, of -his own sentiment and of his motives of inspiration. - -In one case only is it possible to separate form from content and to -consider it in itself; that is to say, when the rhetorical method -is applied to Shakespeare or to any other artist. This consists in -separating form from content and making of it a garment, which becomes -just nothing at all without the body with which it grew up, or gives -rise to pure caprice and to the illusion that anyone can appropriate -and adopt it to his own purposes. In romantic parlance (for there -existed a romantic manner of speech) what was known as a mixture of -comic and tragic, of prose and verse, what was called the "humorous, -the grotesque, the fanciful," such as apparitions of mysterious and -supernatural beings, and again the method that Shakespeare employed -in production of his plays, his manner of treating the conflict and -determining the catastrophe, the way in which he makes his personages -speak, the quality and richness of his vocabulary, were enumerated -as "characteristics of his art," things that others could employ if -they wished to do so, and indeed they were so employed, with the poor -results that one can imagine. This is the source of the anticritical -terminology employed for Shakespeare and other poets, which discovers -and magnifies his "ability," his "expedients," his "conveying of the -necessary information without having the air of doing so," as though he -were a calculator or constructor of instruments with certain practical -ends, not a divine imagination. But enough of this. - -Certainly, it would be possible to take one of the plays of -Shakespeare, or all of them, one after the other, and having exposed -their fundamental motive (this has been done), to illustrate their -aesthetic coherence and to point out the delicacy of treatment, bit by -bit, scene by scene, accent by accent, word by word. In _Macbeth,_ for -instance, might be shown the robust and potent unity of the affective -tragical representation, which bursts out and runs like a lyric, all -of a piece, everywhere maintaining complete harmony of parts, and each -scene seeming to be a strophe of the poem, from its opening, with the -sudden news of Macbeth's victories, and the joy and gratitude of the -old king, immediately followed by the fateful meeting with the witches -and by the kindling of the voracious desire, against which Macbeth -struggles; down to the coming of the king to the castle, where ambush -and death await his unsuspecting confidence; then the scene darkens, -the murder takes place on that dread night, and Macbeth becomes -gradually involved in a crescendo of crimes, up to the moment when the -terrible tension ends in furious combat and the slaying of the hero. -King Duncan, when he arrives at the gate of the castle, serene and -happy as he is, in the event which has given peace to his kingdom, -lingers to enjoy the delicate air and to admire the amenity of the -spot. Banquo echoes him, and abandons himself to innocent pleasure, in -whole-hearted confidence, repeating that delicious little poem about -the martlet, which has suspended everywhere on the walls of the castle -its nest and fruitful cradle, - - "This guest of summer, - The temple-haunting martlet," - -whose presence he has always observed, implies that the "air is -delicate." In the whole of that quiet little conversation, we feel -sympathy for the good old man, we shudder for what is coming and are -sensible of the piteous wrong in things. When Macbeth crosses swords -with Macduff, he remembers the last words of the witches' prophecy, -which he believes to be favourable to himself; but when it becomes -suddenly evident that Macduff it is, who shall slay him, he shudders -and bursts out as before, with: "I will not fight with thee." This -ejaculation reveals the violence of the shock and an instinctive -movement of the will to live, which would elude its destiny. And we -can pause at any part of _Othello,_ for instance, at the moment when -Desdemona intercedes for Cassio, with the gentleness and coquetry of -a woman in love, who knows that she is loved, and talks like a child, -who knows it has the right to be a little spoilt; or at the moment when -Desdemona is in the act of being slain, when she does not break into -the complaints of innocence calumniated, nor assumes the attitude of a -victim unjustly sacrificed, but like a poor creature of flesh and blood -that loves life, loves love, and with childish egoism has abandoned her -father for love, and now breaks out into childish supplications, trying -to postpone and to retard death, at least for a few moments. - - "O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!... - Kill me to-morrow; let me live to-night!... - But half an hour!... - But while I say one prayer!" - -We could in like manner enable anyone to understand the fabulous-human -character of _King Lear,_ who did not at once understand it for -himself, by analysing the great initial scene between Lear and his -three daughters, where, at the poet's touch, the story and the fabulous -personages assume at one stroke a reality that is the very strength of -our abhorrence of dry egoism cloaking itself in affectionate words and -also the very strength of our tender admiration for the true goodness, -which conceals itself and does not speak ("What shall Cordelia do? Love -and be silent"). - -This insistence upon analysis and eulogy will be of special value to -those who do not immediately understand of themselves, owing either -to preconceptions, to habitual lack of attention, to their slight -knowledge of art or to their lack of penetration. It will be of use in -schools, to promote good reading, and outside them, it may assist in -softening those hard heads which belong sometimes to men of letters. -But it does not form part of our object in writing this treatise, nor -does it appear to form part of the duty of Shakespearean criticism, for -Shakespeare is one of the clearest and most evident of poets, capable -of being perfectly understood by men of slight or elementary culture. -We run with impatience through the many prolix, aesthetic commentaries -which we already possess on his plays, as we should certainly listen -with impatience to anyone who should draw our attention to the fact -that the sun is shining brightly in the sky at midday, that it is -gilding the country with its light, making sparkle the dew, and playing -with its rays upon the leaves. - -On the other hand, it is not inopportune to record that excellence -in his art was long denied or contested to Shakespeare. This was the -general view of his contemporaries themselves, because we now know -what we are to think of the words of praise, which we find relating to -him in the literature of his time. These had been diligently traced -and collected by scholars, but had been more or less deliberately -misunderstood, and interpreted in a sense opposed to their correct -meaning, which was that of benevolent sympathy and condescending praise -for a poet of popular appeal, approximately what we should employ -now for a lively and pleasing writer of romantic adventures. Similar -judgments reappeared in a different style and at a different time in -the famous utterances of Voltaire, which vary in their intonation -according to his humour: such are _barbare aimable, fou séduisant, -sauvage ivre,_ and the like. They do not appear to have lost their -weight especially in France, where a certain Monsieur Pellissier has -filled a large volume with them, coming to the conclusion that the -work of Shakespeare, "malgré tant de beautés admirables est un immense -fouillis," and that it generally seems to be, "celle d'un écolier, -d'un écolier génial, qui n'ayant ni expérience, ni mesure, ni tact, -gaspille prématuré son génie abortif." Finally (and this has greater -weight), Jusserand, a learned historian of English literature, treating -of Shakespeare with great display of erudition, presents him as "un -fidèle serviteur" of his theatrical public, and speaks of his "défauts -énormes." Chateaubriand, in his essay of 1801, playing the Voltaire in -his turn, attributed to him "le génie," while he denied to him "l'art," -the observance of the "règles" and "genres," which are "nés de la -nature même"; but later he recognises that he was wrong to "mesurer -Shakespeare avec la lunette classique." Here he put his finger on the -fundamental mistake of that sort of criticism, which judges art, not -by its intrinsic qualities, but by comparison with other works of art, -which are taken as models. The same mistake was renewed, when French -tragedy was not the model, but the art of realistic modern drama -and fiction. The principal document in support of this is Tolstoi's -book, where at every word or gesture of Shakespeare's characters, he -exclaims that men do not speak thus, that is to say, the men who are -not man in universal, but the men of Tolstoi's romances, though these -latter happen to be far nearer to the characters of Shakespeare than -their great, but unreasonable and quite uncritical author suspected. -Tolstoi arrives at the point of preferring the popular and unpoetical -play _King Lear,_ to the _King Lear_ of Shakespeare, because there is -more logic in the conduct of the plot in the former, thus showing that -he prefers minute prosaic details to sublime poetry. - -An attenuated form of these views as to the lack of art in Shakespeare -is the theory maintained better by Rümelin than by others, to the -effect that the characters in Shakespeare are worth a great deal -more than the action or plots, which are disconnected, intermittent, -contradictory and without any feeling for verisimilitude. He also -holds that Shakespeare works on each scene, without having the power -of visualising the preceding scene, or the one that is to follow, -and also that the characters themselves do not respect the truth of -dialogue and of the drama, in their manner of speech, which is always -fiery, imaginative and splendid. Finally, it might be said of him that -he composes beautiful music for libretti, which are more or less ill -constructed. Now if this theory had for its object to assert, though -with emphasis and exaggeration, that in a poetical work the material -part of the story, the web of events, does not count, and that the only -thing of importance is the soul that circulates within it, just as in -a picture, it is not the material side of the things painted (which is -called by critics of painting "the literary element," or that which -taken in itself is external and without importance), but the rhythm of -the lines and of the colours, what he maintained would be correct, if -only as a reaction. Coleridge has already noted the independence of the -dramatic interest from the intrigue and quality of the story, which in -the Shakespearean drama, was obtained from the best known and commonest -sources. But the object with which this theory was conceived by -Rümelin and with which it is generally maintained, has for its object -to establish a dualism or contradiction in the art of Shakespeare, by -proving him to be "strong" in one domain of the spirit and "weak" in -another, where strength in both is "necessary," in order to produce a -perfect work. - -We are bound to deny with firmness this assumption: we refuse to -admit the existence of any such dualism and contradiction, because -the distinction between characters and actions, between style and -dialogue and style and work, is arbitrary, scholastic and rhetorical. -There is in Shakespeare one poetical stream, and it is impossible -to set its waters against one another--characters against actions, -and the like. So true is this, that save in cold blood, one does not -notice his so-called contradictions, omissions and improbabilities, -that is to say, when we leave the poetical condition of the spirit -and begin to examine what we have read, as though it were the report -of an occurrence. Nor is the imputation cast upon the speech of -Shakespeare's characters, which is perfectly consonant with the nature -of the poems, admissible. Hence from the lips of Macbeth and of Lady -Macbeth, of Othello and of Lear, came true and proper lyrics. These -are not interruptions and dissonances in the play, but motions and -upliftings of the play itself; they are not the superposition of one -life upon another, but the outpouring of that life, which is continued -in the central motive. These witticisms, conceits and misunderstandings -in _Romeo and Juliet,_ which have so often been blamed, are to -be explained, at least in great measure, in a natural way, as the -character of the play, as the comedy, which precedes and imparts its -colour to the tragedy, and is brilliant with the fashionable and -gallant speech of the day. - -In making the foregoing statement, we do not wish to deny that in the -drama of Shakespeare are to be found (besides historical, geographical, -and chronological errors, which are indifferent to poetry but not -necessary and for that reason avoidable or to be avoided) words and -phrases, and sometimes entire scenes, which are not justifiable, save -for theatrical reasons. We do not know to what extent they had his -assent and to what extent they are due to the very confused tradition, -under the influence of which the text of his works has descended to us. -We also do not wish to deny that he was guilty of little over-sights -and contradictions, and that he was perhaps generally negligent. -But it is important in any case to understand and bear in mind the -psychological reasons for this negligence, inspired with that sort of -indifference and contempt for the easy perfecting of certain details, -of those engaged upon works of great magnitude and importance. -Giambattista Vico, a mighty spirit who resembles Shakespeare, both in -his full, keen sense of life and in the adventures of his work and -of his fame, was also apt frequently to overlook details and to make -slight mistakes, and was convinced "that diligence must lose itself in -arguments, which have anything of greatness in them, because it is a -minute, and because minute a tardy virtue." Thus he openly vindicated -the right of rising to the level of heroic fury, which will not brook -delay from small and secondary matters. - -As Vico was nevertheless most accurate in essentials, never sparing -himself the most lengthy meditations to sound the bottom of his -thoughts, so it is impossible to think that Shakespeare did not give -the best and greatest part of himself to his plays, that he was not -continually intent upon observing, reflecting comparing, examining his -own feelings, seeking out and weighing his expressions, collecting and -valuing the impressions of the public and of his colleagues in art, -in fact, upon the study of his art. The precision, the delicacy, the -gradations, the shading of his representations, are an irrefragable -proof of this. The sense of classic form is often denied to him, even -by his admirers, that is to say, of a partial and old-fashioned -ideal of classical form, consisting of certain external regularities. -But he was a classic, because he possessed the strength that is sure -of itself, which does not exert itself, nor proceed in a series -of paroxysmal leaps, but carries in itself its own moderation and -serenity. He had that taste which is proper to genius and commensurate -with it, because genius without taste is an abstraction to be found -only in the pages of treatises. The various passages, where he chances -to find an opportunity for theorizing on art, show that he had -profoundly meditated the art he practised. In one of the celebrated -passages of the _Dream,_ he makes Theseus say, - - "The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, - Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; - And as imagination bodies forth - The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen - Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing - A local habitation and a name." - -And that a powerful imagination, if it is affected by some joy, -imagines someone as the bringer of that joy, and if it imagine some -nocturnal terror, it changes a bush into a wild beast with great -facility. That is to say, he shows himself conscious of the creative -virtue of poetry and of its origin in the feelings, which it changes -into persons, endowed with ethereal sentiment. But in the equally -celebrated passage of _Hamlet,_ he dwells upon the other aspect of -artistic creation, upon its universality, and therefore upon its calm -and harmony. What Hamlet chiefly insists upon in his colloquy with -the players, is "moderation," "for in the very torrent, tempest, and, -as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a -temperance that may give it smoothness." To declare Shakespeare to be -a representative of the frenzied and convulsed style in poetry, as has -been done several times, is to utter just the reverse of the truth. -In this respect, it is well to read the contemporary dramatists, with -a view to measuring the difference, indeed the abyss between them. In -the famous _Spanish Tragedy_ of Kyd, there is a scene (perhaps due to -another hand) in which Hieronymus asks a painter to paint for him the -assassin of his own son, and cries out: - - "There you may show a passion, there you may show a passion.... - Make me rave, make me cry, make me mad, - Make me well again, make me curse hell, - Invocate, and in the end leave me - In a trance, and so forth." - -The same character is attacked by doubt and asks with anxiety: "Can -this be done?" and the painter replies: "Yes, Sir." - -Such was not the method of Shakespeare, who would have made the painter -reply, not with a yes, but with a yes and a no together. - -His art, then, was neither defective nor vitiated in any part of its -own constitutive character, although certain works are obviously -weak and certain parts of other works, in the vast mass that goes -under his name. Such youthful plays as _Love's Labour's Lost, The -Two Gentlemen,_ the _Comedy of Errors,_ are not notable, save for a -certain ease and grace, only manifesting in certain places the trace -of his profound spirit. The "historical plays," are as we have already -shown, fragmentary and do not form complete poems animated with a -single breath of passion. Some of them, and especially the first -part of _Henry VI,_ have about them an arid quality and are loosely -anecdotal; in others, such as _Henry IV_ and _Henry V,_ is evident the -desire to stimulate patriotic feelings, and they are further burdened -with scenes of a purely informative nature. _Coriolanus_ too, which -was apparently composed later and is derived from a different source, -also lacks complete internal justification, for it consists of a -study of characters. _Timon_ (assuming that it was his) is developed -in a mechanical manner, although it is full of social and ethical -observations and possesses rhetorical fervour. _Cymbeline_ and the -_Winter's Tale_ contain lovely scenes, but are not as a whole works -of the first order; the idyllic and romantic Shakespeare appears -in them to have rather declined in comparison to the author of the -earlier plays of the same sort, inspired with a very different vigour. -_Measure for Measure_ contains sentiments and personages that are -profoundly Shakespearean, as the protagonist Angelo, the meter out of -inexorable justice, so sure of his own virtue, who yields to the first -sensual temptation that occurs, in Claudius, who wishes and does not -wish to die, and in the Barnadine already mentioned. This play, which -oscillates between the tragic and the comic, and has a happy ending, -instead of forming a drama of the sarcastic-sorrowful-horrible sort, -fails to persuade us that it should have been thus developed and thus -ended. There is something of the composite in the structure of the -wonderful _Merchant of Venice,_ and certain of the scenes of _Troilus -and Cressida,_ such as those of the speeches of Ulysses and those -on the other side of Hector and Troilus, seem to be echoes or even -entire pieces taken from historical plays and transported with ironic -intention into comedy. Points of this sort are to be found even in the -great tragedies. In _Lear,_ for instance, the adventures of Gloucester -and his son are not completely satisfactory, grafted as they are upon -those of the king and his daughters, either because they introduce too -realistic an element into a play with an imaginary theme, or because -they create a heavy parallelism, much praised by an Italian critic, -who has attempted to express _King Lear_ in a geometrical form; but -the origin for this parallelism may perhaps be really due to the need -for theatrical variety, complication and suspense, rather than to any -moral purpose of emphasising horror at ingratitude. The clown, who -accompanies the king, abounds in phrases, which are not all of them -in place and significant. But if to set about picking holes in the -beauties of Shakespeare's plays has seemed to us a superfluous and -tiresome occupation, such too, from another point of view and in -addition pedantic and irreverent, seems to be the investigation of -defects that we observe in them; they are opaque points, which the eye -does not observe in the splendour of such a sun. - -Another judgment which also has vogue refers to a constitutive or -general defect in Shakespeare's poetry, a certain limit or barrier -in it, a narrowness, albeit an ample and a rich narrowness. We must -distinguish two forms of this judgment, the first of which might -be represented by the epigrams of Platen, who, while recognising -Shakespeare's power to move the heart and the strength of his -characterisation, declared that "so much truth is a fatal gift," and -that Shakespeare draws so incisively, only because he cannot veil -his personages in grace and beauty. He greatly admired even what is -painful in Shakespeare, looking upon it as beautiful, and was full -of admiration for his comical figures, such as Falstaff and Shylock, -"an incomparable couple"; but he denied to Shakespeare true tragic -power, which "must open the deepest of wounds and then heal them." -The second of these forms is the commonest, and Mazzini may stand as -its representative. He maintained that Shakespeare was a poet of the -real, not of the ideal, of the isolated individual, not of society; -that he was not dominated by the thought of duty and responsibility -towards mankind, as expressed in politics and history, that his was a -voice rather of the Middle Ages than of modern times, which found their -origin in Schiller, the poet of humanity and Providence. - -Even Harris's book concludes with a series of reservations: he says -that Shakespeare was neither a philosopher nor a sage; that he never -conceived a personage as contesting and combating his own time; -that he had only a vague idea of the spirit by which man is led to -new and lofty ideals in every historical period; that he was unable -to understand a Christ or a Mahomet; that instead of studying, he -ridiculed Puritanism and so remained shut up in the Renaissance, and -that for these reasons, in spite of _Hamlet;_ he does not belong -to the modern world, that the best of a Wordsworth or of a Tolstoi -is outside him, and so on. We may perfectly admit all this and it -may even be of use in putting a curb upon such hyperbole and such -superlatives as those of Coleridge, to the effect that Shakespeare -was _anér myriónous,_ the myriad-minded man (although even this -myriad-mindedness may seem to be but a very ample narrowness, if -myriads be taken as a finite number). - -Shakespeare could never have desired to possess the ideal of beauty, -which visited the soul of the hirsute and unfortunate Platen, the -social or humanitarian ideals of the Schillers and Tourgueneffs. But -he had no need whatever of these things to attain the infinite, which -every poet attains, reaching the centre of the circle from any point -of the periphery. For this reason, no poet, whatever the historical -period at which he was born and by which he is limited, is the poet -of only one historical epoch. Shakespeare formed himself during the -period of the Renaissance, which he surpasses, not with his practical -personality, but with his poetry. There is nothing, then, for these -limiters to do, save to manifest their dissatisfaction with poetry -itself, which is always limited-unlimited. This, I think, was also the -case with Emerson, who lamented that Shakespeare (whom he nevertheless -placed in the good company of Homer and of Dante) "rested in the beauty -of things and never took the step of investigating the virtue that -resides in symbols," which seemed to be inevitable for such a genius, -and that "he converted the elements awaiting his commands," into a -diversion, and gave "half truths to half men": whereas, according -to Emerson, the entire truth for entire men could only be given by -a personage whom the world still awaits. To Emerson, this personage -seemed most attractive, but to others he may possibly perhaps seem as -little amiable as Antichrist: he called him "the poet-priest." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM - - -Criticism of Shakespeare, like every criticism, has followed and -expressed the progress and alternations of the philosophy of art, -or aesthetic; it has been strong or weak, profound or superficial, -well-balanced or one-sided, according to the doctrines that have -there been realised. Their history would form an excellent History -of Aesthetic, because the fame of Shakespeare became widespread, -concurrently with the spread of aesthetic theory, with its liberation -from external norms and concepts, and its penetration to the heart of -its subject. Shakespeare's poetry in its turn stimulated this deepening -of the theory of aesthetic, by its revelation of a poetic world, for -emotion and admiration, in appearance at least, very different from -what had previously passed as its sole and perfect example. But since -we are occupied at the present moment with Shakespeare and not with -aesthetic theory, we shall touch only upon certain points of this -criticism, in order the more firmly to establish by indirect proof the -judgment expressed above, and to indicate certain obstacles, which the -student of Shakespeare will meet with in critical literature relating -to that poet. Our description and definition of them may render -avoidable certain of the most common errors. - -Among these must be included (not in the seat of criticism, but in -the entrance-hall and at the gates) what may be called _exclamatory_ -criticism, which instead of understanding a poet in his particularity, -his finite-infinity, drowns him beneath a flood of superlatives. This -is the method employed by English writers towards Shakespeare (I am -bound to admit that the Italians do the same as regards Dante). An -example of this habit, selected from innumerable others, is Swinburne's -book, from which we learn that "it would be better that the world -should lose all the books it contains rather than the plays of -Shakespeare"; that Shakespeare is "the supreme creator of men"; that -he "stands alone," and at the most might admit "Homer on his right and -Dante on his left hand"; then, as to individual plays, we learn that -the trilogy of _Henry IV-V_ suffices to reveal him as "the greatest -playwright of the world," that the _Dream_ stands "without and above -any possible or imaginable criticism." Thus he continues, puffing out -his cheeks to find hyperboles, which themselves finally turn out to be -inferior to hyperbolic requirements. Sometimes such exclamations not -only border on the ridiculous, but fall right into it, as is the case -with Carlyle, who stood in perplexity before the hypothetical dilemma, -as to whether England could better afford to lose "the empire of India -or Shakespeare." Victor Hugo, more generous, and an admirer of the -ocean, constituted a series of _hommes océans,_ where the tragic poet -of Albion found a place alongside of Aeschylus, Dante, Michael-Angelo, -Isaiah and Juvenal. - -Another style of criticism, _by images_ to be found in works that -are estimable in other respects, is somewhat akin to this criticism -without criticism, besides being far more justifiable, because, if it -does not explain, it tries at least to give, as though in a poetical -translation, a synthetic impression of Shakespeare's art and of the -physiognomy of his various works. It describes the works of Shakespeare -by means of landscapes and other pictures, as Herder and other writers -of the _Sturm and Drang_ period delighted in doing. Coleridge too did -likewise and Hazlitt even more often, as may be shown by an extract -from the letter of a certain Miss Florence O'Brien, on _King Lear,_ -to be found in well-nigh all books that deal with this tragedy. She -begins: "This play is like a tempestuous night: the first scene is like -a wild sunset, grandiose and terrible, with gusts of wind and rumblings -of thunder, which announce the imminence of the hurricane: then comes a -furious tempest of madness and folly, through which we see darkly the -monstrous and unnatural figures of Goneril and Regan"; et cetera. The -danger of such poetical variations is that of superimposing one art on -another, and of leading astray or of distracting the attention from the -genuine features of the original to be enjoyed and understood, in the -attempt to render its effect. - -Let us pass over _biographical-aesthetic_ criticism: its fundamental -error and the arbitrary judgments with which it disturbs both biography -and the criticism of art have already been sufficiently illustrated; -and let us also pass over the _aesthetic_ criticism of _philologists,_ -who imagine themselves to be interpreting and judging poetry, when -they are talking mere philology and uttering ineptitudes prepared with -infinite pains. Being confined to citing but one example of their -method, I would select for that purpose Furnivall's introduction to -the _Leopold Shakespeare._ I fail to understand why this introduction -is so highly esteemed and reverenced. Furnivall too, when he contrives -not to lose himself in exclamations and attempts poetry, ("who could -praise Falstaff sufficiently?" "who could fail to love Percy?" "the -countess mother in _All's Well_ resembles one of Titian's old ladies;" -etc.), amuses himself by establishing links between the plays. These he -discovers in the situations, in the action and elsewhere, regarding the -works externally and from a general point of view. Thus he discovers -a connection between _Julius Caesar_ and _Hamlet,_ in the repetition -of the name of "Caesar," which is found thrice in the latter play, in -the mouth of Horatio, of Polonius and of Hamlet, on the occasion of -both seeing a ghost, in Hamlet's feeling that he must avenge his father -like Antonius Caesar, and in the likeness of character between Brutus -and Hamlet's father. Thus he attains to the ridiculous, as Carlyle and -Swinburne by another route, when, for instance, he affirms that "in a -certain sense Hotspur (the fiery Hotspur of _Henry IV_) is Kate (that -is to say, the shrew in the _Taming of the Shrew,_) become a man and -bearing armour!" - -We shall also not dwell upon _rhetorical_ criticism, which employs the -method of "styles." This method, after having rejected Shakespeare, -because he does not pay attention to the different styles of writing -(French criticism), and having then proceeded to reconcile him with -styles as explained by Aristotle in his _Poetics,_ when these are well -understood (Lessing), having sung his praises as the "genius of the -drama," the "Homer of dramatic style" (Gervinus), is still seeking for -what is "his alone and individually" in "the treatment" of the "drama." -This it will never find, because such a thing as a "dramatic style" -does not exist in the world of poetry: what does exist is simply and -solely "poetry." These questions of literary style are now rather out -of date: they survive rather in the lazy repetition of words and forms -than in actual substance. It is certainly surprising to know that there -still exist persons who examine what are called the "historical plays," -and because they are "historical," compare them with history books, -blaming the poet for not having given to Caesar the part that should -have been his in _Julius Caesar,_ and quoting in support of their -argument (like Brandes) the histories of Mommsen and of Boissier. And -there are also fossils who discuss in the language of the sixteenth -century, verisimilitude, incongruity or multiplicity of plot, congruity -or reverse of characters, crudeness of expression, and observation or -failure to observe by Shakespeare the rules of dramatic composition. To -German criticism of the speculative period and to the vast monographs -that it produced upon Shakespeare must be given the credit of having -tried to discover and determine the _soul_ of Shakespeare's poetry. -We must also admit, as a general quality of scientific German books -on literature, even when these are of the heaviest and most full of -mistakes, that they do make us feel the presence of problems not -yet solved, whereas other books, more easy to read, better written -and perhaps less full of mistakes, are less fruitful of thoughts -that arise by repercussion or reaction. Unfortunately, these German -writers imagined that soul to reside in a sort of _philosophical, -moral, political and historical teaching,_ upon which Shakespeare -was supposed to have woven his plays. This was a flagrant offence -against all sense of poetry, for not only did they forget the poetical -in favour of the non-poetical; and attributed equal value to all of -Shakespeare's widely differing works, whatever their real value, but -also, since this non-poetical teaching had no existence, they set -about creating it on their own account by means of various subtleties, -and of a sort of allegorical exegesis. Thus in Ulrici, Gervinus, -Kreyssig, Vischer and others like them, we read with astonishment, -that in _Richard III_ (to take a historical play) Shakespeare wished -to impart "an immortal doctrine upon the divine right of kings and -their intangibility," and at the same time to give warning that it does -not suffice a king to be conscious of his right divine, unless he be -prepared to maintain it with force against force. These writers have an -almost prophetic vision that Germany will need this lesson in the case -of its romantic king, Frederick William IV of Prussia! In the _Tempest_ -again (to take an imaginative play) Shakespeare is supposed by them to -have desired to give his opinion upon the great question, common to -our time and his, as to the right of Europeans to colonise and the -need of subjecting the native savage by means of whip and sword, free -of any scruple dictated by false sentiment. Finally (to take a last -example from the great tragedies), they held that the ideal teaching -of _Othello_ is that punishment awaits unequal marriages, marriage -between persons of different race, or different social condition, or -of different age; and that Desdemona deserved her cruel fate, for she -was weighed down with sin, having disobeyed her old father, imprudently -and over-warmly supported the cause of Cassio, and shown negligence and -lack of care in handling the famous handkerchief, which she let fall at -her feet! We can only reply to all this in the witty words of Riimelin, -_à propos_ of such incredible interpretations of Shakespeare's -catastrophes, to the effect that this "dramatic justice," so dear to -German aestheticians, is "like Draco's sanguinary code, which decreed a -single penalty for all misdeeds: death." - -Numberless are the shocks that the artistic consciousness receives -from such a method as this. Gervinus, who professed "an even firmer -belief in Shakespeare's infallibility in matters of morality than in -his lack of aesthetic defects," is indignant with readers disposed to -find hard and cruel Prince Henry's repulse on coming to the throne, -of his old friend Falstaff, the companion of his merry adventures. He -gravely declares that this proves modern readers to be "far inferior -both to Prince Henry and to Shakespeare in nobility and ethical -fervour"; whereas it is evident that the poor readers are right, -because we have to deal here with poetical images, not with practical -and moral acts, and readers justly feel that Shakespeare was on this -occasion obeying certain ends outside the province of art. Falstaff is -sympathetic to every reader: even Gervinus does not dare to declare -him antipathetic, but sets about finding plausible explanations for -this illicit attractiveness. He produces three: the artistic perfection -of the representation, the logical perfection of the type, and the -struggle between the will for pleasure that always stimulates Falstaff, -and his old age and his paunch, which hinder or make him impotent, -and according to Gervinus, are bestowed upon him, in order to appease -or mitigate our shocked sense of ethical severity. But the only and -obvious explanation of Falstaff's sympathetic attractiveness is the -sympathy which the poet himself felt in his genial way for him as -a human force. In like manner, what we have held to be an error of -composition, such as the story of Gloucester and his sons forming a -parallel with that of Lear, is held to be a miracle by the professors -aforesaid, because, as says Ulrici, the poet wished to teach us that -"moral corruption is not isolated, but diffused among the most noble -families, representative of all the others." Vischer holds a similar -view, to the effect that Shakespeare "intended to show that, if impiety -is widely diffused, society becomes impossible, and the world rocks to -its foundation; but one instance of this did not suffice, so he had to -accumulate the most terrifying confirmation of the fact." - -These professors are also unanimous in rejecting the interpretation of -the words: "He has no sons!" uttered by Macduff, when he learns that -Macbeth has caused his wife and little son to be murdered, as they are -understood by the ingenuous reader, namely, that Macduff thus expresses -his rage at not being able to take an equal vengeance upon Macbeth, -by slaying his sons. Their reason for this is that such a thing would -be unworthy of so upright and honourable a man as Macduff. As though -such honourable men as Macduff are not subject to the impulse of anger -and capable of at least momentary blindness; as though the eyes, even -of Manzoni's Father Christopher did not sometimes blaze "with a sudden -vivacity," though he kept them as a rule fixed on the ground, as if -(in the word of the author), they were two queer-tempered horses, -driven by a coachman, whom they know to be their master, yet they -will nevertheless indulge in an occasional frolic, for which they -immediately atone with a good pull on the bit. - -That is what happens to Macduff, who assumes possession of himself when -he hears Malcolm's words that immediately follow. "Dispute it like a -man,"--and says: "I shall do so; but I must also feel it like a man." - -Quitting psychology and returning to poetry, nothing short of Malcolm's -savage outburst can express his torment, in the climax of the dialogue. -Were Shakespeare himself to come forward and declare that he meant what -those insipid, moralising professors declare that he meant, Shakespeare -would be wrong, and whoever said that he was wrong, would be in better -accordance with his genius than he himself, for he was a genius; only -upon condition of remaining true to the logic of poetry. - -We could fill a large volume with the misinterpretations of moralising -and philosophising Shakespearean critics, but it is hoped that having -here demonstrated the absurdity of the principle, readers should be -able to recognise it for themselves, in its sources and methods of -approach. - -But it would need a series of volumes to catalogue all the absurdities -of another form of Shakespearean criticism, which differs from the -preceding, in being in full flower and vigour to-day: we refer to -_objectivistic_ criticism. The reason for this is that few are yet -fully aware that every kind and example of art is only successful to -the extent that it is irradiated with a sentiment, which determines -and controls it in all its parts. This used to be denied of certain -forms of poetry, particularly of the dramatic; hence the false, but -extremely logical deduction, of Leopardi, that the dramatic was the -lowest and least noble kind of poetry, because it was the most remote -and alien from pure form, which is the lyric. Shakespeare's objectivity -of "representation" and the perfect "reality" of his characters, which -live their own lives independently are often praised. This can be -said in a certain sense, but must not be taken literally, for it is -metaphorical; because, when we would reach and handle those images of -the poet's sentiment, there may not be an "explosion" (as happened when -Faust threw himself upon the phantom of Helen), but in any case they -will lose their shape, fall into shreds and vanish before our eyes. -In their place will appear an infinite number of insoluble questions -as to the manner of understanding or reestablishing their solidity -and coherence. What is known as the _Hamlet-Litteratur_ is the most -appalling of all these manifestations and it is daily on the increase. -Historians, psychologists, lovers of amorous adventures, gossips, -police-spies, criminologists investigate the character, the intentions, -the thoughts, the affections, the temperament, the previous life, the -tricks they played, the secrets they hid, their family and social -relations, and so on, and crowd, without any real claim to do so, round -the "characters of Shakespeare," detaching them from the creative -centre of the play and transferring them into a pretended objective -field, as though they were made of flesh and blood. - -Among those inclined to such realistic and antipoetical investigation, -some there are, who see in Hamlet a pleasure-seeker, called to the -achievement of an undertaking beyond his powers; others find in him -a scrupulous person, who struggles between the call to vengeance and -his better moral conscience, or one who studies vengeance, but without -staining his conscience. For others again, he is an artistic genius, -inclined to contemplation, but ill-adapted to action, or a partial -genius not adapted to artistic creation, or a pure soul, or an impure -and diseased soul, or a decadent, or a sexual psychopath, obsessed with -lust and incest. We find others able to discover that he inherited -the characteristics of a father, who was tyrannical, vicious and a -bad husband, and of an uncle possessed of a lofty soul and capacity -for governing a kingdom. Finally, some have even suspected him of not -being a man, but a woman, daughter of the king, disguised as a man, -and for that reason and for no other, rejecting the beautiful Ophelia -and seeking Horatio, with whom she (Hamlet) was secretly in love. And -what kind of maiden was Ophelia? Was she naïve and innocent, or was -she not rather a malicious little court lady? Perhaps she too had -her secret, which would explain her strange relations with Hamlet. An -English enquirer has arrived at the conclusion that Ophelia was not -chaste, that she had given birth to a baby, and what is more, to a baby -whose father was not Hamlet, and that this was the reason why Hamlet -advised her to get her to a nunnery, and the priest refused to give -her body Christian burial. Her brother, Laertes, had lived in Paris, -and having there learned French customs, was for this reason so ready -to accept the advice of the king to use a poisoned sword. According -to some, Macbeth was so powerfully restrained by his own conscience, -that, save for his wife, he would never have satisfied his ambition -and slain King Duncan. But according to others, he had meditated -regicide for some time and had deferred his design, because he hoped -to succeed in a legitimate manner, were the king to die without an -heir. But he broke truce, when the king contemplated bestowing upon -his son the title of Duke of Cumberland, that is to say, Crown Prince. -For many, Lady Macbeth is a cold, pitiless woman, but for others she -is tender and sweet by nature; for some, she is madly in love with her -husband, for others, madly incensed with him, because, judging by his -undoubted military prowess, she had at first believed him to possess -the great soul of a conqueror, and then, when she found him vile with -human mildness, sensible of scruples and remorse perturbed at the -results of his own deeds, to the extent of experiencing hallucinations -and behaving rashly, she is consumed with scorn and dies of a broken -heart, on the fall of that idol and which she had aspired, the perfect -criminal. - -Othello has been by some identified with a Moor, a Berber, a -Mauritanian, for others he is without doubt a bestial negro, boiling -with African blood. Iago is generally characterised as amoral and -Machiavellian, a true Italian; but others deem him worthy the name -of "honest Iago," because he was good, amiable, serviceable in all -things--when his personal ambition was not at stake. - -By some, Desdemona has been held to be desirable as a wife (others, on -the other hand, would be ready to marry Cordelia or Ophelia, others -Imogen or Hermione, others the nun Isabel, and finally there are some -who would prefer Portia, as "an ideal woman," and a "perfect wife"); -but as regards this, there are some who have divined the secret -tendencies of Desdemona and have had no hesitation in defining her as -"a virtual courtesan." - -Then again: what was the difference of age between Othello and -Desdemona? Had Othello seen the wonderful things existing in other -countries of which he speaks, or had he imagined them, or had he been -told of them? Perhaps he had enjoyed the wife of Iago, which would -explain the regard he has for the husband? - -Brutus, until lately, passed for an idealist tormented with ideals; -but more accurate investigations have revealed him to be a hypocrite -in the Puritan manner, who, by means of repeated lies, ends by himself -believing the noble motives to be found on his lips; however, things -turn out badly and he finally receives the punishment he deserves. - -Falstaff's religious origin has been discovered: he was a Lollard, -and thus a declared eudemonist, convinced of the nullity of the world -and of the inutility of life, living from minute to minute. He is not -really a liar and a boaster, but an imaginative person; nor is he vile, -save in appearance; he should be regarded rather as an opportunist. - -We read these and an infinity of other not less astonishing statements -in the volumes, opuscules and articles which are published every year -upon the characters of Shakespeare. The effect of such discussions, -even where most sensibly written, is never to clear up or decide -anything, but on the contrary, to darken what appeared perfectly -certain, and gave no reason for any difficulty, to render uncertain -what was clearly determined. Such works give rise further to the doubt -that Shakespeare was perhaps so inexpert a writer as not to be able to -represent his own conceptions, nor express his own thoughts. - -But when we do not allow ourselves to be caught in the meshes of these -fictitious problems, of which we indicated the _proton pseudos,_ -when we resolutely banish them from the mind, and read and reread -Shakespeare's plays without more ado, everything remains or becomes -clear again, everything, that is to say, which should (as is natural) -be clear for the ends of poetry, in a poetical work. As Grillparzer -remarked in his time, that very Hamlet, whom Goethe took such trouble -to explain psychologically, and over whom so many hundreds of -interpreters have so diligently toiled, "is understood with perfect -ease by the tailor or the bootmaker sitting in the gallery, who -understands the whole of the play by raising his own feelings to its -level." - -From this derives another consequence: Shakespeare has been loudly -praised for his portentous fidelity to nature and reality, but at -the same time the critics, as quoted above, have placed obstacles of -various sorts in the way of those who would understand him so it has -been freely stated that Shakespeare is certainly a great poet, but that -his method is not that of "fidelity," to nature, on the contrary, he -violates "reality" at every turn, creating characters and situation, -"which are not found in nature." It would be better to say simply -that Shakespeare, like every poet, is neither in accordance nor in -disaccordance with external reality (which for that matter is what each -one of us likes to make and to imagine in his own way), for the reason -that he has nothing to do with it, being intent upon the creation of -his own spiritual reality. - -The third great misadventure that has befallen Shakespeare, after those -of the moralising and psychological-objectivistic critics, is his -transference, we will not call it his promotion, to the position of a -_German,_ opposed to that of a _Latin_ or neo-Latin poet. It is not -difficult to trace the origin of this transference, when we remember -that Shakespeare was looked upon, both by his contemporaries and yet -more so when rediscovered in the eighteenth century, as a spontaneous, -rough, natural, popular poet, just the opposite of the cultured, -mannered school, in which, however, he had shown evidence of prowess -with the lesser poems and the sonnets. - -This conception of his as a natural poet is found in the first school -of the new German literature, known as the _Sturm und Drang,_ which -cultivated the idea of "genius"; and from this arose the idea of -Shakespeare as the expression of "pure virgin genius, ignorant of rules -and limits, a force as irresistible as those of nature" (Gerstenberg). -And since the new German poets and men of letters greatly admired him, -and as has been said, the new Aesthetic understood him much better -than the old Poetic had done or been able to do, instead of this -better sympathy and intelligence being attributed to the spiritual -dispositions of the Germans of that period and to the progress that -they were effecting in the life of thought, it was attributed to -affinity and relationship, which was supposed to connect the German -spirit with that of Shakespeare. It is true that this theory was soon -found to lack foundation, because the best German critics, among whom -were August William Schlegel, proved that there was as much art and -regularity in Shakespeare as in any other poet, although they were -not the same in him as in others, and he did not obey contingent and -arbitrary rules. - -It is also true that to a Frenchman was due the first revelation -of Shakespeare outside his own country: Voltaire, with his _odi et -amo,_ has always been blamed and held up to ridicule for the negative -side of his criticism, but the positive side of it, the mental -courage, the freshness of mental impressions, which his interest in -Shakespeare, his admiration for his sublimity, deserved, have not -been sufficiently remarked. But it is likewise true that France has -never understood Shakespeare well, owing to her classical tradition -in literature and her intellectualist tradition in philosophy, though -we do not forget her fugitive enthusiasms for the poet. Even to-day, -Maeterlinck notes "la profonde ignorance" that still reigns "de -l'œuvre shakespearienne," even among "les plus lettrés." This afforded -an opportunity for underlining the antithesis between "German" and -"French" taste, which was soon, but without any justification, expanded -into "Latin" taste. - -The English of that period, both in speech and literature, were almost -as indifferent to Shakespeare as were the French. This was observed -and commented upon in a lively manner, among others by Schlegel, -Tieck, Platen and Heine. However, the new methods of German criticism -soon made their influence felt in England (Coleridge, Hazlitt), and -it seemed to the Germans that these writers had preserved the true -tradition of the race and had reillumined the fire that was languishing -or had been altogether extinguished among their brethren of the same -race, and that they had dissipated the heavy cloud of classical, -French and Latin taste, which was hanging over England. To their real -merit in recognising the fame of Shakespeare and their profound study -of the poet, and to the false interpretation that they gave of these -merits by attributing them to the virtue of their race, were added, -for well known political reasons, German pride and self-conceit, which -did the rest. All the moralising critics, to whom we have referred, -were also critics imbued with the German spirit. They united the -austere morality, which they discovered in Shakespeare and his heroes, -to celebration of the German nature of these qualities and of the -poet. They set in opposition the genuine, rude, realistic quality of -Shakespeare's poetry, to the artificial, cold, schematic poetry of the -Latins. They celebrated the Germanism of a Henry IV (his wild youth is -just that of a German youth, says Gervinus; it is the genius of the -German race, with its incorruptible health, its strength of marrow, its -infinite depths of feeling, beneath a hard and angular exterior, its -childlike humility, its wealth of humour, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, -says Kreyssig), of a Hamlet (naturally, because he is represented -as a student of Wittenberg) and so on, through the Ophelias and the -Cordelias, and even the characters of the comedies, such as Benedick -and Biron (this last "possessing a character entirely German," "with -the harshness of a Saxon," humorous, remote from sentimentality and -affectation, and therefore "out of place among the gallantries of Latin -society"--all the above is taken from Gervinus). - -Shakespeare's place "is in the Pantheon of the Germanic people, in the -sanctuary richly adorned with all the gods and demons of this race, -the most vigorous in life, the best capable of development, the most -widely diffused of all races." He stands, either beside Durer and -Rembrandt, or on a spur of Parnassus, facing Homer and Aeschylus on -another spur, sometimes permitting Dante to stand at his side--Dante -was of German origin--, while the impotent crowd of the poets of Latin -race seethes at his feet. For Carrière, he is the mouthpiece of the -German spirit in England, while for another, he is England's permanent -ambassador to Germany, accredited to the whole German people. - -Both French and Italian critics also gave credence to this boasting, -sometimes echoing the theory of difference between the two different -arts, that of the north and that of the south, romantic and classic, -realistic and idealistic or abstract, passionate or rhetorical, -while others bowed reverently before the superiority of the former. -In the recent war took place a rapid change of style, but not of -mental assumptions. Both French and Italians mocked and expressed -their contempt for the rough and violent poetry of Germany, and even -Shakespeare did not have _une bonne presse_ on the occasion of his -centenary, which took place during the second year. - -But return to serious matters, it seems undeniable that the historical -origin of Shakespeare is to be found in the Renaissance, which -is generally admitted to have been chiefly an Italian movement. -Shakespeare got from Italy, not only a great part, both of his form -and of his material, but what is of greater moment, many thoughts that -went to form his vision of reality. In addition to this, he obtained -from Italy that literary education, to which all English writers of -his time submitted. One may think, however, what one likes as to the -historical derivation of Shakespeare's poetical material and of his -literary education: the essential point to remember is that the poetry -had its origin solely in himself; he did not receive it from without, -either from his nation, his race, or from any other source. For this -reason, divisions and counter-divisions of it, into Germanic and Latin -poetry, and similar dyads, based upon material criteria, are without -any foundation whatever. Shakespeare cannot be a Germanic poet, for -the simple reason that in so far as he is a poet, he is nothing but a -poet and does not obey the law of his race, whether it be _lex salica, -wisigothica, langobardica, anglica_ or any other _barbarorum,_ nor -does he obey the _romana--_he obeys only the universally human _lex -poetica._ - -That a more profound and a better understanding of Shakespeare should -have been formed and be steadily increasing, in the midst of and -because of these and other errors, is a thing that we are so ready to -admit as indubitable and obvious that we take it as understood, because -it always happens thus, in every circle of thought and in literary -history and criticism in general, and so in the particular history and -criticism of Shakespeare. - -Our object has not been, however, to give the history of that -criticism, but rather to select those points in it, which it was -advisable to clear up, in order to confirm the judgment that we -propose and defend. If erroneous positions of criticism serve by their -opposition to arouse correct thoughts relating to the poet, others, -which are not erroneous, lead directly to them. In addition to the -pages of older writers, always worthy of perusal (though devoted -to problems of different times), such as those of Herder, Goethe, -Schlegel, Coleridge and Manzoni, the student will find among those -with whom he will like to think among the Dowdens, the Bradleys, the -Raleighs of to-day. These will inspire in him the wish to continue -thinking on his own account about the nature of the great poetry of -Shakespeare. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -SHAKESPEARE AND OURSELVES - - -Shakespeare (and this applies to every individual work) had a history, -but has one no longer. He had a history, which was that of his poetical -sentiment, of its various changing notes, of the various forms in -which it found expression. He had also (we must insist), an individual -history which it is difficult to identify united with that of the -Elizabethan drama, to which he belongs solely as an actor and provider -of theatrical works. The general traits, which, among many differences, -he shares with his contemporaries, predecessors and imitators (even -when these are more substantial than theatrical imitations, conventions -and habits) form part of the history of the Renaissance in general and -of the English Renaissance in particular, but do not of themselves -constitute the history that was properly speaking his own. - -But he no longer has this, because what happened afterwards and what -happens in the present, is the history of others, is our history, -no longer his. Indeed, the histories of Shakespeare, which have -been composed, considered in the light of later times--and they are -still being written--have been and are understood, in a first sense, -as the history of the criticism of his works; and it is clear that -in this case, it is the history of us, his critics, the history of -criticism and of philosophy, no longer that of Shakespeare. Or they -are understood as the history of the spiritual needs and movements of -different periods, which now approach and now recede from Shakespeare, -causing either almost complete forgetfulness of his poetry, or causing -it to be felt and loved. In this case too, it is the history, not of -Shakespeare, but of the culture and the mode of feeling of other times -than his. Or they are understood in a third sense, as the history of -the literary and artistic works, in which the so-called influence of -Shakespeare is more or less discernible; and since this influence would -be without interest, if it produced nothing but mere mechanical copies, -and on the contrary has interest only because we see it transformed in -an original manner by new poets and artists, it is the history of the -new poets and artists and no longer that of Shakespeare. - -As regards the last statement, it will not be out of place to remark -that the accounts which have been given of the representations of -his plays are altogether foreign to Shakespeare; because theatrical -representations are not, as is believed, "interpretations," but -variations, that is to say "creations of new works of art," by means -of the actors, who always bring to them their own particular manner of -feeling. There is never a _tertium comparationis,_ in the sense of a -presumably authentic and objective interpretation, and here the same -criterion applies as to music and painting suggested by plays, which -are music and painting, and not those plays. Giuseppe Verdi, who for -his part composed an _Othello,_ wrote to the painter Morelli, who had -conceived a painting of Iago (in a letter of 1881, recently published): -"You want a slight figure, with little muscular development, and if I -have understood you rightly, one of the cunning, malignant sort ... -But if were I an actor and wished to represent Iago, I should prefer a -lean, meagre figure, with thin lips, and small eyes close to the nose, -like a monkey's, a high retreating forehead, with a deal of development -at the back of the head; absent and _nonchalant_ in manner, indifferent -to everything, incredulous, sneering, speaking good and evil lightly, -with an air of thinking about something quite different from what he -says ..." They might have entered into a long discussion as to the two -different interpretations, had not Verdi, with his accustomed good -sense, hastened to conclude: "But whether Iago be small or big, whether -Othello be Venetian or Turk, _execute them as you conceive them_: the -result will always be good. But remember _not to think too much about -it._" - -The insurmountable difference that exists between the most studiously -poetic theatrical representation and the original poetry of -Shakespeare, is the true reason why, contrary to the general belief in -Shakespeare's eminent "theatricality," Goethe considered that "he was -not a poet of the theatre and did not think of the stage, which is too -narrow for so vast a soul, that the visible world is too narrow for -it." Coleridge too held that the plays were not intended for acting, -but to be read and contemplated as poems, and added sometimes to say -laughingly, that an act of Parliament should be passed to prohibit the -representation of Shakespeare on the stage. - -Certainly, Lear and Othello, Macbeth and Hamlet, Cordelia and -Desdemona are part of our souls, and so they will be in the future, -more or less active, like every part of our souls, of our experiences, -of our memories. Sometimes they seem inert and almost obliterated, yet -they live and affect us; at others they revive and reawaken, linking -themselves to our greatest and nearest spiritual interests. This latter -was notably the case in the epoch that extends from the "period of -genius" at the end of romanticism, from the criticism of Kant to the -exhaustion of the Hegelian school. At that time, poets created Werther -and Faust, as though they were the brothers of Hamlet, Charlotte and -Margaret and Hermengarde, as though sisters of the Shakespearean -heroines, and philosophers constructed systems, which seemed to frame -the scattered thoughts of Shakespeare, reducing his differences to -logical terms, and crowning them with the conclusion that he either did -not seek or did not find. At that time persisted even the illusion that -the spirit of Shakespeare had transferred itself from the Elizabethan -world to the new world of Europe, was poetising and philosophising with -the mouths of the new men and directing their sentiments and actions. - -Perhaps after that period, love of Shakespeare, if not altogether -extinguished, greatly declined. The colossal mass of work of every sort -devoted to Shakespeare, cannot be brought up against this judgment, -for this mass, in great part due to German, English and American -philologists, proves rather the sedulity of modern philology, than a -profound spiritual impulse. This was more lively, when Shakespeare -was far less investigated, rummaged and hashed up, and was read in -editions far less critically correct. How could he be truly loved and -really felt in an age which buried dialectic and idealism beneath -naturalism and positivism, for the former of which he stood and which -he represented in his own way? In this age, the consciousness of the -distinction between liberty and passion, good and evil, nobility and -vileness, fineness and sensuality, between the lofty and the base -in man, became obscured; everything was conceived as differing in -quantity, but identical in substance, and was placed in a deterministic -relation with the external world. In such an atmosphere artistic -work became blind, diseased, gloomy, instinctive; struggling for -expression amid the torment of sick senses, no longer amid passionate, -moral struggles of the soul; confused writers, half pedantic, half -neurasthenic, were taken for and believed themselves to be, the heirs -of Shakespeare. Even when one reads some of the most highly praised -pages of the critics of the day upon Shakespeare, so abounding in -exquisite refinements, a sort of repugnance comes over one, as though a -warning that this is not the genuine Shakespeare. He was less subtle, -but more profound, less involved, but more complex and more great than -they. - -This is not a lamentation directed against the age, which is perhaps -now drawing to a close and perhaps has no desire to do so, and will -continue to develop its own character for a greater or lesser period. -It is simply an observation of fact, which belongs to that history, -which is not the history of William Shakespeare. He continues to live -his own history, in those spirits alone, who are perpetually making -anew that history which was truly his, as they read him with an -ingenuous mind and a heart that shares in his poetry. - - - - -PART III - - -PIERRE CORNEILLE - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -CRITICISM OF THE CRITICISM - - -There is no longer any necessity for a criticism of Corneille's -tragedies in a negative sense, for it is already to be found in -several works. Further, if there exists a poet, who stands outside -the taste and the preoccupations of our day (at least in France), it -is Corneille. The greater number of lovers of poetry and art confess -without reserve that they cannot endure his tragedies, which "have -nothing to say to them." The fortune of Corneille has declined more -and more with the growth of the fame of Shakespeare, which has been -correlative to the formation and the growth of modern aesthetic -and criticism; and if the fame of Shakespeare seemed strange and -repugnant to classicistic elegance, the same fate has befallen the -French dramatist, as the result of Shakespeareanism in relation to the -appreciation of art which has now penetrated everywhere. Corneille -once represented "_la profondeur du jugement_" as opposed to "_les -irrégularités sauvages et capricieuses_" of the Englishman, decorum -against the lack of it, calm diffused light against shadows pierced -at rare intervals with an occasional flash. Lessing had selected for -examination and theme the _Rodogune,_ which he held to be a work, not -of poetical genius, but of an ingenious intellect, because genius loves -simplicity, and Corneille, after the manner of the ingenious, loved -complications. Schiller, when he had read the most highly praised works -of Corneille, expressed his astonishment at the fame which had accrued -to an author of so poor an inventive faculty, so meagre and so dry in -his treatment of character, so lacking in passion, so weak and rigid in -the development of action, and almost altogether deprived of interest. -William Schlegel noted in him, in place of poetry, "tragic epigrams" -and "airs of parade," pomp without grandeur--he found him cold in the -love scenes--his love was not as a rule love, but, in the words of the -hero Sertorius, a well calculated _aimer par politique--_intricate -and Machiavellian and at the same time ingenuous and puerile in -the representation of politics. He defined the greater part of the -tragedies as nothing but treatises on the reason of State in the -form of discussions, conducted rather in the manner of a chess-player -than of a poet. Even the most temperate De Sanctis could not succeed -in enjoying this writer, as is to be gathered from his lectures upon -dramatic literature delivered in 1847. He found that he does not render -the fullness of life, but only the extreme points of the passions -in collision, and that he prefers eloquence to the development of -tragedy, so that he often unconsciously turns tragedy into comedy. The -confrontation of Corneille's _Cid_ with its Spanish original, _Las -mocedades_ of Guillén de Castro, has however prevailed above all others -as the text upon which to base arguments against the French dramaturge. -Shack declared that the work of Corneille was altogether negative, that -he reduced and reëlaborated his original, losing the poetical soul -of the Spanish poet in the process and destroying the alternate and -spontaneous expression of tenderness and of violent passion. He found -that he substituted oratorical adornments and a swollen phraseology -for the pure language of sentiment, coquetry for the struggle of the -affections, to which it is directly opposed, and a boastful charlatan -for the heroic figure of Rodrigo. Klein, passing from severe -criticism into open satire, described the _Cid_ to be a "commentary in -Alexandrines" upon the poem of the _Mocedades,_ comparing the Spanish -Jimena to a fresh drop of dew upon "a flower that has hardly bloomed," -and the French Chimène on the contrary to a "muddy drop, which presents -a tumultuous battle of infusorians to the light of the sun": the -"infusorians" would represent the antithesis to the "Alexandrine tears" -(_Alexandrinerthränen_), which she pours forth. - -But these negative judgments were not restricted altogether and -at first to foreigners and romantics. In the eighteenth century, -Voltaire (who for that matter sometimes lifts his eyes to the -dangerous criterion of Shakespeare in his notes upon Corneille) did -not refrain from criticising his illustrious predecessor for the -frequent _froideur_ observable in his dramatic work, as well as for his -constant habit of speaking himself as the author and not allowing his -personages to speak, for his substitution of reflections for immediate -expressions, and for the artifices, the conventions and the padding, in -which he abounds. Vauvenargues showed himself irreconcilable (Racine -was his ideal). He too blamed the heroes of Corneille for uttering -great things and not inspiring them, for talking, and always talking -too much, with the object of making themselves known--whereas great -men are rather characterised by the things they do not say than those -they do say--and in general for ostentation, which takes the place -of loftiness, and for declamation, which he substitutes for true -eloquence. Gaillard allowed the influence of the generally unfavorable -verdict or the verdict full of retractations and cautions in respect -of its theme, to colour the eulogy which he composed in 1768. It used -to be said of Corneille that he aimed rather at "admiration" than at -"emotion," and that he was in fact "not tragic." This insult (declared -Gaillard) was spoken, but not written down, "because the pen is always -wiser than the tongue." But the accusation of "coldness" had made -itself heard on the lips of Corneille's contemporaries in the second -half of the seventeenth century, particularly when the tragedies of -Racine, with their very different message to the heart, had appeared to -afford a contrast. - -The defenders of Corneille have often yielded to the temptation of -accepting Shakespeare's dramas or at least the tragedies of Racine as -a standard of comparison and a reply to criticism. They have attempted -to prove that Corneille should be read, judged and interpreted in the -spirit of those poets. They have claimed to discover in Corneille just -that which their adversaries failed to discover and of which they -denied the existence: this they call truth, reality and life, meaning -thereby, passion and imagination. Thus we find Sainte-Beuve lamenting -that not only foreigners, but France herself, had not remarked and -had not gloried in the possession of Pauline (in _Polyeucte_), one -of the divine poetical figures, which are to be placed in the brief -list containing the Antigones, the Didos, the Francescas da Rimini, -the Desdemonas, the Ophelias. More recently others have elevated the -Cleopatra (of _Rodogune_) to the level of Lady Macbeth, and the Cid, on -account of the youthful freshness of his love-making, to the rank of -_Romeo and Juliet,_ while they have discovered in _Andromède_ nothing -less than that kind of _féerie poétique_ "to which the English owe a -_Midsummer Night's Dream_ and the _Tempest._" They also declare that -the _Horace_ is a tragedy in which reigns a sort of "savage Roman -sanctity," culminating in the youthful Horace, "intransigent and -fanatical, ferociously religious"; while his sister Camilla is "a -creature of nerves and flesh, who has strayed into a family of heroes" -and rises up in revolt against that hard world. For them Camilla is -an "invalid of love," "one possessed by passion," a "neurotic," of -an altogether modern complexion. _Polyeucte_ represents "a drama of -nascent Christianity," and its protagonist, a "mystical rebel," recalls -at once "Saint Paul, Huss, Calvin and Prince Krapotkine," arousing -the same curiosity as a Russian nihilist, such as one used to see -some years ago in the beershops, with bright eyes, pale and fair, the -forehead narrow about the temples and of whom it was whispered that he -had killed some general or prefect of police at Petersburg. Severus -seems to them to be similar in some respects to "a modern exegete," -who is writing the history of the origin of Christianity. There exists -no play "which penetrates more profoundly into the human soul or opens -a wider perspective of untrodden paths." _Cinna_ represents in the -tragedy of Augustus another neurotic after the modern manner. Augustus, -ambitious and without scruples, has attained to the summit of his -desires and is weary and tired of power. He negates the man who ordered -the proscriptions that is in himself and his generosity is due almost -to satiety for too easy triumphs and vengeances. Attila, in the tragedy -of that name, springs out before us as "a monster of pride, cruel, -emphatic and subtle, conscious of being the instrument of a mysterious -power, an ogre with a mission": this "stupendous" conception is worthy -to stand side by side with the gigantic figures of the _Légende des -Siècles._ - -These are all fantastic embroideries, metaphors, easel pictures, which -sometimes do honour to the artistic capacity of the eulogists, but -have no connexion whatever with the direct impression of Corneille's -tragedies. Spinoza would have said that they have as much connexion -with them as the dog of zoology with the dog-star. An obvious instance -of this is the strange comparison of the character Polyeucte with -the "Russian nihilist"--but it is little less evident in the other -instances, because it is altogether arbitrary to interpret the Augustus -of the _Cinna_ as though he were a Shakespearean Richard II or Henry IV -and to attribute to him the psychology of what Nietzsche describes as -the "generous man." - -Fancy for fancy, as well admit Napoleon's comment. He declared himself -persuaded that Augustus was certainly not changed in a moment into a -_"prince débonnaire,"_ into a poor prince exercising "_une si pauvre -petite vertu_" as clemency, and that if he holds out to Cinna the right -hand of friendship, he only does this to deceive him and in order to -revenge himself more completely and more usefully at the propitious -moment. It is an amusement like another to take up the personages of -a play or of a story and refashion them in our own way by the free -use of the fancy, or to weave a new mode of feeling out of the facts -concerning certain cases and characters. Camilla can thus be quite -well transformed even into a nymphomaniac; but unfortunately criticism -insinuates itself into the folds of fancy and causes the fancier -himself (Lemaître) to note that Camilla sacrifices her love to her duty -_"délibérément,"_ that she certainly resembles a character of Racine, -but "_non certes par la langue,_" and that she would show us what she -really is "_si elle parlait un langage moins rude at moins compact._" -As though the speech and the inflection were an accident and not the -whole of a poetic creation, the beating of its heart! The demoniacal, -the neurotic Camilla, it is true, speaks in this way: - - "Il vient, préparons-nous a montrer constamment - Ce que doit une amante à la mort d'un amant." - -Here Voltaire's unconquerable good sense could not refrain from -remarking: "'_Préparons-nous_' adds to the defect. We see a woman who -is thinking how she can demonstrate her affliction and may be said to -be rehearsing her lesson of grief." - -The same fantastic and anticritical method of comparison has been -adopted with De Castro's play, with the object of obtaining a contrary -result: this comparison, whenever it is conducted with the criterion -of realistic art, or of art full of passion, cannot but result in -a condemnation of Corneille's reëlaboration of the theme. This has -been frankly admitted by more than one French critic (Fauriel for -example), who contrived to loosen somewhat the chains of national -preconceptions and traditional admirations. Indeed it was already -implied in the celebrated judgment of the Academy, which is not the -less just and acute for having been delivered by an academy and written -by a Chapelain. Guillen de Castro's play, which is epical and popular -in tone, celebrates the youthful hero Rodrigo, the future Cid, strong, -faithful and pious, admired by all, and looked upon with love by -princesses. An anecdote is recounted, with the object of celebrating -him, describing how he was obliged to challenge and to slay the father -of the maiden he loved. Bound to the same degree as himself by the laws -of chivalry, she is held to be obliged to provide for the vendetta -required by the death of her father. She performs her duty without -hatred and solely as a legal enemy, an _"ennemie légitime"_ (to employ -a phrase of the same Corneille in the _Horace)._ She does not cease -to love, nor does she feel any shame in loving. Finally, his prowess -and the favour of heaven, which he deserves and which ever accompanies -him, obtain for Rodrigo the legal conquest of his loving beloved, -who is also his enemy for honour's sake. De Castro's play is limpid, -lively, full of happenings. Corneille both simplifies and complicates -it, reducing it to series of casuistical discussions, vivified here and -there with echoes of the passionate original, softened with moments -of abandonment, as in the vigorous scene of the challenge, which is -an echo of the Spanish play, or in the tender sigh of the duet, -"_Rodrigue, qui Veut cru?... Chimène, qui l'eût dit?..._" which is also -in De Castro. After this, it can be asserted that Corneille "has made a -human drama, a drama of universal human appeal, out of an exclusively -Spanish drama"; it will also be declared that "the most beautiful -words of the French language find themselves always at the point of -the pen, when one is writing about the _Cid;_ duty, love, honour, the -family, one's native land," because "everything there is generous, -affectionate, ingenuous, and there never has been breathed a livelier -or a purer air upon the stage, the air of lofty altitudes of the soul." -But this is verbiage. It is also possible to revel in the description -of "the fair cavalier, protected of God and adored by the ladies, who -carries his country about with him wherever he goes, and along with it -everybody's heart; in the beautiful maiden with the long black veil, so -strong and yet so weak, so courageous and so tender; in the grand old -man, so majestic and yet so familiar, the signor so rude and so hoary, -yet with a soul as straight and as pure as a lily, in whom dwells the -ancient code of honour and all the glory of times past; in the king, -so good-natured and ingenuous, yet so clever, like the good king one -finds in fairy stories; in the gentle little infanta, with her precious -soliloquies, so full of gongorism and knightly romances ..."; but as we -have previously observed, this will be merely drawing fancy pictures. -It suffices to read the _Cid,_ to see that it contains nothing of this -and nothing of this is to be found among the tragedies of Corneille. - -The vanity of such criticisms, which attempt to alter Corneille by -presenting him as that which he is not and does not wish to be, a -poet of immediate passions, would at once be apparent, were it to be -realised that no such attempts are made in the case of Racine, whose -passionate soul makes its presence at once felt through literary and -theatrical conventions, in the affection which he experiences for the -sweet, for what is tremendous and mysterious with religious emotion, -which palpitates in Andromache, in Phaedra, in Iphigenia and Eriphylis -in Joad and in Attila. But it confutes itself by becoming modified, -sometimes among the very critics whom we have been citing, into the -thesis that Corneille is the poet of the "reason," or of "the rational -will." And we say modified, because the reason or the rational will -is in poetry itself a passion, and he would be correctly described -as a poet of that kind of inspiration, who should accentuate the -rational-volitional moment in the representation of the passions, by -creating types of wise and active men, such as are to be found in the -epic, in many dramatic masterpieces, in high romance and elsewhere. But -not even this exists in Corneille, so much so that the very persons who -maintain the thesis, remark that he isolates a principle and a force, -the reason and the will, and seeks out how the one makes the other -triumph. To this, they declare, we must attribute the "character of -stiffness" proper to the heroes of Corneille, who are necessarily bound -to lack "the seductive flexibility, the languors, the perturbations, -which are to be observed in those moved by sentiment." Now this is not -permissible in art, because art, in portraying a passion, even if it -be that of inflexible rationality and inflexible will and duty, never -"isolates" it, in the fashion of an analyst in a laboratory, or a -physicist, but seizes it in its becoming, and so together with all the -other passions, and together with the "languors" and "disturbances." -Thus Corneille, described as they describe him by isolating the reason -and the will, would be a slayer of life, and so of the will and the -reason themselves. And when he is blamed for having given so small and -so unhappy a place to love, "to the act by which the race perpetuates -itself, to the relations of the sexes and to all the sentiments that -arise from them, and which, by the nature of things form an essential -part of the life of the human race," it is not observed that beneath -this reproof, which is somewhat physiological and lubricious and lacks -seriousness of statement, there is concealed the yet more serious -and more general reproof that Corneille suffocates and suppresses -the quiver of life. La Bruyère was probably among the first to give -currency to the saying, which has been repeated, that Corneille depicts -men not "as they are," but "as they ought to be," and leads to a like -conclusion, though expressed in an euphemistic form; because poetry in -truth knows nothing of being or of having to be, and its existence is a -having to be, its having to be a being. - -This critical position, which desires to explain and to justify -Corneille as poet of the reason and of the rational will (although, as -we shall see further on, it contains some truth), is indeed equivocal, -because it seems to assert on the one hand that he possesses a -particular form of passion, and on the other takes it away from him -with its "isolation," its "having to be," and with its assertion that -his personages "surpass nature," with its boasting of his "Romans -being more Roman than Romans," his "Greeks more Greek than Greeks" -and the like, that is to say, by making of him an exaggerator of -types and of abstractions, the opposite of a poet. The passage, then, -is easy from this position to its last thesis or modification, by -means of which Corneille is exalted as an eminent representative of -a special sort of poetry, "rationalistic poetry," which is held to -coincide with poetry that is especially "French." The theory here -implied is to be found both among the French and those who are not -French, among classicists and romantics, sometimes being looked upon -among both as a merit, that is to say, it is recognised by them that -this sort of poetry is legitimate. In the course of his proof that -French rationalistic tragedy excludes the lyrical element and demands -the intrigue of action and the eloquence of the passions, Frederick -Schlegel indicated "the splendid side of French tragedy, where it -evinces lofty and incomparable power, fully responding to the spirit -and character of a nation, in which eloquence occupies a dominant -position, even in private life." A contemporary writer on art, -Gundolf, blames his German conationals for the prejudices in which -they are enmeshed, and for their lack of understanding of the great -rationalistic poetry of France, so logical, so uniform, so ordered and -subordinated, so regular and so easily to be understood. It is the -natural and spontaneous expression of the French character, in the same -way as is the monarchy of Louis XIV, differing thereby from the narrow -convention or imitation, which it became in the hands of Gottsched and -others of Gallic tendencies, in other countries. Sainte-Beuve, alluding -in particular to Corneille, argued that in French tragedy "things are -not seen too realistically or over-coloured, since attention is chiefly -bestowed upon the saying of Descartes:--I think, therefore I am: I -think, therefore I feel;--and everything there happens in or is led -back to the bosom of the interior substance," in the "state of pure -sentiment, of reasoned and dialogued analysis," in a sphere "no longer -of sentiment, but of understanding, clear, extended, without mists and -without clouds." Another student of Corneille opposes the different and -equally admissible system of the French tragedian, "a constructor and -as it were an engineer of action," to that of Shakespeare, portrayer -of the soul and of life. Thus, while all the most famous plays of -Shakespeare are drama, but lyrical drama, "hardly one of the most -beautiful and popular plays of Corneille is essentially lyrical." What -are we to think of "rationalistic" or "intellectualistic," or "logical" -or "non-lyrical" poetry? Nothing but this: that it does not exist. And -of French poetry? The same: that it does not exist; because what is -poetry in France is naturally neither intellectualiste nor essentially -French, but purely and simply poetry, like all other poetry that has -grown in this earthly flower-bed. And if the old-fashioned romanticism, -which sanctifies and gives substance to nationality and demands of art, -of thought and of everything else, that it should first be national, is -reappearing among French writers in the disguise of anti-romanticism -and neo-classicism, this is but a proof the more of the spiritual -dulness and mental confusion of those nationalists, who embrace their -presumed adversary. - -The only reality that could be concealed in "rationalistic poetry," -for which Corneille is praised, as shown above, would be one of the -categories in old-fashioned books of literary instruction, known as -"didactic poetry," which was not too well spoken of, even there. -Corneille is admired from this point of view, among other things, -for his famous political dissertations in the _China_ and in the -_Sertorius,_ where Voltaire considers that he is deserving of great -praise for "having expressed very beautiful thoughts in correct and -harmonious verse." In this connexion are quoted the remarks of the -Maréchal de Grammont about the _Othon,_ that "it should have been the -breviary of kings," or of Louvois, "an audience of ministers of state -would be desirable for the judgment of such a work." It is indeed only -in "didactic poetry," which is versified prose, that we find "thoughts" -that are afterwards "versified." The method employed by another man of -letters would also make of the tragedies of Corneille masked didactic -poetry. He is an unconscious manipulator of thesis, antithesis and -synthesis, in the manner of Hegel, and describes it as "the alliance of -the individual with the species, of the particular with the general," -which were separate in the medieval "farces" and "moralities," the -former being all compact of individuals and actions, the latter of -ideas, which Corneille was able to unite, being one of those great -masters who proceed from the general to the particular and vivify the -abstractions of thought with the power of the imagination. - -The justification of the tragedies of Corneille, as based upon the -foundations of French society and history in the time of Corneille, -is certainly more solid than that which explains them as based upon a -mystical French "character," or "race," or "nation." Do conventions and -etiquette govern and embarrass the development of dialogue and action -in every part of those tragedies? But such was life at court, or life -modelled upon life at court, in those days. Do the characters rather -reason about their sentiments than express them? But such was the -custom of well-bred men of that day. And do they always discuss matters -according to all the rules of rhetoric and with perfect diction? But -to speak well was the boast of men in society and diplomatists at that -time. Do the women mingle love and politics, and rather make love -for political reasons than politics for love? But the ladies of the -Fronde did just this; indeed Cardinal Mazarin, in conversation with the -Spanish ambassador, gave vent to the opinion that in France "an honest -woman would not sleep with her husband, nor a mistress with her lover, -unless they had discussed affairs of State with them during the day." -And so discussions continue and are to be found continuing in Taine -and many others, without explaining anything, because they pass over -the poetry and the problem of the poetry, which is not, as Taine held, -"the expression of the genius of an age" or "the reflection of a given -society" (society reflects and expresses itself in its own actions -and customs), but "poetry, that is to say, one of the free forces of -every people, society and time, which must be interpreted with reasons -contained in itself."[1] It is superfluous to add that the poetry is -lost sight of in the delight of finding the personages and social types -of the French seventeenth century, beyond the verses and the ideal -conceptions of character; for example, we find them declaring their -own affectionate sympathy for "Christian Theodora," for this martyr, -of the dress with the starched collar and the equally proudly starched -sentiments, "for this proud martyr, in the grand style of Louis XIII," -altogether forgetting the reality of the art of Corneille and the -critical problems suggested by the _Théodora._ This is certainly very -prettily and gracefully said, but it misses the point. - -There remains to mention but one last form of defence, which however is -not a justification of the art of Corneille, but a eulogy of him as an -ingenious man, who deserved well of culture and possessed refinement -of manners, particularly as regards theatrical representations. To him -belongs the "great merit" (said Voltaire in concluding his commentary) -of "having found France rustic, gross and ignorant, about the time of -the _Cid,_ and of having changed it 'by teaching it not only tragedy -and comedy, but even the art of thinking." And his rival Racine, in -his praise of Corneille before the Academy at the time of his death, -had recorded "the debt that French poetry and the French stage owed -to him." He had found it disordered, irregular and chaotic, and after -having sought the right road for some time and striven against the -bad taste of his age, "he inspired it with an extraordinary genius -aided by study of the ancients, and exhibited reason (_la raison_) -on the stage, accompanied with all the pomp and all the ornaments, of -which the French language is capable." All the historians of French -literature repeat this, beginning by bowing down before Corneille, the -"founder," or "creator" of the French theatre. Such praise as this -means little or nothing in art, because non-poets, or poets of very -slender talents, even pedants, are capable of exercising this function -of being founders and directors of the culture and the literature of -a people. An instance of this in Italy was Pietro Bembo, "who removed -this pure, sweet speech of ours from its vulgar obscurity, and has -shown us by his example what it ought to be." - -He was not a poet, yet was surrounded with the gratitude, and with the -most sincere reverence on the part of poets of genius, among whom was -Ariosto, to whom belong the verses cited above. - -That other merit accorded to Corneille, of having accomplished a -revolution, cleared the ground and "raised the French tragic system -upon it," the "classical system," is without poetical value. We shall -leave it to others to define as they please, precisely of what this -work consisted, the introduction of the unities and of the rules of -verisimilitude, the conception and realisation of tragic psychological -tragedy, or the tragedy of character, of which actions and catastrophes -should form, the consequences, the fusing and harmonising in a single -type of sixteenth century tragedy, which starts from "the tragic -incident," with that of the seventeenth century, which ends with it, -and so on. We prefer to remark, with reference to this and to so many -other disputes that have taken place since the time of Calepio and -Lessing onward, and especially during the romantic period, with regard -to the merits and the defects of the "French system," as compared with -the "Greek system" and with the "romantic" or "Shakespearean," that -"systems" either have nothing to do with poetry, or are the abstract -schemes of single poems, and therefore that such disputes are and -always have been, sterile and vain. Here too it should be mentioned -that a "system" may be the work of non-poets or of mediocre poets, as -was the case in Italy with the system of "melodrama," of which (to -employ the figure of De Sanctis), Apostolo Zeno was the "architect" -and Pietro Metastasio the "poet." In England too, the system of the -drama was not fixed by Shakespeare, but by his predecessors, small fry -indeed as compared with him. We would also observe that death or life -may exist in one and the same system, for indeed a system is a prison, -with bolts and bars. Note in this respect, that although the romantics -had boasted the salvation that lay in the Shakespearean system, a new -dramatic genius springing therefrom was vainly awaited. There appeared -only semigeniuses and a crowd of strepitous works, not less cold and -empty than those that had been condemned in the opposing "French -system." - -We may therefore conclude that the arguments of the admirers and -apologists of Corneille, which have been passed in review, do not -embrace the problem, but leave the judgments of negative criticism free -to exercise their perilous potency. They find in Corneille intellectual -combinations in place of poetical formations, abstractions in place of -what is concrete, oratory in place of lyrical inspiration and shadow in -place of substance. - - -[Footnote 1: "Est-ce que la critique moderne n'a pas abandonné l'art -pour l'histoire? La valeur intrinsèque d'un livre n'est rien dans -l'école Sainte-Beuve-Taine. On y prend tout en considération, sauf le -talent." (Flaubert, _Correspondence,_ IV, 81.)] - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -THE IDEAL OF CORNEILLE - - -Nevertheless, when all this has been said and the conclusion drawn, -there remains the general impression of the work, which has in it -something of the grandiose, and brings back to the lips the homage -that the next generations rendered to the author, when they called -him "the great Corneille." It is to be hoped that no one has been -deceived as to the intention of our discourse up to this point, which -has been directed not against Corneille, but against his critics, -nor among them against those who have written many other things both -true and beautiful on the subject; we have but to refer to the acute -Lemaître among the most recent, to the diligent and loving Dorchain, -and to the most solid of all, Lanson. We shall avail ourselves of -them in what follows, but shall oppose their particular theories -and presuppositions, which are misrepresentations of the subject of -their judgments itself. For the negative criticism, which we have -recapitulated, does not win our confidence, but rather shows itself -to be erroneous or (which amounts to the same thing) incomplete, -exaggerated and one-sided, for the very reason that it does not account -for that impression of the grandiose. Conducted as it has been, it -would very well suit a writer who was a rhetorician with an appearance -of warmth, a writer able to make a good show before the public and in -the theatre, while remaining internally unmoved himself, superficial -and frivolous. But Corneille looks upon us and upon those critics with -so serious and severe a countenance, that we lose the courage to treat -him in so unceremonious and so expeditious a manner. - -Whence comes that air of severity, which we find not only in his -portraits but in every page of his tragedies, even in those and in -those parts of them, in which he fails to hit the mark, or appears to -be tired, to have lost his way, and to be making efforts? - -From this fact alone: that Corneille had an ideal, an ideal in which -he believed, and to which he clung with all the strength of his soul, -of which he never lost sight and which he always tended to realise in -situations, rhythms, and words, seeking and finding his own intimate -satisfaction, the incarnation of his ideal, in those brave and solemn -scenes and sounds. - -His contemporaries felt this, and it was for this reason that Racine -wrote that above all, "what was peculiar to Corneille consisted of a -certain force, a certain elevation, which astonishes and carries us -away, and renders even his defects, if there be found some to reprove -him for them, more estimable than the virtues of others"; and La -Bruyère also summed it up in the phrase that "what Corneille possessed -of most eminent was his soul, which was sublime." - -The most recent interpreters have found Corneille's ideal to reside -in will for its own sake, the "pure will," superior or anterior to -good and evil, in the energy of the will as such, which does not pay -attention to particular ends. Thus the false conception of him as -animated with the ideal of moral duty or with that of the triumph of -duty over the passions has been eliminated, and agreement has been -reached, not only with the reality of the tragedies, but also with -what Corneille himself laid down in his _Discours_ as to the dramatic -personage. Such a personage may indeed be plunged in all sorts of -crimes, like Cleopatra in the _Rodogune,_ but in the words of the -author, "all his actions are accompanied with so lofty a greatness of -soul that we admire the source whence his actions flow, while we detest -those actions themselves." - -On the other hand, the concept of the pure will runs some risk of -being perverted at the hands of those who proceed to interpret it by -identification with that other "will for power" of Nietzsche, who -understood the French poet in this hyperbolical manner and referred -to him with fervent admiration on account of this fancy of his. The -ideal of the will for power has an altogether modern origin, in the -protoromantic and romantic superman, in over-excited and abstract -individualism. It did not exist at the time of Corneille, or in the -heart of the poet, who was very healthy and simple. The figures of -Corneille's tragedies must be looked at through coloured and deforming -glasses, as supplied by fashionable literature, in order to see in them -such attitudes and gestures. - -The further definition, which, while it renders the first conception -more exact and more appropriate, at the same time shuts the door on -these new fancies, is this: that Corneille's ideal does not express -the pure will at the moment of violent onrush and actuation, but of -ponderation and reflection, that is to say, as _deliberative will._ -This was what Corneille truly loved: the spirit which deliberates -calmly and serenely and having formed its resolution, adheres to it -with unshakeable firmness, as to a position that has been won with -difficulty and with difficulty strengthened. This represented for -him the most lofty form of strength, the highest dignity of man. -_"Laissez-moi mieux consulter mon âme,"_ says one of Corneille's -personages, and all of them think and act in the same way. "_Voyons,_" -says the king of the Gepidi to the king of the Goths in the _Attila, -"--voyons qui se doit vaincre, et s' il faut que mon âme. A votre -ambition immole cette flamme. Ou s'il n'est point plus beau que votre -ambition. Elle-même s'immole a cette passion."_ - -Augustus hesitates a long while, and gives vent to anguished -lamentations, when he has discovered that Cinna is plotting against -his life, as though to clear his soul and to make it better capable of -the deliberation, which begins at once under the influence of passion, -in the midst of anguish and with anguish. Has he the right to lament -and to become wrathful? Has he not also made rivers of blood to flow? -Does he then resign himself in his turn? Does he forsake himself as -the victim of his own past? Far from it: he has a throne and is bound -to defend it, and therefore will punish the assassin. Yes, but when he -has caused more blood to flow, he will find new and greater hatreds -surrounding him, new and more dangerous plots. It is better, then, to -die? But wherefore die? Why should he not enjoy revenge and triumph -once again? This is the tumult of irresolution, which, while felt as a -hard, a desperate torment, and although it seems to hold the will in -suspense, in reality sets it in motion, insensibly guiding it to its -end. _"O rigoureux combat d'un cœur irrésolu!..."_ The more properly -deliberative process enters his breast with the appearance upon the -scene of Livia, to whose advice he is opposed, for he disputes and -combats it, yet listens and weighs it, seeming finally to remain still -irresolute, yet he has already formed hi:; resolve, he has decided in -his heart to perform an act of political clemency, so thunderous, so -lightning-like in quality, as to bewilder his enemy and to hurl him -vanquished at his feet. - -The two brother princes in _Rodogune_ are conversing, while they await -the announcement as to which is the legitimate heir to the throne. -Upon this announcement also depends which shall become the happy -husband of Rodogune, whom they both love with an equal ardour. How will -they face and support the decision of fate? One of the two, uncertain -and anxious about the future, proposes to renounce the throne in favour -of his brother, provided the latter renounces Rodogune; but he is met -with the same proposal by the other. Thus the satisfaction of both, -by means of mutual renunciation, is precluded. But the other course -is also precluded, that of strife and conflict, for their brotherly -affection is firm, and so is the sentiment of moral duty in both. This -also forbids the one sacrificing himself for the other, because neither -would accept the sacrifice. What can be saved from a collision, from -which it seems that, nothing can be saved? One of the two brothers, -after these various and equally vain attempts at finding a solution, -returns upon himself, descends to the bottom of his soul, finds there -a better motive and is the first to formulate the unique resolution: -"_Malgré l'éclat du trône et l'amour d'une femme, Faisons si bien -régner l'amitié sur notre âme, Qu'étouffant dans leur perte un regret -suborneur, Dans le bonheur d'un frère on trouve son bonheur...._" And -the other, who has not been the first to see and to follow this path -asks: "_Le pourriez, vous mon frère?_" The first replies: "_Ah; que -vous me pressez! Je le voudrais du moins, mon frère, et c'est assez; Et -ma raison sur moi gardera tant d'empire, Que je désavoûrai mon cœur, -s'il en soupire."_ The other, firm in his turn replies: "_J'embrasse -comme vous ces nobles sentiments...._" - -Loving as he did, in this way, the work of the deliberative will (we -have recorded two only of the situations in his tragedies, and we could -cite hundreds), Corneille did not love love, a thing that withdraws -itself from deliberation, a severe illness, which man discovers in his -body, like fire in his house, without having willed it and without -knowing how it got there. Sometimes the deliberative will is affected -by it and for the moment at least upset, and then we hear the cry of -Attila: "_Quel nouveau coup de foudre! O raison confondue, orgueil -presque étouffé..._." as he struggles against its enchantments: _"cruel -poison de l'âme et doux charme des yeux."_ But as a general rule, -he promptly drives it away from him, coldly and scornfully; or he -subdues it and employs it as a means and an assistance in far graver -matters, such as ambition, politics, the State; or he accepts it for -what it contains of useful and worthy, which as such is the object and -the fruit of deliberation. "_Ce ne sont pas les sens que mon amour -consulte: Il hait des passions l'impétueux tumulte.._.." Certainly, -this attitude is intransigent, ascetic and severe: but what of it? -"_Un peu de dureté sied bien aux grandes âmes._" Certainly love comes -out of it diminished and humiliated: "_D'Amour n'est pas le maître -alors qu'on délibère_;" love deserves its fate and almost deserves -the gibe: "_La seule politique est ce qui nous émeut; On la suit et -l'amour s'y mêle comme il peut: S'il vient on l'applaudit; s'il manque -on s'en console..._." It manages as best it can and becomes less -powerful and wonderfully ductile beneath this pressure, ready to bend -in whatever direction it is commanded to bend by the reason. Sometimes -it remains suspended between two persons, like a balance, which awaits -the addition of a weight in order to lean over: "..._Ce cœur des deux -parts engagé, Se donnant à vous deux ne s'est point partagé, Toujours -prêt d'embrasser son service et le vôtre, Toujours prêt à mourir et -pour l'un et pour l'autre. Pour n'en adorer qu'une, il eût fallu -choisir; Et ce choix eût été au moins quelque désir, Quelque espoir -outrageux d'être mieux reçu d'elle ..._." On another occasion, although -there might be some inclination or desire, rather toward the one than -the other side, it is yet kept secret, beneath the resolve to suffocate -it altogether, should reason ordain that love must flow into a contrary -channel. Not only are Corneille's personages told to their face: _"Il -ne faut plus aimer,"_ an act of renunciation to be asked of a saint, -but they are also bidden thus: "_Il faut aimer ailleurs,_" an act -worthy of a martyr. - -He did not love love, not because it is love, but because it is -passion, which carries one away and which, if it be allowed to do so, -will not consent to state the terms of the debate clearly, and engage -in deliberation. His dislike for the inebriation of hatred and of -anger, which blind or confound the vision, and which, as passion, is -also foreign to his ideal, also appears in confirmation of this view. -"_Qui hait brutalement permet tout à sa haine, Il s'emporte où sa -fureur l'entraîne.... Mais qui hait par devoir ne s'aveugle jamais; -c'est sa raison qui hait ..._." His ideal personages sometimes declare, -when face to face with their enemy: "_je te dois estimer, mais je te -dois haïr._" On the other hand, we perceive clearly why Corneille was -led to admire the will, even when without moral illumination, even -indeed when it is actively opposed to or without morality; for it has -the power of not yielding to and of dominating the passions, of not -being violent weakness, but strength, or as it was called during the -Renaissance, "virtú." In that sphere of deliberation there existed a -common ground of mutual understanding between the honest and dishonest -man, between the hero of evil and the hero of good, for each pursued -a course of duty, in his own way and both agreed in withstanding and -despising the madness of the passions. - -And we also see why the domain towards which Corneille directed his -gaze and for which he had a special predilection, was bound to be that -of politics, where "virtú," in the sense that it possessed during the -period of the Renaissance, found ample opportunity for free expansion -and for self-realisation. In politics, we find ourselves continuously -in difficult and contradictory situations, where acuteness and long -views are of importance and where it is necessary to make calculations -as to the interests and passions of men, to act energetically upon -what has been decided after nice weighing in the balance, to be -firm as well as prudent. It has been jocosely observed by William -Schlegel that Corneille, the most upright and honest of men, was more -Machiavellian than any Machiavelli in his treatment and representation -of politics, that he boasted of the art of deceiving, and that he -had no notion of true politics, which are less complicated and far -more adroit and adaptable. Lemaître too admits that in this respect -he was _"fort candide."_ But who is not excessive in the things that -he loves? Who is not sometimes too candid regarding them, with that -candour and simplicity which is born of faith and enthusiasm? His very -lack of experience in real politics, his simplicism and exaggeration -in conceiving them, is there to confirm the vigour of his affection -for the ideal of the politician, as supremely expressed by the man who -ponders and deliberates. He always has _la raison d'état_ and _les -maximes d'état_ upon his lips. We feel that these words and phrases -move, edify and arouse in him an ecstasy of admiration. - -It was free determination and complete submission to reason, duty, -objective utility, to what was fitting--and not a spirit of courtly -adulation--that led him to look with an equal ecstasy of admiration -upon personages in high positions and upon monarchs, the summit of -the pyramid. He did not therefore admit them because they can do -everything, still less because they can enjoy everything, but on -the contrary, because, owing to their office, their discipline and -tradition, they are accustomed to sacrifice their private affections -and to conduct themselves in obedience to motives superior to the -individual. Kings too have a heart, they too are exposed to the soft -snares of love; but better than all others they know what is becoming -behaviour: "_Je suis reine et dois régner sur moi: Je rang que nous -tenons, jaloux de notre gloire, Souvent dans un tel choix nous défend -de nous croire, Jette sur nos désirs un joug impérieux, Et dédaigne -l'avis et du cœur et des yeux._" And elsewhere: "_Les princes out cela -de leur haute naissance, Leur âme dans leur rang prend des impressions -Qui dessous leur vertu rangent leurs passions; Leur générosité soumet -tout à leur gloire ..._." They love, certainly, as it happens to all -to love, but they do not on that account yield to the attractions of -the senses. "_Je ne le cèle point, j'aime, Carlos, oui, j'aime; Mais -l'amour de l'état plus fort que de moi-même, Cherche, au lieu de -l'objet le plus doux à mes yeux, Le plus digne héros de régner en ces -lieux._" His predilection for history, especially for Roman history, -has the same root, and had long been elaborated as an ideal--even in -the Rome of the Empire, yet more so at the time of the Renaissance and -during the post-Renaissance, and even in the schools of the Jesuits. -It was thus transformed into a history that afforded examples of civic -virtues, such as self-sacrifice, heroism, and greatness of resolve. We -spare the reader the demonstration that this tendency was altogether -different from, and indeed opposed to historical knowledge and to the -so-called "historical sense," because questions of this sort and the -accompanying eulogies accorded to Corneille as a historian, are now to -be looked upon as antiquated. - -The historical relations of Corneille's ideal are clearly indicated or -at any rate adumbrated in these references and explanations, as also -its incipience and genesis, which is to be found, as we have stated, -in the theory and practice of the Renaissance, concerning politics and -the office of the sovereign or prince, and for the rest in the ethics -of stoicism, which was so widely diffused in the second half of the -sixteenth century, and not less in France than elsewhere. The image -of Corneille is surrounded in our imagination with all those volumes, -containing baroque frontispieces illustrative of historical scenes, -which at that time saw the light every day in all parts of Europe. -They were the works of the moralists, of the Machiavellians, of the -Taciteans, of the councillors in the art of adroit behaviour at court, -of the Jesuit casuists Botero and Ribadeneyra, Sanchez and Mariana, -Valeriano Castiglione and Matteo Pellegrini, Gracian and Amelot de la -Houssaye, Balzac and Naudée, Scioppio and Justus Lipsius. They might -be described as comprizing a complete and conspicuous section of the -Library of the Manzonian Don Ferrante, the "intellectual" of the -seventeenth century. - -Such literature as this and the history of the time itself have been -more than once given as the source of the poetical inspiration proper -to Corneille, and indeed they appear spontaneously in the mind of -anyone acquainted with the particular mode of thought and of manners -that have prevailed during the various epochs of modern society. It -is therefore unpleasant to find critics intent on fishing out other -origins for it, in an obscure determinism of race and religion, almost -as if disgusted with the obvious explanation, which is certainly the -only true one in this case, pointing out for instance in Corneille "an -energy that comes from the north," that is to say from the Germany that -produced Luther and Kant, or from the country that was occupied for a -time by their forefathers the Normans, those Scandinavian pirates who -disembarked under the leadership of Rollo (if this fancy originated -with Lemaître, they all repeat it); or they discover the characteristic -of his poetry in the subtlety and litigious spirit of the Norman, and -in the lawyer and magistrate whose functions he fulfilled. - -The customary association of his ideal with the theory of Descartes is -also without much truth. Chronological incompatibility would in any -case preclude derivation or repercussion from this source, the utmost -that could be admitted being that both possessed common elements, since -they were both descended from a common patrimony of culture, namely -the stoical morality already mentioned, and from the cult of wisdom in -general. In Descartes, as later in Spinoza, the tendency was towards -the domination of the passions by means of the intellect or the pure -intelligence, which dissipates them by knowing and thinking them, -while with Corneille the domination was all to be effected by means of -an effort of the will. - -The historical element in the ideal of Corneille does not mean that its -value was restricted to the times of the author and should be looked -upon as having disappeared with the disappearance of those customs and -doctrines, because every time expresses human eternal truth in its -forms that are historically determined, laying in each case especial -stress upon particular aspects or moments of the spirit. The idea of -the deliberative will has been removed in our day to the second rank, -indeed it has almost been lost in the background, under the pressure -of other forces and of other more urgent aspects of reality. Yet it -possesses eternal vigour and is perpetually returning to the mind and -soul, through the poets and philosophers and through the complexities -of life itself, which make us feel its beauty and importance. The -history of the manners, of the patriotism, of the moral spirit, of -the military spirit of France, bears witness to this, for one of its -mainstays in the past as in the present has been the tragedies of -Corneille. The heroic, the tragic Charlotte Corday gave reality in her -own person to one of Corneille's characters, so full of will power -and ready for any enterprise: she was one of those _aimables furies,_ -nourished like the tyrannicides of the Renaissance on the _Lives_ of -Plutarch, whom her great forefather had set on paper with such delight. - -It is inconceivable that such heroines as she, sublime in their -meditated volitional act, should have been audaciously classed and -confounded with those weak and impulsive beings extolled by the -philosophers and artists of the will for power, from Stendhal to -Nietzsche, who freely sought their models among the degenerates of the -criminal prisons. - -The whole life of Corneille, the whole of his long activity, was -dominated by the ideal that we have described, with a constancy -and a coherence which leaps to the eye of anyone who examines the -particulars. As a young man, he touched various strings of the lyre, -the tragedy of horrors in the manner of Seneca (_Médée,_) eccentric -comedy in _L'Illusion comique,_ the romantic drama of adventures and -incidents in _Clitandre,_ the comedies of love; but we already find -many signs in these works and especially in the comedies, of the -tendency to fix the will in certain situations, as will for a purpose -and choice. After his novitiate (in which period is to be comprehended -the _Cid,_ which is rather an attempt than a realisation, rather a -beginning than an end) he proceeded in a straight line and with over -increasing resolution and self-consciousness. It is due to a prejudice, -born of extrinsic or certainly but little acute considerations, that -an interval should be placed between the _Cid_ and the later works, -though this was done by Schlegel, by Sainte-Beuve and by many others, -both foreigners and French. They deplored that Corneille should have -abandoned the Spanish mediaeval and knightly style, so in harmony -with his generous, grandiose and imaginative inclinations, so full of -promise for the romantic future, and should have restricted himself to -the Graeco-Roman world and to political tragedy. It is impossible (as -we have shown in passing), to assert the originality and the beauty of -the _Cid,_ when it is compared with and set in opposition to the model -offered to Corneille by Guillen de Castro. Now if there is not to be -found beauty, there is certainly to be found a sort of originality in -the personality of Corneille, who eats into the popular epicity of the -model and substitutes for it the study of deliberative situations. The -harmonious versification of these explains in great part the success -which the play met with in a society accustomed to debate "questions -of love" (as they had been called since the period of the troubadours -at the Renaissance), and those of honour and knighthood, of challenges -and duels. But on the other hand, the reason of its success was also -to be found in what persisted scattered here and there of the ardour -and tenderness of the original play, which moved the spectators and -made them love Chimène: "_Tout Paris pour Chimene a les yeux de -Rodrigue._" Yet these words of tenderness and strong expressions, -though beautiful in themselves, show themselves to be rather foreign -to the new form of the drama, and there is some truth in the strange -remark of Klein: that "there is not enough Cidian electricity, enough -material for electro-dramatic shocks in that atmosphere full of the -exhalations of the _antichambre,_ to produce a slap in the face of -equally pathetic force and consequence" with the _bofetada_ which -Count Lozano applied to the countenance of the decrepit Diego Laynez -in the Spanish drama. And there is truth also in the judgment of the -Academy, that the subject of the _Cid_ is "defective in the essential -part" and "lacking in verisimilitude"; of course not because it was -so with Guillen de Castro, or that a subject, that is to say, mere -material, can be of itself good or bad, verisimilar or the reverse, -poetic or unpoetic, but because it had become defective and discordant -in the hands of Corneille, who elaborated and refined it. Rodrigue, -Jimena the lady Urraca, are simple, spontaneous, almost childlike -souls, in the mould of popular heroes. Chimène and Rodrigue and the -Infanta are reflective and dialectical spirits, and since their novel -psychological attitude does not chime well with the old-fashioned -manner of behaviour, Rodrigue and the father sometimes appear to be -charlatans, Chimène sometimes even a hypocrite, the Infanta insipid and -superfluous. Also, when Corneille returned to the "Spanish style," in -_Don Sanche d'Aragon,_ he charged it with reflections and ponderations -and deliberative resolutions, without aiming at the picturesque, as the -romantics did later, but at dialectic and subtlety. It must however be -admitted that all this represents a superiority, if viewed from another -angle: but this superiority does not reside in the artistic effect -obtained; it is rather mental and cultural and represents a more -complex and advanced humanity. - -Thus the _Cid_ is to be looked upon as really a work of transition, -a transition to the _Horace,_ which has seemed to a learned German, -to be substantially the same as the _Cid,_ the _Cid_ reconstructed -after the censures passed upon it by his adversaries and in the -Academy, which Corneille inwardly felt to be, in a certain measure -at any rate, just. But another prejudice creates a gap between what -are called the four principal tragedies, the _Cid,_ the _Horace,_ -the _China_ and the _Polyeucte_--"the great Cornelian quadrilateral" -eulogised by Péguy in rambling prose,--and the later tragedies, as -though Corneille had changed his method in these and begun to pursue -another ideal, "political tragedy." Setting aside for the time being -the question of greater or lesser artistic value, it is certain that -he never really changed his method. In the _Horace,_ there is no -suggestion of the ferocious national sanctity of a primitive society, -in the _Cinna,_ there is no trace of the imagined tragedy of satiety -or of the _lassitude,_ which the sanguinary Augustus is supposed to -have experienced. The _Polyeucte_ does not contain a shadow of the -fervour, the delirium, the fanaticism, of a religion in the act of -birth, but as Schlegel well expressed it, "a firm and constant faith -rather than a true religious enthusiasm." In the four tragedies above -mentioned, _le cœur_ is not supreme, any more than _l'esprit_ is -supreme in the later tragedies, but "political tragedy" is present more -or less in all of them, in the intrinsic sense of a representation -of calculations, ponderations and resolutions, and often too in the -more evident sense of State affairs. He pursues these and suchlike -forms of representation, heedless, firm and obstinate, notwithstanding -the disfavour of the public and of the critics, who asked for other -things. They divest themselves of extraneous elements and attain to -the perfection at which they aimed. This may be observed in one of the -very latest, the _Pulchérie._ The author congratulated himself upon its -half-success or shadow of success, declaring that "it is not always -necessary to follow the fashion of the time, in order to be successful -on the stage." Just previously, he was pleased with Saint-Évremond -for his approbation of the secondary place to be assigned to love in -tragedy, "for it is a passion too surcharged with weaknesses to be -dominant in a heroic drama." Voltaire was struck with this constancy -to the original line of development, for he felt bound to remark at -the conclusion of his commentary, not without astonishment and in -opposition to the current opinion, that "he wrote very unequally, -but I do not know that he had an unequal genius, as is maintained by -some; because I always see him intent, alike in his best and in his -inferior works, upon the force and the profundity of the ideas. He is -always more disposed to debate than to move, and he reveals himself -rich in finding expedients to support the most ungrateful of arguments, -though these are but little tragic, since he makes a bad choice of his -subjects from the _Oedipe_ onwards, where he certainly does devise -intrigues, but these are of small account and lack both warmth and -life. In his last works he is trying to delude himself." But Corneille -did not delude himself; rather he knew himself, and he himself the -author was a personage who had deliberated and had made up his mind, -once and for all. - -The vigour of this resolution and the compactness of the work which -resulted from it, are not diminished, but are rather stressed by -the fact that Corneille possessed other aptitudes and sources of -inspiration, which he neglected and of which he made little or no -use. Certainly, the poet who versified the delicious _Psyche,_ in -collaboration with Molière, would have been able, had he so desired, -to enter into the graces of those "_doucereux_" and "_enjoués,_" whom -he despised. There are witty, tender and melancholy poems among his -miscellaneous works, and in certain parts of the paraphrase of the -_Imitation_ and other sacred compositions, there is a religious fervour -that is to seek in the _Polyeucte._ His youthful comedies contain a -power of observation of life, replete with passionate sympathy, which -foreshadows the coming social drama. We refer especially to certain -personages and scenes of the _Galerie du Palais,_ of the _Veuve_ and -of the _Suivante;_ to certain studies of marriageable girls, obedient -to the resolve of their parents, and to mothers, who still carry in -their heart how much that submission cost them in the past and do -not wish to abuse the power which they possess over their daughters. -There are also certain tremulous meetings of lovers, who had been -separated and are annoyingly interrupted by the irruption of prosaic -reality in the shape of their relations and friends ("_Ah! mère, sœur, -ami, comme vous m'importunez!_") and certain odious and painful -psychological cases, like that of Amaranthe, the poor girl of good -family, who is made companion of the richer girl, not superior to her -either in attractiveness, or spirit, or grace, or blood. She envies -and intrigues against her, attempts to carry off her lover and being -finally vanquished, hurls bitter words at society and distils venomous -maledictions. - -_"Curieux," "étonnant," "étrange," "paradoxal," "déconcertant,"_ are -the epithets that the critics alternately apply to the personage -of Alidor, in the _Place Royale,_ and Corneille himself calls him -"_extravagant_" in the examination of his work that he wrote later. -All too have held that uncompromising lover of his own liberty to be -very "Cornelian" or "pure Cornelian," who although in love, is afraid -of love, because it threatens to deprive him of his internal freedom. -He therefore tries to throw the woman he loves and who adores him, -into the arms of others, by stratagem. Failing in this endeavour, and -being finally abandoned by the lady herself, who decides to enter a -convent, instead of sorrowing or at least being mortified at this, he -rejoices at his good fortune. Indeed, Corneille, despite the tardy -epithet of _"extravagant,"_ which he affixes to this personage, -does not turn him to ridicule in the comedy, nor does he condemn or -criticise him. On the contrary, in the dedicatory epistle, addressed to -an anonymous gentleman, who might be the very character in question, -he approves of the theory, which Alidor illustrates. "I have learned -from you"--he writes--"that the love of an honest man must always be -voluntary; that he must never love in one way what he cannot but love; -that if he should find himself reduced to this extremity, it amounts -to a tyranny and the yoke must be shaken off. Finally, the loved one -must have by so much the more claim to our love, in so far as it is -the result of our choice and of the loved one's merit and does not -derive from blind inclination imposed upon us by a heredity which we -are unable to resist." But the disconcertion and perplexity caused -by the play in question, have their origin in this; that Corneille -had not yet succeeded in repressing and suppressing the spontaneous -emotions, and therefore throws his ideal creation into the midst of a -throng of beings, whose limbs are softer, their blood warmer and more -tumultuous, who love and suffer and despair, like Angélique. This would -render that ideal personage comic, ironical and extravagant, if the -poet did not for his part think and feel it to be altogether serious. A -subtle flaw, therefore, permeates every part of the play, which lacks -fusion and unity of fundamental motive. This is doubtless a grave -defect, but a defect which adds weight to the psychological document -that it contains, proving the absolute power which the ideal of the -deliberative will was acquiring in Corneille. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -THE MECHANISM OF THE CORNELIAN TRAGEDY - - -The ideal of the deliberative will, then, formed the real, living -_passion_ of this man devoid of passions; for no one that lives can -withhold himself from passion: he is only able to change its object by -passing from one to the other. The judgment that holds Corneille to -be an intrinsically prosaic, ratiocinatory and casuistical genius is -therefore to be looked upon as lacking of penetration. Had he been a -casuist, it seems clear that he would have composed casuistical works. -Nor did he lack of requests and encouragement in that direction in the -literature that was admired and sought after in his time. Instead, -however, of acceding to them, he dwelt ever in the world of poetry -and was occupied throughout his life, up to his seventieth year, with -the composition of tragedies. He was not a casuist, although he loved -casuistry: these two things are as different as the love for warlike -representations and accounts of wars and the being actually a soldier, -the perpetual dwelling of the imagination upon matters of business, -commerce and speculation (like Honoré de Balzac for instance), and -being really a man of business. Nor can his gift be described as merely -that of a didactic poet, although he often gives a dissertation in -verse, because he was not inspired with the wish to teach, but rather -to admire and to present the power and the triumphs of the free will -for admiration. Those philologists who have patiently set to work to -reconstruct Corneille's conception of the State into a _Staatsidee_ -have not understood this. Corneille's conception of the State, of -absolute monarchy, of the king, of legitimacy, of ministers, of -subjects, and so on, were not by any means in him political doctrine, -but just forms and symbols of an attitude of mind, which he caressed -and idolised. - -The enquiry as to the nature and degree and tone of that passion -differs altogether from the fact of Corneille's powerful passionality, -as to which there can be no doubt. The problem, that is to say, is, -whether passion, which is certainly a necessary condition for poetry, -was so shaped and found in him such compensations and restraints as -to yield itself with docility to poetry and to give it a fair field -for expression. It is well known that the sovereign passion, the pain -that renders mute, the love that leads to raving, impede the dream of -the poet, they impede artistic treatment, the cult of perfect form -and the joy in beauty. There is too a form of passion, which has in -it something of the practical: it is more occupied with embodying -its favourite dreams, in order to obtain from them stimulus and -incentive, than with fathoming them poetically and idealising them in -contemplation. - -It seems impossible to deny that something of this sort existed in -the case of Corneille, for as we read his works, while we constantly -receive the already mentioned impression of seriousness and severity, -there is another impression that is sometimes mingled with these and -suggests the disquieting presence of men firmly fixed and rooted -in an ideal. When faced with his predilection for deliberation and -resolution, the figure of the Aristophanic Philocleon sometimes returns -to the memory. This Philocleon was a "philoheliast," that is to say -he was the victim of a mania for judging, τοὔ δικάζειν. His son -locked him up, but he climbed out of window, in order to hasten to the -tribunal and satisfy his vital need of administering justice! - -The consequences of this excess of practical passionality in the case -of Corneille, of its exclusive domination in him, was that he either -did not love or refused to allow himself to love anything else in the -world, and lost interest in all the rest of life. He did not surpass -it ideally, in which case he would have remained trembling and living -in its presence, although it was combated and suppressed, but he drove -it out or cut it off altogether. He acted as one, who for the love of -the human body, should eliminate from his picture, landscape, sky, -air, the background of the picture, upon and from which the figure -rises and with which it is conj nected, although separated from it -in relief, and should limit himself to the delineation of bodies and -attitudes of bodies. Corneille, having abolished all other forms -of life, found nothing before him but a series of situations for -deliberation, vigorously felt, warmly expressed, sung with full voice, -and illustrated with energetic yet becoming gestures. - -What tragedy, what drama, what representation, could emerge from such a -limitation of volitional attitudes? How could the various tonalities -and affections and so the various personages, unite and harmonise -among themselves with all their shades and gradations? The bridge -that should give passage to this full and complete representation was -wanting or had been destroyed. All that was possible was a suite of -deliberative lyrics, of magnificent perorations, of lofty sentiments, -sometimes standing alone, sometimes also taking the form of a duet -or a dialogue, a theory of statues, draped in solemn attitudes, of -enormous figures, rigid and similar as Byzantine mosaics. Here and -there a writer such as Lanson has to some extent had an inkling of this -intrinsic impossibility when, writing about the _Nicomède,_ he remarked -that Corneille "in his pride at having founded a new kind of tragedy, -without pity or terror, and having admiration as its motive, did not -perceive that he was founding it upon a void; because the tragedy will -be the less dramatic, the purer is the will, since it is defeats or -semi-defeats that are dramatic, the slow, difficult victories of the -will, incessant combats." But he held on the other hand that Corneille -had once constructed, in _Nicomède,_ a perfect tragedy, on the single -datum of the pure will, _par un coup de génie_; but this was the -only one that ever could be written, the reason that it could not be -repeated being "that all the works of Corneille are dramatic, precisely -to the extent that the will falls short in them of perfection and in -virtue of the elements that separate it from them." The beauty, he -says, of the _Cid,_ of _Polyeucte_ and of _Cinna_, "consists in what -they contain of passion, cooperating with and striving against the will -of the heroes." But "strokes of genius" are not miracles and they do -not make the impossible possible and the other dramas of Corneille that -we have mentioned do not differ substantially from the _Nicomède,_ for -in them passionate elements are intruded and felt to be out of harmony -(as in the _Cid_), or they are apparent and conventional. - -Apparent and conventional: because the lack of the bridge for crossing -over forbade Corneille to construct poetically out of volitional -situations representations of life, to which they did not of themselves -lead. It did not however prevent another kind of construction, which -may be called intellectualistic or practical. He deduced other -situations and other antitheses from the volitional situations and -their antitheses that he had conceived, and thus he formed a sort of -semblance of the representation of life. At the same time he reduced it -to the dimensions of the drama that he was originating mentally, partly -through study of the ancients and above all Seneca, partly from the -Italian writers of tragedy of the sixteenth century, partly from that -of the Spanish writers and of his French predecessors, but not without -consulting, following or modifying the French and Italian casuists and -regulating the whole with his own sense for theatrical effect and for -the forms of it likely to suit the taste of the French public of his -day. - -This structure of tragedy, with its antitheses and parallelisms, its -expedients for accelerating and arresting and terminating the action -has been qualified with praise or blame as possessing great "logical" -perfection. Logic, however, which is the life of thought, has nothing -to do with the balancing and counter-balancing of mechanical weights, -whose life lies outside them, in the head and in the hand that has -constructed and set them in motion. It has been also compared to -architecture and to the admirable proportions of the Italian art of the -Renaissance. But here too, we must suspect that the true meaning of -the works thus characterised escapes us, for attention is paid only to -the external appearance of things, in so far as it can be expressed in -mathematical terms. We have said exactly the same thing, without having -recourse to logic or to architecture, when we noted that the structure -of Corneille's tragedies did not derive from within, that is, from his -true poetical inspiration, but rose up beside it, and was due to the -unconscious practical need of making a canvas or a frame upon which to -stretch the series of volitional situations desired by the imagination -of the poet. Thus it was poetically a cold, incoherent, absurd thing, -but practically rational and coherent, like every "mechanism." -This word is not pronounced here for the first time owing to our -irreverence, but is to be found among those who have written about -Corneille and have felt themselves unable to refrain from referring -to his _"mécanique théâtrale"_ and to the "_système fermé_" of his -tragedies, where _"s'opère par un jeu visible de forces, la production -d'un état définitif appelé dénouement."_ - -When this has been stated, it is easy to see that anyone who examines -this assemblage of thoughts and phrases with the expectation of -finding there a soft, rich, sensuous and passionate representation of -life, full of throbs, bedewed with tears, shot through with troubles -and enjoyments, such as are to be found in Shakespearean drama and -also in Sophoclean tragedy, is disappointed, and thereupon describes -Corneille's art as false, whereas he should perhaps describe his own -expectation as false. But it is strange to find, as counterpoise to -that delusion, the attempt to demonstrate that the apparatus is not -an apparatus, but flesh and blood, that the frame is not a frame -but a picture, like one of Titian's or Rembrandt's, and now setting -comparisons aside, that the pseudo-tragedy and the pseudo-drama -of Corneille is pure drama or tragedy, that his intellectualistic -deductions, his practical devices, are lyrical motives and express the -truth of the human heart. Such, however, is the wrong-headedness of -the criticisms that we have reviewed above. The mode of procedure is -to deny what is evident, for example that Corneille argues through the -mouths of his characters, instead of expressing and setting in action -his own mode of feeling, in such a way as the situations would require, -were they poetically treated. Faguet answers Voltaire's remarks upon -the famous couplet of Rodogune: _"Il est des nœuds secrets, il est des -sympathies..."_ to the effect that "the poet is always himself talking -and that passion does not thus express itself," by saying that people -are accustomed to express themselves in this way, that is to say, in -the form of general ideas, when they are calm, as though the question -could be settled with an appeal to the reality of ordinary life, -whereas on the contrary it is a question of poeticity, that is to say, -of the tragic situation, which by its own nature, excludes _couplets_ -in certain cases, however well turned they be. - -Yet the very same critics, who are thus guilty of sophistry in their -attempts to defend Corneille, are capable of observing on another -occasion that if not all, at any rate many or several of Corneille's -tragedies are "melodramas," and that the author tended more and more -to melodrama, in the course of his development or decadence, as we -may like to call it. Perhaps in so saying, they are making a careless -use of the word "melodrama," and mean by it a drama of intrigue, of -surprises, of shocks and of recognitions. If on the contrary they -have employed it in its true sense, or if their tongue has been -instinctively more correct than their thought, since "melodrama" means -precisely a melodrama, that does not exist for itself, but for the -music, and is a canvas or frame, they have again declared the extrinsic -character of the Cornelian tragedy. - -Another confirmation of this character of the tragedies is to be found -in that suspicion of I comicality, which lurks so frequently in the -background as we read them, and occasionally makes itself clearly -audible in the course of development of their pseudo-tragic action. It -has been asked whether the _Cid_ were a tragedy or a comedy and inquiry -has resulted in no satisfactory answer being arrived at, because -involuntary comicality is present there, akin to what is to be found -in certain of the pompous and emphatic melodramas of Metastasio. It -is true that Don Diego's reply to the king has been cited as sublime, -when he does not wish the new duel to take place at once, in order -that the Cid may have a little rest, after the great battle that he -has won against the Moors, which he has described triumphantly and at -great length: "_Rodrigue a pris haleine en vous la racontant!_" But -are we then to regard as sinful the smile that gradually dawns upon -the lips of those who are not pledged to admire at all costs? And -consider the case of the furious Emilia, who at the end of the _Cinna_ -gets rid in the twinkling of an eye, of all the convictions anchored -in her breast, of that hatred that burned her up, much in the same -manner as a stomach-ache disappears upon the use of a sedative, and -declares that she has all of a sudden become the exact opposite of what -she was previously? _"Ma haine va mourir, que j'ai cru immortelle; -elle est morte et ce cœur devient sujet fidèle, Et prenant désormais -cette haine en horreur, L'ardeur de vous servir succède à sa fureur."_ -And Curiace, who finds himself in such a situation as to deliver -the following madrigal to his betrothed: "_D'Albe avec mon amour -j'accordais la querelle; je soupirais pour vous, en combattant pour -elle; Et s'il fallait encor que l'on en vint aux coups, Je combattrais -pour elle en soupirant pour vous."?_ But we will not insist upon this -descent into the comic, for it is not always to be avoided, being a -natural effect of the "mechanicity" of the Cornelian drama and is for -the rest in conformity with the theory which explains the comic as -_"l'automatisme installé dans la vie et imitant la vie"_ (Bergson). - -Another form of the comic, discoverable in him, must also be insisted -upon; but this is not involuntary and blameworthy, but coherent and -praiseworthy. The form in question is that which led to the comedy -of character and of costume, to psychological and political comedy. -Brunetière even said between jest and earnest: "The _Cid, Horace, -Cinna_ and _Polyeucte,_ give me much trouble. Were it not for these -four, I should say that Corneille is fundamentally and above all a -comic poet, and an excellent comic poet; and this is perfectly true; -but how are we to say it, when the _Cid, Horace, Cinna_ and _Polyeucte_ -are there? These four tragedies embarrass me exceedingly!" And he -proceeds to note and illustrate the "family scenes" scattered among -his tragedies, the prosaic and conversational phraseology, which so -displeased Voltaire, and the complete absence in some of them of tragic -quality, even of the external sort, that is, scenes of blood and death, -and the prevalence of the ethical over the pathetic representation, -in the manner of the comedy of Menander and of Terence. Despite all -this, his definition of Corneille as a comic poet will be admired as -acute and ingenious, but will never carry conviction as being true: -none of those tragedies is a comedy, because none is accentuated in -that manner. For the same reason that Corneille could not attain to the -poetical representation of life, because he was not able to pass beyond -the one-sidedness of his ideal, by merging it in the fulness of things, -he was unable to present the comic or ethical side of them, because -he did not pass beyond the spectacle of life and so of his ideal, by -viewing it _sub specie intellectus,_ in its external and internal -limitations. The attempt to do so in the Alidor of the _Place Royale_ -had not been successful, and it never was successful, even assuming -that he attempted it. He did not indeed attempt it, and the ethos -that so often took the place of the pathos in the structure of his -tragedies, was itself a natural consequence of their mechanicity. Owing -to this, when they had lost the guidance of the initial poetic motive, -they often fluctuated between emphasis and cold observation, between -eloquence and prose, between stylisation of the characters and certain -realistic determinations. - -This hybridism, which has sometimes led to the belittling of Corneille -to the level of a poet of observation and of comicality, has more often -led, from another point of view, to his being increased in stature and -importance, to his being belauded and acclaimed as possessing "romantic -tendencies," or as a "French Shakespeare," although but "a Shakespeare -in trammels." There is really nothing whatever in him of the romantic, -in the conception, that is to say, and in the sentiment of life; and -there is less than nothing in him of Shakespeare, whose work had -its origins in a far wider and certainly a very different sphere -of spiritual interests. But since "romanticism" and "Shakespeare" -perhaps stand here simply for poetry, it must be admitted that he is a -poet, who does not explain himself fully, or explains himself badly, -without the liberty, the sympathy, the abandonment of self necessary -for poetry. He harnesses his inspiration to an apparatus of actions -and reactions, of parallelisms and of conventions, which may be well -described as "trammels," when compared with poetry. - -But they are in any case trammels which he sets in his own way, -trammels which he creates and fixes in his soul and are not imposed -upon him by the rules, conventions and usages, which were in vogue -at the time he wrote, as is erroneously maintained, coupled with -lamentations as to the unfavorable period for the writing of poetry, -which fell to his lot. What poet can be trammeled from without? The -poet sets such obstacles aside, or he passes through them, or he goes -round them, or he feigns to bow to them, or he does bow to them, but -only in secondary matters that are almost indifferent. For this reason, -disputes and doctrines as to the three unities, as to the characters -of tragedy, as to the manner of obtaining the catharsis or purgation, -have considerable importance for anyone investigating the history of -aesthetic and critical ideas, of their formation, growth and progress, -by means of struggles that seem to us now to be ridiculous, though -they were once serious; but they have no importance whatever as an -element in the judgment of a poem. Corneille did not rebel against the -so-called rules, because he did not feel any need for rebellion; he -accepted or accustomed himself to them, because, having treated tragedy -mechanically, it suited him, or did him no harm, to take heed of the -mechanical rules, laid down by custom and literary and theatrical -precepts. - -For this reason, his method of theatrical composition was not only -susceptible of being tolerated, but even of pleasing and receiving the -praise, the applause and the admiration of the contemporary public, -which did not seek in them the joy of poetic rapture, but a different -and more or less refined pleasure, answering to its spiritual needs and -aspirations. It could later and can now prove insupportable, because -the delight of a certain period in dexterity, expedients and clever -devices, in the fine phrases of the courtier, in certain actions that -were the fashion, in the gallantries of pastoral and heroic romance, -in epigrams, antitheses and madrigals, are no longer our delights. -Passionate or realistic art, as it is called, flourishes everywhere, -in place of the old scholastic, academic and court models. But for us, -everything that concerns Corneille's composition and the technique of -his work is indifferent, since we are viewing the problem from the -point of view of poetry. We shall not therefore busy ourselves with -discriminating those parts of it that are well from those that are -ill put together, nor his clever from his unsuccessful expedients, -his well-constructed "scenes" from those that suffer from padding, -his "acts" that run smoothly from those that drag, the more from the -less happy "endings," as is the habit of those critics, who nourish a -superstitious admiration for what Flaubert would have called _"l'arcane -théâtral."_ We care nothing for the canvas, but only for what of -embroidery in the shape of poetry there is upon it. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -THE POETRY OF CORNEILLE - - -The poetry of Corneille, or what of poetry there is in him, is all to -be found in the lyrical quality of the volitional situations, in those -debates, remarks, solemn professions of faith, energetic assertions of -the will, in that superb admiration for one's own personal, unshakable -firmness. Here it is that we must seek it, not in the development of -the dramatic action or in the character of the individual personages. -For it is only an affection for life, that is to say, penetration of -it in all its manifestations, which is capable of generating those -beings, so warm with passion, who insinuate themselves into us and take -possession of our imagination, who grow in it and eventually become so -familiar to us that we seem to have really met them: the creations of -Dante, of Shakespeare, or of Goethe. Certainly, Corneille's lyricism, -which seems to be exclusive and one-sided, would not be lyricism and -poetry, if it were really always exclusive and one-sided and although -it cannot give us drama in the sense we have described, owing to its -driving away the other passions, yet it does not succeed in doing so -in such a complete and radical manner that we fail to perceive their -fermentation, however remote, in those severe and vigorous assertions -of the will. The loftiness itself of the rhythm indicates the high -standard of the vital effort, which it represents and expresses. To -continue the illustration above initiated, Corneille's situations may -be drawings rather than pictures, or pictures in design rather than -in colour; but these pictures also possess their own qualities as -pictures, they too are works of love and must not be confounded with -drawings directed to intellectual ends, with illustration of real -things, or concepts with prosaic designs. - -And indeed everyone has always sought and seeks the flower of the -spirit of Corneille, the beauty of his work, in single situations, or -"places." The commentators who busy themselves with the exposition and -the dégustation of his works have but slight material for analysis of -the sort that is employed by them in the case of other poets, whose -fundamental poetic motive furnishes a basis for the rethinking of -the characters and of their actions. Here on the contrary they feel -themselves set free from an obstruction, when they pass to the single -passages, and at once declare with Faguet, one of the latest _"Il y a -de beaux vers à citer"_ The actors too, who attempt to interpret his -tragedies in the realistic romantic manner, fail to convince, while -those succeed on the other hand who deliver them in a somewhat formal -style. In thus listening to the intoned declamations of the monologues, -exhortations, invectives, sentiments and _couplets,_ one feels oneself -transplanted into a superior sphere, exactly as happens with singing -and music. - -Corneille's characters are not to be laid hold of in their full and -corporate being. It is but rarely that they allow us a glimpse of their -human countenance, or permit us to catch some cry of scorn, and then -rapidly withdraw themselves into the abstract so completely that we -do not succeed in taking hold of even a fold of their fleeting robes, -although a long-enduring echo of their lightning-like speech remains in -the soul. The old father of the Horatii strengthens his sons in their -conflict between family affection and their imperious duty to their -country, with the maxim: _"Faites votre devoir et laissez faire aux -Dieux."_ The youthful Curiace murmurs with tears in his voice, to the -youthful Horace, his friend and brother-in-law _"Je vous connais encore -et c'est ce qui: me tue,"_ but Horace is as inflexible as a syllogism, -having arrived at the conclusion that the posts assigned to them in the -feud between Rome and Alba have made enemies of them, and therefore -that they must not know one another in future. Curiace, when at last -he has become bitterly resigned to their irremediable separation and -hostility, exclaims: _"Telle est nôtre misère_ ..."--Emilia, another -being with nerves like steel springs, reveals her proud soul in a -single phrase; when Maximus suggests flight to her, she exclaims as -she faces him, in a cry that is like a blow: _"Tu oses m'aimer et tu -n' oses mourir!"_ She is perhaps more deeply wounded here in her pride -as a woman, who fails to receive the tribute of heroism, which she -expects, than in her moral sentiment. The noble Suréna holds it an -easy thing, a thing of small moment, to give his life for his lady: he -wishes "_toujours aimer, toujours souffrir, toujours mourir!_"; and -Antiochus, in _Rodogune,_ when he discovers that he is surrounded with -ambushes, decides to die and in doing so directs his thought to the -sad shade of his brother, who has been slain in a like manner: "_Cher -frère, c'est pour moi le chemin du trépas_..."; and Titus feels himself -penetrated with the melancholy of the fleeting hour, the sense of human -fragility: - - Oui, Flavian, c'est affaire à mourir. - La vie est pen de chose; et tôt ou tard qu'importe - Qu'un traître me l'arrache, ou que l'âge l'emporte? - Nous mourrons a toute heure; et dans le plus doux sort - Chaque instant de la vie est un pas vers la mort. - -Words expressive of death are always those whose accent is clearest -and whose resonance is the most profound with Corneille. It is perhaps -as well to leave the _Moi_ of Medea and the _Qu'il mourrait_ of the -old Horace to the admirative raptures of the rhetoricians; but let us -repeat to ourselves those words of the sister of Heraclius (in the -_Heraclius_), mortified by fate, ever at the point of death and ever -ready to die: - - Mais à d'autres pensers il me faut recourir: - Il n'est plus temps d'aimer alors qu'il faut mourir.... - $/ - -And again: - - Crois-tu que sur la foi de tes fausses promesses - Mon âme ose descendre à de telles bassesses? - Prends mon sang pour le sien; mais, s'il y faut mon cœur, - Périsse Héraclius avec sa triste sœur! - -And when she stays the hand of the menacing tyrant suddenly and with a -word: - - ... Ne menace point, je suis prête a mourir. - -Or, finally, those sweetest words of all, spoken by Eurydice in the -_Suréna_: - - Non, je ne pleure pas, madame, mais je meurs. - -These dying words form as it were the extreme points of the resolute -will, of the will, fierce _usque ad mortem._ But the others, in which -the volitional situations are fixed and developed and determination to -pursue a certain course is asserted, are, as we have said, the proper -and normal expression of the poetry of Corneille, which can be fully -enjoyed, provided that we do not insist upon asking whether they are -appropriate in the mouths of the personages, who should act and not -analyse and define themselves, or whether they are or are not necessary -for the development of the drama. Their poetry consists of just that -analysis, that passionate self-definition, that arranging of the folds -of their own decorous robes, that sculpturing of their own statues. - -Let us examine a few examples of it, taking them from the least known -and the least praised tragedies of Corneille, for it is perhaps time -to have done with the so-called decadence or exhaustion of Corneille, -with his second-childhood (according to which, some would maintain that -he returned to his boyish, pre-Cidian period in his maturity), and -with the excessive and to no small extent affected and conventional -exaltation of the famous square block of stone representing the four -faces of honour (the _Cid_), of patriotism _(Horace),_ of generosity -_(Cinna)_ and of sanctity _(Polyeucte)._ There is often in those four -most popular tragedies a certain pomposity, an emphasis, an apparatus, -a rhetorical colouring, which Corneille gradually did away with in -himself, in order to make himself ever more nude, with the austere -nudity of the spirit. It was perhaps not only constancy and coherence -of logical development, but progress of art on the road to its own -perfection, which counselled him to abandon too pathetic subjects. In -any case, unless we wish to turn the traditional judgment upside down, -we must insist that those four tragedies, like those that followed -them, are not to be read by the lover of poetry otherwise than in an -anthological manner, that is to say, selecting the fine passages where -they are to be found, and these occur in no less number and in beauty -at least equal in the other tragedies also, some of which are more and -some less theatrically effective. - -Pulchérie is the last and one of the most marvellous Cornelian -condensations of force in deliberation. She thus manifests her mode of -feeling to the youthful Léon whom she loves: - - Je vous aime, Léon, et n'en fais point mystère: - Des feux tels que les miens n'out rien qu'il faille taire. - Je vous aime, et non point de cette folle ardeur - Que les yeux éblouis font maîtresse du cœur; - Non d'un amour conçu par les sens en tumulte, - A qui l'âme applaudit sans qu'elle se consulte, - Et qui, ne concevant que d'aveugles désires, - Languit dans les faveurs et meurt dans les plaisirs: - Ma passion pour vous généreuse et solide, - A la vertu pour âme et la raison pour guide, - La gloire pour objet et veut, sous votre loi, - Mettre en ce jour illustre et l'univers et moi. - -Here we have clearly the lyricism of a soul which has achieved complete -possession of itself, of a soul overflowing with affections, but -knowing which among them are superior and which inferior, and has -learned how to administer and how to rule itself, steering the ship -with a steady and experienced hand through treacherous seas, and -feeling its own nobility to lie in just what others would call coldness -and lack of humanity. Note the expressions _"folle ardeur"_ and _"sens -en tumulte"_ and the contempt, not to say the disgust, with which they -are uttered and the hell that is pointed out as lying in that soul -which allows itself to be carried away _"sans qu' elle se consulte."_ -Note too the vision of the sad effeminacy of those affections, so blind -and so egotistic, which consume and corrupt themselves in themselves, -and how he enhances it by contrast with her own rational passion, so -_"généreuse et solide,"_ with those solemn words of _"vertu,"_ of -_"raison,"_ of _"gloire,"_ and the final apotheosis, which lays at the -feet of the man she loves and loves worthily, her person and the whole -world. - -And Pulchérie, when she has been elected empress, again takes counsel -with herself and recognises that this love of hers for Léon is still -inferior, not yet sufficiently pure, and decides to slay it, in order -that it may live again as something different, as something purely -rational: - - Léon seul est ma joie, il est mon seul désir; - Je n'en puis choisir d'autre, et je n'ose le choisir: - Depuis trois ans unie à cette chère idée, - J'en ai l'âme à toute heure en tous lieux obsédée; - Rien n'en détachera mon cœur que le trépas, - Encore après ma mort n'en répondrai-je pas, - Et si dans le tombeau le ciel permet qu'on aime, - Dans le fond du tombeau je l'aimerai de même. - Trône qui m'éblouis, titres qui me flattez, - Pourriez-vous me valoir ce que vous me coûtez? - Et de tout votre orgueil la pompe la plus haute - A-t-elle un bien égal à celui qu'elle m'ôte? - -She thus concedes to human frailty the relief of a lament, such a -lament as can issue from her lips, full of strength and charged with -resolution in passion, but at the same time noble, measured and -dignified. After this, she follows the direction of her will with -inexorable firmness. Léon shall not be her spouse, because her choice -must be and seem to be dictated by the sole good of the State, and fall -upon a man whom she will not love with love, but who will be for Rome -an emperor to be feared and respected. A conflict had been engaged -between one part of herself and another, between the whole and a part, -and she has again subjected the part to the whole and has assigned to -it its duty, that of obedience. - - Je suis impératrice et j'étais Pulchérie. - De ce trône, ennemi de mes plus doux souhaits, - Je regarde l'amour comme un de mes sujets; - Je veux que le respect qu'il doit à ma couronne - Repousse l'attentat qu'il fait sur ma personne; - Je veux qu'il m'obéisse, au lieu de me trahir; - Je veux qu'il donne à tous l'exemple d'obéir; - Et, jalouse déjà de mon pouvoir suprême, - Pour l'affermir sur tous, je le prends sur moi-même. - -Thus love is subjected to the mind, or as it used to be expressed in -the language of the time, which was of Stoic origin, to the "hegemonic -potency." She would desire to raise her youthful beloved to the -lofty level of her intent, by removing him from the sphere of weak -lamentations and assuring his union with herself in a mystic marriage -of superior wills. What contempt is hers for sentimentalism, which -wishes to insinuate itself where it is not wanted, for "tears," for -"the shame of tears"! - - La plus ferme couronne est bientôt ébranlée - Quand un effort d'amour semble l'avoir volée; - Et pour garder un rang si cher à nos désirs - Il faut un plus grand art que celui des soupirs. - Ne vous abaissez pas à la honte des larmes; - Contre un devoir si fort ce sont de faibles armes; - Et si de tels secours vous couronnaient ailleurs, - J'aurais pitié d'un sceptre acheté par des pleurs. - -When we read such verses as these, our breast expands, as it does -when we are in the company of men whose gravity of word and deed -induce gravity, whose superiority over the crowd makes you forget -the existence of the crowd, transporting you to a sphere where -the non-accomplishment of duty would appear, not only vile, but -incomprehensible. On another occasion our admiration is about to -shroud itself in pity, but soon shines forth again and displays itself -triumphant, as in the young princess Hiedion of the _Attila,_ who is -accorded to the abhorred king of the Huns by a treaty of peace--were -she to refuse the union, immeasurable calamities would fall upon her -family and people. She too observes a sorrowful attitude but hers is an -erect and combative sorrow: - - Si je n'étais pas, seigneur, ce que je suis, - J'en prendrais quelque droit à finir mes ennuis: - Mais l'esclavage fier d'une haute naissance, - Où toute autre peut tout, me tient dans l'impuissance; - Et, victime d'état, je dois sans reculer - Attendre aveuglement qu'on daigne m'immoler. - -The heart trembles and restrains itself at the same moment before -that _"esclavage fier,"_ that proud and sarcastic _"qu'on daigne -m'immoler"_ the victim has already scrutinised the situation in -which she finds herself, the duty which is incumbent upon her, the -prospect of vengeance which opens itself before her and her race, and -has already conceived her terrible design. In like manner with Queen -Rodolinde in the _Pertharite,_ when she is solicited and implored -by the usurper Grimoalde, who wished to espouse her and promises -to declare himself tutor to her son and to make him heir to the -throne,--suspecting that in this way he will deprive her of the honour -of marriage faith and may then put her son to deatii--she decides upon -a horrible course of action, proposing to him that he should put her -son to death on the spot: - - Puisqu'il faut qu'il périsse, il vaut mieux tôt que tard; - Que sa mort soit un crime, et non pas un hazard; - Que cette ombre innocente à toute heure m'anime, - Me demande à toute heure une grande victime; - Que ce jeune monarque, immolé de ta main, - Te rende abominable à tout le genre humain; - Qu'il t'excite par tout des haines immortelles; - Que de tous tes sujets il fasse des rebelles. - Je t'épouserai lors, et m'y viens d'obliger, - Pour mieux servir ma haine et pour mieux me venger, - Pour moins perdre des vœux contre ta barbarie, - Pour être à tous moments maîtresse de ta vie, - Pour avoir l'accès libre à pousser ma fureur, - Et mieux choisir la place où te percer le cœur. - Voilà mon désespoir, voilà ses justes causes: - A ces conditions, prends ma main, si tu l'oses. - -Her husband Pertharite, who had been believed to be dead, is alive: -he returns and is made prisoner by Grimoalde, and Rodolinde, fearing -ruin, decides to avenge him or to perish with him. But he sees the -situation in which he finds himself with his consort in a different -light objectively: he sees it as a conquered king, who bows his head -to the decision of destiny, recognises the right of the conqueror and -holds ever aloft in his soul the idea of regal majesty. So he asserts -it with firmness and serenity, going beyond all personal feelings, in -order that he may consider only what appertains both to the rights and -duties of a king: - - Quand ces devoirs communs out d'importunes lois, - La majesté du trône en dispense les rois; - Leur gloire est au-dessus des règles ordinaires, - Et cet honneur n'est beau que pour les cœurs vulgaires. - Sitôt qu'un roi vaincu tombe aux mains du vainqueur, - Il a trop mérité la dernière rigueur. - Ma mort pour Grimoald ne peut avoir de crime: - Le soin de s'affermir lui rend tout légitime. - Quand j'aurai dans ses fers cessé de respirer, - Donnez-lui votre main sans rien considérer; - Epargnez les efforts d'une impuissante haine, - Et permettez au Ciel de vous faire encor reine. - -The courageous and sagacious Nicomède speaks kingly words of a -different sort, well calculated to arouse him and make him lift up his -head, to the vacillating father, who wishes to content both Rome and -the queen, establish agreement between love and nature, be father and -husband: - - --Seigneur, voulez-vous bien vous en fier à moi? - Ne soyez l'un ni l'autre.--Et que dois-je être?--Roi. - Reprenez hautement ce noble caractère. - Un véritable roi n'est ni mari ni père; - Il regarde son trône, et rien de plus. Régnez; - Rome vous craindra plus que vous ne la craignez. - Malgré cette puissance et si vaste et si grande, - Vous pouvez déjà voir comme elle m'appréhende, - Combien en me perdant elle espère gagner, - Parce qu'elle prévoit que je saurai régner. - -Let us listen also for a moment to the Christian Theodora, who has been -granted the time to choose between offering incense to the gods and -being abandoned to the soldiery in the public brothel: - - Quelles sont vos rigueurs, si vous les nommez grâce! - Et que choix voulez-vous qu'une chrétienne fasse, - Réduite à balancer son esprit agité - Entre l'idolâtrie et l'impudicité? - Le choix est inutile où les maux sont extrêmes. - Reprenez votre grâce, et choisissez vous-mêmes: - Quiconque peut choisir consent à l'un des deux, - Et le consentement est seul lâche et honteux. - Dieu, tout juste et tout bon, qui lit dans nos pensées, - N'impute point de crime aux actions forcées; - Soit que vous contraigniez pour vos dieux impuissans - Mon corps à l'infamie ou ma main à l'encens, - Je saurai conserver d'une âme résolue - À l'époux sans macule une épouse impollue. - -She really does _balance_ herself mentally at the parting of the ways -placed before her, analyses it and formulates her determination, -rejecting as cowardly both the choice of the sacrilege and of the -shameful punishment and casting it in the teeth of her unworthy -oppressors. It is the only answer that befits the Christian virgin, -firm in her determination of saving her constancy in the faith and -modesty, which resides not only in the will, but also in desire itself. -The expression of her intention has just such a tone and adopts just -the formulae of a theologian speaking by her mouth--_"le consentment," -"l'époux sans macule," "l'épouse impollue."_ - -In _Theseus_ of the _Oedipe_ the poet himself protests against a -conception that menaces the foundation of his spirit itself, because it -offends the idea of free choice and makes unsteady the consciousness -that man has of being able to determine upon a line of conduct -according to reason. He is protesting against the ancient idea of fate, -or rather against its revival in modern form, as the Jansenist doctrine -of grace: - - Quoi! la nécessité des vertus et des vices - D'un astre impérieux doit suivre les caprices, - Et Delphes, malgré nous, conduit nos actions - Au plus bizarre effet de ses prédictions? - L'âme est donc toute esclave: une loi souveraine - Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraîne; - Et nous ne recevons ni crainte ni désir - De cette liberté qui n'a rien à choisir, - Attachés sans relâche à cet ordre sublime, - Vertueux sans mérite et vicieux sans crime. - Qu'on massacre les rois, qu'on brise les autels, - C'est la faute des dieux et non pas des mortels: - De toute la vertu sur la terre épandue - Tout le prix à ces dieux, toute la gloire est due: - Ils agissent en nous quand nous pensons agir; - Alors qu'on délibère, on ne fait qu'obéir; - Et notre volonté n'aime, hait, cherche, évite, - Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la précipite! - D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser. - Le Ciel, juste à punir, juste à récompenser, - Peur rendre aux actions leur perte ou leur salare, - Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire.... - -What indignation, what a revolt of the whole being against the thought -that _"quand on délibère, on ne fait qu' obéir"_! How he defends the -liberty, not only of the _"virtus,"_ but also of the _"vices,"_ the -liberty _"de nous laisser faire!"_ This eloquence of the will and of -liberty, this singing declamation, is the true lyricism of Corneille, -intimate and substantial, and not the so-called "lyrical pieces," which -he inserted into his tragedies here and there. These are lyrical in the -formal and restricted scholastic sense of the term, but they are often -as affected as the monologue of Rodrigue, which is accompanied by a -refrain. Others have demonstrated in an accurately analytical manner -that he lacks lyricism or poetry of style; that the construction of his -phrase is logical, with its "because," its "but," its "then," that he -over-abounds in maxims and altogether ignores metaphor, the picturesque -and musicality. But the same writer who has maintained this, has also -declared that his poetry is to be found, if not in the coloured image -and in the musical sound, then certainly "in the rhythm, in the wide -or rapid vibration of the strophe, which extends or transports the -thought" (Lanson): that is to say, in making this admission, he has -confuted his previous mean and narrow theory concerning poetry and -lyricism. The other judgment is to the effect that Corneille is not a -poet by style, but by the conception and meaning of his works--that -he is a latent poet or one who dressed up his thought in prose. But -it is unthinkable that there should exist latent poets, who do not -manifest themselves in poetic form. The truth of the matter is that -where Corneille felt as a poet, he expressed himself as a poet, -without many-coloured metaphors, without musical trills and softnesses -of expression, but with many maxims, many conjunctive particles, -declaratory and expressive of opposition. He employed the latter -rather than the former, because he had need of the latter and not of -the former. His rhythm too, which has been so much praised and owing -to which his alexandrine rings out so differently from the mechanical -alexandrines of his imitators, the rhetoricians, is nothing but his -spirit itself, noble and solemn, debating and deliberating, resolute, -unafraid and firm in its rational determinations. - -Corneille's keenest adversaries have always been compelled to recognise -in him a residuum, which withstood their destructive criticism. -Vauvenargues said that "he sometimes expressed himself with great -energy and no one has more loftly traits, no one has left behind him -the idea of a dialogue so closely compacted and so vehement, or has -depicted with equal felicity the power and the inflexibility of the -soul, which come to it from virtue. There are astonishing flashes -that come forth even from the disputes and upon which I commented -unfavourably, there are battles that really elevate the heart, and -finally, although he frequently removes himself from nature, it must -be confessed that he depicts her with great directness and vigour in -many places, and only there is he to be admired." Jacobi, in an essay -which is an indictment, was however, compelled to excogitate or to -beg for the reason of such fame; he found himself obliged to praise -the many vivacious scenes, the depth of discourse, the loftiness of -expression, to be found scattered here and there in those tragedies. -Although Schiller did not care for him at all, he made an exception for -"the part that is properly speaking heroic," which was "felicitously -treated," although he added that "even this vein, which is not rich in -itself, was treated monotonously." Schlegel was struck with certain -passages and with the style which is often powerful and concise and De -Sanctis observed that Corneille was in his own field, when he portrayed -greatness of soul, not in its gradations and struggles, but "as nature -and habit, in the security of possession." A German philologist, after -he has run down the tragedies of the "quadrilateral," judges Corneille -to be "a jurist and a cold man of intellect, although full of nobility -and dignity of soul, but without clearness as to his own aptitudes, and -without original creative power." This writer declares that "nowhere -in his works do we feel the breath of genius that laughs at all -restraints," but he goes on to make exception for the splendour of his -"language." It seems somewhat difficult to make an exception for the -language, precisely when discussing the question of poetical genius! - -NOTE. I draw attention to it in this note, because I have never seen it -mentioned: it is to be found in the _Charactere der vornehmsten Dichter -aller Nationen.... von einer Gesellschaft von Gelehrten_ (Leipzig, -1796), Vol. V, part I, pp. 38-138. - -We certainly find monotony present in the figures that he sets before -us, repetitions of thoughts and of schemes, analogies in the matter -of process. A _concordantia corneliana,_ explicatory of this side of -his genius could be constructed and perhaps the sole reason that this -has not been done is because it would be too easy. Steinweg, whom we -have quoted above, has provided a good instance of this. But even the -monotony of Corneille must not be looked upon altogether as a proof of -poverty, or a defect, but rather as an intrinsic characteristic of his -austere inspiration, which was susceptible of assuming but few forms. - -I cannot better close this discussion of Corneille than with the -citation of a youthful page of Sainte-Beuve, which contains nothing -but a fanciful comparison, but this comparison has much more to say to -us, who have now completed the critical examination of his works, than -Sainte-Beuve was himself able to say in his various critical writings -relative to the poet, for he there shows himself to be at one moment -inclined to be uncertain and to oscillate, at another inclined to yield -to traditional judgments and conventional enthusiasms. This affords -another proof, if such be necessary, that it is one thing to receive -the sensible impression aroused by a poem and another to understand -and to explain it. "Corneille"--wrote Sainte-Beuve,--"a pure genius, -yet an incomplete one, gives me, with his qualities and his defects, -the impression of those great trees, so naked, so gnarled, so sad and -so monotonous as regards their trunk, and adorned with branches and -dark green leaves only at their summits. They are strong, powerful, -gigantic, having but little foliage; an abundant sap nourishes them; -but you must not expect from them shelter, shade or flowers. They put -forth their leaves late, lose them early and live a long while half -dismantled. Even when their bald heads have abandoned their leaves to -the winds of autumn, their vital nature still throws out here and there -stray boughs and green shoots. When they are about to die, their groans -and creakings are like that trunk, laden with arms, to which Lucan -compared the great Pompey." - - - - -INDEX (not retained for this text version) - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille, by Benedetto Croce - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE, CORNEILLE *** - -***** This file should be named 54165-0.txt or 54165-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/6/54165/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (back online -soon in an extended version, also linking to free sources -for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational -materials,...) (Images generously made available by the -Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/54165-0.zip b/old/54165-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 218d437..0000000 --- a/old/54165-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54165-h.zip b/old/54165-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 919ee44..0000000 --- a/old/54165-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54165-h/54165-h.htm b/old/54165-h/54165-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 35d609a..0000000 --- a/old/54165-h/54165-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9905 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ariosto, Shakespeare and Corneille, by Benedetto Croce. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - color: #A9A9A9; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -a:link {color: #000099; } - -v:link {color: #000099; } - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: - 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille, by Benedetto Croce - -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/license - - -Title: Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille - -Author: Benedetto Croce - -Translator: Douglas Ainslie - -Release Date: February 15, 2017 [EBook #54165] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE, CORNEILLE *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (back online -soon in an extended version, also linking to free sources -for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational -materials,...) (Images generously made available by the -Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE AND CORNEILLE</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>BENEDETTO CROCE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>DOUGLAS AINSLIE</h4> - - -<h5>"RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.I<br /> -LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN, LTD.</h5> - -<h5>1920</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="TRANSLATORS_PREFACE" id="TRANSLATORS_PREFACE">TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p>Evviva L'Italia! Italy, Britain's ancient friend and loyal ally, has -been an important factor both in winning the war and in bringing it to -an earlier conclusion. The War! That greatest practical effort that -the world has ever made is now over and we must all work to make it a -better place for all to live in.</p> - -<p>Now at the hands of her philosopher-critic, Italy offers us a first -effort at reconstruction of our world-view with this masterly treatise -on the greatest poet of the English-speaking world, so original and so -profound that it will serve as guide to generations yet unborn. And it -will not be only the critics of Shakespeare who should benefit by this -treatise, but all critics and lovers of poetry—including prose—who -go beyond the passive stage of mere admiration. The essays on Ariosto -and Corneille are also unique and the three together should inaugurate -everywhere a new era in literary criticism.</p> - -<p>These are the first of Benedetto Croce's literary criticisms to see the -light in English.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> - -<p>They are profound and suggestive, because based upon theory, the -<i>Theory of Aesthetic,</i> with which some readers will be acquainted in -the original, others in the version by the present translator. These -will not need to be told that Croce's theory of the independence and -autonomy of the aesthetic fact, which is intuition-expression, and of -the essentially lyrical character of all art, is the only one that -completely and satisfactorily explains the problem of poetry and the -fine arts.</p> - -<p>But this is not the place for philosophical discussion, although -it is important to stress the point, that all criticism is based -upon philosophy, and that therefore if the philosophy upon which it -is based is unsound, the criticism suffers accordingly. Croce has -elsewhere shown that the shortcomings of such critics as Sainte-Beuve, -Taine, Lemaître and Brunetière are due to incorrect or insufficient -philosophical knowledge and a similar criterion can be applied at home -with equal truth.</p> - -<p>The translator will be satisfied if the present version receives equal -praise from the author with that accorded to the four translations of -the Philosophy into English, which Croce has often declared to come -more near to his spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span> than those in any other language—and he has -been translated into all the great European languages—the <i>Aesthetic</i> -even into Japanese. The object adhered to in this translation has been -as close a cleaving as possible to the original, while preserving a -completely idiomatic style and remaining free from all pedantry.</p> - -<p>A translation should not in any case be taken as a pouring from the -golden into the silver vessel, as used to be erroneously supposed, for -Croce has proved that in so far as the translator rethinks the original -he is himself a creator. This explains why so many writers have been -addicted to translation—in English we have Pope, Fitzgerald, Rossetti, -to name but three of many—and the author of the Philosophy of the -Spirit, Croce himself, has published a splendid Italian version of -Hegel's <i>Encyclopaedia of the Philosophic Sciences.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">DOUGLAS AINSLIE.</p> - -<p> -The Athenaeum,<br /> -Pall Mall, London,<br /> -October, 1920.<br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - - -<div class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td></td><th>PART I</th></tr> -<tr><td></td><th>LUDOVICO ARIOSTO</th></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">I </td><td align="left">A CRITICAL PROBLEM</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">II </td><td align="left">THE LIFE OF THE AFFECTIONS IN ARIOSTO, AND THE HEART OF HIS HEART</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">III </td><td align="left">THE HIGHEST LOVE: HARMONY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">IV </td><td align="left">THE MATERIAL FOR THE HARMONY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">V </td><td align="left">THE REALISATION OF HARMONY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">VI </td><td align="left">HISTORICAL DISASSOCIATIONS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> -<tr><td></td><th>PART II</th></tr> -<tr><td></td><th>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</th></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">VII </td><td align="left">THE PRACTICAL PERSONALITY AND THE POETICAL PERSONALITY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">VIII </td><td align="left">SHAKESPEAREAN SENTIMENT</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">IX </td><td align="left">MOTIVES AND DEVELOPMENT OF SHAKESPEARE'S POETRY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">X </td><td align="left">THE ART OF SHAKESPEARE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XI </td><td align="left">SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_300">300</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XII </td><td align="left">SHAKESPEARE AND OURSELVES</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td></tr> -<tr><td></td><th>PART III</th></tr> -<tr><td></td><th>PIERRE CORNEILLE</th></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XIII </td><td align="left">CRITICISM OF THE CRITICISM</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XIV </td><td align="left">THE IDEAL OF CORNEILLE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XV </td><td align="left">THE MECHANISM OF THE CORNELIAN TRAGEDY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right" style="vertical-align:top">XVI </td><td align="left">THE POETRY OF CORNEILLE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td align="left">INDEX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I">PART I</a></h4> - - -<h3>LUDOVICO ARIOSTO</h3> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h5> - - -<h4>A CRITICAL PROBLEM<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h4> - - -<p>The fortune of the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> may be compared to that of a -graceful, smiling woman, whom all look upon with pleasure, without -experiencing any intellectual embarrassment or perplexity, since it -suffices to have eyes and to direct them to the pleasing object, in -order to admire. Crystal clear as is the poem, polished in every -particular, easily to be understood by whomsoever possesses general -culture, it has never presented serious difficulties of interpretation, -and for that reason has not needed the industry of the commentators, -and has not been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> injured by their quarrelsome subtleties; nor has it -been subject, more than to a very slight extent, to the intermittences -from which other notable poetical works have suffered, owing to the -varying conditions of culture at different times. Great men and -ordinary readers have been in as complete agreement about it, as, for -instance, about the beauty, let us say, of a Madame Récamier; and -the list of great men, who have experienced its fascination, goes -from Machiavelli and the Galilei, to Voltaire and to Goethe, without -mentioning names more near to our own time.</p> - -<p>Yet, however unanimous, simple and unrestrainable be the aesthetic -approbation accorded to the poem of Ariosto, the critical judgments -delivered upon it are just as discordant, complicated and laboured; -and indeed this is one of those cases where the difference of the two -spiritual moments, intuitive or aesthetic, the apprehension or tasting -of the work of art, and intellective, the critical and historical -judgment,—a difference wrongly disputed from one point of view by -sensationalists and from another by intellectualists,—stands out so -clearly as to seem to be almost spatially divided, so that one can -touch it with one's hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> Anyone can easily read and live again the -octaves of Ariosto, caressing them with voice and imagination, as -though passionately in love; but to say whence comes that particular -form of enchantment, to determine that is to say, the character of -the inspiration that moved Ariosto, his dominant poetical motive, -the peculiar effect which became poetry in him, is a very different -undertaking and one of no small difficulty.</p> - -<p>The question has tormented the critics from the time when literary -and historical criticism acquired individual prominence and energy, -that is to say at the origin of romantic aestheticism, when works of -art were no longer examined in parts separated from the whole, or in -their external outline, but in the spirit that animated them. Yet we -must not think that earlier times were without all suspicion of this, -for an uncertain suggestion of it is to be found even in the eccentric -enquiries, as to whether the <i>Furioso</i> be a moral poem or not, or -whether it should be looked upon as serious or playful. But intellects -such as Schiller and Goethe, Humboldt and Schelling, Hegel, Ranke, -Gioberti, Quinet and De Sanctis, treated or touched upon it in the last -century, and very many others during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> and after their times, and the -theme has again been taken up with renewed keenness, in dissertations, -memoirs and articles, some of them foreign, but mostly Italian.</p> - -<p>Many of the problems or formulas of problems, which one at one time -critically discussed have been allowed to disappear, like cast-off -clothes as the results of the new conception of art: that is to say, -not only those we have mentioned, as to whether the <i>Furioso</i> were or -were not an epic, whether it were serious or comic, but also a throng -of other problems, such as whether it possessed unity of action, a -protagonist or hero, whether its episodes were linked to the action, -whether it maintained the dignity of history, whether it afforded -an allegory, and if so, of what sort, whether it obeyed the laws of -modesty and morality, or followed good examples, whether it could be -credited with invention, and if so in what measure, whether it were -finer than the <i>Gerusalemme</i> or less fine, and as to what it was finer -or less fine; and so on. All these problems have become obsolete, -because they have been solved in the only suitable way, that is to -say, they have been shown to be fallacious in their theoretical terms; -and to say that they are obsolete does not mean that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> have not -been some, both in the nineteenth century and at the present time, -who have set to work to solve them, and have arrived at unfortunate -conclusions in different ways. The unity of action of the <i>Furioso</i> -has also been investigated and determined (by Panizzi, for example, -and by Carducci); its immorality has also been blamed (by Cantù, for -instance); the book of the debts of Ariosto to his predecessors has -been re-opened and charged with so very many figures on the debit side -that the final balance-sheet of credit and debit presents an enormous -deficit (Rajna); the comparison with examples from prototypes under -the name of <i>"Evolutionary History of Romantic Chivalry,"</i> in which -the <i>Furioso</i> according to some, does not represent the summit, but -rather a deviation and decadence from the ideal prototype (Rajna -again); according to others, the <i>Furioso</i> gave final and perfect form -to "The French Epic of Germanic Heroes" (Morf); allegory, contained in -a moral judgment as to Italian life at the time of the Renaissance, -lost in its pursuit of love, like the Christian and Saracen knights in -their pursuit of Angelica (Canello). But whether in their primitive or -in their more modern forms these problems are obsolete, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> us who -are aware of the mistakes and errors in aesthetic, from which they -arise; and others of more recent date must also be held obsolete with -these, such theories as these for instance (to quote one of them) which -undertake to study the <i>Furioso</i> in its "formation," understanding by -formation the literary presuppositions of its various parts, beginning -with the title. Decorated with the name of <i>Scientific Study,</i> this is -mere inconclusive or ill-conclusive philology.</p> - -<p>The work of modern criticism does not restrict itself to the clearing -away of these idle and unnecessary enquiries, but also includes a -varied and thorough investigation into the poetry of Ariosto, whose -every aspect we may claim to have illuminated in turn, and to have -given all the solutions as to the true character of the problem that -can be suggested. And it almost seems now that anyone who wishes -to form an idea upon the subject needs but select from the various -existing solutions, that one which shows itself to be clearly superior -to all others, owing to its being supported by the most valid -arguments, after he has possessed himself of the critical literature -relating to Ariosto. It seems impossible to suggest a new solution, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> as though the argument were one of those of which it may be said -that "there is no hope of finding anything new in connection with it."</p> - -<p>And this is very nearly true, but only very nearly, for a -non-superficial examination of those various solutions leads to -the result that none of them is valid in the way it is presented, -that is to say, with the arguments that support it. It is therefore -advisable to indicate some of these arguments, which have already been -given, and to deduce from them other consequences, though we may not -succeed in framing others which shall shine with amazing novelty. But -upon consideration, this will be nothing less than providing a new -solution, just because the problem has been differently presented and -differently argued: a novelty of that serious sort which is a step -forward upon what has already been observed and acquired, not that sort -of extravagant novelty agreeable to false originality and to sterile -subtlety.</p> - -<p>There are two fundamental types of reply to the question as to the -character of Ariosto's poetry; of these the more important is the -first, either because, as will be seen, really here near to the truth, -or because supported with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> supreme authority of De Sanctis. Prior -to De Sanctis, it is only to be vaguely discerned as suggested by the -eighteenth century writer, Sulzer, and more clearly in the German -aesthetic writer, Vischer; it was afterwards repeated, prevailed and -was accepted, among others by Carducci. According to De Sanctis and -to his precursors and followers, in the <i>Furioso</i> Ariosto has no -subjective content to express, no sentimental or passionate motive, -no idea become sentiment or passion, but pursues the sole end of art, -singing for singing's sake, representing for representation's sake, -elaborating pure form, and satisfying the one end of realising his own -dreams.</p> - -<p>This affirmation is not to be taken in a general sense, the words in -which it is formulated must not be construed literally, for in that -case it would be easy to raise the reasonable objection, that not only -Ariosto, but every artist, just because he is an artist, never has any -end but that of art, of singing for singing's sake, representing for -representation's sake, of elaborating pure form, and of satisfying -the need that he feels to realise his own dreams: woe to the artist, -who has an eye to any other ends, and tries to teach, to persuade, -to shock,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> to move, to make a hit or an effect, or anything else -extraneous to art. The theory of art for art, opposed by many, is -incontestable from this point of view, it is indeed indubitable and -altogether obvious. The critics who attribute that end as a character -of Ariosto's poetry, mean rather to affirm, that the author of the -<i>Furioso</i> proceeded in his own individual proper manner with respect -to other poets; and they then proceed to determine their thoughts upon -the subject in two ways, differing somewhat from one another. Both of -these are to be found mingled and confused in the pages of De Sanctis. -Ariosto is held to have allowed to pass in defile within him the chain -of romantic figures of knights and ladies and the stories of their arms -and audacious undertakings, of their loves and their love-making, with -the one object of <i>delighting the imagination.</i> Ariosto is held to have -depicted that various human world without interposing anything between -himself and things, without reflecting himself in things, without -sinking them in himself or in his own feelings. He is held to have -been solely an <i>objective observer.</i> Now, taking the first case, that -is to say, if the work of Ariosto be really resolved into a plaything -of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> imagination, although he might have pleased himself by doing -something agreeable to himself and to others, yet he would not have -been a poet, "the divine Ariosto," because the pleasure of the fancy -belongs to the order of practical acts, to what are called games or -diversion. And in the second case, when he has been praised for being -perfectly objective, this is not only at variance with the actual -creation of the poet, but is also in contradiction to it—and indeed -in contradiction to every form of spiritual production. As though -things existed outside the spirit and it were possible to take them up -in their supposed objectivity and to externalise them by putting them -on paper or canvas. The theory of art for art, when taken as a theory -of merely fanciful pleasure or of indifferent objective reproduction -of things, should be firmly rejected, because it is at variance with -and contradicts the nature of art and of the universal spirit. At the -most, these two paradigms,—art as mere fancy and art as extrinsic -objectivity,—might be of avail as designating two artistic forms of -deficiency and ugliness, <i>futile</i> art and <i>material</i> art, that is to -say, in both cases, non-art; and in like manner the theory of art for -art's sake would in those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> cases be the definition of one or more forms -of artistic perversion.</p> - -<p>Owing to the impossibility of denying to Ariosto any content, and -at the same time of enjoying him and of acclaiming him a poet,—an -impossibility more or less obscurely felt by some, although without -discovering and demonstrating it as has been done above,—it has -come about that not only other critics, but those very critics who, -like De Sanctis, had described him as a poet of pure fancy or pure -objectivity, have been led to recognise in him a content, and sometimes -several contents, one upon the top of the other, in a heap. One of -such contents, perhaps that most generally admitted, is without doubt -the <i>dissolution of the world of chivalry,</i> brought about by Ariosto -through irony: a historical position conferred upon him by Hegel, and -amply illustrated by De Sanctis. But what do they mean by saying that -Ariosto expresses the dissolution of the world of chivalry? Certainly -not simply that in his poem are to be found documents concerning -the passing of the ideals of chivalry, because whether this be true -or not, it does not concern the concrete artistic form, but its -abstract material, considered and treated as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> source of historical -documentation. Nor can it mean that he was inspired with aversion to -the ideals of chivalry and in favour of new ideals, because polemic -and criticism, negation and affirmation, are not art. So what was -really meant was (although those who maintain this interpretation often -understand it in one or other of those meanings, which are external to -art), that Ariosto was animated with a true and real feeling toward -the ideals of the life of chivalry, and that this feeling supplied -the lyrical motive for his poem. This motive has been disputed in -its details in various ways, some holding it to have been aversion, -others a mixture of aversion and of love, others of admiration and of -pleasure; but before we engage in further investigation, we must first -ascertain if there exist, that is to say, if Ariosto really endowed -with his own feeling—whatever it be, prevailing aversion or prevailing -inclination or a prevalent alternation of the two,—the material of -chivalry, rendering it serious and emotional, through the seriousness -and emotion of his own feeling. And this does not exist at all, for -what all feel and see as chivalry in Ariosto's mode of treatment, is -on the contrary a sort of aloofness and superiority, owing to which -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> never engages himself up to the hilt in admiration or in scorn or -in passionate disagreement with one or the other; and this impression -which his narratives of sieges and combats, of duels and feats of -arms produce upon us, has afforded the ground for the above-mentioned -opposed theories as to his objective attitude and as to his cultivation -of a mere pastime of the imagination. Had Ariosto really aimed, as is -said, at an exaltation or a semi-exaltation or at an ironisation of -chivalry, he would clearly have missed the mark, and this failure would -have been the failure of his art.</p> - -<p>What has been remarked concerning the content of chivalry is to be -repeated for all the other contents which have been proposed in turn, -each one or all of them together as the true and proper leading -motive; and of these (leaving out the least likely, because we are -not here concerned with collecting curious trifles of Ariostesque -criticism, but are resuming the essential lines of this criticism -with the intention of cutting into it more deeply and with greater -certainty), the next thing to mention, immediately after chivalrous -ideality or anti-ideality, is the philosophy of life, the <i>wisdom,</i> -which Ariosto is supposed to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> administered and counselled. This -wisdom is supposed to have embraced love, friendship, politics, -religion, public and private life, and to have been directed with -great moderation and good sense, noble without fanaticism, courageous -and patient, dignified and modest. We admit that these things are to -be found in the <i>Furioso,</i> just as chivalrous things are to be found -there also; but they are there in almost the same way, that is to -say, with the not doubtful accent of aloofness and remoteness, which -at once places a great chasm between Ariosto and the true poets of -wisdom, such as were for instance, Manzoni and Goethe. The latter of -these, in the fine verses (of the <i>Tasso)</i> in praise of Ariosto,—who -is held to have there draped in the garb of fable all that can render -man dear and honoured, to have exhibited experience, intelligence, -good taste, the pure sense of good, as living persons, crowned with -roses and surrounded with a magic winged presence of Amorini,—somewhat -transfigured the subject of his eulogy, by approaching him to himself: -although, as we perceive from the images that he employed, it did not -escape him that in the case of the lovable singer of the <i>Furioso,</i> -the wisdom was covered, and as it were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> smothered beneath a cloud -of many coloured flowers. Thus the two principal solutions hitherto -given of the critical problem presented by Ariosto, the only two which -appear thinkable,—that the <i>Furioso</i> has no content; that it has this -or that content,—each finds countenance in the other and arguments -in its favour. This means that they confute one another in turn. And -since it is impossible that there should be no content in Ariosto, -and on the other hand, since all those to which attention was first -directed (admiration or contempt of chivalry, wisdom of life) turn out -to be without existence, it is clear that there is no way out of the -difficulty, save that of seeking another content, and such an one as -shall show how the truth has been improperly symbolised in the formulas -of "mere imagination," of "indifferent objectivity" and of "art for -art's sake."</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In the preparation of this essay, I believe that I have -examined all, or almost all, the literature of erudition and criticism, -old and new, in connection with Ariosto; this will not escape the -expert reader, although particular discussions and quotation of -titles and pages of books have seemed to me to be superfluous on this -occasion. But in judging this work, the reader should have present -in his mind above all the chapter of De Sanctis on the <i>Furioso</i> -(illustrated with fragments from his lectures at Zurich upon the poetry -of chivalry), which forms the point of departure for these later -investigations and conclusions.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE LIFE OF THE AFFECTIONS IN ARIOSTO,<br /> -AND THE HEART OF HIS HEART</h4> - - -<p>Ariosto had ordinary emotional experiences in life, and this has -been shown to be true, not so much through the biographies of his -contemporaries and documents which have later come to light, as -through his own words, because he took great pleasure, if not exactly -in confessing himself, at any rate in giving vent to his feelings. -It is well known that he was without profound intellectual passions, -religious or political, free from longing for riches and honours, -simple and frugal in his mode of life, seeking above all things peace -and tranquillity and freedom to follow his own imagination, to give -himself over to the studies that he loved. Rarely or only for brief -spaces of time was it given to him to live in his own way, owing to -the necessity, always on his shoulders, for providing for his younger -brothers and sisters and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> for his mother, and also the necessity -of obtaining bread for himself. All these circumstances together -constrained him to undertake the hard work and the annoyances of a -court life. He was admirable in the fulfilment of family duties, -perfectly honest and reliable on every occasion, full of good, just and -generous sentiments, and therefore the recipient of universal esteem -and confidence. Owing to reasons connected with his office, he was -obliged to associate with greedy, violent, unscrupulous men, but he -did not allow himself to be stained by their contact, preserving the -attitude of an honest employee towards his patrons, attentive to the -formal duties with which he was charged. He is discreet, but pure and -dignified, refraining from taking part whatever in the secret plots and -machinations of those whose orders he obeys. He was thus enabled to -carry out the instructions of his superiors, whom he regarded solely -as filling a certain lofty rank, idealising them in conformity with -their rank, praising them, that is to say, for their attainments, -their ability and their noble undertakings, either because they really -possessed them and really accomplished the things for which he praised -them, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> because they should have possessed them and accomplished the -feats in question, as attributes inherent to their social station.</p> - -<p>Among these duties and labours one single passion ran like an ever warm -stream through his brain: love, or rather the need of woman's society, -to have with him a beloved woman, to enjoy her beauty, her laughter, -her speech: and although he frequently alludes to this passion, it -is as one ashamed of a weakness, but aware that he can by no means -dispense with the sweetness that it procures for him and which is a -vital element of his being. But even his love for woman, however strong -it may have been, found its correct framework in his idyllic ideal and -in his reflective and temperate spirit: it contained nothing of the -fantastic, the adventurous, the Donjuanesque; and after the customary -evil and evanescent adventures of youth, he took refuge in her "for -whom he trembled with amorous zeal" and (as his friend Hercules -Bentivoglio tells us in verse): in that Alexandra, who was his friend -for twenty years, and finally his more or less legal wife. United to -his desire for quietude, there was thus a potent stimulus not to remove -himself at all, or if at all, then as little as possible, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> her -who was warmth and comfort for him, and to whom he clung like a child -to the bosom of its mother. His latter years, in which, recalled from -his severe sojourn at Garfagnana, he occupied himself with correcting -his poems at Ferrara, with the woman he loved at his side, were perhaps -the happiest he knew; and he passed away in that peace for which he had -sighed, ere attaining to old age.</p> - -<p>Such tendencies of soul and the life which resulted from them, have -sometimes been admired and envied, as for instance by the sixteenth -century English translator of the <i>Furioso,</i> Harrington. After having -described them, and having disclaimed certain sins, indeed as he said, -the single <i>pecadillo of love,</i> he concludes with a sigh: "<i>Sic me -contingat vivere, Sicque mori.</i>" Sometimes too they have been looked -upon from above and almost with compassion, as by De Sanctis and -others, who have insisted upon the negative aspects of the character -of Ariosto. These negative aspects are however nothing but the -limits, which are found in everyone, for we are not all capable of -everything; and really Italian critics, especially in the period of the -Risorgimento, were often wrong in laying down as a single measure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> for -everyone, civil, political, patriotic, religious, excellence, forgetful -that judgment of an individual's character should depend upon his -natural disposition, his temperament. Certainly, the life of Ariosto -was not rich and intense, nor does it present important problems in -respect of social and moral history; and the industry of the learned, -although it has been able to increase its collections and conjectures -as to his economic and family conditions, as to his official duties -as courtier, as ambassador and administrator for the Duke of Ferrara, -as to his loves and as to the names and persons of the women whom he -loved, as to the house which he built and inhabited, and other similar -particulars, anecdotes and curiosities concerning him (the collection -of which shows with how much religion or superstition a great man is -surrounded, and also sometimes the futility of the searcher), has not -added anything substantial to what the poet tells us himself, far less -has been able to furnish materials for a really new biography, which -should be at once profound and dramatic.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, such as it was, the life of a good and of a poor man, -of one tenaciously devoted to love and poetry, it found literary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -expression in the minor works of the author: in the Latin songs, in the -Italian verses, and in the satires.</p> - -<p>In saying this, we shall set aside the comedies, which seem to be the -most important of those minor works and are notwithstanding the least -significant, so that they might be almost excluded from the history -of his poetical development, connected rather with his doings as a -courtier, as an arranger of spectacles and plays, for which purpose he -decided to imitate the Latin comedy, for he did not believe there was -anything new to be done in that field, since the Latins had already -imitated the Greeks. No doubt Ariosto's comedies stand for an important -date in the history of the Italian theatre and of the Latin imitation -which prevailed there, that is to say, the history of culture, but not -in that of poetry. There they are mute. They are works of adaptation -and combination, and therefore executed with effort; there is nothing -new, even about their form, and a proof of this is that Ariosto, after -he had made a first attempt to write them in prose, finally put them -into monotonous and tiresome ante-penultimate hendecasyllabics, which -have never pleased anyone's ear, because they were not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> born, but -constructed according to design, with evident artifice and with a view -to giving to Italy the metre of comedy, analogous to the Roman iambic. -Whoever (to cite an instance from the same period and "style") calls -to memory the <i>Mandragola</i> of Machiavelli, instinct with the energetic -spirit, the bitter disdain of the great thinker, or even the sketches -thrown upon paper anyhow by the ne'er-do-well Pietro Aretino, is at -once sensible of the difference between dead ability and living force, -or at any rate careless vigour. Nor does the dead material come alive, -as some easily contented critics maintain, from the fact that Ariosto -introduced, especially into the later of those comedies, allusions to -persons, places and customs of Ferrara, or satirical gibes at the vices -of the time; all these things are light as straws and quite indifferent -when original inspiration lacks, as in the present case.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, there are many pure and spontaneous parts in the -minor works: even the imitations of Horace, of Catullus, of Tibullus -in the Latin poems, do not produce a sense of coldness, because we -feel that they are inspired with devotion of the humanists for the -Latins, for "my Latins," as he affectionately called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> them; and the -heart of the poet often beats with theirs, whether he be lamenting -the death of a friend and companion, or drawing the portrait of some -fair lady, or describing the delights of the country, or inveighing -against some treacherous and venal woman. In like manner, we observe -some fine traits of lofty emotion among the Italian poems, such as the -two songs for Philiberta of Savoy; and the true accents of his love -find their way to utterance among the Petrarchan, the madrigalesque and -the courtly qualities of others. Such is the song celebrating their -first meeting, in which he records the Florentine <i>festa,</i> where he -saw her who was to become his mistress, and who immediately occupied a -place above all other women in his eyes, her whose fair, dense hair, -as it shaded her cheeks and neck and fell upon her shoulders, whose -rich silken robe adorned with scarlet and gold, became part of his -soul; and the elegy which is an outburst of joy upon having attained -the desired felicity; and that other which records the lovers' meeting -at night; then too the chapter upon the visit to Florence, where all -the attractions of the sweet city failed to secure fer him a moment's -respite, eager as he was to return to the longed-for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> presence of -the loved one, whom he describes poetically in her absence as a fair -magician:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Oltra acque, monti, a ripa l'onda vaga<br /> -Del re de' fiumi, in bianca e pura stola,<br /> -Cantando ferma il sol la bella maga,<br /> -Che con sua vista può sanarmi sola."<br /> -</p> - -<p>and in the sonnet which ends:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Ma benigne accoglienze, ma complessi<br /> -Licenziosi, ma parole sciolte<br /> -D'ogni freno, ma risi, vezzi e giuochi."<br /> -</p> - -<p>They are often echoes of the erotic Latin poets, refreshed by the true -condition of his own spirit which, in the passion of love, never went -beyond a tender and somewhat slight degree of sensuality. It would be -vain to seek in him what he does not possess—that suave imagining, -those cosmical analogies, those moral finesses and lofty thoughts, -which are to be found in other poets of love.</p> - -<p>For this reason, reflections upon himself and upon the society in -which it was his fate to live, confidences about his own various ways -of feeling and the recital of his adventures, follow and accompany -the brief lyrical effusions of this eroticism. When Ariosto limits -himself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> the thoughts and happenings of his daily life, it is -rather a question of narrating than creating, and the culmination -of the minor works are known as the <i>Satires,</i> which must not be -limited to the seven which bear this title in the printed editions, -but should be extended to include other compositions of like tone and -content, to be found among the elegies and the capitals, and even -among the odes, such as the elegy <i>De diversis amoribus.</i> In all of -these, Ariosto is writing his autobiography in fragments, or rather -as a series of confidential letters to his friends, such as he did -not write in prose, at least none are to be found among those of his -that remain. These are all connected with business, dry, summary, -and written in haste, only here and there revealing the personality -of the writer; whereas, when he expressed himself in verse, he made -his own soul the subject, paying attention to the vivacity of the -representation and the precise accuracy of what he said. This is a -most pleasing versified correspondence, where we hear him lamenting, -losing patience, telling us what he wants, forming projects, refusing, -begging a favour, candidly laying bare for us his true disposition, his -lack of docility,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> his volubility and his caprices, discussing life -and the world, smiling at others and at himself; we converse with an -Ariosto in his dressing-gown, who experiences great pleasure and has -no compunction about showing us himself as he is, and we know how he -abhorred any sort of restraint. But these letters in verse, although -perfect in quality, vivacious and eloquent as only the writings of a -man who speaks of things that concern himself can be, yet are letters, -confessions, autobiography: they are not pure poetry; their metrical -form is to them something of a delicate pleasing whim, in harmony -with such a definition of the soul. In saying this, we do not wish -to detract in any way from their value, which is great, but only to -prevent their true character from escaping us.</p> - -<p>It is no marvel then if a connection, such as prevails between hills -and valleys, seems to run between these lesser works, the odes, the -verses of the satires, and the <i>Furioso.</i> It is sufficient to read -an octave or two of the poem to discover at once the difference in -altitude separating it from the most delicious of the love-songs, from -the most nimble and picturesque of the satires, which express the -feelings of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> the author far more directly than does the <i>Furioso.</i> -It is further to be noted that Ariosto never wished to publish, and -certainly never would have had published a great number of them, with -the exception of the comedies, even after his death, except perhaps the -satires; but since the minor works are nevertheless the expression of -his feelings in real and ordinary life, it follows that if we wish to -discover the inspiration of the <i>Furioso,</i> the passion which informed -and gave to it its proper content, we must seek for this beyond his -ordinary life, not in the heart which we know as that of a son, a -brother, a poor man, a lover: it is something hidden yet more deeply -within him, the heart of his heart.</p> - -<p>That there really was a hidden affection; that Ariosto really had a -heart of his heart shut up within himself; that beyond and above the -beloved woman he worshipped another woman or goddess, with whom he -daily held religious converse, is apparent from his whole habit of -life. Why had he so lofty a disdain for practical ambitions, why was -life at court and business so wearisome to him, why did he renounce so -much, sigh so often and so often pray for leisure and rest and freedom, -save to celebrate that cult, to give himself over to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> that converse, -to work upon the <i>Furioso,</i> which was its altar, or the statue which -he had sculptured for it and was perfecting with his chisel? What was -the origin of his well-known "distraction," that mind of his so aloof -from his surroundings, ever dwelling upon something else, which his -contemporaries observe and about which curious anecdotes are preserved? -His need of love and of feminine caresses did not present itself to him -as a supreme end, as with people desirous of ease and pleasure, but -seemed to him to be rather a means to an end: as though it were the -surrounding of serene joy, of tumult appeased, which he prepared for -himself and for that other more lofty love. Carducci has successfully -defined this psychological situation in his sonnet on the portrait of -Ariosto, where he says that the only longed for and accepted "prize -for his poems" was for the great dreamer "a lovely mouth—which should -appease the burning of his Apollonian brow—with kisses ..."</p> - -<p>The proof of the scrupulous attention which he devoted to the -<i>Furioso,</i> is to be found in the twelve years, during which he worked -upon it in the flower of his age, "with long vigils and labours," as he -wrote to the Doge of Venice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> when requesting the privilege of printing -the first edition of 1516; and in his having always returned to it, -to chisel smooth and to soften it in innumerable delicate details, -or to amplify it, or in the throwing away of five cantos, which he -had written by way of amplification, but which did not go well with -the general design, and finally failed to content him. For these he -substituted as many more, and personally superintended the edition of -1532, which also failed to content him altogether, so that he began -to work upon it again during the few months which separated him from -death. His son Virginio attests that he "was never satisfied with -his verses, that he kept changing them again and again, and for this -reason never remembered any of them ..."; and contemporaries never -cease marvelling at his diligence as a corrector and a maker of perfect -things: Giraldi Cinzio, to mention but one witness, says that after -the first edition, "not a single day passed," during sixteen years, -"that he was not occupied upon it with pen and with thought," and that -he was also desirous of obtaining the opinions and impressions of the -greatest men of letters and humanists in Italy as to every part of it, -men such as Bembo,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> Molza, Navagero; and as Apelles with his paintings, -Ariosto kept his work for two years "in the hall of his house, leaving -it there that it might be criticised by everyone"; and he particularly -said that he wished his critics merely to mark with a stroke of the pen -those parts which did not please them, without giving any reason for so -doing, that he might find it out for himself, and then discuss it with -them, and so arrive at a decision and a solution in his own way. He -pushed his minute delicacy of taste so far as to be preoccupied about -the choice of modes of spelling, refusing, for instance, to remove the -"h" from those words which possessed it by tradition, thus opposing the -suggestion of Tolomei and the new fashion of the illiterate crowd, by -jocosely replying that "He who removes the <i>h</i> from <i>Huomo,</i> does not -know <i>Huomo</i> (man), and he who removes it from <i>Honore,</i> is not worthy -of honour."</p> - -<p>What then was the passion which he thus expressed, who was the goddess, -for whom, since he could not raise a temple and a marble statue in the -little house which he longed for and built in the Via Mirasole, he -constructed the architecture, the forms and the poetical adornments of -the <i>Furioso? </i> He never uttered her name,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> because none of the other -great Italian poets was so little a theorist or critic as Ariosto. He -never discussed his art or art in general, limiting himself to saying -very simply, and indeed very inadequately, that what he meant by art -was "A work containing pleasing and delightful things"; nor, as we have -seen, have the critics told us who she was, since they have at the most -indicated vaguely and indirectly in their illogical formula that "his -Goddess was Art."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE HIGHEST LOVE: HARMONY</h4> - - -<p>But we on the other hand shall name her, and we shall call her Harmony, -and we shall prove that those who assign a simple aim to Ariosto in the -<i>Furioso,</i> Art or Pure Form, were gazing at her and seeing her as it -were through a veil of clouds. In doing this, we shall at the same time -define the concept of Harmony. We cannot avoid entering upon certain -theoretical explanations in relation to this matter; but it would be -wrong to look upon them as digressions, since it is only by their means -that the way can be cleared to the understanding of the spirit which -animates the <i>Furioso.</i> There is something comic or at least ironic in -this necessity in which we find ourselves, of weighting with philosophy -a discourse relating to so transparent a poet as Ariosto; but we have -already warned the reader at the beginning that it is one thing to read -and let sing to him the verses of a poet, and another to understand -him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> that what is easy to learn may sometimes be very difficult to -understand.</p> - -<p>It is therefore without doubt contradictory to state that an artist has -for his special and particular end or content, art itself, art which -is the general end of every artist: as contradictory as to say that an -individual has for his concrete and proper end, not this or that work -and profession, but life. And there is also no doubt that since every -error contains in it an element of truth, those erroneous theories -aimed at something effectively existing: a particular content, which -they were not able to define, and which could never be in any case art -for art. Two sorts of judgments of that formula have nevertheless been -expressed in relation to two different groups of works of art: those -relating to works which seemed to be inspired by a particular form of -art, and those which seem to be inspired by the idea of Art itself, by -Art in universal; and for this reason our rapid investigation must be -divided and directed first to the one and then to the other case.</p> - -<p>The first case includes the poetry which may be called "humanistic" -or "classicistic": not the classicism and humanism of pedants without -talent or taste, but that lively humanism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> and classicism which we -are wont to admire and enjoy in several poets of our Renaissance in -the Latin language, such as Sannazaro, Politian and Pontano, and also -in later times those extremely lettered writers in Italian, of whom -Monti, in his best work, may be said to be the greatest representative -and we might add to him Canova, although he has not poetised in verse. -What is there that pleases us in them, in their imitations, their -re-writing, their cantos of classical phrases and measures? And what -was it that warmed and carried them away, so that they were able to -transmit their emotion to us and obtain our delighted sympathy? It -has been answered that this was due to their remaining faithful to -the already sacred traditions of beautiful form, handed down by the -school; but this answer is not satisfactory, because pedants also can -be mechanically faithful in repeating; we have alluded to these and -shown that on the contrary they weary and annoy us. The truth is that -the former hold to those forms of art, because they are the suitable -symbol, the satisfactory expression of their feeling, which is one -of affection for the <i>past,</i> as being venerable, glorious, decorous, -national or super-national and cultural;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> and their content is not -literary form by itself, but love for that past, love for some one or -other <i>historical</i> age of art. And if this be true, we must place those -romantic archaisers in the same class of art with the humanists or -classicists, when considering the substantial nature of things. For the -former nourish the same feeling and employ the same procedure, not in -relation to the Greek and Roman past, but in relation to the Christian -and medieval past, particularly in Germany, where they let us hear -again the rude accent of the medieval epic, and represent the ingenuous -forms of pious legends and sacred dramatic representations, and make -themselves the echo of ancient popular songs: this re-writing has often -something in it of the pastiche (as the humanists and classicists also -have something of the pastiche, which with them is pedantry), yet -sometimes produce passages of delicate art, which if not profound, were -certainly agreeable to the heart that remembers, to the eternal heart -of childhood which is in us.</p> - -<p>Ariosto was also a more or less successful humanist in certain of his -minor works, as we have said, but in the <i>Furioso,</i> although he took -many schemes and details from Latin poets, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> stands essentially -outside their line of inspiration, for instead of directing his spirit -towards the past, he always draws the past towards his spirit, and -there is no observable trace in it of Latin-Augustan archaism, or of -the archaism of medieval chivalry. For this reason, the view that he -had Art itself as his content must be taken as applicable without doubt -in the other sense to him and to certain other artists: as devotion to -Art as universal, to Art in its Idea, a devotion which is bodied forth -in his narratives, his figures and his verse.</p> - -<p>Now it must be remembered that Art in its Idea is nothing but -expression or—representation of the real,—of the real which is -conflict and strife, but a conflict and a strife that are always being -settled; that it is multiplicity and diversity, but at the same time -unity, dialectic and development, and also and through that, cosmos and -Harmony. And since Art cannot be the content of Art, that is to say, -it is impossible to represent representation (as it is impossible to -think thought, so that if thought is made the object of thought, it is -always itself and the other, that is to say, the whole), by eliding -the term which is superfluous and has been unduly retained, we obtain -the result that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> when it is stated of Ariosto or of other artists -that they have for content pure Art or pure Form, it is really to be -understood that they have for content devotion to the pure rhythm of -the universe, for the dialectic which is unity, for the development -which is <i>Harmony.</i> Thus, if humanistic or otherwise archaistic artists -do not as is generally believed love beautiful forms, but rather the -past and history, it may be said of those others that they do not love -pure Art, but the <i>pure and universal content</i> of Art, not this or that -particular strife and Harmony (erotic, political, moral, religious, and -so on), but strife and <i>Harmony</i> in idea and eternal.</p> - -<p>The concept of cosmic Harmony, which has also been called pure -Beauty or absolute Beauty, and indeed God, has been much employed in -old philosophy, and notably in the old aesthetic (old always being -understood in its logical-historical sense, which is still tenacious of -life and reappears in our own day, where it might be least expected), -and has made an elaboration of the new theory, which conceives of art -as lyrical intuition or expression, very laborious. For many reasons -that it would occupy too much time and be out of place to detail -here, Harmony or Beauty came to be considered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> as the true essence of -Art; hence the impossibility of accounting, not only for many works -of art, but for art in general, and the artificial attempts made by -the upholders of this doctrine and by criticism to pervert facts in -support of a partial and incorrect principle. For the reasons given -above, it is easy for us to discern the origin of the error, which -lay in transferring one of the classes of particular contents which -Art is able to elaborate, to serve as the end and essence of Art. And -the one selected was precisely that which owing to its religious and -philosophical dignity, appeared to have the power to absorb Art into -itself together with everything else and to dissolve the whole in a -sort of mysticism. This is confirmed by the historical course of the -doctrine, the first conspicuous form of which was Neoplatonism, which -reappeared on several occasions in the Middle Ages, at the time of the -Renaissance and during the Romantic period. De Sanctis himself, owing -to the romantic origins of his thought, was never altogether free from -it; and his judgment upon Ariosto bears traces of the transcendental -conception of Art as an actualisation of pure Beauty.</p> - -<p>Similar traces are to be found in another&<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> doctrine to which De -Sanctis held and formulated as the distinction and opposition between -the <i>poet</i> and the <i>artist:</i> a doctrine which it is desirable to make -clear, not only with a view of strengthening the concept to which -we have had recourse, but also because Ariosto himself is numbered -among the poets to whom the distinction has been chiefly applied, as -he has been held to be distinct and opposed, along with Politian and -Petrarch, and perhaps others, as artists, to Dante or to Shakespeare, -as poets. The doctrine appears to be endorsed by facts, and therefore -looks plausible and is readily accepted and continually reproduced, -as on several occasions in the history of aesthetic ideas. It was -not altogether unknown in the days of Ariosto himself, if Giraldo -Cinzio can be held to have suggested it, when in his description of an -allegorical picture, in which were to be seen the two great Tuscans -"in a green and flowery meadow upon a hill of Helicon," Dante, with -his robe fastened at the knees, "manipulated the circular scythe, -cutting all the grass that his scythe met with," while Petrarch, -"robed in senatorial robe, lay there selecting among the noble -herbs and the delicate flowers." In spite of this, it is altogether -unsustainable as an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> exact theory, because it introduces an unjustified -and unjustifiable dualism, which it is altogether impossible to -mediate, since each of the two distinct terms contains in itself the -other and nothing else, thus demonstrating their identity: the poet -is poet because he is an artist, that is to say, he gives artistic -form to feeling, and the artist would not be an artist, if he were -not a poet, that is to say, if he had not a feeling to elaborate. The -apparent confirmation of this theory by facts arises from this, that -there are as we know, artists who have a devotion for cosmic Harmony -as their chief content, and others who have other devotions: and this -proves that it is advisable to make a very moderate and restrained -use of the distinction between poets and artists, between those who -represent the beautiful and those who represent the real, as is the -case with all empirical distinctions. Sometimes the same distinction, -taken from the bosom of poetry or of some other special art, has been -thrown into the midst of the series of the so-called arts, severing -those arts which have cosmic Harmony, absolute Beauty, ideal Beauty, -the rhythm of the Universe for their object, from others which have -for their object individual feelings and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> life. Among the former were -numbered (as in the school of Winckelmann) the art of sculpture and -certain sorts of painting at least, and among the latter, poetry; or -(according to Schelling and Schopenhauer) bestowing upon music alone -the whole of the first field. Music would thus be opposed to the other -arts and would possess the value of an unconscious Metaphysic, in so -far as it directly portrayed the rhythm of the Universe itself. A -clumsy doctrine, which we only mention here, because Ariosto would -furnish the best example of all among the poets, against the exclusion -of poetry from among the arts which alone were able to portray the -rhythm of the Universe or Harmony: Ariosto, who, if he had seemed to -an Italian philologist to be nothing less than "a poet who was an -excellent observer and reasoner," has yet appeared to Humboldt, whose -ear was more sensitive to the especially "musical" <i>musikalisch,</i> and -to Vischer more especially as one who developed his fables of chivalry -41 in a melodious labyrinth of images, which produced in its sensual -serenity the same enjoyment as the rocking and dying of the Italian -"canzone," thus giving the reader "the pure pleasure of moving without -matter."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> When empirical classifications are not handled with caution -and with a consciousness of their limits, not only do they deprive the -principles of science of their rigour and vigour, but also carry with -them the unfortunate result of making it seem possible to distinguish -concretely what has been roughly divided for the purpose of aiding -the creation of images. The double class of poets and of artists, the -one moved by particular affections, the other by universal Harmony, -does not hold as a logical duality, because the love of Harmony is -itself one of many particular affections, and forms part of the -series comprising the comic, tragic, humorous, melancholy, jocose, -pessimistic, passionate, realistic, classicistic poets, and so on. But -even when it has been reduced to the level of the others, there is no -necessity, either in its case or in that of the others, to fall into -the illusion that there really exist poets who are only tragic or only -comic, only realistic or only classicistic, singers only of Harmony, -without the other passions, or solely passionate without the passion -for Harmony. The love of traditional forms, for example, which we have -seen to be the base of classicism, exists in a certain measure in every -poet, for the reason that every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> poet employs, re-lives and renews the -words of a given language, which has been historically formed, and is -therefore charged with a literary tradition and full of historical -meaning. And the love of Harmony exists also in every poet worthy of -the name, since he cannot represent his drama of the affections, save -as a particular mode of drama and of the dramatic or dialectic cosmic -Harmony, which is therefore contained and dwells in it as the universal -in the particular.</p> - -<p>Are we ourselves overthrowing our own distinctions, immediately after -asserting them? We are not overthrowing the principles which we had -established in connection with the nature of Art, and with the nature -of Harmony and Beauty in the super-aesthetic and cosmical sense; but -it was necessary clearly to state and to overthrow the definition of -Ariosto as poet of Harmony, because in doing so, we cease to preserve -it in its abstractness, but make use of it as a living principle. In -other words, by thus defining him, we have attained the first object -of our quest, which was no longer to leave him hidden beneath the -nebulous description of a poet of art for art's sake, nor beneath -that other equally fallacious description of him as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> satirical and -ironical poet, or as a poet of prudence and wisdom, and so on; and -we have pointed out <i>where the principal accent of his art falls.</i> -Passing now to other determinations, in order to show in what matter -and in what way or tone that accent is realised, maintained and -developed, even when it happens that we can do this in the best -possible manner, we shall not allow ourselves to be ensnared by the -fatuous belief, in vogue with certain critics of the day, that we -have supplied an equivalent to Ariosto's poetry with our aesthetic -formulas: such an equivalent would not only be an arrogance, but it -would also be useless, because Ariosto's poetry is there, and anyone -can see it for himself. The new determinations must however also be -asserted and refuted, only the new results being preserved, analogous -to those already obtained, by means of which we shall dispose of other -false ideas circulated by the critics concerning Ariosto and point -out the salient characteristics of the material which he selected for -treatment, together with the mode and the tone of his poem. The poetry -of the <i>Furioso,</i> as for that matter all poetry, is an <i>individuum -ineffabile,</i> and Ariosto, the poet of Harmony, limited in this -direction and that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> never at any time exactly coincides with Ariosto, -the Ariostesque poet, the poet of Harmony, and not only of Harmony as -denned in the way we have defined it, but also in other ways understood -or indefinable. We do not propose to exhaust or to take the place of -the concrete living Ariosto; he is indeed present to the imagination -of our readers as to our own and forms the perpetual criterion of -our critical explanations, which without this criterion would be -unintelligible.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE MATERIAL FOR THE HARMONY</h4> - - -<p>Had Ariosto been a philosopher or a poet-philosopher, he would have -given us a hymn to Harmony, similar to a good many others which are to -be found in the history of literature, celebrating that lofty Idea, -which enabled him to understand the discordant concord of things and -while satisfying his intellect, filled his soul with peace and joy. But -Ariosto was the opposite of a philosopher, and certainly, were he able -to read what we are now investigating and discovering in him, first he -would be astonished, then he would smile and finally he would comment -upon our work with some good-natured jest.</p> - -<p>His love for Harmony never took the form of a concept, it was not -love of the concept and of the intelligence, that is to say of things -answering to a need which he did not experience: it was love for -Harmony directly and ingenuously perceived, for sensible Harmony: a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -harmony, therefore, which did not arise from a loss of his humanity and -an abandonment of all particular sentiments, a religious mounting up -to the world of the ideas, but existed for him rather as a sentiment -among sentiments, a dominant sentiment, surrounding all the others and -assigning to each its place. In this respect, he really belonged to one -of the chief spiritual currents of the period of the Renaissance, or -more accurately, of the early Cinquecento: to the period, that is to -say, when Leonardo, Raphael, Fra Bartolommeo, Andrea del Sarto, with -their beautiful, harmonious decorum and majestic forms, had succeeded -to Ghirlandaio, to Botticelli, to Lippi, when it seemed (in the words -of Wölfflin, a historian of art) "as though new bodies had suddenly -grown up in Italy," a new and magnificent population, resplendent -in painting and sculpture, which was indeed the reflection of a new -psychical attitude, of a different direction and of a new centre of -interest.</p> - -<p>Now if we undertake to consider the sentiments which form part of the -<i>Furioso,</i> if we disassociate them from the connection established -among them by the harmonising sentiment of Harmony, and therefore in -their particularity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> disaggregation and materiality, we shall have -before us the <i>material</i> of the <i>Furioso.</i> For the "material" of Art -is nothing but this, when ideally distinguished from the <i>content,</i> in -which the sentiments themselves are fused in the dominant sentiment, -whether it be called the leading motive or the lyrical motive: a -content which in its turn can be only ideally distinguished from the -<i>form,</i> in which it expresses itself or is possessed and present -in the spirit. Philological criticism, deprived of philosophical -enlightenment, philology in its bad sense or philologism, means rather -by "material" or "sources," as they are also called, external things, -such as the books which the poet had read or the stories that he had -heard told, and on the pretext of supplying in this way the genesis of -a work of art <i>ab ovo,</i> it penetrates to the sources of the sources, -let us say to the origins of warrior women, of the ogress and the -hippogryph of Ariosto. Their procedure suggests that of one who when -asked what language a poet found in circulation in his time, should -open for that purpose an etymological dictionary of the Italian -language, or of the romance languages, or of Indo-European languages, -which expound formative ideological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> processes, either forgotten or -thrown into the background of the speaker's consciousness when engaged -in speaking. But even if we do not lose our way in such learned and -interminable dissertations, if we escape the error referred to above, -of forming judgments as to merit upon them, philologistic search -for sources and for material becomes capricious and ends by being -impossible; because it takes as sources only certain literary lumber -scattered here and there, and were we to unite this with the whole -of the rest of literature, with the figurative and musical arts, and -with other external things which actually surround the poet, public -and private events, scientific teachings and disputes, beliefs, -customs, and so on, we should find ourselves involved in all endless -and infinite enumeration, convincing proof of the illogical nature -of such an inquiry. Nor do we make any progress in the determination -of the material by limiting it to more modest terms, that is to say, -only to certain things which the poet had before him (even if they be -documents and information, not without use for certain ends), because -the true <i>material</i> of art, as has been said, is not <i>things</i> but the -<i>sentiments</i> of the poet, which determine and explain one another, why -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> for what reason he turns to certain things and not to others, to -these things rather than to those. Since we have already described -Ariosto's character and shown its reflection in his minor works, now -that we are examining the material of the <i>Furioso,</i> we shall find the -same character, that is to say, the same complex of sentiments which -it will be desirable to illustrate and to distinguish in a somewhat -different manner, with an eye no longer directed to the psychology of -the man or to the minor works, but just to the <i>Furioso.</i></p> - -<p>And we shall find above all <i>an amorous</i> Ariosto, Ariosto perpetually -in love, whom we already know: an Ariosto for whom love and woman are -an important affair, a great pleasure which he is not able to renounce, -a great torment from which he cannot set himself free. That love is -always altogether sensual, love for a beautiful bodily form, shining -forth in the luminous eyes, seductive, charming; virtuous too, but -relatively virtuous, just as much as avails to prevent too much poison -entering into the delicate linked tenderness of love; and for this -reason, all ethical or speculative idealisation, in the new or Platonic -style, is excluded "Not love of a lady of theology ...":<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> here too, -Carducci saw clearly and spoke well. Absent too or extraneous are the -consecration and purification of love in "matrimony"; the choice of a -wife, the treatment of a wife, are for Ariosto, things differing but -slightly from the choice and the breaking in of a horse, and matrimony -in its noble ethical sense belongs at the most to his intellect, and -to his intellect in so far as it is passive: in the <i>Furioso</i> are -to be found the politics and not the poetry of matrimony, and among -innumerable ties of free love, the chaste sighing of Bradamante alone -aims at "the conjugal tie" with Ruggiero. But the love of Ariosto is -healthy and natural in its warm sensuality; it is not sophisticated -with luxurious images, it is conscious of its own limits; nor does it -suffer from mad or inextinguishable desires, but only from that which -was known in the language of the time as the "cruelty" of woman, her -refusal or her coldness; but it tortures itself yet more with jealousy -and the anxious working of the imagination. The Ferrarese Garofalo, -a contemporary biographer, bears witness to the very lively jealousy -of Ariosto, saying that since he loved "with a great vehemence," he -was "above measure jealous," and "always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> carried on his love affairs -in secret and with great solicitude, accompanied with much modesty"; -but this is evident in the matter of the poem itself, being exhibited -in many of his personages, descriptions and situations, and finding -complete expression in the verse which closes on so pathetic a note: -"believe one who has had experience of it." Cruelty on the one side and -jealousy on the other, although they torture, do not make him sad or -cause him to give vent to desperate utterances, because, since he had -not too lofty nor too madly an intransigent idea of love, although it -greatly delighted him, he is not apt to expect too much from it, and -knowing the infidelity and the fragility of man, a sort of sense of -justice forbids him from bringing his hand down too heavily upon the -infidelity and the fragility of woman. Hence comes, not forgiveness, -but resignation and indulgence. "My lady is a lady, and every lady -is weak"; remarks Rinaldo wisely. Ariosto's is an indulgence without -moral elevation, but also without cynicism and inspired with a certain -element of goodness and humanity. Reciprocal deception and illusion -are inherent to love affairs; but how can they be done away with, -without also doing away at the same time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> with the charm of that bitter -but amiable sport? The lover takes care to preserve the illusion by -his very passion, which blinds him to what is visible and makes the -invisible visible, leading him to believe what he desires, to believe -the person who fascinates him, as does Brandimarte with his Fiordiligi, -wandering about the world and returning to him uncontaminated: "To -fair Fiordiligi, of whom I had believed greater things." Thus the -imagination of Ariosto, as these various equal and conflicting -sentiments wove their own images, became quite filled with marvellous -seductive beauties, perfect of limb, and with voluptuous forms and -scenes (Alcina and her arts, Angelica in the arms of Ruggiero who had -set her free, Fiordispina); of others which oscillate between the -passionate and the comic (Gicondo and Fiametta, the knight who tests -the wife he loves too much, the judge Anselmo and his Argia): of others -whose love was unworthy or criminal (Origille, whom Griffone strives -to save from the punishment that she deserves, notwithstanding her -wickedness proved on several occasions and her known treachery; the -sons of King Marganorre; Gabrina, who did receive punishment, perhaps -because her depraved old age was so repulsive);<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> and above all of the -woman who symbolises Woman, for whom the bravest knights sustain every -sort of labour and danger, and because of whom a big strong man loses -control of himself, and who, herself slave of a love which owns no -law outside itself, ends by bestowing her hand upon a "poor servant" -(Angelica, Orlando and Medoro). These are but a few instances of the -many places in the <i>Furioso,</i> bearing upon love in its various modes -of presentation, in addition to the introductions to the cantos and -the digressions into which Ariosto pours his whole store of feeling -or sets forth his reflections. And the love matter is of so great a -volume as to dominate all the rest, possibly in extent, certainly in -relief and intensity; so much so, that it is a marvel that among the -many attempts to establish the true motive and argument of the poem, by -abstracting it from its subject matter, and to determine its design and -unity in the same way, no one has yet insisted upon considering it, or -has been able to consider it as "the poem of love," of the casuistry -of love, to which knightly and warlike life should but provide the -decorative background. This theory would certainly seem to be less -unlikely than the other, which assigns to it as its end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> and unity the -war between Carlo and Agramante. In any case, this motive is placed -second in the protasis to the <i>Furioso,</i> where the first word is not by -chance "women," and the first verse ends with "loves" (and in the first -edition we even read: "The ancient loves of ladies and of knights"); -and the scene with which the poem opens is the flight of Angelica, who -is immediately met by Sacripante and Rinaldo who are in love with her, -and that with which it concludes is the marriage feast of Ruggiero and -Bradamante, disturbed yet heightened in its solemnity of celebration by -the incident of the duel with Rodomonte.</p> - -<p>Love matter dominates in the <i>Furioso,</i> because it dominated in the -heart of Ariosto, where it easily passed over into more noble feelings, -into piety that goes beyond the tomb, into justice rendered to -calumniated innocence, into kindness ill-recompensed, into admiration -for the sacred tie of friendship. Hence, in marked contrast to the -beautiful Doralice, so crudely sensual, that when her lover's body is -still warm, she is capable of looking with desire upon his slayer, the -valiant Ruggiero, Isabella deliberately decides upon putting herself -to death that she may keep faith with her dead lover; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> Fiordiligi, -whose pretty little face, upon which still flitters something of the -impudence attributed to her by Boiardo, becomes furrowed with anguish -and sublime with sorrow, when she apprehends the loss of Brandimarte. -And Olympia stands by the side of Ginevra, trapped and drawn to the -brink of ruin by a wicked man, and is rescued by Rinaldo, the righter -of wrongs, Olympia whom Orlando twice saves, the second time not only -from death, but from desperation at the desertion of her most thankless -husband. Zerbino, brother of Ginevra and lover of Isabella, is a flower -of nobility among the knights. He alone understands and pities the -affectionate deed of Medoro, careless of his own life and absorbed in -the anxiety to obtain burial for the body of his lord. When his former -friend who has shown himself to be a most infamous traitor, is dragged -before him in chains, he cannot find it in him to inflict upon him the -death he deserves, for he remembers their long and close friendship. -Devoted to the greatness of Orlando and in gratitude for what he had -done in saving and taking care of Isabella, he collects the arms of -the Paladin, scattered at the outbreak of his madness, and sustains a -combat with Mandricardo for these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> arms, dying rather for sorrow at -not having been able to defend them than from his wound. Cloridano -and Medoro, Orlando and Brandimarte, are other idealisations of a -friendship which lasts beyond the tomb; and anyone searching the poem -for motives of commiseration and indignation for oppressed virtue, -for unhappy peoples trodden beneath the heel of the tyrant, robbed, -tortured and allowed to perish like cattle and goats, would find other -instances of the goodness and generosity which burned in the mild -Ariosto.</p> - -<p>Goodness and generosity were also the substance of his political -sentiment, which was that of the honest man of all times, who laments -the misfortunes of his country, loathes the domination of foreigners, -judges the oppression of the nobles with severity, is scandalised by -the corruption and hypocrisy of the priests and of the Church, regrets -that the united arms of Europe cannot prevail against the Turks, that -barbarian "of ill omen"; but it does not go beyond this superficial -impressionability, and ends by accepting his own times and respecting -the powerful personages who have finally prevailed. For this reason -there is but slight interest in noting (and it can be noted in the -<i>Furioso</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> itself) the variety of the political ideas of Ariosto, -first hostile to the Spaniards, as we see from several references to -them, and from certain attributes given to the Spaniard Ferraù, and -finally to the French, who had lost the game in Italy, and we find him -extolling the Spanish-Imperial Carlo V., and those who maintain his -cause in Italy, whether they were Andrea Doria or the Avalos. But on -the other hand, as Ave have already said, it is unjust to reprove him -for not having been a champion of italianity and of rebellion against -tyrants and foreigners,—such existed in those days, although they were -rare—or a passionate political thinker and prophet, like Machiavelli. -The famous invective against firearms suffices to indicate the quality -of Ariosto's politics: for him politics were morality, private -morality, a morality but little combative and very idyllic, although -not vulgar, disdainful indeed of the vulgar of all sorts, however -fortunate and highly placed. Thus it was not such as to create figures -and scenes in the poem, like love and human piety; suffice that if it -insinuated itself here and there among the reflective, exclamatory and -hortatory octaves.</p> - -<p>His feeling towards his own sovereign lords,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> the Estes, has not, as -we have suggested, either in his soul or in the <i>Furioso,</i> anything -in it of the specifically political, although he admired them for the -splendour of art and letters, which they and their predecessors had -conferred upon the country, and for the strength of their rule. And -he praised them with words and comparisons, which he introduced into -his poem on a large scale, and into the general scheme itself. These -have at times been held to be base adulation or a subtle form of irony -almost amounting to sarcasm; they were however neither, being serious -celebrations of glorious military enterprises and of magnanimous acts -(it does not matter whether they really were so or seemed so and were -bound to seem so to him); and for the rest, and especially as far as -concerned Cardinal Hippolyto, they resemble the madrigals addressed -to ladies or their attendants, which always contain a vein of mockery -mingled with the hyperbole of their compliments. In fact he treated -this material as an imaginative theme, now decorous and grave, now -elegant and polished as by a courtier; and he would have been still -more inclined to treat the Estes in this way, had they in return for -his words and "works of ink" dispensed him from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> duties of his -post, and particularly from those which obliged him to run hither and -thither, to behave like a "teamster." Like many peaceful individuals, -who have no taste for finding themselves in the midst of battles, or -for changing the place of their abode, or for travelling to see foreign -races, or for voyages, or for rapid ups and downs and adventures, or -for anything of an upsetting and extraordinary nature that happens -unexpectedly, he was quite ready to accept all these things in his -imagination, where he preserved, caressed and made idols of them. His -inclination imaginatively to decorate the Estes, the nobles of Italy, -great ladies, artists, good or bad men of letters of any sort, to make -radiant statues of them, had the same root as his inclination for -stories of knightly romance.</p> - -<p>These stories were the favourite reading, the "pleasant literature" of -good society, especially in Ferrara, where the Estes possessed a fine -collection in their library, whence had come the majority of Italian -poets, who had versified them during the previous century, setting them -free from plebeian prose and verse. Ariosto must have read very many -of these in his youth, and must have delighted in them, and we know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -that he himself translated some from French and Spanish. Here were to -be found terrible and tremendous battles, duels of hard knocks and of -masterly blows, combats with giants and monsters, tragical situations, -magnanimous deeds, proofs of steadfast faith, a vying together of -loyalty and courtesy, persecutions and favours and aid afforded by -prodigious beings, by fairies and magicians, travels in distant lands, -by sea or by flight, enchanted gardens and palaces, knights of immense -strength, Christian and Saracen, warlike women and women who were -women, royally: all this gave him the desirable and agreeable pleasure -of one who looks on at a variously coloured exhibition of fireworks, -and owing to this pleasure they gave, he incorporated a great number -of them in the <i>Furioso.</i> It is superfluous to inquire whether the -material of chivalry appeared to him to be serious or burlesque, when -we have understood the feeling which led him in that direction: it -was beyond all judgment of that sort, because we do not judge rockets -or fireworks morally or economically, with approval or reproof. It -can of course be remarked that knightly tales had henceforth been -reduced to such an extent in Italy and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> the spirit of Ariosto that -they were not only without the religious and national feeling of the -ancient epic, but even without what is still to be found in certain -popular Italian compilations, such as the <i>Monarchs of France;</i> but -this observation, though correct and important enough in the history of -culture, has no meaning whatever as regards Ariosto's poetry. The fact -that Ariosto was sometimes entranced and carried away as it were by the -spectacles which his fancy presented to him, and sometimes kept aloof -from them, with a smile for commentary, or turned away towards the real -world that surrounded him, goes without saying, and does not appear to -demand the discussions and the intellectual efforts which have been -devoted to it.</p> - -<p>His was on the other hand a distinctly jesting outlook upon religious -beliefs, God, Christ, Paradise, angels and saints; and Charlemagne's -prayer to God, the vision of the angel Michael upon earth and the -voyage of Astolfo to the world of the Moon, his conversations with John -the Evangelist, the deeds and words of the hermit with whom Angelica -and Isabella find themselves, and finally those of the saintly hermit -who baptises Ruggiero, accord with this laughing and almost mocking -spirit. Here we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> do not find even the seriousness of the game and in -the game, with which he treats of knightly doings; nor could there be, -because relation towards religion admits only of complete reverence -or complete irreverence. And Ariosto was irreverent, or what comes -to the same thing, indifferent; his spirit was as areligious as it -was aphilosophical, untormented with doubts, not concerned with human -destiny, incurious as to the meaning and value of this world, which he -saw and touched, and in which he loved and suffered. He was altogether -outside the philosophy of the Renaissance, whether Ficino's or -Pomponazzi's, as he was outside every sort of philosophy. This limits -and as it were deprives of importance his mockeries and to salute him -as some have done "the Voltaire of the Renaissance" or as a precursor -of Voltaire, and Voltaire himself who so much enjoyed Ariosto's -profanations of sacred things, maliciously underlining the witticism -that escapes from the lips of St. John about "my much-praised Christ" -(after having said that writers turn the true into the false, and -the false into the true, and that he also had been a "writer" in the -world), has given Ariosto a place which does not belong to him at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -Voltaire was not areligious or indifferent, and was only irreligious in -so far as he attacked all historical religions with a religion of his -own, which was deism or the religion of the reason; and for this reason -his satires and his lampoons possess a polemical value, which is not to -be found in the jests of Ariosto.</p> - -<p>Presented in its outstanding features, and to the extent which suits -our purpose, such is the complex of sentiments which flowed together -to form the <i>Furioso</i> and to produce the images of which it consists. -They produced them all the same, where he seems to have taken them from -other poems or books, from Virgil or from Ovid, from French or Spanish -romances, because in the taking and with the taking of them, he made -them images of his own sentiment, that is to say, he breathed into -them a new life and poetically created them in so doing. But although -this material of the poem may seem to us who have considered it to be -anterior and external to the poem itself and owing to our analysis, -disaggregated, it must not be supposed that those sentiments ever -existed in the spirit of Ariosto as mere matter or in an amorphous -condition, because there is nothing in the spirit without some form -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> without its own form. Indeed, we have seen a great part of it -take form in the minor works, while some dwelt in his mind, expressed -and realised in their own way, even if unfulfilled or if we lack -written record of their existence. But they possessed a different -aspect in this anterior form, differing therefore from that which -they assumed in the poem. In the lyrics and satires, words of love -and nostalgia, of friendship and complaint, of anger and indignation -against princes who take little interest in poets, of impatience and -contempt for the ambitious throng, and the like, are more lively and -direct; and it would be easy to find parallels for identical thoughts -appearing with different intonations in the two different places. Had -Ariosto always accorded artistic treatment to those sentiments at the -moment of experiencing them, he would have continued to write songs, -sonnets, epistles and satires, and would not have set to work upon -the <i>Furioso.</i> An examination of the poem upon Obizzo D'Este as to -the material of chivalry, or if we like the sound of it better, as to -feats of arms and of daring, will at least yield us a glimpse of what -it would have become, had it received immediate treatment, whether this -poem belongs to the early years of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> Ariosto, prior to the composition -of the <i>Furioso,</i> or whether (as is more probable), it be later than -the composition of the poem and the appearance of the first edition. -The fragment is notable for its great limpidity and narrative fluency, -but one sees that if the poet had continued in this direction, the poem -would have been nothing but an elegant book of songs; Ariosto did not -wish to be a song-writer, so he ceased the work which had been begun. -Had he versified his mockeries of sacred things, he would have become a -wit, a collector of burlesque surprises, capable of arousing laughter -about friars and saints; but Ariosto disdained such a trade, Ariosto -whose many grandiose distractions are on record, but no witticisms -or smart sayings: he was too much of a dreamer, too fine an artist -to take pleasure in such things. His sentiment for Harmony aided him -to turn the pleasant stories of chivalry and capricious jesting into -poetry, and lesser erotic or narrative and argumentative poetry into -more complex poetry, to accomplish the passage and ascent from the -minor works to that which is truly great, to mediate the immediate, by -transforming his various sentiments in the manner that we are about to -consider.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE REALISATION OF HARMONY</h4> - - -<p>The first change to manifest itself in them so soon as they were -touched by the Harmony which sang at the bottom of the poet's heart, -was their loss of autonomy, their submission to a single lord, their -descent from being the whole to becoming a part, their becoming -occasions rather than motives, instruments rather than ends, their -common death for the benefit of the new life.</p> - -<p>The magical power which accomplished this prodigy was the <i>tone</i> of the -expression, that self-possessed, lightness of tone, capable of adopting -a thousand forms and remaining ever graceful, known to the old school -of critics as "the confidential air," and remembered among the other -"properties" of the "style" of Ariosto. But not only does his whole -style consist of this, but since style is nothing but the expression -of the poet and of his soul, this was all Ariosto himself and his -harmonious singing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<p>This work of disvaluation and destruction is to be detected in the -expressive tone in the proems to the separate cantos, in the digressive -argumentations, in the observations interjected, in the repetitions, in -the use of vocables, in the phrasing and the arrangement of periods, -and above all in the frequent comparisons that form pictures which -rather than intensifying the emotion, cause it to take a different -path, in the interruptions to the narrative, sometimes occurring at -their most dramatic point, in the nimble passage to other narratives of -a different and often opposite nature. Yet the palpable part of this -whole, what it is possible to segregate and to analyse as elements of -style, forms but a small part of the impalpable whole, which flows -along like a tenuous fluid, and since it is soul, we feel it with our -soul, though we cannot touch it with our hands, even though they be -armed with scholastic pincers.</p> - -<p>And this tone is the often noted and named, but never clearly defined -<i>irony</i> of Ariosto; it has not been well-defined, because described as -a kind of jesting or mockery, similar or coincident with what Ariosto -sometimes employed in his descriptions of knightly personages and their -adventures. It has thus been both restricted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> and materialised, but -what we must not lose sight of is that the irony is not restricted -to one order of sentiments, as for instance those of knighthood or -religion, and so spares the rest, but encompasses them all, and thus is -no futile jesting, but something far more lofty, more purely artistic -and poetical, the victory of the dominant sentiment over all the others.</p> - -<p>All the sentiments, sublime and mirthful, tender and strong, the -effusions of the heart and the workings of the intellect, from the -pleadings of love to the laudatory lists of names, from representations -of battles to witticisms, are alike levelled by the irony and find -themselves uplifted in it. The marvellous Ariostesque octave rises -above them all as they fall before it, the octave which has a life of -its own. To describe the octave as smiling, would be an insufficient -qualification unless the smile be understood in the ideal sense, as -a manifestation of free and harmonious life, poised and energetic, -throbbing in veins rich with good blood and satisfied in this incessant -throbbing. The octaves sometimes have the quality of radiant maidens, -sometimes of shapely youths, with limbs lithe from exercise of the -muscles, careless of exhibiting their prowess, because it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> revealed -in their every gesture and attitude.—Olympia comes ashore with her -lover on a desolate and deserted island, after many misfortunes, and a -long, tempestuous sea voyage:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Il travaglio del mare e la paura,<br /> -che tenuta alcun di l'aveano desta;<br /> -Il ritrovarsi al lito ora sicura,<br /> -lontana da rumor, nella foresta:<br /> -e che nessun pensier, nessuna cura,<br /> -poi che'l suo amante ha seco, la molesta;<br /> -fûr cagion ch'ebbe Olimpia si gran sonno<br /> -che gli orsi e i ghiri aver maggior nol ponno.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we have the complete analysis of the reasons why Olympia fell -into the deep sleep, expressed with precision; but all this is clearly -secondary to the intimate sentiment expressed by the octave, which -seems to enjoy itself, and certainly does so in describing a motion, -a becoming, which attain completion.—Bradamante and Marfisa vainly -pursue King Agramante, to put him to death:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Come due belle e generose parde<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>che fuor del lascio sien di pari uscite,<br /> -poscia ch' i cervi o le capre gagliarde<br /> -indarno aver si veggano seguite,<br /> -vergognandosi quasi che fûr tarde,<br /> -sdegnose se ne tornano e pentite;<br /> -così tornâr le due donzelle, quando<br /> -videro il Pagan salvo, sospirando.<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_3" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we find a like process and a like result, but we observe a like -process and result where there appears to be nothing whatever of -intrinsic interest in the subject, that is to say, where the thought -is merely conventional, a complimentary expression of courtly homage -or an expression of friendship and esteem. To say of a fair lady: "She -seemed in every act of hers to be a Goddess descended from heaven," is -not a subtle figure, but it is so turned and so inspired with rhythm by -Ariosto that we assist at the manifestation of the Goddess as she moves -majestically along, witnessing the astonishment of those present and -seeing them kneel devoutly down, as the little drama unrolls itself:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Julia Gonzaga, che dovunque il piede<br /> -volge e dovunque i sereni occhi gira,<br /> -non pur ogn' altra di beltà le cede,<br /> -ma, come scesa dal ciel Dea, l'ammira.<a name="FNanchor_3_4" id="FNanchor_3_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_4" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> ...<br /> -</p> - -<p>To rattle off a list of mere names with a view to affording honourable -mention, and without varying any of them beyond the addition of -some slight word-play, is an exercise even less subtle; but Ariosto -arranges the names of contemporary painters as though upon a Parnassus, -according to the greatest among them the most lofty place, in such a -manner that those bare names each of them resound (owing to the mastery -of the many stresses in the verse), so as to seem alive and endowed -with sensation:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -E quei che fùro a' nostri di, o sono ora,<br /> -Leonardo, Andrea Mantegna, Gian Bellino,<br /> -duo Dossi, e quel ch' a par sculpe e colora,<br /> -Michel, più che mortale, Angel divino ...<a name="FNanchor_4_5" id="FNanchor_4_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_5" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>The "reflections" of Ariosto, which were held to be "commonplaces" by -De Sanctis, "not profound and original observations," have by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> others -been described as "banal" and "contradictory." But they are reflections -of Ariosto, which should not be meditated upon but sung:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Oh gran contrasto in giovanil pensiero,<br /> -desir di laude, ed impeto d' Amore!<br /> -Nè, chi più vaglia, ancor si trova il vero,<br /> -che resta or questo or quello superiore....<a name="FNanchor_5_6" id="FNanchor_5_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_6" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>It could be said of the irony of Ariosto, that it is like the eye of -God, who looks upon the movement of creation, of all creation, loving -all things equally, good and evil, the very great and the very small -in man and in the grain of sand, because he has made it all, and finds -in it nought but motion itself, eternal dialectic, rhythm and harmony. -From the ordinary meaning of the word "irony" has been accomplished the -passage to the metaphysical meaning assumed by it among Fichtians and -Romantics. We should be ready to apply their theory to the inspiration -of Ariosto, save that these critics and thinkers confused with irony -what is called humour, strangeness and extravagance, that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> to say, -extra-aesthetic facts, which contaminate and dissolve art. Our theory -on the contrary is less pretentious and exaggerated, confining itself -rigorously within the bounds of art, as Ariosto confined himself within -the bounds of art, never diverging into the clumsy or humouristic, -which is a sign of weakness: his irony was the irony of an artist, sure -of his own strength. This perhaps is the reason or one of the reasons -why Ariosto did not suit the taste of the dishevelled Romantics, who -were inclined to prefer Rabelais to him and even Carlo Gozzi.</p> - -<p>To weaken all orders of sentiment, to render them all equal in their -abasement, to deprive beings of their autonomy, to remove from them -their own particular soul, amounts to converting the world of spirit -into the world of <i>nature:</i> an unreal world, which has no existence -save when we perform upon it this act of conversion, and in certain -respects, the whole world becomes nature for Ariosto, a surface -drawn and coloured, shining, but without substance. Hence his seeing -of objects in their every detail, as a naturalist making minute -observations, his description that is not satisfied with a single -trait which suffices as inspiration for other artists, hence his lack -of passionate impatience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> with its inherent objections to certain -material. It may seem that the figure of St. John is drawn in the way -it is, as a jest:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Nel lucente vestibulo di quella<br /> -felice casa un Vecchio al Duca occorre,<br /> -Che'l manto ha rosso e bianca la gonnella,<br /> -che l'un più al latte, l'altro al minio opporre;<br /> -i crini ha bianchi e bianca la mascella<br /> -di folta barba ch'al petto discorre ...<a name="FNanchor_6_7" id="FNanchor_6_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_7" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>But the beauty of Olympia is portrayed in a like manner, forgetful of -the chastity of the lady, which might have seemed to ask a different -sort of description or rather veiling:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Le bellezze d' Olimpia eran di quelle<br /> -che son più rare; e non la fronte sola,<br /> -gli occhi e le guancie, e le chiome avea belle,<br /> -la bocca, il naso, gli omeri e la gola....<a name="FNanchor_7_8" id="FNanchor_7_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_8" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Finally, Medoro is described in the same way, Medoro whose brave and -devoted heart and youthful heroism might seem to ask in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> turn a -less attentive observation of its fresh youthfulness:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Medoro avea la guancia colorita,<br /> -e bianca e grata ne la età novella.<a name="FNanchor_8_9" id="FNanchor_8_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_9" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> ...<br /> -</p> - -<p>The very numerous similes between the personages and the situations in -which they find themselves and the spectacles afforded by the life of -animals or the phenomena of nature, also form an almost prehensible -and palpable part of this conversion of the human world into the world -of nature. We shall not give details of it, for this has already been -done in an irritatingly patient manner by a German philologist, whose -cumbrous compilation effectually precludes one from desiring to dwell -even for a moment upon Ariosto's similes, comparisons and metaphors.</p> - -<p>This apparent naturalism, this objectivism, of which we have -demonstrated the profoundly subjective character, has led to the -erroneous statement, already met with, as to Ariosto's form consisting -of indifference and chilly observation, directed to the external -world. He has been coupled with his contemporary Machiavelli in this -respect. Machiavelli examined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> history and politics with a sagacious -eye, describing—as they say—their mode of procedure and formulating -their laws, to which he gave expression in his prose with analogously -inexorable objectivity and scientific coldness. It is true that both -did in a certain but in a very remote sense, destroy a prior spiritual -content and naturalised in different fields and with different ends -(Machiavelli destroyed the mediaeval religious conception of history -and politics). But this judgment of Machiavelli amounts to nothing more -than a brilliant or principal remark, for Machiavelli, as a thinker, -developed and explained facts with his new vigorous thought, and as a -writer gave an apparently cold form to his severe passion. Ariosto's -naturalistic and objective tendency is also to be regarded as nothing -more than a metaphor, because Ariosto reduced his material to nature, -in order to spiritualise it in a new way, by creating spiritual forms -of Harmony.</p> - -<p>From the opposite point of view and arising out of what we have just -said, we must refrain from praising Ariosto for his "epicity," for -the epic nobility and decorum which Galilei praised so much in him, -or for the force and coherence of his personages, so much admired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> by -the old as well as by new and even recent critics. How could there be -epicity in the <i>Furioso,</i> when the author not only lacked the ethical -sentiments of the epos and when even that small amount, which he might -be said to have inherited, was dissolved with all the rest in harmony -and irony? And how could there be true and proper characters in the -poem, if characters and personages in art are nothing but the notes of -the soul of the poet themselves, in their diversity and opposition? -These become embodied in beings who certainly seem to live their own -proper and particular lives, but really live, all of them, the same -life variously distributed and are sparks of the same central power. -One of the worst of critical prejudices is to suppose that characters -live on their own account and can almost continue living outside the -works of art of which they form a part and in which they in no wise -differ nor can be disassociated from the strophes, the verses and the -words. Since there is no free energy of passionate sentiments in the -<i>Furioso,</i> we do not find there characters, but figures, drawn and -painted certainly, but without relief or density, portrayed rather as -general or typical than individual beings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> The knights resemble and -mingle with one another, though differentiated by their goodness or -wickedness, their greater polish or greater rudeness, or by means of -external and accidental attributes, often by their names alone; in -like manner the women are either amorous or perfidious, virtuous and -content with one love, or dissolute and perverse, often distinguished -merely by their different adventures or the names that adorn them. The -same is to be said of the narratives and descriptions (typical and -non-individual, or but little individual, is the madness of Orlando, -to compare which with Lear's is a rhetorician's fancy), and of natural -objects, landscapes, palaces, gardens, and all else. Reserves have been -and can with justice even be made as to the coherence of the characters -taken as a whole and forming part of a general scheme, for Ariosto's -personages take many liberties with themselves, according to the course -of the events with which they find themselves connected, or rather -according to the services which the author asks of them.</p> - -<p>Such warnings as these are indispensable, because, if some readers -realise their expectation of finding objectively described and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -coherent characters in Ariosto and consequently praise him for creating -them, others with like expectations equally unfounded are disappointed -and consequently blame him. Thus for De Sanctis Ariosto's feminine -characters have seemed to be inferior to those of Dante, of Shakespeare -and of Goethe: but this is an impossible comparison, because Angelica, -Olympia, and Isabella, although they certainly lack the passionate -intensity of Francesca, Desdemona and Margaret, yet the latter for -their part lack the harmonious octaves in which the first trio lives -and has its being, consisting of just these octaves. And what is more, -neither trio suffers from the imperfections, which are imperfections -only in the light of imperfect critical knowledge and consequent -prejudice, but not real imperfections and poetical contradictions in -themselves. De Sanctis also blamed Ariosto for his lack of sentiment -for nature, as though it were a defect; but what is called sentiment -for nature (as for that matter the great master De Sanctis himself -taught) does not depend upon nature, but rather upon the attitude of -the human spirit, upon the feelings of comfort, of melancholy or of -religious terror, with which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> man invests nature and finds them where -he has placed them; but this attitude was foreign to the fundamental -attitude of Ariosto, and were there to be by chance some reference to -it in the poem, were some note of sentiment to sound there, we should -immediately be sensible of the discord and impropriety. To Lessing, -another objective critic, the portrayal of the beauties of Alcina -seemed to be a mistake and to exceed the limit of poetry, to which -De Sanctis replied that this materiality which Lessing blamed was -the secret of the poetry, because the beauty of the magician Alcina -required a material description, since it was fictitious in its nature. -This blame was unjust, and although the answer to it was ingenious, -yet it was perhaps not perfectly correct, for we have already seen -that Ariosto always described thus both true and imaginary beauties, -Olympias and Alcinas. The true answer seems to be the one already -given, that it would be useless to seek for features of energy in -Ariosto, lively portraits dashed off in a couple of brush strokes, for -these things presuppose a mode of feeling that he lacked altogether or, -at any rate suppressed. Those "laughing fleeting" eyes, which are all -Sylvia, "le doux<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> sourire amoureux et souffrant," which are the whole -of the spiritual sister-soul of the <i>Maison du Berger,</i> do not belong -to Ariosto, but to Leopardi and to De Vigny.</p> - -<p>There are two ways in which the <i>Furioso</i> should not be read: the -first is the way in which one reads a work of rhythmic and lofty -moral inspiration, like the <i>Promessi Sposi,</i> tracing, that is to -say, the development of a serious human affection, which circulates -in and determines every part alike, even to the smallest detail; the -second is that suitable for such works as <i>Faust,</i> where the general -composition, which is more or less guided by mental concepts, does not -at all coincide with the poetical inspiration of the separate parts. -Here the poetical should be separated from the unpoetical parts, -and the poetically endowed reader will neglect the one to enjoy the -other. In the <i>Furioso,</i> this inequality of work is absent or only -present to a very slight extent (that is to say, to the extent that -imperfection must ever be present in the most perfect work of man) -and it is as equally harmonious as the <i>Promessi Sposi;</i> but it lacks -that particular form of passionate seriousness, to be found throughout -Manzoni's work and in stray passages of Goethe's. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> <i>Furioso</i> -should therefore be read in a third manner, namely by following a -content which is ever the same, yet ever expressed in new forms, -whose attraction consists in the magic of this ever-identical yet -inexhaustible variety of appearances, without paying attention to the -material element of the narratives and descriptions.</p> - -<p>As we see, this too amounts to accepting with a rectification a common -judgment on the <i>Furioso,</i> which may be said to have accompanied the -poem from the moment of its first appearance: namely, that it is a -work devoid of seriousness, being of a light, burlesque, pleasing -and frivolous sort. It was described as "<i>ludicro more</i>" by Cardinal -Sadoleto, when according the license for printing the edition of 1516 -in the name of Leo X, although he added to this, perhaps translating -the declaration of the poet himself, "<i>longo tamen studio et -cogitatione, multisque vigiliis confectum.</i>" Bernardo Tasso, Trissino -and Speroni, and other suchlike grave pedantic personages, did not -fail to blame Ariosto for having dedicated his poem to the sole end -of pleasing. Boileau looked upon it simply as a collection of <i>fables -comiques,</i> and Sulzer called it a "poem with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> sole end of pleasing, -not directed by the reason"; and even to-day are to be found its merits -and defects noted down to credit and debit account in many a scholastic -manual; on the credit side stand the perfection of the octave, the -vivacity of the narrative, the graceful style, to the debit account -lack of profound sentiment, light which shines but does not warm and -failure to touch the heart. We accept and rectify this judgment with -the simple observation that those who regard the poem thus see clearly -enough everything that is on a level with their own eyes, but do not -raise them to regard what is above their heads and is the principal -quality of the <i>Furioso,</i> owing to which the frivolity of Ariosto -reveals itself as profound seriousness of rare quality, profound -emotion of the heart, but of a noble and exquisite heart, equally -remote from the emotions of what is generally looked upon as life and -reality.</p> - -<p>Apart, but not separated from, nor alien to, nor indifferent: and in -respect to this we must resume and develop the analysis already begun -by setting readers on their guard against the easy misunderstanding -of the "destruction," which we have already spoken of as brought -about by the tone and the irony of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> Ariosto. This must not be looked -upon as total destruction and annihilation, but as destruction in -the philosophic sense of the word, which is also conservation. Were -this otherwise, what could be the function of the varied material or -emotional content, which we have examined in the poem? Are the stars -stuck into the sky like pin-heads in a pin-cushion (Don Ferrante would -sarcastically enquire)? The eloquence of other's but not Ariosto's -poetry, arises from a total indifference of sentiment and an absence -of content: theirs is the rouge on the corpse, not the rosy cloud -that enfolds and adorns the living. Such eloquence produces soft and -superficially musical versification of the <i>Adone,</i> not the octave of -the <i>Furioso;</i> and to quote Giraldi Cinzio once more, the lover of -Ariosto (who gave the advice to readers not to confuse the "facility" -of the <i>Furioso</i> with verses "of sweet sound but no feeling"), the -eight hundred "stanzas," by one of the composers of that time, which -Giraldi once had to read, "which seemed to be collections made among -the flowery gardens of poetry, so full were they of beauty from stanza -to stanza, but put together, were vain things, seeming, so far as sense -is concerned, to have been born of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> soil of childishness," because -their author was "intent only upon the pleasure that comes from the -splendour and choice of words, and had altogether neglected the dignity -and assistance afforded by sensibility."</p> - -<p>Had Ariosto while in the act of composition not been keenly stirred -in the various ways described, by the varied material employed in his -poem, he would have lacked the impetus, the vivacity, the thought, -the intonation, which were afterwards reduced and tempered by the -harmonious disposition of his soul. He would have been a cold writer of -poetry, and no one ever succeeded in writing poetry coldly. This was -the case, as it seems to me, with the <i>Cinque Canti,</i> which he excluded -from the <i>Furioso</i> and for which he substituted others. In them the -cunning of Ariosto's hand is everywhere to be found in the descriptive -passages and transitions, as are also all the elements of the every-day -world, stories of war, knightly adventures, tales of love (the love -of Penticone for the wife of Otto and that of Astolfo for the wife of -Gismondo), satirical tales (the foundation of the city of Medea, with -the sexual law which she imposed upon it), astonishing fancies (such -as the knights imprisoned in the body of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> whale, where they have -their beds, their kitchen and their tub), copious moral and political -reflections (on jealousy, ambition, wicked men, mercenary soldiers); -yet we feel nevertheless that Ariosto wrote them in an unhappy moment, -when Minerva was reluctant or averse: the poet did not take sufficient -interest and lacked the necessary heat. And is there no part of -the <i>Furioso</i> itself that languishes? It would seem so, not indeed -in the forty cantos of the first edition, which originated in his -twelve-year-old poetical springtime, but in the parts which were added -later, all of them (as could be shown) more or less intellectualiste -of origin, and therefore (save the episode of Olympia) not among the -most read and most popular. The most intellectualistic of all is the -long delay introduced toward the end of the poem, the double betrothal -of Bradamante and the contest in courtesy between Leone and Ruggiero, -where the tone becomes here and there altogether pedestrian. It is true -that philologists who have given themselves to art have discovered -progress in Ariosto in just these languid parts, and above all in the -<i>Cinque Canti,</i> where he has lost his bearings and is out of tune. Here -they suppose him to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> become "serious," to join hands with no less -a personage than Torquato Tasso.</p> - -<p>The process of "destruction" effected upon the material may possibly be -rendered clear to those who do not appreciate philosophical formulas -or find them too difficult, by means of the comparison with what in -the technique of painting is called "concealing a colour," which does -not mean its cancellation, but its toning down. In such an equally -distributed toning down, all the sentiments which go to form the web of -the poem, not only preserve their own physiognomy, but their reciprocal -proportions and connections; so that although they certainly appear in -the "transparent polished glasses" and in the "smooth shining waters" -of the octaves, pale as "pearls on a white forehead" to the sight, yet -they retain their distinctness and are more or less strong according -to the greater or less strength which they possessed in the soul of -the poet. The comic, at once lowered and raised, nevertheless remains -comical, the sublime remains sublime, the voluptuous voluptuous, the -reflective reflective, and so on. And sometimes it happens that Ariosto -reaches the boundary, which if he were to pass, he would abandon his -own tone, but he never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> does abandon it, because he always refrains -from passing the boundary. Everyone remembers the most emotional -words and passages of the <i>Furioso</i>: Medoro, who, when surrounded and -surprised by his enemies, makes a sort of tower of himself, using the -trees as a shield, and never abandoning the body of his lord, Zerbino, -who feels penetrated with pity and stays his hand as he looks on his -beautiful countenance, when on the point of slaying him; Zerbino, who -when about to die, is desperate at leaving his Isabella alone, the prey -of unknown men, while she bursts into tears and speaks sweet words -of eternal faithfulness; Fiordiligi, who hears the news, or rather -divines the death of her husband ... We always catch our breath, and -something—I know not what—comes into our eyes, as we repeat these -and similar verses. Here is Fiordiligi, who shudders as she feels the -presentiment:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -E questa novità d' aver timore<br /> -le fa tremar di doppia tema il core.<a name="FNanchor_9_10" id="FNanchor_9_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_10" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>The fatal news comes to hand: Astolfo and Sansonetto, the two friends -who happen to be where she has remained, hide it from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> for an -hour or so, and then decide to betake themselves to her that they may -prepare her for the misfortune that has befallen:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Tosto ch'entrano, e ch'ella loro il viso<br /> -Vide di gaudio in tal vittoria privo,<br /> -Senz' altro annunzio sa, senz' altro avviso,<br /> -Che Brandimarte suo non è più vivo....<a name="FNanchor_10_11" id="FNanchor_10_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_11" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Another moment of the same narrative, where suffering appears to resume -its strength and to grow upon itself, is that in which Orlando, who is -awaited, enters the temple where the funeral of Brandimarte is being -celebrated: Orlando, the friend, the companion, the witness of his -death:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Levossi, al ritornar del Paladino,<br /> -Maggiore il grido e raddoppiossi il pianto.<a name="FNanchor_11_12" id="FNanchor_11_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_12" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Before such words and images as these, De Sanctis used to say to his -pupils, when explaining to them the <i>Furioso</i>: "See how much heart -Ariosto had!" But he always kept telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> them this truth also: -that "Ariosto never pushes situations to the point of painfulness," -forbidden to him by the tone of his poetry; and he used to show them -how Ariosto used sometimes to make use of interruptions, sometimes of -graceful similitudes, or reflections, or devices of style, in order to -restrain the painfulness ready to break through. Those critics who for -instance are shocked by the octaves on the name of "Isabella" are too -exigent, or ask too much, and what they ought not to ask (this name -of Isabella was destined by God to adorn beautiful, noble, courteous, -chaste and wise women from this time forth, and was originally intended -as homage from Ariosto to the Marchesana of Mantua, Isabella of Este). -With these octaves he concludes the narrative of the sacrifice of -her life made by Isabella to keep faith with Zerbino; they do not -understand that those octaves and the <i>Proficiscere</i> which precedes -them ("Go thou in peace, thou blessed soul") and the very account of -the drunken bestiality of Rodomonte, and prior to that, the semi-comic -scene of the saintly hermit who presides over the virtue of Isabella, -"like a practised mariner and is quite prepared to offer her speedily -a sumptuous meal of spiritual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> food," the hermit whom Rodomonte seizes -by the neck and throws three miles into the sea, are all words and -representations so accentuated as to produce the effect of allowing -Isabella to die without plunging the <i>Furioso</i> into tragedy with its -correspondingly tragical catharsis; for the <i>Furioso</i> has its own -general and perpetually harmonious catharsis, which we have now made -sufficiently clear.</p> - -<p>It is precisely owing to the action of this sentimental and passionate -material, in spite of and through its effectual surpassing, that the -varied colouring arising from it enters the poem and confers upon it -that character of humanity, which led us to declare at the outset of -our analysis that when we define Ariosto as the <i>Poet of Harmony,</i> we -proposed only to indicate where the <i>accent</i> of his work falls, but -that he is the poet of Harmony and also of something else, of harmony -developed in a particular world of sentiments, and in fact that the -harmony to which Ariosto attains, is not harmony in general, but an -<i>altogether Ariostesque Harmony.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Tempestuous seas and haunting fear which had kept her -waking for days now gave place to a feeling of security: deep in the -forest and removed from care and noise, Olympia clasped her lover to -her breast and fell into sleep as deep as that of bears and dormice.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_3" id="Footnote_2_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_3"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> As two fair generous leopards issuing simultaneouly from -the slips return full of shame and repentance as though weighed down by -the disgrace of having vainly pursued the lusty goats or stags which -had tempted them to the chase: So returned the two damsels sighing when -they saw the Pagan was saved.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_4" id="Footnote_3_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_4"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Wherever Julia Gonzaga sets her foot or turns her serene -gaze, not only does she excel all in beauty but compels adoration like -a Goddess.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_5" id="Footnote_4_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_5"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> And the painters who lived in former days as well as those -still with us:—Leonardo, A. Mantegna, Gian Bellino, the two Dossi and -Michael who sculptures and portrays with more than mortal skill.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_6" id="Footnote_5_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_6"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Oh powerful contrast in the breast of youth aflame with -desire for valorous renown and the passion of love; nor can one say -which is the more delectable, since each lays claim alternately to -superiority.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_7" id="Footnote_6_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_7"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> An aged man goes to encounter the Duke along the bright -vestibule of that fortunate house: the sage is clad in red cloak and -white robe, the former white as milk, the latter vermilion, vivid as a -rose. His hair is white and his chin snowy with the thick beard flowing -over his chest.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_8" id="Footnote_7_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_8"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Olympia's loveliness was of rarest excellence: not only -was she fair of face with forehead, eyes, cheeks glowing amidst the -hair which waved over her shoulders: all else was perfection.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_9" id="Footnote_8_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_9"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Medoro's cheek showed white and red in the fresh flourish -of youth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_10" id="Footnote_9_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_10"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> The novel feeling of fear caused her heart to tremble, -doubly terrified.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_11" id="Footnote_10_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_11"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> As she saw them enter without joyous exultation over so -great a victory, with no announcement or any direct word of it, she was -aware her Brandimarte had been slain.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_12" id="Footnote_11_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_12"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> On the return of the Paladin, the cry arose more loudly -and the wail redoubled.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h5> - - -<h4>HISTORICAL DISASSOCIATIONS</h4> - - -<p>From these last words, there can be no difficulty in seeing what must -be our opinion as to the confrontations and comparative judgments -instituted between Ariosto and Pulci or Boiardo, and even Cieco da -Ferrara, and all the other Italian poets of chivalry. These have -sometimes been extended so as to include poetical humourists, such -as Folengo and Rabelais, or burlesque writers like Berni, Tassoni, -Forteguerri, or neo-epical poets, like Tasso and Camoens, and finally -to Cervantes, that direct and fully conscious ironist of chivalry. This -is as perfectly admissible as it is natural that classes of "poems of -chivalry" or "narrative poems" or "romances," should be formed, when -once rhetoricians and writers of treatises have invented the genus and -that these should be disposed in a series under such headings, thus -forming a sort of artificial history, with no real foundation beyond -the accidents of certain abstract literary forms, which are really -representative of certain social tendencies and institutions. And it -is equally, indeed more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> admissible, because relating to more nearly -connected problems, that these documents afforded by poems of chivalry -should be made use of among other documents in the investigation -of the gradual dissolution of the ideal of chivalry in the first -period of modern society. Salvemini has not neglected to do this in a -temperate manner, in his monograph relating to "knightly dignity" in -the commune of Florence. But the aesthetic judgment, which they strive -to deduce from these comparisons, is inadmissible and illegitimate: -when for instance they bestow the palm on this or that poet for having -better observed than others the "genus" or a particular "species" and -"variety" of the genus; or because chivalry or anti-chivalry has been -better represented by one than by another. We can explain the fact that -De Sanctis was sometimes entangled in this sociological net, in spite -of his exquisite sense of individuality and poetry, when we consider -the condition of studies in his time and his philosophical origins; -but it is none the less true that the judgments which he pronounced -upon this matter, deviate from true and proper aesthetic criticism, and -carry with them the bad effects of every deviation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>Having ourselves refused to be among those whose feet are caught in -the insidious net of Caligorante, we shall have nothing further to say -as to comparisons with Ariosto, because the poet of the <i>Furioso</i> has -always come out of those maladroit confrontations and the arbitrary -judgments of merit which result from them, crowned above all others -with the sign of victory, or at least unconquered by any other, and -admitting but a very few as his equals. The preference accorded by -romantic German men of letters to Boiardo (recently revived to some -extent in Italy, by Panzini) belongs rather to the domain of anecdote -than to the history of criticism: Boiardo is looked upon by them as -the poet of grand heroic dreams, while Ariosto is a mere citizen -poet; or Boiardo again is lauded for having better represented the -logical form of the Italian poem of chivalry, prescribed according -to a chemical combination drawn up in the philological laboratory of -the anti-Ariostesque Professor Rajna, who is in other respects a most -worthy and well-deserving person. But there is no denying that the -peculiar beauty of Ariosto has often injured Boiardo, Pulci, Tasso -and other poets, who have been illegitimately compared with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> him; and -therefore, without talking of Tasso—who has now won his case, although -he numbered a Galilei among the ranks of those who under-estimated -him when making the above-mentioned confrontation,—it will not be -inopportune to cast a rapid glance upon Pulci and Boiardo.</p> - -<p>Looking at Pulci in Pulci and not at Ariosto, since to place one -physiognomy on the top of another is not a good way of seeing, what -do we find? What is the <i>Morgante?</i> It is above all a whimsicality, -one of those works, born of a caprice or a bet, to which the author -neither devotes himself after the necessary previous meditations, nor -works at with the scrupulosity of the artist, who expends his powers -and employs his utmost endeavour to do the best he can everywhere. But -the occasion or the inspiration is never the substance of a work, which -on the contrary always consists of what the author really brings to it -in the course of his labour; and the mention of the occasional origin -of the <i>Morgante</i> only avails here to account for its ill-digested -and undoubtedly chaotic nature. Nor is it to the purpose to recall -what certainly seems to have been Pulci's intention, namely, to -satisfy in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> own way a wish of the pious Lucrezia Tornabuoni, by -composing or re-writing a Christian poem of chivalry, for this in its -turn only explains certain superficialities and extrinsicalities, -such as the general plan of the poem and the parts of it possessing -religious tone, which are successful to the extent that they could -be successful with such a brain as Pulci's. A commencement will have -been made towards a proper understanding of the substance of the -<i>Morgante,</i> its proper and intrinsic inspiration, by referring it first -to the curiosity with which educated Florentine citizens observed and -reproduced the customs and the psychology of the people of the city and -the surrounding districts, productive of the poetry of Politian, of -Lorenzo and of Pulci himself, author of the <i>Beca di Dicomano,</i> each -with its various popular appeal. That inspiration contains something -both of the sympathetic and of the ironical, as we observe in all -poetry based upon popular themes and use of dialect, in the German -romantic <i>Lieder</i> and <i>Balladen</i> and in the dialect literature of the -Italy of to-day (one feels inclined to call the <i>Morgante</i> "dialect" -and not "Italian"): and in Pulci there vibrated a sympathetic-ironic -chord, peculiar to himself and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> therefore naturally not exactly the -same as in Lorenzo, or still less in Politian. But it did not vibrate -pure and clear, being prevented from doing so, not so much owing to -initial eccentricity and to the intention above-mentioned, as to the -accumulation of other inspirations, arising in the fertile spirit of -Pulci. For Pulci had in mind, in addition to the reconstruction of a -sympathetic-ironic popular poem of the popular story-tellers, something -that might be called a "Picaresque romance," understanding thereby -not only tales of the sort to be found in Spanish literature, but -also certain other tales of Boccaccio and a great part of Folengo's -<i>Baldus.</i> Picaresque romance asked in its turn sympathy and irony, but -of a different sort to the preceding, no longer sympathy for popular -ingenuity, but for cleverness, trickiness, for an irony, which should -no longer be simply that of superior culture, but also of superior -morality; and this too was in some measure and in his own way in Pulci; -but he often spoilt this disposition of mind by inadvertently passing, -like a person lacking refinement of education, from Picaresque romance -to Picaresque intonation, from the representation of a blackguard -to the blackguard himself. And there is something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> else also in the -<i>Morgante</i>: the imaginings and caprices of Pulci himself, his own -personal moral opinions, religious or philosophical; things that are -sometimes thought about even by those who do not think much about them, -and which, owing to this casual hasty thinking, become nevertheless -opinions or semi-opinions. Finally the <i>Morgante</i> is a skein formed -of strands of different colour and make, some of them thicker or -thinner than others: it is a poem that is not in tune with a single -dominant inspiration, and if we take one of those elements that we -have described and transport it to the principal place, we immediately -have the feeling that we are depriving the complex nature of the work -of its vigour. Nevertheless the <i>Morgante</i> must be looked upon as one -of the most richly endowed works of our literature, where we meet at -every step with delightful figures and traits of expression: Morgante, -Margutte, Fiorinetta, Astarotte, Farfarello, Archbishop Turpin, certain -touches of character in Orlando, and especially in Rinaldo, and also in -Antea, together with certain descriptions, anecdotes and acute remarks. -Margutte, plunged deep in vice, but quite shameless and aware that he -cannot be other than what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> nature made him, is also human, incapable -of treachery, capable of affection for Morgante and of enduring his -all-consuming voracity; so that when his companion dies, he never -ceases recalling him to mind, and talking about him even with Orlando:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -E conta d'ogni sua piacevolezza,<br /> -E lacrimava ancor di tenerezza.<a name="FNanchor_1_13" id="FNanchor_1_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_13" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Rinaldo, ardent and furious for revenge, seeks to slay Carlo Magno, who -has been hidden from him; but after a few days Orlando leads him to -believe that the Emperor has died of desperation, and tells him that he -has appeared to him in vision, whereupon Rinaldo changes countenance -and begins to wish him alive again, to feel pity for him, to repent him -of his fury, so that in this way peace and reconciliation are effected. -After a great battle, the conquered as they leave the field, recognise -their dead ones where they lie, and we hear them lamenting a father, a -brother or a friend:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Eravi alcun che cavava l'elmetto<br /> -al suo figliolo, al suo cognato, o padre;<br /> -poi lo baciava con pietoso affetto,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>E dicea: "Lasso, fra le nostre squadre<br /> -non tornerai in Soria più, poveretto;<br /> -che dirén noî alla tua afflitta madre,<br /> -o chi sarà più quel che la conforti?<br /> -Tu ti riman cogli altri al campo morti."<a name="FNanchor_2_14" id="FNanchor_2_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_14" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>And this is an apology, by means of which Orlando explains to Rinaldo -that he has remarked his new affection, and that it is of no use that -he should try to deceive him with words:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Rispose Orlando:—Noi sarem que' frati<br /> -che mangiando il migliaccio, l'un si cosse;<br /> -l'altro gli vede gli occhi imbambolati,<br /> -e domando quel che la cagion fosse.<br /> -Colui rispose: "Noi sián due restati<br /> -a mensa, e gli altri sono or per le fosse,<br /> -ché trentatré fummo e tu lo sia:<br /> -Quand' io vi penso, io piango sempre mai."<br /> -Quell' altro, che vedea che lo 'ngannava,<br /> -finse di pianger, mostrando dolore;<br /> -e disse a quel che di ciò domandava:<br /> -"E anco io piango, anzi mi scoppia il core,<br /> -che noi sián due restati"; e sospirava,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>"Ed è già l'uno all' altro traditore."<br /> -Cosi mi par che faccian noi, Rinaldo:<br /> -"che nol di tu che'l migliaccio era caldo?"<a name="FNanchor_3_15" id="FNanchor_3_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_15" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>And here is an octave in which Pulci makes it psychologically clear why -King Carlo allowed himself to be led astray and deceived by Gano:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Molte volte, anzi spesso, c'interviene<br /> -che tu t'arrecchi un amico e fratello,<br /> -e ciò che fa ti par che facci bene,<br /> -dipinto e colorito col pennallo.<br /> -Questo primo legame tanto tiene,<br /> -che, s' altra volta ti dispiace quello,<br /> -e qualcha cosa ti parà molesta,<br /> -sempre la prima impression pur resta.<a name="FNanchor_4_16" id="FNanchor_4_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_16" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>"These are not the octaves of Ariosto ": we have said as much. -Certainly they are not, just as the octaves of Ariosto are not those of -Pulci, and Ariosto, whatever trouble he might have taken, could never -have attained to the inventions, the emotions, the clevernesses and -the accents of the <i>Morgante,</i> which are just as inimitable in their -way as are the graces of the <i>Furioso.</i> And it is really unjust and -almost odious that the reader, face to face with the treasures of fresh -and original poetry, which Pulci throws without counting into his lap, -should pull a wry face and ungratefully remark that Pulci's poetry -is not that other poetry which he is now thinking about, and that it -should be abolished, or made perfect by the other poetry!</p> - -<p>Almost the same thing is to be repeated about the author of the -<i>Innamorato,</i> who has also been tormented, condemned and executed by -means of a comparison with the author of the <i>Furioso,</i> sometimes -conducted with such a refinement of cruelty that the strophes of the -one are printed facing the strophes of the other, and selected as -bearing upon similar situations, so that every word and syllable may -be weighed; as though the strophes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> of a poet are not to be considered -solely in themselves and in the poem of which they form part, and to -be condemned, if occasion arise for condemnation, within that circle -to which are confined the real conditions of judgment. Boiardo, to one -who reads him without any sort of preconception and abandons himself -to the simple impressions of reading, immediately shows himself to be -altogether different from what some critics maintain, the pedantic -singer of chivalry taken seriously, who gives way now and then to -involuntary laughter and to a harsh intonation which should be toned -down and softened by the skill of an Ariosto. He is quite other also -than the epic bard, which some people have imagined him to be; he could -not be epic, because he had no national sentiment, no feeling for -class or religion, and the marvellous in him is all fancy, a marvel -of the fairies; nor was he a pedant, for he obviously follows his own -spontaneous inclinations, without any secondary purpose. No, Boiardo -was on the contrary a soul passionately devoted to the primitive and -the energetic, his was the energy of the lance-thrust, of the brand -wielded, but also the energy of a proud will, of ferocious courage, -of intransigent honour, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> marvellous devices. And it is owing just -to this energy, which has a value of its own, that he lives to unite -poetically the cycles of Charlemagne and of Arthur, the Carlovingian -and the Breton traditions, arms and adventures and love, both of them -primitive cycles, the second being remarkable for the extraordinary -nature of its adventures and the violence of its loves; whereas, if -that heroism had continued to be full and substantial, it would have -been difficult to make it a theme for erotic treatment, representing a -different and opposed sentiment. To ask of him delicacy of treatment -in the representation of his knights, or delicacy of thoughts and -words in his treatment of women and love, and in general, beauty -of sentiment, is to ask of him what is external to his fundamental -motive. To be astonished that he sometimes laughs or smiles, is to -be astonished at what happens every day among the people (and there -are traces of it in the ingenuous epic) when they are listening to -the recital of great deeds, which do not forbid an occasional comic -remark. To lament his supposed neglect of art, his lack of polish of -language and versification, is to censure him as a grammarian who -employs pre-established models<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> or dwells upon minute details to which -he attributes sovereign importance. How on the other hand can it be -forgotten, when praise of his rich fancy and robust frankness of style -and composition is opposed to censures or interlarded among them, that -we must explain whence came to him these merits, for they are not to -be snatched, but are born only of the soul. Whence came they, if not -from true poetical inspiration and from his already mentioned passion -for the energetic and the primitive? Hence the admiration aroused by -his vast canvases, his vivid narratives:—Angelica, who by merely -appearing at Carlo's banquet, makes everyone fall in love with her, -and whom even the Emperor himself cannot refrain from admiring, though -with discretion, lest he should compromise his gravity, Angelica, -whom the greatest champions of Christianity and Paganism follow with -admiration, refusing herself to all and loving only him who alone -abhors her;—the solemn council of war, held by Agramante previous -to entering France, with the speeches of the kings who surround him, -courageous or prudent, the sudden appearance of the youthful Rodomonte, -who dominates all with his tremendous energy;—the joyful courage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> of -Astolfo, never disconcerted by headlong mishaps, whom fortune succours -by furnishing him with a lance, by means of which, to the astonishment -of all, he accomplishes prodigies, while he himself remains -unastonished;—Brunello, as to whose doings one would like to apply -Vico's phrase about "heroic thieving," Brunello, who wanders about the -earth, stealing the most carefully guarded objects, with an audacious -dexterity and so comic an imagination, Brunello, revelling in his -joyous virtuosity and vainly-pursued over the whole world by Marfisa of -the viper's eye, which spirts venom, Marfisa who wishes to put him to -death; but he flies from her, turning from time to time in his flight -to laugh in her face and make gestures of mockery;—Then again there -are the colloquies of Orlando and Agricane, during the pauses in their -bitter duel, which must end in the death of one of them; Rinaldo's -caustic reply to Orlando, who has reproved him for wishing to carry -away the golden couch from the fairy's garden; and that other no less -caustic repartee of the courageous highway robber to Brandimarte; and -many and many another most beautiful passage?—Yet the <i>Innamorato,</i> -notwithstanding its poetical abundance, has never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> been numbered among -really classical works, so that after the vogue which for ephemeral -reasons it enjoyed in its own day, it has not received and does not -receive the affection and homage of any but those who love what is -little loved and prize what is pure, spontaneous and rude. The poem -does not conclude in itself; it is not satisfied with itself: there is -a break somewhere in the circle: the representation of the energetic -and primitive, which is a sort of formal epicity, has something in -it of the monotonous and arid, and the pleasure derived from it has -something of the solitary and sterile. Like the charger that sniffs the -battle, so says Boiardo:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Ad ogni atto degno e signorile,<br /> -Quai se raconti di cavalleria,<br /> -sempre se allegra l'animo gentile,<br /> -come nel fatto fusse tuttavia,<br /> -manifestando fuore il cor virile....<a name="FNanchor_5_17" id="FNanchor_5_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_17" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>That is well, but the manly heart is not slow to express a certain -feeling of delusion, when it recognises that the images in question -are all body, without depth of soul, and without the guidance and -inspiration of a superior spirit. He says somewhere else:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Già molto tempo m'han tenuto a bada<br /> -Morgana, Alcina e le incantazioni,<br /> -Nè ve ho mostrato un bel colpo di spada,<br /> -E pieno il cel de lancie e de tronconi....<a name="FNanchor_6_18" id="FNanchor_6_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_18" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>But there are too many lances that meet and clash, too many limbs -flying about without our ever seeing the cause, the meaning or the -justification of all that fighting—even Boiardo himself becomes -melancholy, when he thinks of those blows exchanged in a spiritual -void, exclaiming in one of those frequent purely spontaneous epigrams, -which invest his noble person with sympathy:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Fama, seguace degli imperatori,<br /> -Ninfa, che e' gesti a' dolci versi canti,<br /> -che dopo morte ancor gli uomini onori,<br /> -e fai coloro eterni, che tu vanti,<br /> -ove sei giunta? a dir gli antichi amori,<br /> -e a narrar battaglie de' giganti;<br /> -mercè del mondo, che al tuo tempo è tale,<br /> -che più di fama o di virtù non cale.<br /> -Lascia a Parnaso quella verde pianta,<br /> -che da salvivi ormai perso è il cammino,<br /> -e meco al basso questa istoria canta<br /> -del re Agramante, il forte Saracino....<a name="FNanchor_7_19" id="FNanchor_7_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_19" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pulci and Boiardo then, not to mention others, are to be placed neither -above nor below Ariosto, for they are not even related to him. Proof of -this is to be found in the fact that thought has gone to other artists, -to Ovid for example, in the search for his parallel in literature -among the Latins, to Petrarch and to Politian among Italians, or to -architects like Bramante and Leon Baptista Alberti, and yet more to -painters, like Raphael, Correggio and Titian, comparisons having been -instituted with all of these and with others whom it is unnecessary to -mention. Now as regards quality of artistic inspiration, affinity is -certainly more intrinsic than are relations established from the use -of similar abstract material; yet it is itself abstract and extrinsic, -because it always accepts one or certain aspects of inspiration, not -the full inspiration. Thus, for example, when a comparison is drawn -between Ariosto and Ovid, who was a story-teller, lacking altogether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -in religious feeling for mythological fables and attracted to them -solely by their beauty and variety, we must immediately hasten to add -that with the exception of this side, which they share in common, -Ariosto is different and superior to the Latin poet in every other, -for Ovid had not a delicate taste in art, being merged altogether in -his pleasing and delightful themes. He improvised and overflowed, -owing to his incapacity for firm design and lack of control: he would -be better described as the model of the luxurious Italian versifiers -of the seventeenth century than as the model of Ariosto, whose art -was most chaste. If again he be superficially compared with Politian, -the comparison breaks up immediately, because the <i>Stanze</i> are -inspired by the voluptuousness of the sensible world, contemplated -in all its fugitive brilliance and with that trembling accompaniment -of anxiety and suffering, inseparable from it, while Ariosto soars -above the pathos of voluptuousness. To note affinities is of avail in -a work introductory to the general study of literature, and to draw -comparisons and point out contrasts and successive approximations may -also serve as a useful aid to the accurate description of an artist's -special character. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> we do not propose to supply here such a -didactic introduction, for the use of such a method is superfluous, -as we have already described Ariosto's characteristics in the manner -proposed. We shall not therefore form a group of artists, as related to -him in this or that respect, for such cannot be expected of us, nor has -it for us any special attraction.</p> - -<p>Observations as to affinities have another use also, as providing a -basis for sparkling and resonant metaphors, as when it is observed of -an artist that he is the "Raphael of poetry," of another that he is -"the Dante of sculpture," or of a third that he is "the Michael Angelo -of sound," or as was said (by Torquato Tasso, perhaps as a witticism, -and certainly with little truth), that Ariosto is "the Ferrarese -Homer." We already possess many pages of magnificent metaphors to the -honour and glory of the author of the <i>Furioso,</i> nor do we intend to -depreciate their merit; but the present writer begs to be excused from -the labour of increasing their number, since he is in general little -disposed to oratory and has allowed what slight gift of the sort he -might have possessed to flow away and lose itself, while conversing -with so unrhetorical and so conversational a poet as was Ludovico -Ariosto.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_13" id="Footnote_1_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_13"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Saying how delightful he was and still weeping for tender -recollection.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_14" id="Footnote_2_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_14"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Sometimes one would remove the helmet from his son, his -cousin, or his father, kissing him with pious affection, and saying -"alas, poor fellow, never again will he return to our ranks in Soria; -what shall we say to his afflicted mother, who among us can comfort -her? But thou remainest with the others who lie dead on the field."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_15" id="Footnote_3_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_15"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Orlando answered:—We shall be like the friars one of -whom burnt himself in eating his gruel; the other seeing his eyes -watering asked the reason. His neighbour replied: "Here we are, two of -us remained sitting at table, while the others are in the tomb; well -thou knowest that we were thirty-three; it always makes me weep to -think of it." The other, who saw the deception, in his turn made belief -to lament and grieve and when asked the reason: "Yea, I also weep; my -heart indeed is bursting to think that we two remain"; then sighing he -continued, "And that one of us two is betraying the other. We seem to -be doing much the same thing, Rinaldo: why won't you confess that the -gruel was hot?"</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_16" id="Footnote_4_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_16"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> It often happens that a friend becomes like a brother to -you, and whatever he does seems to be so well done as to deserve being -made a picture. This first bond holds so firmly that when he finally -does something you do not like—injures you in some way—nevertheless -the first impression remains the same.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_17" id="Footnote_5_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_17"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The gentle soul rejoices at every worthy, noble deed -recounted of knighthood, as it does when the deed was accomplished, -which revealed the manly heart.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_18" id="Footnote_6_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_18"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Morgana, Alcina and their incantations have long held me -in their chains, so that I have been unable to show you aught of fine -sword play, the sky full of lances and limbs....</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_19" id="Footnote_7_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_19"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Where art thou gone, O fame that followest emperors and -singest their brave deeds in gentle verse, thou that honorest men after -death and conferrest eternity upon those thou vauntest? This is the -fault of the world. Thou art gone to sing of ancient loves and to tell -of the battles of the giants, thanks to this world of ours that cares -no longer for courage or for fame. Leave upon Parnassus that growth -of green, since none knows now the upward path that leadeth thither, -and sing here below with me this history of King Agramante, the mighty -Saracen....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II">PART II</a></h4> - - -<h3>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</h3> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a><br /><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE PRACTICAL PERSONALITY AND THE POETICAL PERSONALITY</h4> - - -<p>To state at the outset, that the practical personality of Shakespeare -is not the object of study for the critic and historian of art, but his -poetical personality; not the character and development of his life, -but the character and development of his art, will perhaps seem to be -superfluous, but as a matter of fact it will aid us in proceeding more -rapidly.</p> - -<p>We do not aim at forbidding the natural curiosity, which leads to the -enquiry as to what sort of men in practical life were those whom we -admire as poets, thinkers and scientists. This curiosity often leads -to delusion, because there is nothing to be found behind the poet, -the philosopher, or the man of science, which can arouse interest, -though it is sometimes fruitful. It would certainly be agreeable to -raise that sort of mysterious veil that surrounds Shakespeare. We -should like to know what sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> passions, what ethical, philosophical -and mental experiences were his, and above all what he thought about -himself—whether, as appeared to those who rediscovered him a century -or so later, he were really without feeling the greatness of his genius -and of his own work. For what reason, too, if there were a special -reason, did he not take the trouble to have his plays printed, but -exposed them to the risk of being lost to posterity? Was it due to the -ingenuousness and innocence of the poet, or to proud indifference on -the part of a man, who disdains the world's applause and the mirage of -glory, because he is completely satisfied with the greatness of his -work? Or was it due to simple indolence, or to a settled plan, or to -the web of events? Did he suppose, as has been suggested, that those -plays, written for the theatre, would have continued ever to live in -the theatre, under the care of his companions in art, in accordance -with his intentions and in a manner suitable to their merit? But it -is clear that these and such like questions concern the biography, -rather than the artistic history of Shakespeare, which gives rise to an -altogether different series of researches.</p> - -<p>We do not however wish to assert that these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> two series of different -questions are without relation: even different things have some -relation to one another, which resides in their diversity itself -and is connected above them. The critic and historian of art would -certainly find it advantageous for the studies that he was about to -undertake, to know the chronology, the circumstances, the details, the -compositions, the recompositions, the recastings and the collaborations -of the Shakespearean drama. He would thus avoid the obligation of -vexing his mind as to certain interpretations, and of remaining more or -less perplexed for a greater or lesser space of time, before certain -peculiarities, discordances and inequalities, doubtful, that is to -say, as to whether they be errors in art, or art forms of which it is -difficult to seize the hidden connection. But he would gain nothing -more from this advantage (with the conjoined admonition, to beware of -the prejudices that such information is apt to cause). His judgment -would of necessity be founded, in final analysis, upon intrinsic -reasons of an artistic nature, arising from an examination of the works -before him. The chronology that he will succeed in fixing, will not be -a real or material chronology, but an ideal and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> aesthetic one, for -these are two forms of chronology which only coincide approximately and -sometimes altogether diverge from one another. Were the authenticity -of the works all clearly settled, the critic would be preserved from -proclaiming that certain works or parts of works are Shakespeare's, -when they are really, say, Greene's or Marlowe's, which is an -inexactitude of nomenclature, as also is the treating of Shakespeare's -work as being by someone else or anonymous. But this onomastic -inexactitude is already corrected by the presumption that the critic -has his eye fixed, not on the biographical and practical personage -of Shakespeare, but on the poetical personage. He is thus able to -face with calmness the danger, which is not a danger and is extremely -improbable, of allowing to pass under the colours of Shakespeare a work -drawn from the same or a similar source of inspiration, which stands at -an equal altitude with others, or of adding another work to those of -inferior quality and declining value assigned to the same name, because -he is differentiating aesthetic values and not title-deeds to legal -property.</p> - -<p>As we have said, it has not seemed superfluous to repeat these -statements, because in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> the first place, the silent and tenacious, -though erroneous conviction, as to the unity and identity of the two -histories, the practical and the poetical, or at least the obscurity as -to their true relation, is the hidden source of the vast and to a large -extent useless labours, which form the great body of Shakespearean -philology. This in common with the philology of the nineteenth century -in general, is unconsciously dominated by romantic ideas of mystical -and naturalistic unity, whence it is not by accident that Emerson -is found among the precursors of hybrid biographical aesthetic, and -the romanticizing Brandes among its most conspicuous supporters. -These labours are animated with the hope of obtaining knowledge -of the poetry of Shakespeare in its full reality, by means of the -discovery of the complete chronology, of biographical incidents, of -allusions, and of the origin of his themes. The ranks of the seekers -are also swollen by those who are animated with like hopes and wish -to exhibit their cleverness in the solution of enigmas, or are urged -by the professional necessity of producing dissertations and theses. -Unfortunately, the documents and traditions relating to the life of -Shakespeare are very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> few. All or nearly all, relate to external and -insignificant details. We are without letters, confessions or memoirs -by the author, and also without authentic and abundant collections of -facts relating to him. Although almost every year there appears some -new <i>Life of Shakespeare,</i> it is now time to recognise with resignation -and clearly to declare that it is not possible to write a biography of -Shakespeare. At the most, an arid and faulty biographical chronicle -can be composed, rather as proof of the devotion of posterity, -longing to possess even a shadow of that biography, than as genuinely -satisfying a desire for knowledge. Owing to this lack of documents, the -above-mentioned philological literature consists, almost altogether, -of an enormous and ever increasing number of conjectures, of which -the one contests, impugns, or varies the other, and all are equally -incapable of nourishing the mind. It suffices to glance through a -few pages of a Shakespearean annual or handbook, to hear of the -"Southampton theory," the "Pembroke theory," and of other theories, in -relation to the <i>Sonnets;</i> that is to say, whether the person concealed -beneath the initials W. H. in the printer's dedication, is the Earl -of Southampton,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> or the Earl of Pembroke, or a musician of the name -of Hughes, or even William Harvey, the third husband of Southampton's -mother, or the retail bookseller, William Hell, or an invention of -the printer, or a joke of the poet, who should thus indicate himself -(William Himself); and so on, with the "Fitton theory," the "Davenant -theory," and the like, that is to say, whether the "dark lady," -celebrated in some of the sonnets, be a court lady of the name of Mary -Fitton, or the hostess by whom Shakespeare is said to have become -the father of the poet Davenant (and one of the critics has dared -admit that he spent fifteen years in research and meditation on this -point alone), or the French wife of the printer Field, or finally a -conventional and imaginary personage of Elizabethan sonneteering, which -was based upon the manner of Petrarch. And in the same way as with the -<i>Sonnets,</i> there have been conjectures of the most varied sorts as to -Shakespeare's marriage, his relations with his wife, the incidents -of his family and of his profession. Passing to the plays, there are -and have been discussions without apparent end, as to whether <i>Titus -Andronicus</i> be an original work, or has been patched up by him; as to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -whether <i>Henry VI</i> be all of it his, or only a part, or revised and -enlarged by him; as to which portions of <i>Henry VIII</i> and of <i>Pericles</i> -are his and which Fletcher's, or whether by other hands; as to whether -<i>Timon</i> be a sketch finished by others or a sketch by others finished -by Shakespeare; whether and to what extent there persists in <i>Hamlet</i> a -previous <i>Hamlet</i> by Kyd or by another author; whether certain of the -so-called "apocryphas," such as <i>Arden of Feversham</i> and <i>Edward III,</i> -are on the contrary to be held to be authentic. In like manner, the -difficulties connected with the chronology are great and conjectures -numerous. The <i>Dream,</i> for instance, is by some placed in the year -1590, by others in 1595, <i>Julius Caesar</i> now in 1606, now in 1599, -<i>Cymbeline</i> in 1605 and 1611, <i>Troilus and Cressida,</i> by some in 1599, -by others in 1603, by others still in 1609, by yet others resolved into -three parts or strata, form 1592 to 1606, and 1607, with additions by -other hands. For the majority, the <i>Tempest</i> belongs to the year 1611, -but is by others dated earlier, and as regards <i>Hamlet</i> again, in -its first form, there are some who believe that it was composed, not -by any means in 1602, but between 1592 and 1594. And so on, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -advantage being taken of the few sure aids offered by stylistic or -metrical measurements, as one may prefer to call them. Now conjectures -are of use as heuristic instruments, only in so far as it is hoped -to convert them into certainties, by means of the documents of which -they aid in the search and the interpretation. But when this is not -possible, they are altogether vain and vacuous, and consequently, were -they convertible into certainties, would not give the solution or the -criterion of solution of the critical problems relating to the poetry -of Shakespeare. When they are not to be so converted and remain mere -vague imagining, they do not even supply the practical and biographical -history, which others delude themselves with the belief that they -can construct piecemeal by means of them. Hence it has happened that -careful writers, who have wished to give the character and life of -Shakespeare, as far as possible without hypotheses and fancies, have -been obliged to retail a series of general assertions, in which all -individualisation is lost, even if Shakespeare be pronounced good, -honest, gentle, serviceable, prudent, laborious, frank, gay, and the -like.</p> - -<p>But the majority convert the less probable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> conjectures into -certainties, and proceed from conjecture to conjecture and from -assertion to assertion, finally producing, under the title, <i>Life of -Shakespeare,</i> nothing but a romance, which, however, always turns -out to be too colourless to be called artistic. A rapacious hand is -stretched out to seize the poetical works themselves, with the view -of writing this sort of fiction since (to quote the author of one of -these unamusing fictions, Brandes) it cannot be admitted that it is -impossible to know by deducing them from his writings, the life, the -adventures, and the person of a man who has left about forty plays -and poems. And it is certainly possible to deduce all these things -from the poetical writings, but the life, and the poetical adventures -and personages, not the practical and biographical; save in the case -(which is not that of Shakespeare,) where definitely informative, -autobiographical statements and excursions are to be found among the -poems, that is to say, passages that are not poetical, but prosaic. -In every other instance, the poetical emotion does not lead to the -practical, because the relation between the two is not <i>deterministic,</i> -from effect to cause, but <i>creative,</i> from material to form, and -therefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> incommensurable. The moment it is raised to the sphere of -poetry, a sentiment that has really been experienced is plucked from -its practical and realistic soil, and made the motive of composition -for a world of dreams, one of the infinite possible worlds, in which it -is as useless to seek any longer the reality of that sentiment, as it -is vain to seek a drop of water poured into the ocean, and transformed -from what it was previously by ocean's vast embrace. One feels almost -inclined to repeat as warning that strophe from the <i>Sonnets,</i> where -the poet said of his mistress to his friend:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Nay, if you read this line, remember not<br /> -The hand that writ it; for I love you so,<br /> -That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,<br /> -If thinking on me then should make you woe."<br /> -</p> - -<p>For this reason, when we read in Brandes's book (which we select for -quotation here, because it has been widely circulated), such statements -as that Richard III, the deformed dwarf, whom we feel to be superior -in intellect, adumbrates Shakespeare himself, obliged to adopt the -despised profession of the actor, but full of the pride of genius, -it is not a case of rejecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> or accepting his statements, but of -simply looking upon them as so many conjectures founded upon air and -as such, devoid of interest. This criterion can also be applied in the -following cases: that the pitiful death of the youthful Prince Arthur, -in <i>King John,</i> shows traces of the loss of one of his sons, sustained -by the author at the moment when he was composing that drama; that -the riotous youth of Henry V is a symbol of the youth of Shakespeare -during his first years in London; that Brutus, in <i>Julius Caesar,</i> has -reference to the persons of Essex and Southampton, protectors of the -poet and unsuccessful conspirators against the queen; that Coriolanus, -disdainful of praise, is Shakespeare in the attitude that it suited -him to take up towards the public and the critics; that the feeling of -King Lear, appalled with ingratitude, is that of the poet, appalled at -the ingratitude he experienced at the hands of his colleagues, of the -impresarii and of his pupils; and finally that Shakespeare must have -written those terrible dramas in the nocturnal hours, although he most -probably worked as a rule in the early morning; together with many -other fancies of a similar sort; it is not a case of accepting or of -confuting them, but of just taking them for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> what they are, conjectures -based upon air, and as such of no interest.</p> - -<p>The like may be said of another volume, which has also been much -discussed, that of Harris. Here, in a view based upon the inspection of -his lyrics and dramas, he is represented as sensual and neuropathic, -almost affected with erotic mania, weak of will, attracted and -tyrannised over during almost the whole of his life, by a fascinating -and faithless dark lady, named Mary Fitton. Hence the origin of his -most poignant tragedies, and the mystery that conceals his last years, -when he withdrew to Stratford, by no means with the intention of -there enjoying the peace of the country as a <i>foenerator Appuis,</i> but -because, ruined in body and soul, he wished there to nurse his ills, or -rather to die there, as soon afterwards he did.</p> - -<p>The period of the great tragedies, especially, has been connected -with circumstances in the private life of the author and with events -in English public life. This too may or may not be true: Shakespeare -may or may not have been extremely excitable, both in personal and -practical matters; he may on the other hand have remained perfectly -calm and watched the tossing sea from the shore, with that tone -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> feeling proper to artists, described by psychologists as -<i>Scheingefühle,</i> a feeling of appearance and dream. No value also is -to be attributed to conjectures as to the models that Shakespeare -sometimes had before him: for Shylock in the shape of some adventurer -of his time, or for Prospero in the person of the Emperor Rudolph II, -who was interested in science and magic, and the like, because the -relation between art and its model is incommensurable. In reading the -works of Shakespeare, one is sometimes inclined to think (as for that -matter in the case of other poets), that some affection or incident -of the life of the author is to be found in the words of this or that -character, as for example in <i>Cymbeline,</i> where Posthumus says,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">"Could I find out</span><br /> -The woman's part in me! But there's no motion<br /> -That tends to vice in man, but I affirm<br /> -It is the woman's part!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>or in those others of <i>Troilus and Cressida</i>:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing<br /> -else holds fashions: a burning devil take them!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>in the same way as some have suspected a personal memory in the case -of Dante, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> Francesca episode of the reading and inebriation. -But there is nothing to be done with this suspicion and the thought -that suggested it. Nor is there anything to be built upon in those rare -passages, where it may seem that the poet breaks the coherence and -aesthetic level of his work, in order to lay stress upon some real or -practical feeling of his own, by over-accentuation; because, even if we -admit that there are such passages in Shakespeare, it always remains -doubtful whether for him, as for other poets, the true motive for -this inopportune emphasis, is to be found in the eruption of his own -powerful feelings, or rather in some other accidental motive.</p> - -<p>We may also save ourselves from wonder and invective of the "Baconian -hypothesis," by means of this indifference of the poetical work towards -biography. This hypothesis maintains that the real author of the plays, -which pass under the name of Shakespeare, was Francis Bacon. We are -likewise preserved from those others of more recent date and vogue, -which maintain that the author was Roger, fifth Earl of Rutland, or -that Rutland collaborated with Southampton, or that there really -existed a society of dramatic authors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> (Chettle, Heywood, Webster, -etc.) with the final revision entrusted to Bacon, or finally (the -latest discovery of the sort) that he was William Stanley, sixth Earl ->of Derby. A thousand or more volumes, opuscules and articles have been -printed to deal with these conjectures, and although—to the severe eye -of the trained philologist—they may justly seem to be extravagant, -yet they retain the merit of being a sort of involuntarily <i>ironic -treatment</i> of the purely philological method and of its abuse of -conjecture.</p> - -<p>But even if we grant the unlikely contention that in the not very -great brain of the philosopher Bacon, there lodged the brain of a very -great poet, from which proceeded the Shakespearean drama, nothing -would thereby have been discovered or proved, save a singular marvel, -a joke, a monstrosity of nature. The artistic problem would remain -untouched, because that drama remains always the same; Lear laments -and imprecates in the same manner, Othello struggles furiously, Hamlet -meditates and wavers before the problem of humanity and the action that -he is called upon to take, and in the same manner, all are enwrapped in -the veil of Eternity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> It is a good thing to shake off this weight of -erroneous philology (another philology exists alongside of it, which -is not erroneous, since it preserves the probably genuine text, and -interprets the vocabulary and the historical references with a genuine -feeling for art), not only because, whether or no it attain the end -of biography, it distracts attention from the right and proper object -of artistic criticism, but also because it employs the biography, -true or false, for the purpose of clouding and changing the artistic -vision. Confounding art and document, it transports into art whatever -it has discovered or believes itself to have discovered by means of -research, turning the serene compositions of the poet into a series -of shudders, cries, restless motions, convulsions, ferocious springs, -manifestations, now of sentimental rapture, now of furious desire.</p> - -<p>We know that it is necessary to make an effort of abstraction, to -forget biographical details concerning the poets, in those cases where -they abound, if we wish to enjoy their art, in what it possesses of -ideality, which is truth. We know, too, that poets and artists have -always experienced dislike and contempt for those gossip-mongers, who -investigate and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> record the private occurrences of their lives, in -order to extract from them the elements of artistic judgment. This is -the reason why a poet's contemporaries and his fellow-countrymen and -fellow-townsmen are said not to be good judges and that no one is a -poet or prophet among his familiars and in the place of his birth.</p> - -<p>The advantage of the lack of a bar to artistic contemplation, one of -the good consequences of this lack of biographical detail relating to -Shakespeare, is thrown away by these conjecturers, who, like the mule -of Galeazzo Florimonte, bring stones to birth that they may stumble -upon them.</p> - -<p>We can observe the re-immersion of Shakespearean poetry in -psychological materiality in the already mentioned book of Brandes (and -also to some extent in the more subtle and ingenious work of Frank -Harris) and in the case of Brandes, the readjustment of values that is -its consequence, as with <i>King Lear</i> and <i>Timon,</i> both documents of -misanthropy induced by ingratitude; and even the sinking of values into -non-values, when he fails to effect his psychological reduction, even -by means of those extravagant methods, as in the case of <i>Macbeth,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -where he declares that this play, which is one of the dramatic -masterpieces, appears to him to possess but "slight interest," because -he does not feel "the heart of Shakespeare beating there," that is to -say, of the Shakespeare endowed with certain practical objects and -interests by his imagination.</p> - -<p>This error is also to be found in the so-called "pictures of the -society of the time," by means of which another group has striven to -interpret the art of Shakespeare. These are not less extrinsic and -disturbing than the others, assuming that they are composed with like -historical ignorance. Taine, for instance, having got it into his head -that the English of the time of Elizabeth were "<i>des bêtes sauvages</i>," -describes the drama of the time as a reproduction "<i>sans choix</i>" of -all "<i>les laideurs, les bassesses, les horreurs, les détails crus, -les mœurs déréglées et féroces</i>" of that time, and the style of -Shakespeare as "<i>un composé d'expressions forcenées,</i>" in such wise -that when one reads the famous <i>Histoire de la littérature anglaise,</i> -it is difficult to say whether poets or assassins are passing across -the stage, whether these be artistic and harmonious contests, or -dagger-thrust struggles. The opinion of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> Goethe is opposed to all these -deformations, to the Shakespeare who moans and shrieks on the wind of -the wild passions of his time, to that other Shakespeare who reveals -the wounds of his own sickly soul with bitter sarcasm and disgust. In -the conversations with Eckermann, he gives as his impression that the -plays of Shakespeare were the work "of a man in perfect health and -strength, both in body and spirit"; he must indeed have been healthy -and strong and free, when he created something so free, so healthy and -so strong as his poetry.</p> - -<p>In a calmer sphere of considerations, those who make the personages and -the action of the plays depend upon the political and social events -of the time commit a similar deterministic error—upon the victory -over the Armada, the conspiracy of Essex, the death of Elizabeth, the -accession of James, the geographical discoveries and colonisation of -the day, the contests with the Puritans, and the like.</p> - -<p>Others err in tracing the different forms of the poetry to the course -of his reading, to the Chronicle of Holinshed, to Italian novels, to -the Lives of Plutarch, and especially to the <i>Essais</i> of Montaigne -(where Chasles and others of more recent date have placed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> origin -of the new great period of his poetical work); others again have found -it in the circumstances of the English stage of the time, and in the -various tastes of the "reserved" and "pit" seats, as in the so-called -"realistic" criticism of Rümelin.</p> - -<p>The poetry, then, should certainly be interpreted historically, but in -the proper sense, disconnected, that is to say from a history that is -foreign to it and with which its only connection is that prevailing -between a man and what he disregards, puts away from him and rejects, -because it either injures him or is of no use, or, which comes to the -same thing, because he has already made sufficient use of it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h5> - - -<h4>SHAKESPEAREAN SENTIMENT</h4> - - -<p>Everyone possesses at the bottom of his heart, as it were, a synthetic -or compendious image of a poet like Shakespeare, who belongs to the -common patrimony of culture, and in his memory the definitions of him -that have been given and have become current formulae. It is well -to fix the mind upon that image, to remember these formulae, and to -extract from them their principal meanings, with the view of obtaining, -at least in a preliminary and provisory manner, the characteristic -spiritual attitude of Shakespeare, his poetical sentiment.</p> - -<p>The first observation leaps to the eye and is generally admitted: -namely, that no particular feeling or order of feelings prevails -in him; it cannot be said of him that he is an amorous poet, like -Petrarch, a desperately sad poet like Leopardi, or heroic, as Homer. -His name is adorned rather with such epithets as <i>universal</i> poet, -as perfectly <i>objective,</i> entirely <i>impersonal,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> extraordinarily -<i>impartial.</i> Sometimes even his <i>coldness</i> has been remarked—a -coldness certainly sublime, "that of a sovran spirit, which has -described the complete curve of human existence and has survived all -sentiment" (Schlegel).</p> - -<p>Nor is he a poet of <i>ideals,</i> as they are called, whether they be -religious, ethical, political, or social. This explains the antipathy -frequently manifested towards him by apostles of various sorts, of -whom the last was Tolstoi, and the unsatisfied desires that take fire -in the minds of the right thinking, urging them always to ask of any -very great man for something more, for a supplement. They conclude -their admiration with a sigh that there should really be something -missing in him—he is not to be numbered along those who strive for -more liberal political forms and for a more equable social balance, -nor has he had bowels of compassion for the humble and the plebeian. A -certain school of German critics (Ulrici, Gervinus, Kreyssig, Vischer, -etc.), perhaps as an act of opposition to such apparent accusations -(I would not recommend the reading of these authors, whom I have felt -obliged to peruse owing to the nature of my task) began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> represent -Shakespeare as a lofty master of morality, a casuist most acute and -reliable, who never fails to solve an ethical problem in the correct -way, a prudent and austere counsellor in politics, and above all, an -infallible judge of actions, a distributor of rewards and punishments, -graduated according to merit and demerit, paying special attention that -not even the slightest fault should go unpunished. Now setting aside -the fact that the ends attributed to him were not in accordance with -his character as a poet and bore evidence only to the lack of taste of -those critics; setting aside that the design of distributing rewards -and punishments according to a moral scale, which they imagine to exist -and praise in him, was altogether impossible of accomplishment by any -man or even by any God, since rewards and punishments are thoughts -altogether foreign to the moral consciousness and of a purely practical -and judicial nature; setting aside these facts, which are generally -considered unworthy of discussion and jeered at in the most recent -criticism, as the ridiculous survivals of a bygone age, even if we make -the attempt to translate these statements into a less illogical form,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -and assume that there really existed in Shakespeare an inclination for -problems of that sort, they shew themselves to be at variance with -simple reality. Shakespeare caressed no ideals of any sort and least -of all political ideals; and although he magnificently represents -political struggles also, he always went beyond their specific -character and object, attaining through them to the only thing that -really attracted him; life.</p> - -<p>This <i>sense of life</i> is also extolled in his work, which for that -reason is held to be eminently <i>dramatic,</i> that is to say, animated -with a sense of life considered in itself, in its eternal discord, its -eternal harshness, its bitter-sweet, in all its complexity.</p> - -<p>To feel life potently, without the determination of a passion or an -ideal, implies feeling it unilluminated by faith, undisciplined by -any law of goodness, not to be corrected by the human will, not to be -reduced to the enjoyment of idyllic calm, or to the inebriation of -joy; and Shakespeare has indeed been judged in turn not religious, not -moral, no assertor of the freedom of the will, and no optimist. But no -one has yet dared to judge him to be irreligious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> immoral, a fatalist, -or a pessimist, for these adjectives are seen not to suit him, as soon -as they are pronounced.</p> - -<p>And here too were required the strange aberration of fancy of a Taine, -his singular incapacity for receiving clear impressions of the truth, -in order to portray the feeling of Shakespeare towards man and life as -being fundamentally irrational, based on blind deception, a sequence of -hasty impulses and swarming images, without an autonomous centre, where -truth and wisdom are accidental and unstable effects, or appearances -without substance. These are simply exercises in style, repeated with -variants from other writers; they do not even present a caricature -of the art of Shakespeare, since even for this, some connection with -fact is necessary. Shakespeare, who has so strong a feeling for the -bounds set to the human will, in relation to the Whole, which stands -above it, possesses the feeling for the power of human liberty in equal -degree. As Hazlitt says, he, who in some respects is "the least moral -of poets," is in others "the greatest of moralists." He who beholds the -unremovable presence of evil and sorrow, has his eye open and intent -in an equal degree upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> the shining forth of the good, the smile of -joy, and is healthy and virile as no pessimist ever was. He who nowhere -in his works refers directly to a God, has ever present within him the -obscure consciousness of a divinity, of an unknown divinity, and the -spectacle of the world, taken by itself, seems to him to be without -significance, men and their passions a dream, a dream that has for -intrinsic and correlative end a reality which, though hidden, is more -solid and perhaps more lofty.</p> - -<p>But we must be careful not to insist too much upon these positive -definitions and represent his sentiment as though it were one in which -negative elements were altogether overcome. The good, virtue, is -without doubt stronger in Shakespeare than evil and vice, not because -it overcomes and resolves the other term in itself, but simply because -it is light opposed to darkness, because it is the good, because it is -virtue. This is because of its special quality, which the poet discerns -and seizes in its original purity and truth, without sophisticating -or weakening it. Positive and negative elements do really become -interlaced or run into one another, in his mode of feeling, without -becoming reconciled in a superior harmony. Their natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> logic can be -expressed in terms of rectitude, justice and sincerity; but their logic -and natural character also finds its expression in terms of ambition, -cupidity, egoism and satanic wickedness. The will is accurately aimed -at the target, but also, it is sometimes diverted from it by a power, -which it does not recognise, although it obeys it, as though under -a spell. The sky becomes serene after the devastating hurricane, -honourable men occupy the thrones from which the wicked have fallen, -the conquerors pity and praise the conquered. But the desolation of -faith betrayed, of goodness trampled upon, of innocent creatures -destroyed, of noble hearts broken, remains. The God that should pacify -hearts is invoked, his presence may even be felt, but he never appears.</p> - -<p>The poet does not stand beyond these struggling passions, attraction -and repugnance, love and hate, hope and despair, joy and sorrow; but -he is beyond being on the side of one or the other. He receives them -all in himself, not that he may feel them all, and pour tears of -blood around them, but that he may make of them his unique world, the -Shakespearean world, which is the world of those undecided conflicts.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>What poets appear at first sight more different than Shakespeare and -Ariosto? Yet they have this in common, that both look upon something -that is beyond particular emotions, and for this reason it has been -said of both of them, more than once, that "they speak but little to -the heart." They are certainly sentimental and agitated by the passions -to a very slight degree; the "humour" of both has been referred to, a -word that we avoid here, because it is so uncertain of meaning and of -such little use in determining profound emotions of the spirit. Ariosto -veils and shades all the particular feelings that he represents, by -means of his divine irony; and Shakespeare, in a different way, by -endowing all with equal vigour and relief, succeeds in creating a sort -of equilibrium, by means of reciprocal tension, which, owing to its -mode of genesis, differs in every other respect from the harmony in -which the singer of the <i>Furioso</i> delights. Ariosto surpasses good -and evil, retaining interest in them only on account of the rhythm of -life, so constant and yet so various, which arises, expands, becomes -extinguished and is reborn, to grow and again to become extinguished. -Shakespeare surpasses all individual emotions, but he does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> not -surpass, on the contrary, he strengthens our interest in good and -evil, in sorrow and joy, in destiny and necessity, in appearance and -reality, and the vision of this strife is his poetry. Thus the one has -been metaphorically called "imaginative"; the other "realistic," and -the one has been opposed to the other. They are opposed to one another, -yet they meet at one point, not at the general one of both being poets, -but at the specific point of being cosmic poets, not only in the sense -in which every poet is cosmical, but in the particular sense above -explained. Let us hope that it is not necessary to recommend that this -should be understood with the necessary reservations, that is to say, -as the trait that dominates the two poets in a different way and does -not exclude the other individual traits of feature, above all not -that which belongs to all poetry whatsoever. The limits set to every -critical study, which should henceforth be known to all, are laid -down by the impossibility of ever rendering in logical terms the full -effect of any poetry or of other artistic work, since it is clear that -if such a translation were possible, art would be impossible, that is -to say, superfluous, because admitting of a substitute. Criticism,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -nevertheless, within those limits, performs its own office, which is to -discern and to point out exactly where lies the poetical motive and to -formulate the divisions which aid in distinguishing what is proper to -every work.</p> - -<p>For the rest, if Ariosto has often been compared to contemporary -painters, with the object of drawing attention to his harmonic -inspiration, Ludwig has been unable to abstain from making similar -comparisons for Shakespeare. He found the most adequate image for -his dramas in the portraits and landscapes of Titian, of Giorgione, -of Paul Veronese, as contrasting with the amiability of Correggio, -the insipidity of the Caracci, the affected manner of Guido and of -Carlo Dolce, the crudity of the naturalists Caravaggio and Ribera. -In Shakespeare, as in those great Venetians, there is everywhere -"existence," life upon earth, transfigured perhaps, but devoid of -restlessness, of aureoles and of sentimentalisms, serene even where -tragic.</p> - -<p>This sense of strife in vital unity, this profound sense of life, -prevents the vision from becoming simplified and superficialised in the -antitheses of good and evil, of elect and reprobate beings, and causes -the introduction of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> conflict, in varying measure and degree, in every -being. Thus the battle is fought at the very heart of things. Hence the -aspect of mystery that surrounds the actions and events portrayed by -Shakespeare, which is not to be understood in the general sense that -every vision of art is a mystery, but rather in the special sense of a -course of events of which the poet not only does not possess (and could -not possess) the philosophical explanation, but never discovers the -reposeful term, peace after war, the acceptance of war as a means to a -more lofty peace. For this reason is everywhere diffused the terror of -the Unknown, which surrounds on every side and conceals a countenance -that may be more terrible than terrible life itself, in the development -of which human beings are involved—a countenance terrible for what -it will reveal, and perhaps sublime and ecstatic, giving in its very -terribleness, terror and rapture together. The mystery lies not only in -the occasional appearance of spectres, demons, witches, in the poetry, -but in the whole atmosphere of which they form only a part, assisting -by their presence in a more direct determination. This mystery was well -expressed by the first great critics who penetrated into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> world of -Shakespearean poetry, Herder and Goethe, to the second of whom belongs -the simile of the Shakespearean drama as "open books of Destiny, in -which blows the wind of emotional life here and there stripping their -leaves in its violence." In Shakespeare's musicality we are everywhere -sensible of a voluptuous palpitation before the mystery which at times -reflects upon itself and supplies the link between music and love, -music and sadness, music and unknown Godhead.</p> - -<p>We must insist upon the word "sentiment," which we have adopted for -the description of this spiritual condition, in order that it may not -be mistaken for a concept or mode of thought Or philosopheme, which -occurs when the word "conception" or "mode of conceiving life" is taken -in a literal and material manner as applied to Shakespeare and in -general to the poets—when, for instance, it is asked by what special -quality does Shakespeare's "conception of tragedy" differ from Greek -and French tragedy, and the like, as though in such a case, it were a -question of concepts and systems. Shakespeare is not a philosopher: -his spiritual tendency is altogether opposed to the philosophic, which -dominates both sentiment and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> spectacle of life with thought that -understands and explains it, reconciling conflicts under a single -principle of dialectic. Shakespeare, on the contrary, takes both and -renders them in their vital mobility—they know nothing of criticism -or theory—and he does not offer any solution other than the evidence -of visible representation. For this reason, when he is characterised -and receives praises for his "objectivity," his "impersonality," his -"universality," and those who do this are not satisfied even with -their incorrect description of the real psychological differences -noted above, but proceed to claim a philosophical character for his -spiritual attitude, it is advisable to reject them all, confronting his -objectivity with his poetic subjectivity, his impersonality with his -personality, his universality with his individual mode of feeling. The -cosmic oppositions, in imagining which he symbolises reality and life, -not only are not philosophical solutions for him in his plays, but they -are not even problems of thought; only rarely do they tend to take the -form of bitter interrogations, which remain without answer. Equally -fantastic and arbitrary are the attempts to compose a philosophical -theory from the work of Shakespeare who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> is alternately, theistic, -pantheistic, dualistic, deterministic, pessimistic and optimistic, -by extracting it from his plays in the same manner as that employed -in the case of the philosophy implied in a historical or political -treatise; because there is certainly a philosophy implied in these -latter cases, embodied in the historical and political judgments which -they contain. In the case of Shakespeare, however, which is that of -poets in general, to extract it means to place it there, that is, to -think and to draw conclusions ourselves under the imaginative stimulus -of the poet, and to place in his mouth, through a psychological -illusion, our own questions and answers. It would only be possible to -discuss a philosophy of Shakespeare if, like Dante, he had developed -one in certain philosophical sections of his poems; but this is not so, -because the thoughts that he utters fulfil no other function than that -of poetical expressions, and when they are taken from their contexts, -where they sound so powerful and so profound, they lose their virtue -and appear to be indeterminate, contradictory or fallacious.</p> - -<p>It is quite another question as to whether his sentiment was based upon -what are called mental or philosophical <i>presumptions</i> and as to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> what -these, properly speaking, were; because, as regards the first point, -it must be at once admitted that a sentiment does not appear without a -basis of certain mental presumptions or concepts, that is to say, of -certain convictions, affirmations, negations and doubts. As regards the -second point, the legitimacy of the enquiry will be admitted, and it -will also be noted that this forms one of several historical enquiries, -relating to Shakespeare in his poetry, to which belongs the place -unduly usurped by ineptitudes and superficialities on the theme of his -private affairs; his domestic relations, his business transactions, and -his pretended love intrigues with Mary Fitton and the hostess Madam -Davenant.</p> - -<p>It is also true that the researches into the mental presumptions of -Shakespeare have often strayed into the external and the anecdotic, as -is the case with such problems as the religion that he followed and -his political opinions. Stated in this way, they likewise sink to the -level of biographical problems, indifferent to art. That Shakespeare -belonged to the Anglican and not to the Catholic confession (as some -still maintain, and in 1864 Rio wrote a whole book on the subject), -and opposed Puritanism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> in one quality or the other; that he supported -Essex in his conspiracy, or on the contrary was on the side of Queen -Elizabeth, has nothing to do with the mental presuppositions immanent -in his poetry. He may have been impious and profane in active practical -life as a Greene or a Marlowe, or a devout papist, worshipping with -secret superstition, like an adept of Mary Stuart, and nevertheless he -may have composed poetry with different presuppositions, upon thoughts -that had entered his mind and had there become formed and dominated in -his spirit, without for that reason having changed the faith previously -selected and observed. The research of which we speak does not concern -the superficial, but the profound character of the man; it is not -concerned with the congealed and solidified stratum, but with the tide -that flows beneath it, which others would call the unconscious in -relation to the conscious, whereas, it would be more exact to invert -the two qualifications. Presuppositions are the philosophemes that -everyone carries with him, gathering them from the times and from -tradition, or forming them anew by means of his own observations and -rapid reflections. In poetical works, they form the condition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> remote -from the psychological attitude, which generates poetical visions.</p> - -<p>In this depth of consciousness, Shakespeare shows himself clearly to -be outside, not only Catholicism, but also Protestantism, not only -Christianity, but every religious, or rather every transcendental and -theological conception. Here he also resembles the Italian poet of -the Renaissance, Ariosto, though reaching the position by different -ways and with different results. His sentiment would have appeared -in an altogether different guise, if a theological conception, such -as the belief in an eternal life, in a judging God, in rewards and -punishments beyond this world, in the view that earthly life is a trial -and a pilgrimage, had been lively and active in him. He knows no other -than the vigorous passionate life upon earth, divided between joy and -sorrow, with around and above it, the shadow of a mystery.</p> - -<p>It is with natural wonder, then, that we read of Shakespeare, -especially among German authors, as a spirit altogether dominated by -the Christian ideas proper to the Reformation, whereas, with regard -to Christianity, he was altogether lacking, both in the theology -of Judaic-Hellenic origin and in the tendency to asceticism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> and -mysticism. On the other hand we cannot admit the opposite statement -that he was a pagan, in the somewhat popular sense of self-satisfied -hedonism, because it is not less evident that his moral discernment, -his sense of what is sinful, his delicacy of conscience, his humanity, -bear a strong imprint of Christian ethics. Indeed, it is precisely -owing to this lofty and exquisite ethical judgment, united to the -vision of a world, which moves by its own power or anyhow by some -mysterious power, frequently opposing or overthrowing or perverting the -forces directed to the good, that this tragic conflict arises in him. -To this double presupposition must be added, as inference, a third, -the negation, the scepticism, or the ignorance of the conception of -a rational course of events and of a Providence that governs it. Not -even does he accept inexorable Fate as sole master of men and Gods; -nor the determinism of individual character as another kind of Fate, -a naturalistic Fate, as some of his interpreters have believed; he -remains unaffected by the hard Asiatic or African dualistic idea of -predestination; on the contrary, he recognizes human spontaneity and -liberty, as forces that prove their own reality in the fact itself, -though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> he nevertheless permits liberty and necessity to clash and the -one sometimes to overpower the other, without establishing a relation -between the two, without suspecting their identity in opposition, -without discovering that the two elements at strife form the single -river of the real, and therefore failing to rise to the level of the -modern theodicy, which is History. Our wonderment bursts forth anew, -in observing the emphatic and insistent statements of such writers as -for instance Ulrici as to the historicity of the thought and of the -tragedies of Shakespeare, where just what is altogether absent is the -historical conception of life, which was possessed by Dante, though in -the form of the mediaeval philosophy of history. And since historicity -is both political and social ideality, Shakespeare must have been and -is wanting, as has been said, in true political faith and passion. -He has however been credited with this by publicists and political -polemists like Gervinus, who have desired to count so great a name -among their number, have imagined him possessed with the passion for it -and even believed that it was crowned in him with doctrinal wisdom.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to decide by what ways and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> means these presuppositions -were formed in his inmost soul, for with this question we reenter the -biographical problem as to his education, the company he kept, his -reading, his experiences; and upon all these subjects little or no -exact information is available. Did he observe the fervour of life -which prevailed in the England of his day with sympathetic soul and -vigilant eye? Did he lend an ear to discussions upon theological and -metaphysical questions and carry away from them a sense of their -emptiness? Did he frequent the youth of the universities, which just at -that time gave several university wits to literature and to the drama? -Did he read the <i>Laus Stultitiae</i> of Erasmus, moral and religious -dialogues and treatises, the English humanists, the Platonicians, -the ancient and modern historians, as he certainly read Montaigne -at a later date? Did he read Machiavelli and the other political -writers of Italy, and those who had begun to sketch the doctrine of -the temperament and the passions, such as Huarte and Charron, did he -know Bruno, or had he heard of him and of his doctrines? Or did the -influence of these men and books reach him by various indirect paths, -at second or third hand, through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> conversation, or as by a figure of -speech we say, from his environment? And what part of those doubts, -negations and beliefs of his, was due to his vivacity and certainty of -intuition, or to his own continuous and steady rumination in himself, -rather than to the course of his studies? But even if we possessed -abundant notes on this subject, we should still remain without much -information, because the processes of the formation of the individual -escape for the most part the observation of others and frequently even -the memory of him in whom they have actually occurred, and the facility -with which they are forgotten proves that what is really important to -preserve, is not these, but their result.</p> - -<p>And what is here of importance is the relation of these mental -presuppositions with the life of the time, with the general culture -of the period, with the historical phase through which the human -spirit was then passing. In these respects, Shakespeare was truly, as -he has appeared to those who have best understood him, a man of the -Renaissance, of that age, which, with its navigation, its commerce, its -philosophies, its religious strifes, its natural science, its poems, -its pictures, its statues, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> graceful architecture, had set earthly -life in full relief, and no longer permitted it to lose its colours, -become pallid and dissolve in the rays of another world external to -it, as had happened through the long period of the Middle Ages. But -Shakespeare did not belong to the pleasure-seeking, joyous and pagan -Renaissance, which is but a small aspect of the great movement, but -rather to that side of it which was animated with new wants, with new -religious tendencies, with the spirit of new philosophical research, -full of doubts, permeated with flashes from the future. These flashes, -which appeared only in the great thinkers, who were not yet able to -arrest them and make of them distributors of a calm and equable light, -were also irreducible to a radiant centre in its greatest poet, in whom -philosophy served as a presupposition and did not form the essence -of his mental life. It is therefore vain to seek in Shakespeare for -what neither Bruno nor Campanella attained, nor even Descartes and -Spinoza at a later date, namely the historical concept, of which we -have already spoken, and it is also vain to talk of his Spinozistic or -Shellingian pantheism.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare nevertheless has assumed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> the past and sometimes assumes -even in our eyes, the appearance of a philosopher and of a master, or -a precursor of the loftiest truths, which have since come to light. -It is a fact that modern idealistic and historical philosophy has not -experienced equal attraction towards any other poet, recognising in -him the soul of a brother. How can this be? The answer is contained -in what we have been noting and establishing. Shakespeare's mental -presuppositions, which rejected the Middle Ages and were on a level -with the new times, seeking and failing to find unity and harmony -and above all that vigorous feeling of his for the cosmic strifes, -breaking out from them and rising to the sphere of poetry, seems to -offer material already prepared and to some extent also shaped to the -dialectician, for he sometimes almost suggests the right word to the -moralist, the politician, the philosopher of art. He might also be -called a "pre-philosopher," owing to this power of stimulation that -he possesses, and this appellation would have the further advantage -of making it well understood that there is no use attempting to make -of him a philosopher. And precisely because it is impossible to -extract a definite and particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> doctrine from his pre-philosophy -and poetry, can many of different kinds be extracted, according to -diversity of minds and the progress of the times. Hence, if some -have maintained that the logical complement of that poetical vision -is speculative idealism, dialectic, anti-ascetic morality, romantic -aesthetic, realistic politics, the historical conception of the real, -and have maintained this with reason, basing their views upon doctrines -which they believed to be true, and have justly thought that the -logical complement of beauty is truth; others have possibly arrived at -pessimistic conclusions from that vision and assertion of conflicts; -and others have striven and are striving to effect the restauration of -some of the presumptions that are negated or are absent, such as faith -in another world and in divine and transcendental justice. This latter -position has been maintained as well as it possibly could have been, -with the aid of much research, by an Italian mind of the first order, -Manzoni, who was both a severe Catholic and a fervent Shakespearean. He -found in the profundity of Shakespeare the profoundest morality, and -remarked that "the representation of profound sorrows and indeterminate -terrors," as given by Shakespeare,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> "comes near to virtue," because -"when man comes inquisitively forth from the beaten path of things -known and from the accidents that he is accustomed to combat, and -finds himself in the infinite region of possible evils, he feels his -weakness, the cheerful ideas of defence and of vigour abandon him. Then -he thinks that virtue only, a clear conscience, and the help of God -alone can be of some succour to his mind in that condition." And thus -he concluded with characteristic certainty: "Let everyone look into -himself after reading a tragedy of Shakespeare, and observe whether he -does not experience a similar emotion in his own soul."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h5> - - -<h4>MOTIVES AND DEVELOPMENT OF SHAKESPEARE'S POETRY</h4> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<h5>I</h5> - -<h5>THE "COMEDY OF LOVE"</h5> - - -<p>What we have hitherto described as the sentiment of Shakespeare -corresponds to the Shakespeare carven in the general consciousness, -that which is Shakespeare in an eminent degree, almost, we might say, a -symbol of his greater self, the poet of the great tragedies <i>(Othello, -Macbeth, King Lear, Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, Hamlet)</i> and -of the tragic portions of those that are less intense and less perfect. -But the work that bears his name is far more varied in tones and -personalities and in order to prepare the way for the passage of more -particular characteristics, we must distinguish (and here the students -of Shakespeare have always been industrious) the various configurations -and degrees, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> sources of inspiration of the poet, and make of them -groups, which may then be arranged in a series of relations, an ideal -succession.</p> - -<p>On casting the eye over the rich extent of his works, the attention -is at once drawn to certain of them, whose fresh, smiling colours -indicate that their principal and proper theme is love. Not the love -that becomes joined to other graver passions and unified with them, -forms a complex, as in the <i>Othello,</i> or in <i>Antony and Cleopatra,</i> -thus acquiring a profoundly tragic quality, but love and love alone, -love considered in itself. These passions then are to be found rather -in the <i>comedy of love</i> than in the tragedies or dramas: in love, -regarded certainly with affectionate sympathy, but also with curiosity, -instinct with softness and tenderness, indeed, one might almost say, -with the superiority of an expert mind and thus with delicate irony. -The mind that accompanies this amorous heart, observes the caprices and -illusions, recognising their inevitability and their necessity, but yet -knowing them for what they are, imaginings, however irresistible and -delicious they be, caprices, though noble and beautiful, weaknesses, -deserving of indulgence and of gentle treatment, because human, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -belonging to man as he passes through the happy and stormy season of -youth. This mode of experiencing love is something that manifests -itself only episodically in the Greek, Latin and medieval poets. With -them we find love represented, sometimes as a pleasant, a sensual -strife, or as a furious blind passion, fearless of death, or as a -spiritual cult of lofty and superhuman beauty. Sometimes indeed, as in -the comedy of Menander and its long suite of descendants and posterity -among the Latins and the Italians, it gives rise to a general and -rather cold psychological simplification, in which love is not found to -differ much from any other passion or desire, such as avarice, courage -or greed. In the form we have described, it belongs entirely to the -mode of feeling of the Renaissance, to one of those attitudes which -the anti-ascetic and realistic view of human affairs developed and -bequeathed in a perfected form to modern times. Here we must again note -the similarity between Shakespeare and Ariosto, for both painted the -eternal comedy of love in the same manner.</p> - -<p>That love is sincere, yet deceives and is deceived; it imagines itself -to be firm and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> constant, and turns out to be fragile and fleeting; -it claims to be founded upon a dispassionate judgment of the mind and -upon luminous moral choice, whereas, on the contrary, it is guided in -an altogether irrational manner by impressions and fancies, fluctuating -with these. Sometimes, too, it is represented as repugnance and -aversion, whereas it is really irresistible attraction; it is content -to suppress itself with deliberate humbleness before works and thoughts -that are more austere, but reappears on the first occasion, more -vehement, tenacious and indomitable than ever.</p> - -<p>"In his men, as in his women," says Heine, with his accustomed grace, -when talking of the Shakespearean comedy, "passion is altogether -without that fearful seriousness, that fatalistic necessity, which it -manifests in the tragedies. Love does in truth wear there, as ever, a -bandage over his eyes and bears a quiver full of darts. But these darts -are rather winged than sharpened to a deadly point, and the little god -sometimes stealthily and maliciously peeps out, removing the bandage. -Their flames too rather shine than burn; but they are always flames, -and in the comedies of Shakespeare, love always preserves the character -of truth."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> Of truth, and for this reason, none of these comedies -descends altogether to the level of farce, not even those that most -nearly approach it, such as <i>Love's Labour Lost, The Taming of the -Shrew,</i> nor even <i>The Comedy of Errors,</i> where some element of human -truth always leads us back to the seriousness of art. Still less is -there satire there, intellectual and angular satire, constructor of -types, exaggerates in the interest of polemic; always we find there -suavity of outline, the soft veil of poetry. Even in the most feeble, -as <i>The Two Gentlemen of Verona,</i> we enjoy the fresh love scenes, -mingled with the saltatory course of the narrative, the abundant -dialogues, the misunderstandings and the verbal witticisms. Even in -those that are developed in a somewhat mechanical and superficial -manner, which we should now describe as being <i>à thèse,</i> there is -vivacity, joking, festivity, and an eloquence so flowery (for instance -in the scene where Biron defends the rights of youth and of love) that -it has almost lyrical quality.</p> - -<p>In this last comedy there is a king and his three gentlemen, who, -in order to devote themselves to study and to attain to fame and -immortality, have sworn to one another that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> will not see a woman -for three years. All three of them fail of this and fall in love almost -as soon as the Princess of France arrives with her three ladies. These -ladies, when they have received the most solemn declarations of love -from the four of them, each one faithless to himself, punish them in -their turn for their levity by condemning them to wait for a certain -period, before receiving a reply to their offers. Thus it was that -Angelica, in the Italian poems of chivalry, succeeded in setting the -hearts of the most obdurate cavaliers aflame with love, even of those -who held severest discourse. She made them all follow the queen of -love, whom no mortal could resist.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Taming of the Shrew,</i> Petruchio the male, who knows what he -wants and wants his own ease and comfort, hits immediately upon the -right line of conduct, a line that is, however, altogether spiritual, -because based upon psychological knowledge and volitional resolve. He -espouses the terrible Catherine and reduces her to lamblike obedience, -afraid of her husband, no longer able not only to say, but even to -think, anything save what he has forced her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> to think. Yet who can tell -that she does not love him who maltreats and tyrannises over her?</p> - -<p>In <i>Twelfth Night,</i> we behold the Duke vainly sighing for the beautiful -widow Olivia, and the love that suddenly blossoms in her for the -intermediary sent by the Duke, a woman dressed as a man; while the -steward Malvolio, the Puritan, the pedantic Malvolio, is urged on to -the most ridiculous acts, by hope and the illusion of being loved. -Finally, fortune in this case making the single beloved into two, a -man and a woman (in a more modest but identical manner to that in the -adventure of Fiordispina with Bradamante and Ricciardetto) brings about -a happy ending for all.</p> - -<p>In <i>All's Welly</i> the Countess of Roussillon, receives the discovery -that poor Helena, the orphan child of the family doctor, is in love -with her son, rather with benevolence than with hostility and reflects:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Even so it was with me when I was young:<br /> -If we are nature's, these are ours;...<br /> -By our remembrance of days foregone,<br /> -Such were our faults though then we thought them none."<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<p>The amorous couples of princesses, exiles or fugitives, and of exile -and fugitive gentlemen, wander about the forest of Arden, in <i>As You -Like It,</i> alternating and mingling with the couples of rustic lovers.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the best example of this "comedy of love" is the fencing of -the two unconscious lovers, Beatrice and Benedick, in <i>Much Ado About -Nothing.</i> This young couple seek one another only to measure weapons, -to sneer and to fence, with the fine-pointed swords of biting jest and -disdain, they believe themselves to be antipathetic, disbelieve one -another; yet the simplest little intrigue of their friends suffices -to reveal each to each as whole-heartedly loving and desiring the -adversary. The union of the two is sealed, when they find themselves -united in the same sentiment to defend their friend, who has been -calumniated and rejected, thus discovering that their perpetual -following of one another to engage in strife, had not concealed the -struggle, which implies affinity of sex, but the spiritual affinity of -two generous hearts.</p> - - -<p><i>Benedick.</i> And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad faults -didst thou first fall in love with me?...</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<p>And the other, speaking with tenderness and ceasing to carry on the -pinpricking:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Suffer love,—a good epithet!<br /> -I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will."<br /> -</p> - -<p>A light touch permeates the treatment of these characters and suffices -to animate them and make them act. The dramatic or indeed tragic -situations, which at times arise, are treated as it were with the -implied consciousness of their slight gravity and danger, which shall -soon be evident and dispel all the apprehensions of those who doubt. -They sometimes consist of nothing but an external action or occurrence, -suited to the theatre, and more frequently a decorative background. -Parallelism of personages and symmetry of events also abound in these -plays, suitable to the merry teaching that pervades them.</p> - -<p>The quintessence of all these comedies (as we may say of <i>Hamlet</i> in -respect of the great tragedies) is the <i>Midsummer Night's Dream.</i> Here -the quick ardours, the inconstancies, the caprices, the illusions, the -delusions, every sort of love folly, become embodied and weave a world -of their own, as living and as real as that of those who are visited by -these affections,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> tormented or rendered ecstatic, raised on high or -hurled downward by them, in such a way that everything is equally real -or equally fantastic, as you may please to call it. The sense of dream, -of a dream-reality, persists and prevents our feeling the chilly sense -of allegory or of apology. The little drama seems born of a smile, so -delicate, refined and ethereal it is. Graceful and delicate to a degree -is also the setting of the dream, the celebration of the wedding of -Theseus and Hippolyta and the theatrical performance of the artisans, -for these are not merely ridiculous in their clumsiness; they are -also childlike and ingenuous, arousing a sort of gay pity: we do not -laugh at them: we smile. Oberon and Titania are at variance owing to -reciprocal wrongs, and trouble has arisen in the world. Puck obeys the -command of Oberon and sets to work, teasing, punishing and correcting. -But in performing this duty of punishing and correcting, he too makes -mistakes, and the love intrigue becomes more complicated and active. -Here we find a resemblance to the rapid passage into opposite states -and the strange complications that arose in Italian knightly romances, -as the result of drinking the water from one of two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> opposite fountains -whereof one filled the heart with amorous desires, the other turned -first ardours to ice. In Titania, who embraces the Ass's head and raves -about him, caressing and looking upon him as a graceful and gracious -creature, the comedy creates a symbol so ample and so efficacious as -rightly to have become proverbial. Puck meanwhile, astonished at the -effect upon men of the subtle intoxication that he has been himself -distributing, exclaims in his surprise "Lord, what fools these mortals -be!"; and Lysander, one of the madmen who are constantly passing from -one love to another, from one thing to its opposite, is nevertheless -perfectly convinced that</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"The will of man is by his <i>reason</i> sway'd;<br /> -And <i>reason says</i> you are the <i>worthier</i> maid."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Yet the individual reality of the figures appears through this -exquisite version of the eternal comedy, as though to remind us that -they really belong to life. Helena follows the man she loves, but who -does not love her, like a lapdog, which, the more it is beaten, the -more it runs round and round its master; she trembles at the outbreak -of furious jealousy in her little friend Hermia, who threatens to put -out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> her eyes, believing her to be capable of it, when she remembers -the time when they were at school together:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!<br /> -She was a vixen when she went to school:<br /> -And though she be but little she is fierce."<br /> -</p> - -<p>When we read <i>Romeo and Juliet,</i> after the <i>Dream,</i> we seem not to have -left that poetical environment, to which Mercutio expressly recalls -us, with his fantastic embroidery around Queen Mab, above all, when -we consider the style, the rhyming and the general physiognomy of -the little story. All have inclined to suave and gentle speech and -metaphor, when speaking of <i>Romeo and Juliet.</i> For Schlegel it was -scented with "the perfumes of springtide, the song of the nightingales, -the freshness of a newly budded rose." Hegel too found himself face -to face with that rose: "sweet rose in the valley of the world, torn -asunder by the rude tempest and the hurricane." Coleridge too speaks -of that sense of spring: "The spring with its odours, its flowers and -its fleetingness." All have looked upon it as the poem of youthful -love and have remarked that the play reaches its acme in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> the two love -scenes in the garden at night, and in the departure after the nuptial -night, in which some have seen the renovation of the traditional forms -of love poetry, "the epithalamium," "the dawn." This play is not only -closely connected with the <i>Dream,</i> but also with the other comedies of -love; Romeo passes there with like rapidity, indeed suddenness to the -personages of those comedies from love of Rosalind to love of Juliet. -At the first sight of Juliet he is conquered and believes that he then -loves for the first time:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!<br /> -For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Saintly Friar Laurence, a mixture of astonishment, of being scandalised -and of good nature, sometimes almost plays there the part of Puck. When -he learns that Romeo no longer loves Rosalind, about whom he had been -so crazy; he says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"So soon forsaken! Young men's love there lies<br /> -Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Jesu Maria!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>When Juliet enters her cell, the friar remarks with admiration her -lightsome tread, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> will never wear out the pavement, and reflects -that a lover "may bestride the gossamer that idles in the wanton -summer air, and yet not fall; so light is vanity." Is it tragedy or -comedy? It is another situation of the eternal comedy: the love of two -young people, almost children, which surmounts all social obstacles, -including the hardest of all, family hatred and party feud, and goes -on its way, careless of these obstacles and as though they had no -importance for their hearts, no existence in reality. And in truth -those obstacles seem to yield before their advance, or rather their -winged flight, like soft clouds. Certainly, those obstacles reappear -solidly enough later on, asserting their value and taking their -revenge, so much so, that the young lovers are obliged to separate -and Romeo goes into exile. But it will be only for a little while, -for Friar Laurence has promised to interest himself in their affairs, -to obtain the pardon of the Prince, to reconcile the parents and the -other relations, and to obtain sanction for their secret marriage. -And if nothing of all this happens, if the subtle previsions and the -acuteness of Friar Laurence turn out to be fallacious, if a sequence of -misunderstandings makes them lose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> their way and take a wrong turning, -if the two young lovers perish, it is the result of chance, and the -sentiment that arises from it is one of compassion, of compassion not -divorced from envy, a sorrow, which, as Hegel said, is "a dolorous -reconciliation and an unhappy beatitude in unhappiness." This too then -is tragedy, but tragedy in a minor key, what one might call the tragedy -of a comedy.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"A greater power than we can contradict<br /> -Hath thwarted our intents."<br /> -</p> - -<p>But that power is not the mysterious power, something between destiny -and providence and moral necessity, which weighs upon the great -tragedies; rather is it Chance, which Friar Laurence hardly succeeds in -dignifying with the words of religion:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"So hath willed it God."<br /> -</p> - -<p>There is a metaphor which is repeated in the terrible accents of <i>King -Lear,</i> and which is itself able to reveal the difference between the -two tragedies. Romeo, whose life has been spared and who has been sent -into exile, thinks that what has been done for him, is torture rather -than pardon, because Paradise is only where Juliet lives:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">"And every cat, and dog,</span><br /> -And little mouse, every unworthy thing,<br /> -Live here in heaven, and may look on her;<br /> -But Romeo may not!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Juliet, who is preparing to drink the medicine that may be poisonous, -is the shy and timid young girl of Leopardi's <i>Amore e Morte,</i> who -"feels her hair stand on end at the very name of death," but when she -has fallen in love "dares meditate at length on steel and on poison." -The very sepulchral cave shines, and Romeo after having stabbed Paris -at the feet of Juliet, whom he believes to be dead, feels that he is a -companion in misfortune and wishes to bury him there "In a triumphant -grave."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"A grave, O no, a lantern, slaughtered youth,<br /> -For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes<br /> -This vault a feasting presence full of light."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Such words of admiration for love and for the youthful lovers are found -in other poets, for instance in Dante's words for Beatrice: "Death, I -hold thee very sweet: Thou must ever after be a noble thing, since thou -hast been in my lady."</p> - -<p>If we find love in rather piteous guise in <i>Romeo and Juliet,</i> comedy -reappears in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> wise Portia, bound to the promise of allowing, her -fate to be decided by means of a guess, because although she submits -to selection by chance, she has already chosen in her heart, not among -the dukes and princes of the various nationalities, indeed of various -continents, who are competing for her hand, but a youthful Venetian, -something between a student and a soldier, half an adventurer, but -courteous and pleasing in address, who has contrived to please, not -only mistress, but maid, which shows, in this agreement of feminine -choice, where feminine taste really lies. "By my troth, Nerissa, my -little body is a-weary of this great world" (she sighs, with gentle -coquettishness toward herself), perhaps with that languor, which is -the desire of loving and of being loved, the budding of love; weary, -as those amorous souls feel, weary, who vibrate with an exquisite -sensibility. And indeed she is most sensible to music and to the -spectacles of nature; and the music that she hears in the night causes -her to stay and listen to it, and it seems to her far sweeter than when -heard in the daytime. Nocturnal moonlight gives her the impression of a -day that is ailing, of a rather pallid day when the sun is hidden.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the <i>Merchant of Venice,</i> there is also the couple of Jessica -and Lorenzo, those two lovers who do not feel the want of moral -idealisation, nor, one would be inclined to say, any solicitude for the -esteem of others. The man steals without scruple from the old Jew his -daughter and his jewels, and the girl has not even a slight feeling of -pity for the father, both alike plunged in the happy egotism of their -pleasure. Jessica is unperturbed, sustaining and exchanging epigrams -with her husband and the salacious jesting and somewhat insolent -familiarity of the servant Lancellotto, though abandoning herself all -the time to ecstasy, a sensual ecstasy, for she too is sensible to -music and attains by means of it to a melancholy of the only sort that -she is capable of experiencing, namely, the sensual.</p> - -<p>There is malice, almost mockery, though tempered with other elements, -in the portrayal of these loves of the daughter of Shylock. But in -those of Troilus and Cressida, we meet at once with sarcasm, a bitter -sarcasm. The same background, the doings of the Trojan war, which in -other comedies has the superficial charm of a decoration, is here also -a decoration,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> but treated with sarcasm and bitterness. Thersites -fills the part of the cynic among the Greek warriors, in the relations -between Troilus and Cressida, as does Pandarus in Troy. The hastening -of the last scenes should be noted, the large amount of fighting, the -tumult: the world is dancing as in a puppet show, while the story of -Troilus and Cressida is drawing to its close, amid the imprecations of -the nauseated Troilus and the grotesquely burlesque lamentations of -Pandarus. Another great artist of the Renaissance comes to mind, in -relation to this play: not Ariosto, but Rabelais. The theme is still, -however, the comedy of love, but a comedy bordering on the faunesque, -the immoral, the baser instinct, upon lust and feminine faithlessness. -Pandarus is ever the go-between; he laughs and enjoys himself, for he -is an expert at this sort of business, a battle-stained warrior, as -it were, bearing traces of that long amorous warfare, if not in his -soul, in his old bones; he is the living destruction of love, of the -credulous, sensual cupidity of man and of the non-credulous, frivolous -vanity of woman. His too is the obsession of love-making: he is unable -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> extricate himself from it, taking an almost devilish delight in -involving those who have recourse to him. Troilus does not displease -Cressida, on the contrary, he pleases her greatly, yet she fences with -him, because she is already in full possession of feminine wisdom and -philosophy. She knows that women are admired, sighed after and desired -as angels, while being courted, but once they have said yes, all is -over. She knows that the true pleasure lies <i>in the doing,</i> in the act -and not in the fact, in the becoming, not in the become. She knows that -in yielding, she is committing a folly, by breaking the law, which is -known to her, but she puts everything she now undertakes upon Pandarus: -"Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you." How different -is her union with her lover, to that of Romeo and Juliet! There is an -ironic-comic solemnity in the rite performed by the pander uncle and in -the oaths of constancy and loyalty, which all three of them exchange, -while the uncle intones: "Say amen," and the two reply, "Amen," and -are then pushed into the nuptial chamber by the profane priest. How -different too is "the dawn," their separation in the morning!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"But that the busy day,<br /> -Waked by the lark, hath raised the ribald crows<br /> -And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,<br /> -I would not from thee."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Whereupon the uncle begins to utter improper epigrams and plays upon -words, which the impatient Cressida repays, by sending him to the -devil. Cressida begins the new intrigue with Diomede, as soon as she is -face to face with him alone, in spite of this scene and the numerous -oaths that preceded and followed it. She is perfectly aware that she is -betraying her love for Troilus and that she has no excuse for doing so. -She gives to Diomede the gift of Troilus and when he asks her to whom -it belongs, she replies:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"'Twas one that lov'd me better than you will,<br /> -But now you have it, take it."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we find consciousness of her own feminine levity, looked upon -not merely as a natural force dragging her after it, but almost as a -right, as the exercise of a mission or vocation. Cressida can even be -sentimental, as she abandons herself to another!</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Troilus farewell, one eye yet looks on thee;<br /> -But with my heart the other eye doth see.<br /> -Ah! poor our sex!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - -<p>Troilus is meanwhile indignant, not from a sense of injured morality, -for that sort of love does not admit of such a thing: he is mad with -masculine jealousy. "Was Cressida here?" ... and further on: "Nothing -at all, unless that they were she ..."</p> - -<p>The figures of Ferdinand and Miranda bring us back to love, youthful -and pure, all the more pure, because it reveals itself, not in the -midst of a great court or city, but in a desert island. The young man -comes there ship-wrecked, cut off from the world that once was his, -born as it were anew; the maiden has been brought up in solitude. -Yet her love is awakened at first sight, in the beautiful phrase of -Marlowe, which Shakespeare was so fond of quoting: "Who ever loved that -loved not at first sight?" It is love, law of beings as of things, -which returns eternally new and fresh as the dawn, making his Goddess -appear to the youth, her God to the maiden, each to each as beings -without their equal upon earth:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">"I might call him</span><br /> -A thing divine, for nothing natural<br /> -I ever saw so noble." "Most sure, the goddess,<br /> -On whom these airs attend," says Ferdinand.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<p>The choice is soon made, firm, resolute and determined. When Prospero -tells her that there are men in the world, compared with whom, the -youth she admires would seem a monster, Miranda replies:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">"My affections</span><br /> -Are then most humble; I have no ambition<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To see a goodlier man."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>All noble things that can be imagined surround and elevate their loves: -misfortune, compassion, chaste desire, virginal respect. These things, -though infinitely repeated in the world's history seem new, as the two -live through them, "surprised withal," surprised and ravished at the -mystery, which in them is celebrated once more.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h5>2</h5> - - -<h5>THE LONGING FOR ROMANCE</h5> - - -<p>Another motive, related to the preceding, may be described as the -longing for romance, but this expression must be taken with all due -limitations.</p> - -<p>Amorous damsels don the travesty of masculine attire, in order to -follow their faithless or cruel lovers, to escape persecution, or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -perform wondrous deeds; brothers, or brothers and sisters, who resemble -one another, are taken for one another, and thus form a centre for the -most curious adventures; with like objects in view, princes travesty -themselves as shepherds; gentlemen are discovered in forests with -bandits and are themselves bandits; children of royal blood, ignorant -of their origin, live like peasants, yet are moved by inclinations, -which make them impatient of their quiet, humble lives, urging them -on to great adventures; sovereigns move, disguised and unknown, among -their subjects, listening to the free speech around them and observant -of everything; rustic or city maidens become queens and countesses, or -are discovered to be of royal stock; brothers, who are enemies, become -reconciled; those who are innocent and having been wrongfully accused -and condemned, are believed to have died or been put to death, survive, -to reappear at the right moment, thus gratifying the long-cherished -hopes of those who had once believed them guilty and had mourned their -loss.</p> - -<p>Strange rules and compacts are imposed, strange understandings come to, -such as the winning of husband or wife upon the solution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> of an enigma, -or upon the discovery of some object; then there is the bet as to the -virtue of a woman, won with a trick by the punster or by the perfidious -accuser; the betrothed or unwilling husband, finally obtained by the -substitution of another person; there are miraculous events, dreams, -magical arts, work of spirits of earth and sky ... Men and women are -tossed from land to sea, from city to forest and desert, from court to -country, from a civil and cultured, to a rustic and simple life. These -latter situations are peculiar to romance in the form of the idyll, -which is really the most romantic of romanticisms, though it may seem -to be the opposite. This is so true that even Don Quixote, when he saw -the way closed for the time being to the performance of chivalrous -feats of knight errantry, thought of retiring to the country, there -to pasture herds and to pipe songs to the beloved, in the company of -Sancho Panza.</p> - -<p>Several of Shakespeare's plays derive both plot and material from -suchlike things and persons, as for instance, <i>As You Like It, Twelfth -Night, All's Well That Ends Well, Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale, -Pericles, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Much Ado About<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> Nothing, The -Merchant of Venice, Measure for Measure.</i> These plays may be said -to be altogether or in part, of literary origin, or suggested by -books, in a sense different from that in which Shakespeare treated -the other plays, where, although not bookish, he gathered his raw -materials from the English chroniclers, from ancient historians, or -Italian novelists, breathing upon it a new spirit and thus making of -it something altogether new to the world. Here on the other hand, he -found the spirit itself, the general sentiment, in the literature of -his time. Italy had worked upon the ancient poetry of Greece and Rome, -upon Hellenistic and Byzantine romances, upon mediaeval romances, -upon poems and plays, novels and comedies, and with Italy was also -Spain, whose <i>Amadigi</i> and <i>Diane</i> were known throughout Europe. The -genesis of these themes and of his attraction towards them, is to be -sought, therefore, rather in the times than in Shakespeare himself, -and for this reason we shall not delay our progress, to show how -the play of sentiment within made dear to him that wandering away -in imagination to the idyllic life of the country, far from pomp -and artifice, the deceits and the delusions of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> courts; though this -idyllic life itself became in its turn refined and artificial at his -hand, a pastoral theme. It is important to note, too, that all the -above-mentioned material of situations and adventures had already been -fashioned and arranged for the theatre, in the course of the second -half of the century. This was especially due to the Italian theatre of -improvisation or of "art," as it was called. This literature, so often -of a most romantic and imaginative kind, has had but little attention -at the hand of investigators into Shakespeare's sources of inspiration.</p> - -<p>Both material derived from books and literary inspiration combine to -throw light upon certain of Shakespeare's works, which have given -great trouble to the historians of his art. It is quite natural that -writers should draw upon what they have done before and should execute -variations upon it, particularly in their earlier years, but also later -in the course of their lives, when they have afforded far greater -proofs of their capacity. Shakespeare was no exception to this, any -more than the great contemporary poet of <i>Don Quixote,</i> who was also -the author of the <i>Galatea</i> and of <i>Persiles y Sigismunda. The Comedy -of Errors,</i> as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> know, consists of a motive from Plautus, repeated -and rearranged innumerable times by the dramatists of the Renaissance. -In treating this theme, Shakespeare rendered it on the one hand yet -more artificial, while on the other, he endowed it with a more marked -tendency towards the romantic, and notwithstanding the frivolity and -frigidity of misunderstandings arising from identity of appearance, -he yet revived them here and there according to his wont with a touch -of the reality of life. The intrigue of the Menecmi, or of very close -resemblance, pleased him so much that he introduced it in <i>Twelfth -Night,</i> where the pair are of different sex. This variation was first -employed by Cardinal Bibbiena in his <i>Calandria,</i> but the Cardinal made -use of it to increase the lubricity of the intrigue, while Shakespeare -drew from it a theme for most graceful poetic inspiration.</p> - -<p>One would think that the tragic theme of <i>Titus Andronicus</i> (which -many critics would like to say was not by Shakespeare, but dare not, -because here the proofs of authenticity are very strong), was also -born of a love for literary models, for the tragedy of horrors, so -common in Italy in those days of the <i>Canaci</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> and the <i>Orbecchi,</i> -which were rather imitations of Seneca than of Sophocles and Euripides, -and had already inspired plays to the predecessors of Shakespeare, -with slaughter for their theme. What more natural then, than that -Shakespeare as a young man should strike this note? The splendid -eloquence with which he adorned the horrible tale is Shakespearean.</p> - -<p>His two poems, <i>Venus and Adonis</i> and <i>The Rape of Lucrèce,</i> are to -be attributed to this same literary taste for favorite models. These -poems received much praise from contemporaries, but are so far from the -"greater Shakespeare," that they might almost appear not to be his, -always, that is to say, if the greater Shakespeare be turned into a -rigidly historical and conventional personage. Their literary origin -is evident, not only to those who know well the English literature of -the period of the Renaissance (when Marlowe was composing <i>Hero and -Leander)</i>, but yet more to those versed in the Italian literature of -the same period, where the themes of the two little poems were in great -favour. As regards the first of these, Giambattista Marino, who was -destined to expand it into a long and celebrated poem, was already born -at Naples. Shakespeare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> here flaunts his virtuosity like our Italian -composers of melodious and voluptuous octaves, revelling in a wealth -of flowery image phrase, in his abundant, rhetorical capacity and in a -formal beauty which contains something of aesthetic voluptuousness.</p> - -<p>The <i>Sonnets</i> are also based upon Italian models, where we find -exhortations addressed to admired youth set upon a pinnacle, similar to -those that passed between Venus and Adonis. The beautiful youth, posing -as Adonis, and treated like him, became very common in our lyric poetry -of the time of Marino, in the seventeenth century, as were also love -sonnets addressed to ladies, possessing some peculiar characteristic, -such as red hair or a dark complexion, or even something different -or unfamiliar in their beauty, such as too lofty or too diminutive a -stature.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding this literary tendency in his inspiration, Shakespeare -does not cease to be a poet, because he is never altogether able to -separate himself from himself, everywhere he infuses his own thoughts -and modes of feeling, those harmonies, peculiar to himself, those -movements of the soul, so delicate and so profound. This has endowed -the <i>Sonnets</i> with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> the aspect of a biographical mystery, of a poem -containing some hidden moral and philosophical sense. When we read -verses such as these:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye<br /> -As the perfumed tincture of the roses,<br /> -Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly<br /> -When summer's breath their masked buds discloses.<br /> -But, for their virtue only is their show,<br /> -They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade;<br /> -Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;<br /> -Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made....<br /> -</p> - -<p>we feel the commonplace of literature, revived with lyric emotion. Note -too in the <i>Sonnets</i> their pensiveness, their exquisite moral tone, -their wealth of psychological allusions, in which we often recognise -the poet of the great plays. Sometimes there echoes in them that -malediction of the chains of pleasure, which will afterwards become -<i>Anthony and Cleopatra</i><a name="FNanchor_1_20" id="FNanchor_1_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_20" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>; at others we hear Hamlet, tormented and -perplexed; yet more often we catch glimpses of reality as appearance -and appearance as reality, as in the <i>Dream</i> or the <i>Tempest.</i> The -truth is that the soul of Shakespeare, poured into a fixed and -therefore inadequate mould,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> his lyrical impulse confined to the -epigrammatic, cause the poetry to flow together there, but deny to -it complete expansion and unfolding. To note but one example, the -celebrated sonnet LXVI ("Tired with all these for restful death I -cry"), is in the manner of Hamlet, but developed analytically, by -means of enumerations and parallelisms, and in obedience to literary -usage, and is obliged to terminate on the cadence of a madrigal, -in the last rhymed couplet. The soft, flexible verse of the early -<i>Venus and Adonis</i> is also free of Marino's cold ingenuity, of his -external sonority and melody, and is inspired rather with a sense of -voluptuousness, a grace, an elegance, which recall at times the stanzas -of Politian:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -The night of sorrow now is turned to day;<br /> -Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth,<br /> -Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array<br /> -He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">So is her face illumined with her eye.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>In Shakespeare is nothing of the cold literary exercise; he takes a -vivid interest even in the play of fancy, in the bringing about of -marvellous coincidences, of unexpected meetings, in the romantic and -the idyllic. He loves all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> these things, composing them for his own -enjoyment and fondling them with the magic of his style. He cannot of -course make them what they are not, he cannot change their intimate -qualities into something different from what they are; he cannot -destroy their externality, since they came to him from without. What -he can and does put into them is above all their attractiveness as -images. For this reason, the poetry that we find here is of necessity -rather superficial and tenuous, far more so than the poetry of the -love dramas, where his powers have a wider scope for observation, for -reflexion and for meditation upon human affections.</p> - -<p>What has been said above as to the inventions and fables, which serve -as a decorative background to certain of the comedies of love, is also -applicable to these romantic and idyllic plays, in which the decorative -background takes the first place and becomes the principal theme. For -the rest, it goes without saying that the plots or decorations referred -to are also to be included (as has been done) in the present argument, -because it turns upon the different motives of Shakespeare's poetry, -not upon the works that are materially distinct,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> where several motives -usually meet and are sometimes so very loosely connected, as to form no -more intimate a unity than the rather capricious one, of general tone.</p> - -<p>A sense of <i>unreality</i> is therefore diffused upon the romantic plays, -not of falsity, but just of unreality, such as we experience in the -play of fancy, when we recount a fairy tale, well aware that it is -a fairy tale, yet greatly enjoying the passage to and fro before us -of the prince, the beauty, the ogre and the fairy. A proof of this -is to be found in the summary treatment of the characters and the -turning-points or crises of the action, the easy pardoning and making -of peace, and the bizarre expedients adopted to bring the intrigue to -an end. Instances of the second sort are the adventure of the lion in -the Forest of Arden the reconciliation of the two enemy brothers in -<i>As You Like It,</i> the dream of Posthumus in <i>Cymbeline,</i> the advent -of the bear and the ship-wreck in the <i>Winter's Tale,</i> and the like. -And as regards summary treatment, where could we find a more off-hand -Iago than the Hyacinth of <i>Cymbeline,</i> guilty of the most audacious -and perverse betrayals, as though by chance, yet later on, when he, -confesses his sins, he is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> forgiven and starts again, so far as we can -see, a gentleman and perfect knight. We do not speak of Posthumus, -of Cloten, of King Cymbeline and of so many personages in this and -others of the romantic plays. The wicked turn out to be all the more -harmless, the greater their wickedness; the good are good <i>nunc et -semper,</i> without intermission, exactly as introduced at the beginning -of the play; the most desperate situations, the most terrible passes, -are speedily and completely overcome, or one foresees that they will be -overcome. Here romance has no intention whatever of ending unhappily -or in pensive sadness; it wishes to stimulate the imagination, but at -the same time to keep it agile and happy and to leave it contented. -Indeed, in those rare cases when we do meet with painful or terrible -motives, which are not easily overcome in the course of the imaginative -development of the work, we are sensible of being slightly jarred, -and this is perhaps the reason for that "displeasure," which such -fine judges as Coleridge note in <i>Measure for Measure,</i> so rich, -nevertheless, in splendid passages, worthy of Shakespeare. Not only -does this comedy verge upon tragedy, but here and there it becomes -immersed in it, vainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> attempting to return to the light romantic vein -and end like a fairy story, with everyone happy.</p> - -<p>Another element which adds to the imaginative unreality and the gay -lightsomeness of the romantic dramas, is to be found in the clown, -the burlesque incidents, which abound in all of them: Malvolio and -Uncle Toby in <i>Twelfth Night,</i> Parolles in <i>All's Well,</i> the watch -in <i>Much Ado</i> and so on. Certain personages also, who might seem to -be characters, such as the melancholy Jacques in <i>As You Like It</i> or -Autolycus in the <i>Winter's Tale,</i> are treated rather as character -studies.</p> - -<p>These comedies excel in the weaving of intricate incidents, they are -replete with grace and winsomeness, melodious with songs inspired by -idyllic themes. They are far superior in emotional quality, as is the -rustic, woodland, pastoral poetry of Shakespeare, to that of Italy and -of Spain, not only to the <i>Pastor Fido,</i> but also to the <i>Aminta,</i> -because Shakespeare succeeds in grafting his gay and gentle heart -upon his artificial and conventional models. Take for instance in <i>As -You Like It</i> the scenes in the third act, between Rosalind and Celia, -Rosalind and Orlando, Corin and Touchstone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> and in general, the whole -life led by the young men and maidens, the shepherds and gentlemen, in -that idyllic Forest of Arden; or the open air banquet, in the <i>Winter's -Tale,</i> at which the king surprises his son on the point of marrying -Perdita; or in <i>Cymbeline,</i> Hyacinth's contemplation of the chaste and -tender beauty of the sleeping Imogen; and in the same play, all the -scenes among the mountains between Bellario and the two refugee sons of -the king, Guiderio and Arviragus.</p> - -<p>They correspond to that most beautiful utterance in exquisite verse of -Tasso's Hermione Among the Shepherds. His thoughts come back in such -lines as the following:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 16.5em;">"O, this life</span><br /> -Is nobler than attending for a check,<br /> -Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,<br /> -Prouder than rustling in unpaid for silk:<br /> -Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine...."<br /> -</p> - -<p>or</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">"Come, our stomachs</span><br /> -Will make what's homely savoury: weariness<br /> -Can snore upon the flint, when rusty sloth<br /> -Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,<br /> -Poor house that keepest thyself!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p>But Shakespeare can rise yet higher, to that most tender of songs by -the two brothers over Imogene, whom they believe to be dead.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_20" id="Footnote_1_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_20"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See Sonnet CXXIX: "The expense of spirit in a waste of -shame."</p></div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h5>3</h5> - - -<h5>SHAKESPEARE'S INTEREST IN PRACTICAL ACTION</h5> - - -<p>The third conspicuous aspect of Shakespeare's genius corresponds to -what are known as the "historical plays." Only here and there do we -find a critic who takes them to be the loftiest form of Shakespearean -poetry, while the majority on the other hand hold them to be merely a -preparatory form for other poetry, and the general view (always worthy -consideration) is that they are less happy or less intense than the -"great tragedies."</p> - -<p>It is also said of them that they represent the period of the -"historical education," which Shakespeare undertook, with a view to -acquiring a full sense of real life and the capacity for drawing -personages and situations with firmness of outline. One critic -has defined them as a series of "studies," studies of "heads," of -"physiognomies," of "movements," taken from historical life or reality, -in order to form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> the eye and the hand, something like the sketch-books -and collections of designs of a future great painter.</p> - -<p>The defect of such critical explanations lies in continuing to conceive -of the artistic process as something mechanical, and the unrecognised -but understood presumption of some sort of "imitation of nature." Had -Shakespeare intended to educate himself "historically," by writing the -historical plays, (assuming, but not admitting, that to run through the -English chronicles, and even Plutarch's lives, can be called historical -education), he would have developed and formed his historical thought -and become a thinker and a critic, he would not have conceived and -realised the scenes and personages of the plays. Neither Shakespeare -nor any other artist can ever attempt to reproduce external nature or -history turned into external reality (since they do not exist in a -concrete form) even in the period of first attempts and studies; all he -can do is to try to produce and recognise his own sentiment and to give -it form. We are thus always brought back and confined to the study of -sentiment, or, as in the present case, to the sentiment which inspired -what are known as the historical plays.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among these are to be numbered all those that deal with English -history, <i>The Life and Death of King John, Richard II, Henry IV, V, -VI,</i> and <i>Richard III,</i> setting aside for certain reasons <i>Henry VIII,</i> -but including among the plays from Roman history (or from Plutarch as -they are also called), <i>Coriolanus,</i> while <i>Julius Caesar</i> and <i>Anthony -and Cleopatra</i> are connected with the great tragedies. The historical -quality of the material, in like manner, with every other material -determination, is not conclusive as to the quality of the poetic works, -and is therefore not independently valid in the estimation of the -critic, as a criterion for separation or conjunction. A reconsideration -of the plays mentioned above and their prominent characteristics, does -not lead to accepting them as a kind of "dramatised epic," or as "works -which stand half way between epic and drama" (Schlegel, Coleridge), not -that there is any difficulty in the appearance of epic quality in the -form of theatrical dialogue, but just because epic quality is absent in -those dramas. It would indeed be strange to see epic quality appearing -in an episodic manner in an author, during the period of youth alone. -Epicity, in fact, means feeling for human struggles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> but for human -struggles lit with the light of an aspiration and an ideal, such as -one's own people, one's own religious faith and the like, and therefore -containing the antitheses of friends and foes, of heroes on both -sides, some on the side finally victorious, because protected by God -or justice, others upon that which is to be discomfited, subjected, or -destroyed. Now Shakespeare, as has already been said and is universally -recognized, is not a partisan; he marches under no political or -religious banner, he is not the poet of particular practical ideals, -<i>non est de hoc mundo,</i> because he always goes beyond, to the universal -man, to the cosmic problem.</p> - -<p>Commentators have, it is true, laboured to extract from these and -others of his plays, the ideals which they suppose him to have -cultivated, concerning the perfect king, the independence and greatness -of England, the aristocracy, which in their judgment was the main-stay -and glory of his country. They have discovered his Achilles (in the -double form of "Achilles in Sciro" and of "Achilles at Troy") in Prince -Henry, and his <i>pius Aeneas,</i> in the same prince become Henry V, who, -grown conscious of his new duties, resolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> and definitely severs -himself, not from a Dido, but from a Falstaff. They have discovered -his paladins in the great representatives of the English aristocracy, -and as reflected in the Roman aristocracy, by a Coriolanus, and on -the other hand the class which he suspected and despised, in the -populace and plebeians of all time, whether of those that surrounded -Menenius Agrippa or who created tumult for and against Julius Caesar -in the Forum, or those others who bestowed upon Jack Cade a fortune -as evanescent as it was sudden. Finally, his Trojans or Rutulians, -enemies of his people, are supposed by them to be the French. But if -the epic ideal had possessed real force and consistency in the mind -of Shakespeare, we should not have needed industrious interpreters -to track it down and demonstrate it. On the other hand, it is clear -that the author of <i>Henry VI,</i> in treating as he did Talbot and the -Maid of Orleans, and the author of <i>Henry V,</i> in his illustration of -the struggles between the English and the French and the victory of -Agincourt, restricted himself to adopting the popular and traditional -English view, without identifying that with his spiritual self, or -taxing it as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> his guide to the conception of the English and Roman -plays.</p> - -<p>Nor is there any value in another view, to the effect that Shakespeare -in these plays set the example and paved the way for what was -afterwards called historical and romantic drama. Had he sought this -end, he would not only have required some sort of political, social -and religious ideal, but also historical reflection, the sense of what -distinguishes and gives character to past times in respect to present, -and also that nostalgia for the past, which both Shakespeare and the -Italian and English Renaissance were altogether without. About two -centuries had to elapse before an imitator of Shakespeare, or rather -of some of his external forms and methods, arose, in the composer -of <i>Goetz von Berlichingen.</i> He had assimilated the new historical -curiosity and affection for the rude and powerful past, and there -provided the first model of what was soon afterwards developed as -historical romance and drama, especially by Walter Scott.</p> - -<p>Whoever tries to discover the internal stimulus, the constructive idea, -the lyrical motive, which led Shakespeare to convert the Chronicles -of Holinshed and the Lives of Plutarch into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> dramatic form, when his -possession of the epic ideal and nostalgia for the past have been -excluded, finds nothing save an interest in and an affection for -practical achievement, for action attentively followed, in its cunning -and audacity, in the obstacles that it meets, in the discomfitures, -the triumphs, the various attitudes of the different temperaments and -characters of men. This interest, finding its most suitable material -in political and warlike conflicts, was naturally attracted to history -and to that especial form of it, which was nearest to the soul and to -the culture of the poet of his people and of his time, English and -Roman history. This material had already been brought to the theatre -by other writers and was in this way introduced to the attention and -used by the new poet. A psychological origin of this sort explains the -vigour of the representations, which Shakespeare derived from history, -incomprehensible, if as philologists maintain, he had simply set -himself to cultivate, a "style" that was demanded in the theatre and -known as <i>chronicle plays,</i> or had there set himself a merely technical -task, with a view to attaining dexterity.</p> - -<p>That psychological interest, too, in so far as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> separated from a -supreme end or ideal, towards which actions tend, or rather in so far -as it remains uncertain and vague in this respect, limiting itself to -questions of loss or gain, of success or failure, of living or dying, -is not a qualitative, but a <i>formal</i> interest. It can also be called -political, if you will, but political in the sense of Machiavelli and -the Renaissance, in so far as politics are considered for themselves, -and therefore only formally. Hence the impression caused by the -historical plays of Shakespeare, of being now "a gallery of portraits," -now "a series of personal experiences," which the poet is supposed to -have achieved in imagination.</p> - -<p>It is certain that their richness, their brilliancy, their attraction, -lie in the emotional representation of practical activity. Bolingbroke -ascends the throne, by the adoption of violent and tortuous means, -knowing when to withdraw himself and when to dare. Later he recounts -to his son how artfully he composed and maintained the attitude, -which caused him to be looked upon with sympathy and reverence by the -people, affecting humility and humanity, but preserving at the same -time the element of the marvellous, so that his presence, <i>like a robe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -pontifical,</i> was <i>ne'er seen but wondered at.</i> He causes the blood of -the deposed king to be shed, while protesting after the deed his great -grief <i>that blood should sprinkle me to make me grow,</i> and promising -to undertake a voyage of expiation to the Holy Land. Facing him is the -falling monarch, Richard II, in whose breast consciousness of his own -sacred character as legitimate sovereign and of the inviolable dignity -attached to it, the sense of being to blame, of pride humiliated, of -resignation to destiny or divine decree, of bitterness, of sarcasm -towards himself and towards others, succeed, alternate and combat -one another, a swarm of writhing sentiments, an agony of suffocated -passions.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">"O, that I were as great</span><br /> -As is my grief, or lesser than my name!<br /> -Or that I could forget what I have been!<br /> -Or not remember what I must be now!<br /> -Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">beat...."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Elsewhere we find the same inexorable conqueror, Bolingbroke, as Henry -IV, triumphant on several occasions against different enemies, now -infirm and approaching death, raving from lack of sleep, and envying -the meanest of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> subjects, blindly groping in the vain shadows -of human effort, as once his conquered predecessor, and filled with -terror, as he views the whole extent of the universe and the</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"Revolution of the times</span><br /> -Make mountains level, and the continent,<br /> -Weary of solid firmness, melt itself<br /> -Into the sea!...<br /> -And changes fill the cup of alteration<br /> -With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,<br /> -The happiest youth,—viewing his progress through<br /> -What perils past, what crosses to ensue,—<br /> -Would shut the book and sit him down and die."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And hearing of some friends becoming estranged and of others changing -into enemies, he is no longer indignant nor astonished:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Are these things then necessities?<br /> -Then let us meet them as necessities."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Henry V meditates upon the singular condition of kings, upon their -majesty, which separates them from all other men and by thus elevating, -loads them with a weight equal to that which all men together have to -carry, while taking from them the joys given to others, and depriving -them of hearing the truth or of obtaining justice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<p>He feels himself to be more than a king in those moments when he tears -off his own kingly mask and mirrors himself in his naked reality as -man. Facing the enemies who are drawn up on the field of battle and -ready to attack him, he murmurs to himself the profound words:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Besides they are our <i>natural consciences.</i><br /> -And preachers to us all; admonishing<br /> -That we should dress us fairly for our end."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Death reigns above all else in these dramas, death, which brings every -great effort to an end, all torment of burning passion and ambition, -all rage of barbarous crimes, and is therefore received as a lofty and -severe matron; in her presence, countenances are composed, however -ardently she has been withstood, however loudly the brave show of life -has been affirmed. Death is received thus by all or nearly all the men -in Shakespeare, by the tortured and elegiac Richard II, by the great -sinner Suffolk, by the diabolic Richard III, down to the other lesser -victims of fate. The vileness of the vile, the rascality of rascals, -the brutal stupidity of acclaiming or imprecating crowds, are felt and -represented with equal intensity, without once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> permitting anything of -the struggle of life to escape, so vast in its variety.</p> - -<p>The personages of these plays arise like three-dimensional statues, -that is to say they are treated with full reality, and thus form a -perfect antithesis to the figures of the romantic plays. These are -superficial portraits, vivid, but light and vanishing into air; they -are rather types than individuals. This does not imply a judgment of -greater or lesser value or a difference in the art of portraying the -true; it only expresses in other words and formulas the different -sentiment that animates the two different groups of artistic creations, -that which springs from delight in the romantic and that due to -interest in human action. A Hotspur, introduced upon the scene of the -romantic dramas, would break through them like a statue of bronze -placed upon a fragile flooring of boards and painted canvas. He is -the true "formal" hero, volitional, inrushing, disdainful, impatient, -exuberant; we walk round him, admiring his lofty stature, his muscular -strength, his potent gestures. He is like a splendid bow, with its -mighty string drawn tight to hurl the missile, but wherefore or whither -it will strike, we cannot tell. He is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> rebellion and battle, yet -his wit and satire is worthy of an artist; he loves, too, with a pure -tenderness. But wit and satire and the words of love, alike, bear even -the imprint and are hastened by impetuosity, as of a man engaged in -conversation between one combat and another, still joyful and hot from -the battle that is over, already hot and joyful for that which is to -begin. "Away, away, you trifler," he says to his wife, "you that are -thinking of love. Love! I love thee not,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world<br /> -To play with memmets and to tilt with lips:<br /> -We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns,<br /> -And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!<br /> -What say'st thou, Kate? What would'st thou have<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">with me?"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>His parallel (perhaps slightly inferior artistically), is the Roman -Coriolanus, as brave, as violent and as disdainful as he, a despiser -of the people and of the people's praise; he too rushes over the -precipice to death and is also a "formal" hero, because his bravery is -not founded upon love of country, or upon a faith or ideal of any kind, -one might almost say that it was without object or that its object was -itself. Nor, on the other hand, is Coriolanus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> a superman, in the sense -suggested by the works of some of the predecessors and contemporaries -of Shakespeare. He is not less tenderly demonstrative towards his -mother or his silent wife (<i>"my gracious silence"</i>), than is Hotspur -to Kate, or when, yielding to a woman's prayers, he stays the course -of his triumphant vengeance. It would be tedious to record all the -personages of indomitable power that we meet with in these historical -dramas, such as the bastard Faulconbridge, in <i>King John,</i> and most -popular of all, though not the most artistically executed, Richard -III, replete with iniquity, who clears the way by dealing death around -himself without pity, and dies in the midst of combat with that last -cry of desperate courage, "A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!" -At their side stand, not less powerfully delineated, and set in relief, -those queens Constance and Margaret: deprived of their power and full -of maledictions, terrible in their fury, they are either ferocious or -shut themselves up in their majestic sorrow. Queen Constance, when she -sees herself abandoned by her protectors in the face of her enemies, -who have become their allies, says, as she lets herself fall to the -ground:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great<br /> -That no supporter but the huge firm earth<br /> -Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;<br /> -Here is my throne: bid kings come bow to it."<br /> -</p> - -<p>This gallery of historical figures is most varied; we find here not -only the vigorous and proud, the sorrowful and troubled, but also the -noble and severe, like Gaunt, the touching, like the little princes -destined to the dagger of the assassins, Prince Arthur and the sons of -Edward IV, down to the laughing and the credulous, to those who defy -prejudice to wallow in debauch.</p> - -<p>Sir John Falstaff is the first of these latter, and it is important -not to misunderstand him, as certain critics have done, especially -among the French. They have looked upon him as a jovial, comic type, -a theatrical buffoon, and have compared him with the comic theatrical -types of other stages, arriving at the conclusion that he is a less -happy and less successful conception than they, because his comicality -is exclusively English, and is not to be well understood outside -England and America. But we must on the other hand be careful not to -interpret the character moralistically, as an image of baseness, darkly -coloured with the poet's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> contempt, as one towards whom he experienced -a feeling of disgust. Falstaff could call himself a "formal" hero in -his own way: magnificent in ignoring morality and honour, logical, -coherent, acute and dexterous. He is a being in whom the sense of -honour has never appeared, or has been obliterated, but the intellect -has developed and become what alone it could become, namely, <i>esprit,</i> -or sharpness of wit. He is without malice, because malice is the -antithesis of moral conscientiousness, and he lacks both thesis and -antithesis. There is in him, on the contrary, a sort of innocence, the -result of the complete liberty of his relation toward all restraint -and towards ethical law. His great body, his old sinner's flesh, his -complete experience of taverns and lupanars, of rogues male and female, -complicates without destroying the soul of the boy that is in him, a -very vicious boy, but yet a boy. For this reason, he is sympathetic, -that is to say, he is sympathetically felt and lovingly depicted by the -poet. The image of a child, that is to say of childish innocence, comes -spontaneously to the lips of the hostess, as she tells of how he died: -"Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went -to Arthur's bosom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> 'A made a fine end, and went away, an it had been -any Christom child...."</p> - -<p>Shylock the Jew also finds a place in the historical gallery, for -the very reason that he is a Jew, "the Jew," indeed, a historical -formation, and Shakespeare conceives and describes him with the -characteristics proper to his race and religion, one might almost say, -sociologically. It has been asserted that for Shakespeare and for -his public Shylock was a comic personage, intended to be flouted and -laughed at by the pit; but we do not know what were the intentions of -Shakespeare and as usual they matter little, because Shylock lives -and speaks, himself explaining what he means, without the aid of -commentaries, even such as the author might possibly have supplied. -Shylock crying out in his desperation: "My daughter! O my ducats!..." -may have made laugh the spectators in the theatre, but that cry of the -wounded and tortured animal does not make the poetical reader laugh; -he forms anything but a comic conception of that being, trampled down, -poisoned at heart and unshakeable in his desire for vengeance. On the -other hand the pathetic and biassed interpretations of Shylock that -have been given during the nineteenth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> century, are foreign to the -ingenuousness of a creation, without a shadow of humanitarianism or of -polemic. What Shakespeare has created, fusing his own impressions and -experiences in the crucible of his attentive and thoughtful humanity, -is the Jew, with his firm cleaving to the law and to the written word, -with his hatred for Christian feeling, with his biblical language, -now sententious now sublime, the Jew with his peculiar attitude of -intellect, will and morality.</p> - -<p>Yet we are inclined to ask why Shylock, seen in the relations in -which he is placed in the <i>Merchant of Venice,</i> arouses some doubt -in our minds; he would seem to require a background which is lacking -to him there. This background cannot be the romantic story of Portia -and the three caskets, or of the tired and melancholy Antonio. The -reader is not convinced by the rapid fall of so great an adversary, -who accepts the conversion to Christianity finally imposed upon him. -But apart also from the particular mixture of real and imaginary, of -serious and light, which we find in the <i>Merchant of Venice,</i> it does -not appear that the characters of the strictly historical plays find -the ideal complement which they should find in the plays where they -appear. The reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> for this is not to be found in the looseness and -reliance upon chronicles for which they have so often been blamed, -since this is rather a consequence or general effect of Shakespeare's -attitude towards the practical life, described above. This attitude, -as we have seen, lacks a definite ideal, is indeed, without passion -for any sort of particular ideals, but is animated with sympathy for -the varying lots of striving humanity. For this reason, it is entirely -concentrated, on the one hand upon character drawing, and on the other -is inclined to accept somewhat passively the material furnished by -the chronicles and histories. On the one hand it is all force and -impetus, while on the other it lacks idealisation and condensation. The -marvelous Hotspur appears in the play, in order that he may confirm -the glory of youthful Prince Hal, that is to say, that he may provide -a curious anecdote of what was or appeared to be the scapegrace youth -of a future sage sovereign; that is, he is not fully represented. -Coriolanus runs himself into a blind alley; and even if the poet -portrays with historical penetration, the patricians and plebeians of -Rome, it would be vain to seek in the play for the centre of gravity -of his feelings, of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> predilictions, or of his aspirations, because -both Coriolanus, the tribunes and his adversaries are looked upon -solely as characters, not as parts and expressions of a sentiment -that should justify one or other or both groups. Finally, Falstaff is -sacrificed, because, like Hotspur, he has been used for the purpose -of enhancing the greatness of the future Henry V; for this reason, he -declines in prestige from the first to the last scenes of the first -part of Henry IV, not to speak of the <i>Merry Wives of Windsor,</i> where -we find him reduced to being a merely farcical character, flouted and -thrashed. And when his former boon companion, Prince Hal, now on the -throne, answers his advances, familiar and confidential as in the -past, with hard, cold words, we do not admire the new king for his -seriousness, because we are sensible of a lack of aesthetic harmony. -Aesthetically speaking, Falstaff did not deserve such treatment, or at -least Henry V, who inflicts it upon him, should not be given the credit -of possessing an admirable moral character, which he does not possess, -for it cannot be maintained that he is a great man, lofty in heart and -mind, when he shows us that he has failed to understand Falstaff, and -to grant him that indulgence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> to which he is entitled, after so lengthy -a companionship. Falstaff's friends know that poor Sir John, although -he has tried to put a good face on his cruel reception by his young -friend, is unconsolable in the face of this inhuman estrangement, this -chill repulse:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"The king hath run bad humours in the knight,<br /> -His heart is fracted and corroborate."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And Mistress Quickly, although a woman of bad character and a -procuress, shows that she possesses a better heart and a better -intellect than the great king, when she attends the dying Sir John with -feminine solicitude. The narrative, of which we had occasion to quote -the first phrase above, continues in the following pitiful strain:</p> - -<p>"'A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning of the -tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers -and smile upon his fingers ends, I knew there was but one way; for his -nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. 'How now, -Sir John,' quoth I, 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So 'a cried out -'God, God, God,' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a -should not think of God; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> hoped there was no need to trouble himself -with any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: -I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any -stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was -as cold as any stone." And since the friends of the tavern have heard -that he raved of sack, of his favourite sweet sack, Mistress Quickly -confirms that it was so; and when they add that he raved of women, she -denies it, thus defending in her own way the chastity of the poor dead -man.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h5>4</h5> - - -<h5>THE TRAGEDY OF GOOD AND EVIL</h5> - - -<p>The three aspects, with which we have hitherto dealt, compose what -may be called the <i>lesser</i> Shakespeare, in contradistinction to the -<i>greater</i> Shakespeare, of whom we are about to speak. By "lesser," -we do not wish to suggest that the works thus designated are -artistically weak and imperfect, because there are among them some true -masterpieces, nor that they are less perfect by comparison with others, -because every true work of art is incomparable and contains in itself -its proper perfection.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> What is intended to be conveyed is that they -are "less complex," in the same way as the sentiment of a mature or an -old man is distinguished by complexity of experiences from that of a -young man, which is not for that reason less genuine. There are major -and minor works in this sense in the production of poets and of all -artists; and in this sense the greater works themselves of the various -historical epochs stand to one another in the relation of greater or -less richness, although each one is an entire world and each is most -beautiful and incomparable in itself. In the case of Shakespeare, the -distinction has already been approximately made by the common accord of -readers and critics. It is among things accepted and we have acted upon -this assumption.</p> - -<p>Whoever, for example, passes from the most excellent "historical plays" -to <i>Macbeth,</i> is immediately sensible, not only of the diversity, but -also of the greater complexity, proper to the new work which he has -begun to study. In the former, we find a vision that might be described -in general terms, as psychological or practical; in the latter, the -vision is wider, it seems to be almost philosophical, yet it does -not exclude the particular psychological or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> practical vision of the -former, but includes it within itself. In the historical plays, we find -individuals, powerful yet limited, as we find them when we consider the -social competition and the political struggles of the day; in the great -plays, the characters are more than individuals; they represent eternal -positions of the human spirit. In the former, the plot hinges upon -the acquisition or loss of a throne, or of some other worldly object; -in the latter, there is also this external gain or loss, but over and -above it the winning or losing of the soul itself, the strife of good -and evil at the heart of things.</p> - -<p>Evil: but if this evil were so altogether and openly, if it were -altogether base and repugnant, the tragedy would be finished before it -had begun. But evil was called <i>greatness</i> for Macbeth: that greatness, -which the fatal sisters had prophesied to him and the destined course -of events immediately begins to bestow, pointing out to him that all -the rest is both near and certain, provided that he does not remain -passive, but extends his hand to grasp it. It shines before Macbeth, -as a beautiful and luminous idea shines before an artist, assuming for -this warlike and masterful man, the form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> of power, supreme, sovereign -power. Shall he miss the mark? Shall he fail of the mission of his -being? Shall he not harken to the call of Destiny? The idea fascinates -him: <i>nothing</i> now <i>is but what is not</i> in his eyes; it also fascinates -and draws along with it his wife, his second self, who has instantly -and with yet more irresistible violence, thrown herself into the -non-existing, which creates itself and already exists.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Thy letters," (she says), "have transported me beyond<br /> -This ignorant present, and I feel now<br /> -The future in the instant."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The idea, for her, is visible to the eye, it is "the golden circle," -which "fate and metaphysical aid," appear already to have placed upon -her brow. The two tremble together, as at the springs of being, in the -abode of the mysterious Mothers. They are both doers and sufferers in a -process of things, in the appearance of a new greatness: they tremble -in that experience, at that creative moment of daring, which demands -resolute dedication of the whole man.</p> - -<p>But the obstacle towards the realisation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> their daring plan, is not -a material obstacle, nor is it the cowardice that sometimes attacks -the bravest; it is a good of a different sort, not less vigorous, but -of a more lofty quality, gentle and serene, planted in the heart of -Macbeth and called by the name of loyalty, duty, justice, respect for -the being of others, human piety. Thus he feels himself thrown at once -into confusion by the idea that has flashed before him, so great is the -savage desire, which it has set alight in his breast, and such on the -other hand the reverence which the other idea inspires into his deeper -being, and against which he prepares for a desperate struggle. The -supernatural challenge keeps undulating in his mind, now divine, now -diabolical: <i>cannot be ill, cannot be good.</i> But his wife, in whom the -power of desire displays itself as absolute and whose determination of -will is rectilinear, knowing not struggle or only struggles speedily -and completely suppressed, his wife, is ready to take his place, -when he shows his weak side, or at the moments of his vacillation. -In the logical clarity of vision that comes to her as the result of -the clearness of view with which she contemplates the achievement of -her end, she has discovered an element of danger. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> concealed in -the "milk of human kindness," circulating in the blood of Macbeth, -whereby he would attain to greatness, without staining himself with -crime. Having discovered the cause of the weakness, she applies the -remedy. This does not consist in making a frontal attack upon his moral -consciousness, or by negating it, but in exciting or strengthening the -will for action, the will pure and simple, taking pleasure in itself -alone, by making it feel the necessity of expressing in action what -seems to it to be beautiful and delightful, and by making it ashamed -of not knowing how to remain at the level of the desire which it -has encouraged, of the plan that it has formed. Macbeth holds back -troubled, because, though he is as bold as man can be in facing danger, -he yet feels that the deed now required of him would take away from -him the very character of man; but for his wife, that deed would make -of him more than a man. The sophistry of the will, to the aid of which -comes the conquering seduction of desire, exercises its irresistible -action and the deed is accomplished.</p> - -<p>It is accomplished, but with it, as Macbeth says to himself, nothing is -accomplished or concluded: the same atrocious discord, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> appeared -with the first thought of the crime, and which has accompanied its -preparation and execution, continues to act, and Macbeth is never -able to get the better of it, being incapable both of achieving -insensibility to the pricks of conscience and at the same time of -repentance. He persists in his attitude of the first moment, drunk with -greatness, devoured with remorse. He neither can nor will go back, and -does go forward; but he goes forward, increasing both the terms of the -discord, the sum of his crimes, and the torment of his conscience. -No way of salvation opens itself before him: neither the complete -redemption of the good, nor the opposite redemption of the completeness -of evil; neither the tears that relieve the ferocious soul, nor -absolute hardening of the heart. If he had to blame anything for his -course of crimes and torments, he would blame life itself, that <i>fitful -fever,</i> that stupidity of life, which is</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">"a tale</span><br /> -told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,<br /> -signifying nothing."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And if there is any image that attracts him from time to time, -filling him with the suavity of desire, it is that of sleep, and -beyond that, the great final, dissolving sleep, which Duncan,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> whom -he has slaughtered, already enjoys. Thus Macbeth consumes himself, -and his other self, his wife, consumes herself also, in a different -way, because what was in him an implacable call, to which he could -do violence, but could not suppress, presents itself to his wife as -the fascinating idea had presented itself to her, in sensible images, -and therefore as an obscure rebellion of nature. For this reason, -the woman from whose hand the dagger had fallen, when she faced the -sleeping Duncan, who seemed to her to be her father, wanders in the -night, vainly seeking to remove from her small hands the nauseating -odour of blood, which, it seems to her, still clings to them. Both are -already dead, before they die, owing to these bitter, long, continuous, -internal shocks and corrosions. Macbeth receives the news of the death -of her who was his wife, of her whom he had loved and who loved him, -with the desolate coldness of one who has renounced all particular -affections, and the life of the affections themselves. Yet he will not -die like a "Roman fool," he will not slay himself, but will provoke -death in battle, still seeking, not death, but victory. For even in his -last moments, the internal conflict in him has not ceased, even in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -those instants, the impulse for greatness rules him and urges him on. -To kill himself would be to admit that he was wrong, and he does not -admit to himself that he was wrong or right: his tragedy lies in this -incapacity to hold himself right or wrong; it is the tragedy of reality -contemplated at the moment of conflict and before the solution has been -obtained. Therefore he dies austerely, representing a sacred mystery, -covered with religious horror.</p> - -<p>In <i>Macbeth,</i> the good appears only as revenge taken by the good, as -remorse, punishment. It is not personified. The amiable king Duncan -glides along on the outside of things, unsuspectful of betrayals, -without an inkling of what is passing in the mind of Macbeth, whom he -has rewarded and exalted. The honest Macduff, reestablisher of peace -and justice, is a warrior pitted against a warrior. Lady Macduff and -her son are innocent victims, who flee the knife of the murderers in -vain. The boy with his childish logic expresses his wonderment that the -good in the world does not choke the evil and replies to his mother, -who says that the honest man must do justice upon wicked men and -traitors: "Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them...."</p> - -<p>In <i>King Lear,</i> that tempestuous drama, which is nothing but a sequence -of betrayals and horrible torments, goodness is impersonated and takes -the name of Cordelia, shining in the midst of the tempest, as when the -sky is dark and we look, not upon the darkness, but upon the single -star that is scintillating there.</p> - -<p>An infinite hatred for deceitful wickedness has inspired this work: -egoism pure and simple, cruelty, perversity, arouse repugnance and -horror, but do not directly lead to that tremendous doubt as to -the non-existence of goodness, or still less as to its not being -recognisable and separable from its contrary, since that moral deceit, -which takes the appearance of rectitude, generosity, loyalty, and when -it has realised its purpose, discovers itself as impure cupidity, -aridity, hardness of heart, which alone were present throughout. Poor -humanity, which has thus allowed itself to be deceived, enters into -such a fury, when it has discovered its illusion, both against itself -and against the world that has permitted so atrocious an illusion or -delusion, as to reach the point of madness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> And humanity goes by the -name of King Lear, proud, imperious, full of confidence in himself and -in his own power and strength of judgment, quite sure that others will -agree with his wishes, all the more so, since he is their benefactor -and they owe him, not only obedience, but duty and gratitude. King -Lear is a creation of pity and of sarcasm: pitiful in his cries of -injured pride, of old age deserted, in the shadow of the madness that -is falling upon him. He has been sarcastically, though sorrowfully, -realised by his creator, because he was mad before he became mad, and -the clown who keeps him company, has been and is more serious and -clear-sighted than he. But the creative impulse of Shakespeare goes -so deeply into the heart of reality, or rather it creates so great a -reality, that he neglects everything suggestive of the obvious, vulgar -side of things, as seen from an average and mediocre point of view. -King Lear assumes gigantic proportions in his sorrow, in his madness, -in his piteousness, in his sarcasm, because the passion that shakes him -is gigantic. The figures of the two deceitful daughters who are opposed -to him, are also gigantic, especially Goneril, to whom Regan, who is -somewhat the younger, gives relief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> Goneril's are the guiding mind -and the initiating will; she it is, who first counsels and instructs -her sister, who first faces and dominates her father, and who first -recognises her own equal in the iron will of the evil Edmund, loving -him and despising her own husband, so weak in his goodness, strives -with her sister for the loved one, finally slaying her sister and -immediately afterwards, herself. Regan has here and there a fugitive -moment, not of piety, but of hesitation and almost of suggestion, and -shows herself to be the less strong, just because she always allows -herself to be led by the other. Each of them, although both are thus -powerfully individuated, express the same force of egoism without -scruples, untamed and extreme in its boundlessness. Their personalities -are concentrated, felt and expressed, with the whole-hearted hatred of -an expert.</p> - -<p>Yet we come to think that in this tragedy the inspiration of love—of -immense love—is equal to or greater than the inspiration of hate. -Perhaps intensity of hatred, making more intense the attraction of -goodness, helped to create the figure of Cordelia, which is not -a symbol or allegory of abstract goodness, but is all compact of -goodness, of a need for purity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> for tenderness, for adoration, which -has here thrown its real and unreal appearance, an appearance which -has poetical reality. Cordelia is goodness itself in its original -well-spring, limpid and shining as it gushes forth: she represents -moral beauty and is therefore both courageous and hesitating, modest -and dignified, ready to disdain contests, where they are of no avail, -but also ready to fight bravely, when to do so is of service. Hers -is a true and complete goodness, not simply softness, mildness and -indulgence. Words have been so misused for purposes of deceit that she -has almost abandoned that inadequate means of communication: she is -silent, when speech would be vain or would set her truthfulness on the -same level as the lies of others. But since she has clear knowledge -and a fine sense of her own self and its contrary, she does not allow -herself to be confused or enticed by false splendours. <i>"I know you -what you are,"</i> she says, looking her sisters in the eyes, as she takes -leave of them. And since goodness is also sympathetic intelligence, she -understands, pardons and lovingly assists her old father, so unjust -and so wanting in understanding toward herself. And since goodness -cannot adopt the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> form of blind passion, even in the act of defence and -offence, and even when it refuses to tolerate evil, is forced to bow -to the law of severe resignation, which governs the world, and thus -entrusts her with its best duty, so Cordelia does not burst into a rage -against the wickedness of her sisters, when she hears how King Lear has -been driven out and despised, but at once resigns herself to patience -in the affliction, "like," as says one who has seen her at that moment, -to</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears<br /> -Were like a better day."<br /> -</p> - -<p>There are other personages in the play, who affirm the reality of good -against the false assertion of it: the pure and faithful Kent, the -loyal though unintelligent Gloucester, the brave Edgar, the weak but -honest Duke of Albany, the husband of Goneril, who says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Where I could not be honest,<br /> -I never yet was valiant."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Finally the perfidious Edmund, when he sees himself near death, hastens -to accomplish a good action and to pay homage to virtue. But all these -belong to the earth: Cordelia is on the earth, earthly herself and -mortal, but she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> is made of celestial substance, of purest humanity, -which is therefore divine. It has occurred to me to compare her with -the Soul, whom Friar Jacob likened to the only daughter and heiress -of the King of France, and whom her father, for that he loved her -infinitely, had adorned "with a white stole," and her fame flew "to -every land."</p> - -<p>No greater spiritual triumph can be conceived than that of Cordelia, -throughout the drama, from the first scene to the last, although she -first appears as denied and rejected by her father, and later, when she -comes with arms to the aid of the unfortunate Lear against the infernal -sisters and the treacherous Edmund, is conquered, thrown into prison -and there strangled by the hangman. Why? Why does not goodness triumph -in the material world? And, why, thus conquered, does she increase -in beauty, evoke ever more disconsolate desire, until she is finally -adored as something sacred? The tragedy of King Lear is penetrated -throughout with this unexpressed yet anguished interrogation, so -full of the sense of the misery of life. The king, acquiring new -sensibility in his madness, as though a veil had been withdrawn from -before his eyes, sees and receives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> for the first time in himself, -suffering humanity, weeping and trembling, like a child, defenceless, -ill-treated. The fool, who accompanies him, sings, along with much -else, his prophecy to the effect that when calumnies cease, when kings -are punished, and usurers and thieves give up their trade, then all the -kingdom of Albion will be in great confusion. But the sorrow of sorrows -is that of Lear, when, having found Cordelia, he dreams of being ever -after at her side, adoring, and sees the prison transformed into a -paradise: they will sing, he will kneel before her, they will pray, -and tell one another ancient tales. But she is brutally slain before -his eyes and her dead body lies in his arms, as he vainly strives to -reanimate it, and he too dies, uttering the last cry of desperation:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Thou'lt come no more,<br /> -Never, never, never, never!—"<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the tragedy of <i>Othello,</i> evil takes on another face, and here the -sentiment that answers to it, is not condemnation mixed with pity, -not horror for hypocrisy and cruelty, but astonishment. Iago does not -represent evil done through a dream of greatness, or evil for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> -egoistic satisfaction of his own desires, but evil for evil's sake, -done almost as though through an artistic need, in order to realise his -own being and feel it strong, dominating and destructive, even in the -subordinate social condition in which he is placed. Certainly, Iago, in -what he says, wishes it to be believed or makes himself believe that -he is aiming only at his "own advantage," as Guicciardini would have -said, and that he despises those who have different rule of conduct and -manage to live honestly, the <i>honest knaves.</i> But the truth is that he -does not obtain any material advantage for himself, and that the path -he has selected was not necessary for that object and does not lead to -it. Feelings of vengeance for injustices and affronts suffered lead to -it still less, though at times he says they do, and wishes it to be -believed or tries to believe it himself. What results from his acts is -evil as an end in itself, arising from a turbid desire to prove himself -superior to the rest of the world, to delude and to make it dance to -the tune of his own mind, and in proof of this to bring it to ruin. -The fact that he gives various reasons, with the object of justifying -and of explaining his acts, demonstrates that he himself failed to -understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> that peculiar form of evil which possessed his spirit. -None of those about him suspect him: not Othello, a simple, impetuous -soldier, who understands open strife and plotting, but both in war and -between one enemy and another. He is quite unable to conceive this -refined and intellectual degradation. Desdemona, too, a young woman -newly married, rejoicing in the happiness of realized affection and -disposed to find everyone about her good and to make everyone happy, -is unsuspicious, as also is Cassio, who trusts Iago, as a brave and -loyal comrade, and his wife, the experienced Emilia, who knows him from -long habit. The epithets of "good Iago," of "honest Iago" ring through -the whole play and are a bitter and ironical comment underlining the -illusion that possesses them all. He is weaving, without reason, and -as it were for amusement, a horrible web of calumnies, of moral and -physical tortures and of death: a good and generous man, rendered -blind and mad with jealousy and injured honour, is thus led to murder -his innocent and beloved wife. Pity and terror arise together in the -soul, as we see Othello poisoned drop by drop, excited, changed Into a -wild beast: one feels that in Desdemona<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> the warrior possessed all the -sweetness and all the force of life, the happiness on which reposed -all the rest, and that in her person he had found all that one can -conceive as most noble, most gentle and most pure in the world. When he -suspects that she has betrayed him, not only is he pierced with sensual -jealousy, (this too there is, certainly), but injured in what he holds -sacred, and therefore the death that he deals to Desdemona is not -simply vengeance for the shame done him, but above all expiation and -purification, as though he wished to purify the world of such impurity, -and to cleanse her from a stain, which irremediably defiled her. "O, -the pity of all this, Iago! O, Iago, the pity of all this!" He kisses -her before he kills her, kissing his own ideal, which he lays at that -moment in the sepulchre. But he still trembles with love, and perhaps -hopes somehow to get her back and to be united with her forever, by -means of that bloody sacrifice. Desdemona is not aware of the fury -raging around her, sure as she is of her love and of Othello's. Owing -to her very innocence, she affords involuntary incentives to the -jealousy of Othello and easy occasion to the artifice of Iago. Her very -unconsciousness makes her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> fate the more moving. Such is the infamy -of the crime thus accomplished against her, that the prosaic, shifty -wife of Iago becomes sublime with indignation and courage, when she -sees her dying, rising to poetic nobility and defying every menace. -Transpierced by her husband, she falls at the side of her mistress and -dying sings the willow song, which she had caught from the lips of -Desdemona. Othello also dies, when the deceit has been revealed to him. -The leader whom Venice had held in great honour and in whom she had -reposed complete faith, charging him with commands and governments, is -now nothing but a wretch deserving punishment. But in slaying himself, -he returns in memory to what he was, substituting that image of himself -for his present misery, and using the memory of the warrior that he -was, to drive the sword deeper into his throat.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, the rallying-point or centre of the whole play is -not the ruin of the valiant Othello, not the cruel fate of the gentle -Desdemona, but the work, of Iago, of that demidevil, of whom one might -ask in vain, why, as Othello asked, why he had thus noosed the bodies -and souls of those men, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> had never nourished any suspicion of him?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Demand me nothing; what you know, you know<br /> -From this time forth I never will speak word."<br /> -</p> - -<p>This was the answer to the poet from that most mysterious form of evil, -when he met with it, as he was contemplating the universe: perversity, -which is an end and a joy to itself.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h5>5</h5> - - -<h5>THE TRAGEDY OF THE WILL</h5> - - -<p>The tragedy of the good and evil will, is sometimes followed, sometimes -preceded by another tragedy, that of the will itself. Here the will, -instead of holding the passions in control—making its footstool of -them—allows itself to be dominated by them in their onrush; or it -seeks the good, but remains uncertain, dissatisfied as to the path -chosen; or finally, when it fails to find its own way, a way of some -sort, and does not know what to think of itself or of the world, it -preys upon itself in this empty tension.</p> - -<p>A typical form of this first condition of the will is voluptuousness, -which overspreads a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> soul and makes itself mistress there, inebriating, -sending to sleep, destroying and liquefying the will. When we think -of that enchanting sweetness and perdition, the image of death arises -at the same instant, because it truly is death, if not physical, yet -always internal and moral death, death of the spirit, without which -man is already a corpse in process of decomposition. The tragedy of -<i>Anthony and Cleopatra</i> is composed of the violent sense of pleasure, -in its power to bind and to dominate, coupled with a shudder at its -abject effects of dissolution and of death.</p> - -<p>He moves in a world all kisses and caresses, languors, sounds, -perfumes, shimmer of gold and splendid garments, flashing of lights or -silence of deep shadows, enjoyment, now ecstatic, now spasmodic and -furious. Cleopatra is queen of this world, avid for pleasure, which she -herself bestows, diffusing around her its quivering sense, instilling -a frantic desire for it into all, offering herself as an example and -an incitement, but while conferring it on others, remaining herself a -regal and almost a mystical personage. A Roman who has plunged into -that world, spoke then of her, astonished at her power, demoniac or -divine;</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Age cannot wither nor custom stale<br /> -Her infinite variety."<br /> -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;">Cleopatra asks for songs and music, that she may melt into that sea of -melody, which heightens pleasure:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Give me some music; music, moody food<br /> -Of us that trade in love!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>She knows how to toy with men, keeping their interest alive by her -denials:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">"If you find him sad,</span><br /> -Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report<br /> -That I am sudden sick."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Her words express sensual fascination in its most terrible form:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">"There is gold, and here</span><br /> -My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings<br /> -Have lipped, and trembled kissing."<br /> -</p> - -<p>All around her dance to the same tune and imitate the rhythmic folly of -her life. Note the scene of the two waiting women, who are joking about -their loves, their future marriages, and the manner of their deaths, -with the soothsayer. Listen to the first words of Carminia, so mirthful -and caressing in her playful coquetry: "Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most -anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> where's the soothsayer -that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew this husband, which, -you say, must charge his horns with garlands!" ...</p> - -<p>Anthony is seized and dragged into this vertiginous course of pungent -pleasures, as soon as he appears. In his inebriation the rest of the -world, all the active, real world, seems heavy, prosaic, contemptible -and displeasing. The very name of Rome has no longer any power over him.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch<br /> -Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space.<br /> -Kingdoms are clay: one dungy earth alike<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feeds beast as man."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>As he folds Cleopatra in his arms, he feels that they form a pair -who make life more noble, and that in them alone it assumes real -significance.</p> - -<p>This feeling is not love: we have already called it by its proper name: -voluptuousness. Cleopatra loves pleasure and caprice, and the dominion, -which both of them afford her; she also loves Anthony, because he is, -and in so far as he is, part of her pleasures and caprices, and serves -her as an instrument of dominion. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> busies herself with keeping him -bound to her, struggles to retain him when he removes himself from her, -but she always has an eye to other things, which are equally necessary -for her, even more so than he, and in order to retain them, she would -be ready if necessary to give Anthony in exchange. Anthony too, does -not love her; he clearly sees her for what she is, imprecates against -her, and enfolds her in his embrace without forgiveness.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Shed not a tear; give me a kiss:<br /> -Even this repays me."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Love demands union of some sort between two beings for an objective -end, with the moral consent of both; but here we are outside morality, -and even outside the will. We are caught in the whirlwind and carried -along.</p> - -<p>Anthony it is, who weakens and is conquered. He has lived an active -life, which, in the present moment of folly, he holds of no account. -He has known war, political strife, the government of States; he has -even been brushed with the wing of glory and of victory. He tries -several times to grasp his own past and to direct his future. He has -not lost his ethical judgment, for he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> recognizes Cleopatra as she -really is, bows reverently before the memory of Fulvia, and treats his -new wife Octavia, whom also he will abandon, with respect. For a brief -moment, he returns to the world he once knew, takes part in political -business, comes to terms with his colleagues and rivals. It would seem -that he had disentangled himself from the chain that bound him. But -the effort is not lasting, the chain encircles him again; vainly and -with ever declining power of resistance, he yields to that destiny, -which is on the side of Octavius, the man without loves, so cold and -so firm of will. Bad fortune dogs every step of the voluptuary: those -that surround him remark a change in his appearance from what he was -formerly. They see him betray this change by uttering thoughts that are -almost ridiculously feeble, and making inane remarks. They are led to -reflect that the mind of man is nothing but a part of his fortune and -that external things conform to things internal. He himself feels that -he is inwardly dissolving, and compares himself to the changing forms -of the clouds, dissolved with a breath of wind, like water turning to -water. Yet the man, who is thus in process of disaggregation, was once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -great, and still affords flashes of greatness, bursting forth in feats -of warlike prowess, accompanied with lofty speech and generous actions. -His generosity confounds Enobarbus, who had deserted him and now takes -his own life for very shame. Around him are yet those ready to die -for sake of the affection that he inspires. Cleopatra stands lower or -higher: she has never known nor has ever desired to know any life but -that of caprice and pleasure. There is logic, will, consistency, in her -vertiginous abandonment. She is consistent also in taking her own life, -when she sees that she would die in a Roman prison, thus escaping shame -and the mockeries of the triumphant foe, and selecting a death of regal -voluptuousness. And with her die her faithful handmaids, by a similar -death; they have known her as their queen and goddess of pleasure, and -now as despising <i>this vile world</i> and a life no longer worthy of being -lived, because no longer beautiful and brilliant. Carminia, before she -slays herself takes a last farewell of her mistress:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"Downy windows close;</span><br /> -And golden Phoebus never be beheld<br /> -Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;<br /> -I'll mend it, and then play."<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> - -<p>The tragedy of the will, which is most poetically lofty in <i>Anthony and -Cleopatra,</i> is nevertheless morally a low form, that is to say, it is -simple and elementary in its roughness, such as would manifest itself -in a soldier like Anthony, the bloody, quarrelsome, pleasure-seeking, -crapulous Anthony.</p> - -<p>It shows itself in an atmosphere far more subtle with Hamlet. Hamlet, -the hero so refined intellectually, so delicate in taste, so conscious -of moral values, comes to the action, not from the Roman forum or -from the battlefields of Gaul or Pharsalia, but from the University -of Wittenberg. In <i>Hamlet,</i> the seductions of the will are altogether -overcome; duty is no longer a condition, or a vain effort, but a -spontaneous and regular attitude. The obstacle against which it -strives is not external to it, it is no inebriation of the senses; it -is internal, the will itself in the dialectic of its becoming, in its -passage from meditation to purpose and from purpose to action, in its -becoming will, true, concrete, factual will.</p> - -<p>Hamlet has with reason often been recognised as a companion and -precursor of Brutus in <i>Julius Caesar,</i> a play which differs from the -"historical tragedies," more substantially even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> than <i>Anthony and -Cleopatra,</i> which is restricted to the practical activity. <i>Hamlet</i> -attains to a more lofty significance. Here too we find a tragedy of -the will in a man whose ethical conscientiousness is not internally -troubled, for he lives upon a sublime plane; and here too the -obstacle arises from the very bosom of the will. Brutus differs from -Hamlet, in that he comes to a decision and acts; but his action is -accompanied with disgust and repugnance for the impurity with which -its accomplishment must be stained. He reproves, condemns and abhors -the political end towards which Caesar is tending, but he does not -hate Caesar; he would like to destroy that end, to strike at the soul -of Caesar, but not to destroy his body and with it his life. He bows -reluctantly to necessity and with the others decides upon his death, -but requests that honours should be payed to Caesar dead, and spares -Anthony contrary to the advice of Cassius, because, as he says, he -is a priest bound to sacrifice the necessary victim; but he is not a -butcher. Melancholy dogs every step toward the achievement of his end. -He differs here from Cassius, who does not experience like scruples -and delicacy of feeling, but desires the end, by whatever means. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -differs too from Anthony, who discovers at once the path to tread -and enters it; cautious and resolute, he will triumph over him. He -finds everywhere impurity: Cassius, his friend, his brother, behaves -in such a way as to make him doubt his right to shed the blood of -the mighty Julius, because, instead of that justice, which he has -thought to promote and to restore by his act, he now sees only rapine -and injustice. But if the spiritual greatness of Brutus shrouds him -in sadness, it does not deprive him of the capacity for feeling and -understanding human nature. His difference with Cassius comes to an -end with his friend's sorrow, that friend who loves and admires him -sincerely, and yet cannot be other than he is, hoping that his friend -will not condemn too severely his faults and vices, but pass them -over in indulgent silence. The reconciliation of the two is sealed -when Brutus reveals his wounded heart, as he briefly tells his friend -of Portia's death. He enfolds himself in his grief. Brutus is among -those who have always meditated upon death and fortified themselves -with the thought of it. His suffering is not limited to virtue forced -into contamination; for he is haunted by doubt unexpressed. He feels -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> man is surrounded with mystery, the mystery of Fate, or, as we -should say, with the mystery surrounding the future history of the -world; he seems to be anxiously asking of himself if the way that he -has chosen and followed is the best and wisest way, or whether some -evil genius has not introduced itself into his life, in order to drive -him to perdition? He hears at night the voice of the evil genius amid -the sounds and songs that should give rest and repose to his agitated -spirit. He prepares himself to face the coming battle, with the same -invincible sadness. It is the day that will bring to an end the work -begun on the Ides of March. He takes leave of Cassius, doubtful if he -will ever see him again, saying farewell to him for ever:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;<br /> -If not, why then, this parting was well made."<br /> -</p> - -<p>O, if man could know the event of that day before it befell! But it -must suffice to know that day will have an end, and that the end will -be known. Mighty powers govern the world, Brutus resigns himself to -them: they may have already judged him guilty or be about to do so.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p><i>Hamlet</i> has generally been considered the tragedy of Shakespearean -tragedies, where the poet has put most of himself, given us his -philosophy, and with it the key to the other tragedies. But strictly -speaking, Shakespeare has not put himself, that is to say his poetry, -into <i>Hamlet,</i> either more or less than into any of the others; there -is not more philosophy, as judge of reality and of life here than -in the others; there is perhaps less, because it is more perplexed -and vague than the others, and even the celebrated monologue (<i>To -be or not to be,</i>) though supremely poetical, is irreducible to a -philosopheme or to a philosophic problem. Finally, it is not the key -or compendium of the other plays, but the expression of a particular -state of the soul, which differs from those expressed in the others. -Those who read it in the ingenuous spirit in which it was written and -conceived, find no difficulty about taking it for what it is, namely -the expression of disaffection and distaste for life; they experience -and assimilate that state of the soul. Life is thought and will, but a -will which creates thought and a thought which creates will, and when -we feel that certain painful impressions have injured and upset us, it -sometimes happens that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> will does not obey the stimulus of thought -and becomes weak as will; then thought, feeling in its turn that it -is not stimulated and upheld by the will, begins to wander and fails -to make progress: it tries now this and now that, but grasps nothing -firmly; it is thought not sure of itself, it is not true and effective -thought. There is, as it were, a suspension of the rapid course of the -spirit, a void, a losing of the way, which resembles death, and is -in fact a sort of death. This is the state of soul that Shakespeare -infused into the ancient legend of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, on whom -he conferred many noble aptitudes and gifts, and the promise or the -beginning of a fervent life. He then interrupted and suspended Hamlet's -beginning of life, and let it wander, as though seeking in vain, not -only its proper task, but even the strength necessary to propose it -to himself, with that firmness which becomes and is, indeed, itself -action. Hamlet is a generous and gentle youth, with a disposition -towards meditation and scientific enquiry, a lover of the beautiful, -devoted to knightly sports, prone to friendship, not averse to love, -with faith in the human goodness and in those around him, especially -in his father and mother, and in all his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> relations and friends. He -was perhaps too refined and sensitive, too delicate in soul; but -his life proceeded, according to its own law, towards certain ends, -caressing certain hopes. In the course of this facile and amiable -existence, he experienced, first the death of his father, followed -soon after by the second marriage of his mother, who seems to have -very speedily forgotten her first husband in the allurement of a new -love. He feels himself in every way injured by this marriage, and with -the disappearance of his esteem for his mother, a horrible suspicion -insinuates itself, which is soon confirmed by the apparition of his -father's restless ghost, which demands vengeance. And Hamlet will, nay -must and will carry it out; he would find a means to do so warily and -effectually, if he had not meanwhile begun to die from that shock to -his sentiments. That is to say, he began to die without knowing it, to -die internally: the pleasures of the world become in his eyes insipid -and rancid, the earth and the sky itself lose their colours. Everything -that is contrary to the ideal and to the joy of life, injustice, -betrayal, lies, hypocrisy, bestial sensuality, greed of power and -riches, cowardice, perversity and with them the nullity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> of worldly -things, death and the fearful unknown, gather themselves together in -his spirit, round that horrible thing that he has discovered, the -assassination of his father, the adultery of his mother; they tyrannise -over his spirit and form a barrier to his further progress, to his -living with that former warmth and joyous vigour, as indispensable to -thought as it is to action. Hamlet can no longer love, for love is -above all love of life; for this reason he breaks off the love-idyll -that he had begun with Ophelia, whom he loved and whom in a certain -way, he still loves infinitely, but as we love one dead, knowing her to -be no longer for us. Hamlet can laugh no more: sarcasm and irony take -the place of frank laughter on his lips. He fails to coordinate his -acts, himself becoming the victim of circumstances, though constantly -maintaining his attitude of contempt, or breaking out into unexpected -resolves, followed by hasty execution.</p> - -<p>Sometimes he still rises to the level of moral indignation, as in the -colloquy with his mother, but this too is a paroxysm, not a coordinated -action. Joy is needed, not only for love, but also for vengeance; -there must be passion for the activity that is being exercised; but -Hamlet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> is in such a condition that he should give himself the same -advice as he gives to the miserable Ophelia—to get her to a nunnery -and there practice renunciation and restraint. But he is not conscious -of the nature of his malady, and it is precisely for this reason that -he is ill; instead of combating it by applying the right remedy, he -cultivates, nourishes and increases it. At the most, what is taking -place within him excites his astonishment and moves him to vain -self-rebuke and equally vain self-stimulation, as we observe after his -dialogue with the players, and after he has heard the passion, fury and -weeping they put into their part, and when he meets the army led by -Fortinbras against Poland.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"I do not know</span><br /> -Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do';<br /> -Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means<br /> -To do't. Examples, gross as earth exhort me:<br /> -Witness this army, of such mass and charge,<br /> -Led by a delicate and tender prince;<br /> -Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd,<br /> -Makes mouths at the invisible event,<br /> -Exposing what is miserable and unsure<br /> -To all that fortune death and danger dare<br /> -Even for an egg-shell.... O, from this time forth,<br /> -My thought be bloody or be nothing worth!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> - -<p>Finally, he accomplishes the great vengeance, but alas, in how small a -way, as though jestingly, as though it were by chance, and he himself -dies as though by chance. He had abandoned his life to chance, so his -death must be due to chance.</p> - -<p>We too have termed the condition of spirit that ruins Hamlet, an -illness; but the word is better applied to a doctor or a moralist, -whereas the tragedy is the work of a poet, who does not describe an -illness, but sings a song of desperate and desolate anguish, and so -lofty a song is it, to so great a height does it attain, that it -would seem as though a newer and more lofty conception of reality and -of human action must be born of it. What was perdition for Hamlet, -is a crisis of the human soul, which assumed so great an extension -and complexity after the time of Shakespeare as to give its name to -a whole historical period. Yet it has more than historical value, -because, light or serious, little or great, it returns to live again -perpetually.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<h5>6</h5> - - -<h5>JUSTICE AND INDULGENCE</h5> - - -<p>It would be vain to seek among the songs of Shakespeare for the song of -reconciliation, of quarrels, composed of inner peace, of tranquillity -achieved, but the song of justice echoes everywhere in his works. -He knows neither perfect saints, nor perfect sinners, for he feels -the struggle at the heart of reality as necessity, not as accident, -artifice, or caprice. Even the good, the brave and the pure have evil, -impurity and weakness in them: "fragility" is the word he utters most -often, not only with regard to women; and on the other hand, even -the wicked, the guilty, the criminal, have glimpses of goodness, -aspirations after redemption, and when everything else is wanting, they -have energy of will and thus possess a sort of spiritual greatness. One -hears that song as a refrain in several of the tragedies, uttered by -foes over the foes whom they have conquered. Anthony pronounces this -elegy over the fallen Brutus:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"This was the noblest Roman of them all:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>All the conspirators, save only he,<br /> -Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;<br /> -He only in a general honest thought<br /> -And common good to all, made one of them.<br /> -His life was gentle and the elements<br /> -So mix'd in him that nature might stand up<br /> -And say to all the world 'This was a man.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Octavian, when he hears of the death of Anthony, exclaims:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">"O Anthony!</span><br /> -... We could not stall together; but yet let me lament,<br /> -With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,<br /> -That thou, my brother, my competitor<br /> -In top of all design, my mate in empire,<br /> -Friend and companion in the front of war,<br /> -Unreconciliable should divide<br /> -Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars<br /> -Unreconciliable should divide<br /> -Our equalness to this."<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is above all in <i>Henry VIII</i> that this feeling for justice widens -into a feeling towards oneself and others. We find a particularly good -instance of it in the dialogues between Queen Catherine and her great -enemy Wolsey. When the queen has mentioned all the grave misdeeds of -the dead man in her severe speech, Griffith craves permission to record -in his turn all the good there was in him; and with so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> persuasive an -eloquence does he record this good, that the queen, when she has heard -him, concludes with a sad smile:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"After my death I wish no other herald,<br /> -No other speaker of my living actions,<br /> -But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.<br /> -Whom I most hated living thou hast made me,<br /> -With thy religious truth and modesty,<br /> -Now in his ashes honour: peace be with him!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>One who feels justice in this way, is inclined to be indulgent, and in -Shakespeare we find the song of indulgence, in the <i>Tempest:</i> a lofty -indulgence, for his discernment of good and evil was acute, his sense -alike for what is noble and for what is base, exquisite. He could never -be of those who slip into some form of false indulgence, which lowers -the standard of the ideal, in order to approach the real, cancelling -or rendering uncertain, in greater or lesser measure, the boundaries -between virtue and vice. Prospero it is, who is indulgent in the -<i>Tempest,</i> the sage, the wise, the injured, the beneficent Prospero.</p> - -<p>The <i>Tempest</i> is an exercise of the imagination, a delicate pattern, -woven perhaps as a spectacle for some special occasion, such as a -marriage ceremony, for it adopts the procedure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> of some fanciful, -jesting scenario from the popular Italian comedy. Here we find islands -unknown, aerial spirits, earthly beings and monsters; it is full of -magic and of prodigies, of shipwrecks, rescues and incantations; -and the smiles of innocent love, the quips of comical creatures, -variegate pleasantly its surface. We have already noted the traces -of Shakespeare's tendency toward the romantic, and those echoes of -the comedy of love, of Romeo and Juliet, who are not unfortunate but -fortunate, when they are called Ferdinand and Miranda, with their -irresistible impulse towards love and joy. But although the work has -a bland tone, there are yet to be found in it characters belonging to -tragedy, wicked brothers, who usurp the throne, brothers who meditate -and attempt fratricide. In Caliban we find the malicious, violent -brute, abounding in strength and rich in possibilities. He listens -ecstatically to the soft music, with which the isle often resounds, he -knows its natural secrets and is ready to place himself at the service -of him who shall aid him in his desire for vengeance and shall redeem -him from captivity. Henceforth Prospero has all his enemies in his -power; he can do with them what he likes. But he is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> not on the same -plane with them, a combatant among combatants: meditation, experience -and science have refined him: he is penetrated with the consciousness -of humanity, of its instability, its illusions, its temptations, its -miseries. Where others think they see firm foothold, he is aware of -change and insecurity; where others find everything clear as day, he -feels the presence of mystery, of the unsolved enigma:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"We are such things<br /> -As dreams are made of and our little life<br /> -Is rounded with a sleep."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Will he punish? Finally, even his sprite Ariel, his minister of air, -feels compassion for those downcast prisoners, and when asked by -Prospero, does not withhold from him, that in his place he would be -human.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">"And mine shall.</span><br /> -Hast thou, which are but air, a touch, a feeling<br /> -Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,<br /> -One of their kind, which relish all as sharply,<br /> -Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?"<br /> -</p> - -<p>The guilty are pardoned, and finally Caliban, the monstrous Caliban, -is pardoned also, promising to behave himself better from that moment -onward. Prospero divests himself of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> his magic wand, which gave him so -absolute a power over his like, and while yet in his possession, caused -him to incur the risk of behaving towards them in a more than human, -perhaps an inhuman way.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare can and does attain to indulgence towards men; but since in -him the contest between good and evil, positive and negative, remains -undecided, he is unable to rise to a feeling of cheerful hope and -faith, nor, on the other hand, to submerge himself in gloomy pessimism. -In his characters, the love of life is extraordinarily vigorous and -tenacious; all of them are agitated by strong passions; they meditate -great designs and pursue them with indomitable vigour; all of them -love infinitely and hate infinitely. But all of them, almost without -exception, also renounce life and face death with fortitude, serenity, -and as though it were a sort of liberation. The motto of all is uttered -by Edgar, in <i>King Lear,</i> in reply to his old father, Gloucester, who -loses courage and wishes to die, when he hears of the defeat of the -king and of Cordelia. Edgar reminds his father that men must face -"their coming here even as their going hence," and that <i>"ripeness -is all." </i> They die magnificently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> either in battle, or offering -their throats to the assassin or the executioner, or they transpierce -themselves with their own hands, when nothing is left but death or -dishonour. They know how to die; it seems as though they had all -<i>"studied death,"</i> as says a character in <i>Macbeth,</i> when describing -one of them.</p> - -<p>And nevertheless the ardour of life never becomes lessened or -extinguished. Romeo indeed admired the tenacity of life and the fear -of death in him who sold him the poison; miserable, hungry, despised, -suspected by men and by the law, as he was. In <i>Measure for Measure,</i> -in the scene where Claudio is in prison and condemned, the usual order -is inverted; first we have the prompt persuasion and decision to -accept death with serenity, and a few moments later the will to live -returns with furious force. The make-believe friar, who assists the -condemned man, sets the nullity of life before him in language full -of warm and rich imagery: it is troublous and such as "none but fools -would keep," a constant heart-ache for the fear of losing it, a craving -after happiness never attained, a falsity of affections, a crepuscular -condition, without joy or repose; and Claudio drinks in these words and -images, feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> that to live is indeed to die, and wishes for death. -But his sister enters, and when she tells him how she has been offered -his life as the price of her dishonour, he instantly clutches hold -again of life at that glimmer of hope, of hope stained with opprobrium, -and dispels with a shudder of horror the image of death:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"To die and go we know not where;</span><br /> -To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;<br /> -This sensible and warm motion to become<br /> -A kneaded clod; 'tis too horrible!<br /> -The weariest and most loathed worldly life<br /> -That age, ache, penury and imprisonment<br /> -Can lay on nature is a paradise<br /> -To what we fear of death...."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And in the same play the singular personage of Barnadine is placed -before us, perfect in a few strokes, Barnadine, the criminal and almost -animal, indifferent to life and death, but who yet lives, gets drunk -and then stretches himself out and sleeps soundly, and when he is -awakened and called to the place of execution, declares firmly, that -he is not disposed to go there that day, so they had better leave him -alone and not trouble him; he turns his shoulders on them and goes back -to his cell, where they can come and find him, if they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> anything -to say. Here too the feeling of astonishment at an eagerness for life, -which does not exclude the tranquil acceptance of death, is accentuated -almost to the point of becoming comic and grotesque.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h5>7</h5> - - -<h5>IDEAL DEVELOPMENT AND CHRONOLOGICAL SERIES</h5> - - -<p>It is clear that in considering the principal motives of Shakespeare's -poetry and arranging them in series of increasing complexity, we -have not availed ourselves of any quantitative criterion or rule of -measurement, but have considered only the philosophical concept of the -spirit, which is perpetual growth upon itself, and of which every new -act, since it includes its predecessors, is in this sense more rich -than they. We declare in the same way, that prose is more complex than -poetry, because it follows poetry, assumes and dominates, while making -use of it, and that certain concepts and problems imply and presuppose -certain others; we further declare that a particular equality in poetry -presupposes other poetry of a more elementary quality, and that a -pessimistic song of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> love or sorrow, presupposes a simple love-song.</p> - -<p>Thus, in the succession of his works as we have considered them, which -might be more closely defined and particularised, we have nothing less -than the ideal development of Shakespeare's spirit, deduced from the -very quality of the poetical works themselves, from the physiognomy -of each and from their reciprocal relations, which cannot but appear -in relations which are serial and evolutionary. The comedies of love -and the romantic comedies have the vagueness of a dream, followed by -the hard reality of the historical plays, and from these we pass to -the great tragedies, which are dream and reality and more than dream -and reality. The general line followed by the poet even offered the -temptation to construct his development by means of the dialectic triad -of thesis, antithesis and synthesis. But we do not recommend this -course, or if followed, it should only be with the view of reaching and -adopting a compendious and brilliant formula, without suppressing in -any way the consciousness of complexity and variety of many effective -passages, much less the positive value of individual expressions.</p> - -<p>This development does not in any case<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> coincide with the chronological -order, because the chronological order takes the works in the order in -which they are apprehensible from without, that is to say, in the order -in which they have been written, acted or printed, and arranges them in -a series that is qualitatively irregular, or in other words, chronicles -them. Now this arrangement must not be opposed to or placed on a -level with the other, as though it were the real opposed to the ideal -development, for the ideal is the only truly real development, while -the chronological is fictitious or arbitrary, and thus unreal; that is -to say, in clear terms, it does not represent development, but simply -a series or succession. To make this point yet more clear, by means of -an example taken from common experience, we have all known men, who in -their youth have practised or tried to practise some form of activity -(music, versification, painting, philosophy, etc.) which they have -afterwards abandoned for other activities, more suitable, because in -them susceptible of richer development. These men, later on, in their -maturity, or when old age is approaching, revert to those earlier -occupations, and take delight in composing verses or music, in painting -or in philosophising,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> returning, as they say, to their old loves. -Such returns are certainly never pure and simple returns: they are -always coloured to some extent by what has occurred in the interval. -But they really and substantially belong to the anterior moment; the -differences that we observe in them some part of that particular -consideration which we have disregarded in considering the development -of Shakespeare, while recommending it as a theme for special study. -As we find in works which represent a return to the period of youth, -echoes of the mature period, so in youthful works we sometimes find -anticipations and suggestions of the mature period. This is the case -with Shakespeare, not only in certain situations and characters of -the historical plays, but also in certain effects of the <i>Dream,</i> the -<i>Merchant of Venice</i> and <i>Romeo and Juliet.</i></p> - -<p>As the result of our argument, we cannot pass from the ideal to the -extrinsic or chronological order, and therefore it could only indicate -caprice, were we to conclude from the fact that <i>Titus Andronicus</i> -represents a literary Shakespeare or a theatrical imitator, that it -must chronologically precede <i>Romeo and Juliet,</i> or even <i>Love's -Labour's Lost.</i> The same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> applies to the argument that because -<i>Cymbeline,</i> the <i>Winter's Tale</i> and <i>Pericles</i> are composed of -romantic material similar to that of <i>All's Well,</i> of <i>Much Ado</i> and -of <i>Twelfth Night</i> (where we find innocent maidens falsely accused and -afterwards triumphant, dead women, who turn out to be alive, women -dressed as men, and the like), that they must all have been written at -the same time. The same holds good of the historical plays: we cannot -argue from the fact that these plays represent a more complex condition -of the soul than the love comedies and the romantic plays, that the -historical plays are all of them to be dated later than the two groups -above-mentioned; or that for the same reasons, <i>Hamlet,</i> the first -<i>Hamlet,</i> could not by any means have been composed by Shakespeare in -his very earliest period, about 1592, as Swinburne asserts, swears and -takes his solemn oath is the case: and who knows but he is right?</p> - -<p>In like manner, we cannot pass from the chronological to the ideal -order, and since the chronology, documentary or conjectural, places -<i>Coriolanus</i> after <i>Hamlet,</i> and also after <i>Othello, Macbeth, Lear</i> -and <i>Anthony and Cleopatra,</i> must not, therefore, insist upon finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> -in it profound thoughts, which it does not contain, or deny that it -belongs to the period of the "historical plays" with which it has the -closest connection. Again, although the chronology places <i>Cymbeline</i> -and the <i>Winter's Tale,</i> as has been said, in the last years of -Shakespeare's life, we must not insist upon finding profound meanings -in those works, or talk, as some have done, of a superior ethic, a -"theological ethic," to which Shakespeare is supposed at last to -have attained, or dwell upon the gracious idyllic scenes to be found -in them, weighing them down with non-existent mysteries, making out -that the Imogens and Hermiones are beings of equal or greater poetic -intensity than Cordelia, or Desdemona, or take Leontes for Othello, -Jacques for Iago, whereas, in the eyes of those possessed of poetic -sentiment, the former stand to the latter in the relation of little -decorative studies compared to works by Raphael or Giorgione. Proof of -this is to be found in the fact that the latter have become popular and -live in the hearts and minds of all, while the former please us, we -admire them, and pass on.</p> - -<p>All that can be admitted, because comformable to logic and experience, -is that the two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> orders in general—but quite in general, and therefore -with several exceptions and disagreements—big and little—correspond -to one another. Indeed, if we take the usual chronological order, as -fixed by philologists and to be found in all Shakespearean manuals -and at the head of the plays, with little variation, we see that the -first comedies of love and the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, including -the romantic element, which is common to all of them, belong to the -first period, between 1591 and 1592. We next find the historical plays, -the comedies of love and the romantic dramas, closely associated; -then begins the period of the great tragedies, <i>Julius Caesar</i> and -<i>Anthony and Cleopatra;</i> then again,—after a return to anterior -forms with <i>Coriolanus, Cymbeline</i> and the <i>Winter's Tale,</i>—we reach -the <i>Tempest,</i> which seems to be the last, or among the last of -Shakespeare's works.</p> - -<p>Biographers have tried to explain the last period of Shakespeare's -poetry in various ways, sometimes as the period of his <i>"becoming -serene,"</i> sometimes as that of his <i>"poetical exhaustion"</i> sometimes -as <i>"an attempt after new forms of art"</i>; but with such utterances as -these, we find ourselves among those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> conjectural constructions, which -we have purposely avoided, if for no other reason than that so many -people, who are good for nothing else, make them every day, and we do -not wish to deprive them of their occupation.</p> - -<p>The <i>biographical</i> character of that period can be interpreted, as we -please, as one of repose, of gay facility, of weariness, of expectation -and training for new works, and so on: but the <i>poetical</i> character -of the works in question, is such as we have described, and such as -all see and feel that it is. It is too but a biographical conjecture, -however plausible,—but certainly most graceful and pleasing—, which -maintains that the magician Prospero, who breaks his wand, buries his -book of enchantments, and dismisses his aerial spirit Ariel, ready -to obey his every nod, symbolizes William Shakespeare himself, who -henceforth renounces his art and takes leave of the imaginary world, -which he had created for his own delight and in obedience to the law of -his own development and where till then he had lived as sovereign.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE ART OF SHAKESPEARE</h4> - - -<p>The motives of Shakespeare's poetry having been described, there is -no occasion for the further question as to the way in which he has -made of them concrete poetry, in other words, as to the <i>form</i> he -gave to that affective content. Form and content cannot be separated -from one another and considered apart. For this reason, everything -remarked of Shakespeare's poetry, provided that it is something real -and well observed, must be either a repetition applied to Shakespeare -of the statement as to the characteristics, that is to say, the -unique character of all poetry, or a description in language more -or less precise, beneath the title of "formal characteristics," of -what constituted the physiognomy of the sentiment or sentiments of -Shakespeare, thus returning to that determination of motives, of which -we have treated above. Still less can we engage in an enquiry as to the -<i>technique</i> of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> Shakespeare, because the concept of technique is to be -altogether banished from the sphere of aesthetic criticism, technique -being concerned solely with the practical purposes of extrinsication, -such as for poetry would be the training of a reciter's voice, or the -making of the paper and the type, with which it is printed. There is -no trade secret in Shakespeare, which can be communicated, no "part" -that "can be taught and learned" (as has been maintained); in the best -sense "technique" has value as a synonym of artistic form and in that -way returns to become part of the dilemma above indicated.</p> - -<p>Easy confirmation of this fact is to be found in any one of the many -books that have been written on the "form" or on the "technique" of -Shakespeare. Take for example the most intelligent of all, that by -Otto Ludwig, written with much penetration of art in general and of -Shakespearean art in particular, which contains the words that have -been censured above. There we read, that in Shakespeare "everything is -individualised, and at the same time idealised, by means of loftiness -and power: every speech accords with the sentiment that has called -it forth, every action with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> character and situation, every -character and situation depends upon every other one, and both upon -the individuality of the time; every speech and every situation is -yet more individualised by means of time and place, even by means of -natural phenomena; in such a way that each one of his plays has its own -atmosphere, now clearer, now more dark."</p> - -<p>But of what poetry that is poetry cannot this individuated idealisation -be affirmed or demanded? We read in the same volume that Shakespeare -"is never speculative, but always holds to experience, as Shylock to -the signature on the bond." But what poetry that is poetry ever does -abandon the form of the sensible for the concept or for reasoning? -The "supreme truth" of every particular of the representation is -praised, but this does not exclude the use of the "symbolical," that -is, of particulars which are not found in nature, but mean what they -are intended to mean, and "give the impression of the most persuasive -reality, although, indeed precisely because, not one word of them can -be said to be true to nature." With such a statement as this, the -utmost attained is a confutation of the pertinacious artistic heresy as -to imitation of nature. We find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> "Shakespearean totality" exalted, by -means of which "a passion is like a common denominator of the capital -sum, and the capital sum becomes in its turn the general denominator -of the play." This "totality" is clearly synonymous with the lyrical -character, which constitutes the poetry of every poem, including those -that are called epic and dramatic, or narrative, and those in the form -of dialogue. We find here too that nearly all the tragedies assume -in a sense the "form of a sonata," which contains in close relation -and contrast the theme, the idea of the hero and the counter-theme, -and in the passages aforesaid develops the motives of the theme with -"harmonious and contrapuntal characteristics" and "in the third part -resumes the whole theme in a more tranquil manner, and in tragedy in a -parallel minor key." But this imaginary technical excellence is nothing -but the "musical character" of all art, which, like the "lyrical -character," is certainly worth insisting upon as against the materially -figurative and realistic interpretation of artistic representations. -Analogous observations avail as to the "ideality" of "time" and -"place," which Ludwig discovers in Shakespeare, and which are to be -found in every poem, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> rhythm and form obey rules, which are by no -means arithmetical or geometrical, but solely internal and poetic. They -also avail against all the other statements of Ludwig and other critics -as to typicity, impersonality, constancy of characteristics, which is -also variability, and the like. These are all similes or metaphors -for poetry, which is unique. It is true that some of these things are -noted, just with a view to differentiate Shakespeare from other poets, -and therefore assume a proper individual meaning, when we take truth as -being the particular Shakespearean truth, his vision of things, and the -sense which he reveals for the indivisible tie between good and evil -existing in every man; for "impersonality," his attitude of irresolute -but energetic dialectic, and so on; but in certain other cases, it is -not a question of the form of Shakespeare, but, as has been said, of -his own sentiment and of his motives of inspiration.</p> - -<p>In one case only is it possible to separate form from content and to -consider it in itself; that is to say, when the rhetorical method -is applied to Shakespeare or to any other artist. This consists in -separating form from content and making of it a garment, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> becomes -just nothing at all without the body with which it grew up, or gives -rise to pure caprice and to the illusion that anyone can appropriate -and adopt it to his own purposes. In romantic parlance (for there -existed a romantic manner of speech) what was known as a mixture of -comic and tragic, of prose and verse, what was called the "humorous, -the grotesque, the fanciful," such as apparitions of mysterious and -supernatural beings, and again the method that Shakespeare employed -in production of his plays, his manner of treating the conflict and -determining the catastrophe, the way in which he makes his personages -speak, the quality and richness of his vocabulary, were enumerated -as "characteristics of his art," things that others could employ if -they wished to do so, and indeed they were so employed, with the poor -results that one can imagine. This is the source of the anticritical -terminology employed for Shakespeare and other poets, which discovers -and magnifies his "ability," his "expedients," his "conveying of the -necessary information without having the air of doing so," as though he -were a calculator or constructor of instruments with certain practical -ends, not a divine imagination. But enough of this.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<p>Certainly, it would be possible to take one of the plays of -Shakespeare, or all of them, one after the other, and having exposed -their fundamental motive (this has been done), to illustrate their -aesthetic coherence and to point out the delicacy of treatment, bit by -bit, scene by scene, accent by accent, word by word. In <i>Macbeth,</i> for -instance, might be shown the robust and potent unity of the affective -tragical representation, which bursts out and runs like a lyric, all -of a piece, everywhere maintaining complete harmony of parts, and each -scene seeming to be a strophe of the poem, from its opening, with the -sudden news of Macbeth's victories, and the joy and gratitude of the -old king, immediately followed by the fateful meeting with the witches -and by the kindling of the voracious desire, against which Macbeth -struggles; down to the coming of the king to the castle, where ambush -and death await his unsuspecting confidence; then the scene darkens, -the murder takes place on that dread night, and Macbeth becomes -gradually involved in a crescendo of crimes, up to the moment when the -terrible tension ends in furious combat and the slaying of the hero. -King Duncan, when he arrives at the gate of the castle, serene and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> -happy as he is, in the event which has given peace to his kingdom, -lingers to enjoy the delicate air and to admire the amenity of the -spot. Banquo echoes him, and abandons himself to innocent pleasure, in -whole-hearted confidence, repeating that delicious little poem about -the martlet, which has suspended everywhere on the walls of the castle -its nest and fruitful cradle,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"This guest of summer,<br /> -The temple-haunting martlet,"<br /> -</p> - -<p>whose presence he has always observed, implies that the "air is -delicate." In the whole of that quiet little conversation, we feel -sympathy for the good old man, we shudder for what is coming and are -sensible of the piteous wrong in things. When Macbeth crosses swords -with Macduff, he remembers the last words of the witches' prophecy, -which he believes to be favourable to himself; but when it becomes -suddenly evident that Macduff it is, who shall slay him, he shudders -and bursts out as before, with: "I will not fight with thee." This -ejaculation reveals the violence of the shock and an instinctive -movement of the will to live, which would elude its destiny. And we -can pause at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> any part of <i>Othello,</i> for instance, at the moment when -Desdemona intercedes for Cassio, with the gentleness and coquetry of -a woman in love, who knows that she is loved, and talks like a child, -who knows it has the right to be a little spoilt; or at the moment when -Desdemona is in the act of being slain, when she does not break into -the complaints of innocence calumniated, nor assumes the attitude of a -victim unjustly sacrificed, but like a poor creature of flesh and blood -that loves life, loves love, and with childish egoism has abandoned her -father for love, and now breaks out into childish supplications, trying -to postpone and to retard death, at least for a few moments.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!...<br /> -Kill me to-morrow; let me live to-night!...<br /> -But half an hour!...<br /> -But while I say one prayer!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>We could in like manner enable anyone to understand the fabulous-human -character of <i>King Lear,</i> who did not at once understand it for -himself, by analysing the great initial scene between Lear and his -three daughters, where, at the poet's touch, the story and the fabulous -personages assume at one stroke a reality that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> is the very strength of -our abhorrence of dry egoism cloaking itself in affectionate words and -also the very strength of our tender admiration for the true goodness, -which conceals itself and does not speak ("What shall Cordelia do? Love -and be silent").</p> - -<p>This insistence upon analysis and eulogy will be of special value to -those who do not immediately understand of themselves, owing either -to preconceptions, to habitual lack of attention, to their slight -knowledge of art or to their lack of penetration. It will be of use in -schools, to promote good reading, and outside them, it may assist in -softening those hard heads which belong sometimes to men of letters. -But it does not form part of our object in writing this treatise, nor -does it appear to form part of the duty of Shakespearean criticism, for -Shakespeare is one of the clearest and most evident of poets, capable -of being perfectly understood by men of slight or elementary culture. -We run with impatience through the many prolix, aesthetic commentaries -which we already possess on his plays, as we should certainly listen -with impatience to anyone who should draw our attention to the fact -that the sun is shining brightly in the sky at midday,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> that it is -gilding the country with its light, making sparkle the dew, and playing -with its rays upon the leaves.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, it is not inopportune to record that excellence -in his art was long denied or contested to Shakespeare. This was the -general view of his contemporaries themselves, because we now know -what we are to think of the words of praise, which we find relating to -him in the literature of his time. These had been diligently traced -and collected by scholars, but had been more or less deliberately -misunderstood, and interpreted in a sense opposed to their correct -meaning, which was that of benevolent sympathy and condescending praise -for a poet of popular appeal, approximately what we should employ -now for a lively and pleasing writer of romantic adventures. Similar -judgments reappeared in a different style and at a different time in -the famous utterances of Voltaire, which vary in their intonation -according to his humour: such are <i>barbare aimable, fou séduisant, -sauvage ivre,</i> and the like. They do not appear to have lost their -weight especially in France, where a certain Monsieur Pellissier has -filled a large volume with them, coming to the conclusion that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> the -work of Shakespeare, "malgré tant de beautés admirables est un immense -fouillis," and that it generally seems to be, "celle d'un écolier, -d'un écolier génial, qui n'ayant ni expérience, ni mesure, ni tact, -gaspille prématuré son génie abortif." Finally (and this has greater -weight), Jusserand, a learned historian of English literature, treating -of Shakespeare with great display of erudition, presents him as "un -fidèle serviteur" of his theatrical public, and speaks of his "défauts -énormes." Chateaubriand, in his essay of 1801, playing the Voltaire in -his turn, attributed to him "le génie," while he denied to him "l'art," -the observance of the "règles" and "genres," which are "nés de la -nature même"; but later he recognises that he was wrong to "mesurer -Shakespeare avec la lunette classique." Here he put his finger on the -fundamental mistake of that sort of criticism, which judges art, not -by its intrinsic qualities, but by comparison with other works of art, -which are taken as models. The same mistake was renewed, when French -tragedy was not the model, but the art of realistic modern drama -and fiction. The principal document in support of this is Tolstoi's -book, where at every word or gesture of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> Shakespeare's characters, he -exclaims that men do not speak thus, that is to say, the men who are -not man in universal, but the men of Tolstoi's romances, though these -latter happen to be far nearer to the characters of Shakespeare than -their great, but unreasonable and quite uncritical author suspected. -Tolstoi arrives at the point of preferring the popular and unpoetical -play <i>King Lear,</i> to the <i>King Lear</i> of Shakespeare, because there is -more logic in the conduct of the plot in the former, thus showing that -he prefers minute prosaic details to sublime poetry.</p> - -<p>An attenuated form of these views as to the lack of art in Shakespeare -is the theory maintained better by Rümelin than by others, to the -effect that the characters in Shakespeare are worth a great deal -more than the action or plots, which are disconnected, intermittent, -contradictory and without any feeling for verisimilitude. He also -holds that Shakespeare works on each scene, without having the power -of visualising the preceding scene, or the one that is to follow, -and also that the characters themselves do not respect the truth of -dialogue and of the drama, in their manner of speech, which is always -fiery, imaginative and splendid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> Finally, it might be said of him that -he composes beautiful music for libretti, which are more or less ill -constructed. Now if this theory had for its object to assert, though -with emphasis and exaggeration, that in a poetical work the material -part of the story, the web of events, does not count, and that the only -thing of importance is the soul that circulates within it, just as in -a picture, it is not the material side of the things painted (which is -called by critics of painting "the literary element," or that which -taken in itself is external and without importance), but the rhythm of -the lines and of the colours, what he maintained would be correct, if -only as a reaction. Coleridge has already noted the independence of the -dramatic interest from the intrigue and quality of the story, which in -the Shakespearean drama, was obtained from the best known and commonest -sources. But the object with which this theory was conceived by -Rümelin and with which it is generally maintained, has for its object -to establish a dualism or contradiction in the art of Shakespeare, by -proving him to be "strong" in one domain of the spirit and "weak" in -another, where strength in both is "necessary," in order to produce a -perfect work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> - -<p>We are bound to deny with firmness this assumption: we refuse to -admit the existence of any such dualism and contradiction, because -the distinction between characters and actions, between style and -dialogue and style and work, is arbitrary, scholastic and rhetorical. -There is in Shakespeare one poetical stream, and it is impossible -to set its waters against one another—characters against actions, -and the like. So true is this, that save in cold blood, one does not -notice his so-called contradictions, omissions and improbabilities, -that is to say, when we leave the poetical condition of the spirit -and begin to examine what we have read, as though it were the report -of an occurrence. Nor is the imputation cast upon the speech of -Shakespeare's characters, which is perfectly consonant with the nature -of the poems, admissible. Hence from the lips of Macbeth and of Lady -Macbeth, of Othello and of Lear, came true and proper lyrics. These -are not interruptions and dissonances in the play, but motions and -upliftings of the play itself; they are not the superposition of one -life upon another, but the outpouring of that life, which is continued -in the central motive. These witticisms, conceits and misunderstandings -in <i>Romeo and Juliet,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> which have so often been blamed, are to -be explained, at least in great measure, in a natural way, as the -character of the play, as the comedy, which precedes and imparts its -colour to the tragedy, and is brilliant with the fashionable and -gallant speech of the day.</p> - -<p>In making the foregoing statement, we do not wish to deny that in the -drama of Shakespeare are to be found (besides historical, geographical, -and chronological errors, which are indifferent to poetry but not -necessary and for that reason avoidable or to be avoided) words and -phrases, and sometimes entire scenes, which are not justifiable, save -for theatrical reasons. We do not know to what extent they had his -assent and to what extent they are due to the very confused tradition, -under the influence of which the text of his works has descended to us. -We also do not wish to deny that he was guilty of little over-sights -and contradictions, and that he was perhaps generally negligent. -But it is important in any case to understand and bear in mind the -psychological reasons for this negligence, inspired with that sort of -indifference and contempt for the easy perfecting of certain details, -of those engaged upon works of great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> magnitude and importance. -Giambattista Vico, a mighty spirit who resembles Shakespeare, both in -his full, keen sense of life and in the adventures of his work and -of his fame, was also apt frequently to overlook details and to make -slight mistakes, and was convinced "that diligence must lose itself in -arguments, which have anything of greatness in them, because it is a -minute, and because minute a tardy virtue." Thus he openly vindicated -the right of rising to the level of heroic fury, which will not brook -delay from small and secondary matters.</p> - -<p>As Vico was nevertheless most accurate in essentials, never sparing -himself the most lengthy meditations to sound the bottom of his -thoughts, so it is impossible to think that Shakespeare did not give -the best and greatest part of himself to his plays, that he was not -continually intent upon observing, reflecting comparing, examining his -own feelings, seeking out and weighing his expressions, collecting and -valuing the impressions of the public and of his colleagues in art, -in fact, upon the study of his art. The precision, the delicacy, the -gradations, the shading of his representations, are an irrefragable -proof of this. The sense of classic form is often denied to him, even -by his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> admirers, that is to say, of a partial and old-fashioned -ideal of classical form, consisting of certain external regularities. -But he was a classic, because he possessed the strength that is sure -of itself, which does not exert itself, nor proceed in a series -of paroxysmal leaps, but carries in itself its own moderation and -serenity. He had that taste which is proper to genius and commensurate -with it, because genius without taste is an abstraction to be found -only in the pages of treatises. The various passages, where he chances -to find an opportunity for theorizing on art, show that he had -profoundly meditated the art he practised. In one of the celebrated -passages of the <i>Dream,</i> he makes Theseus say,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,<br /> -Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;<br /> -And as imagination bodies forth<br /> -The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen<br /> -Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing<br /> -A local habitation and a name."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And that a powerful imagination, if it is affected by some joy, -imagines someone as the bringer of that joy, and if it imagine some -nocturnal terror, it changes a bush into a wild beast with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> great -facility. That is to say, he shows himself conscious of the creative -virtue of poetry and of its origin in the feelings, which it changes -into persons, endowed with ethereal sentiment. But in the equally -celebrated passage of <i>Hamlet,</i> he dwells upon the other aspect of -artistic creation, upon its universality, and therefore upon its calm -and harmony. What Hamlet chiefly insists upon in his colloquy with -the players, is "moderation," "for in the very torrent, tempest, and, -as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a -temperance that may give it smoothness." To declare Shakespeare to be -a representative of the frenzied and convulsed style in poetry, as has -been done several times, is to utter just the reverse of the truth. -In this respect, it is well to read the contemporary dramatists, with -a view to measuring the difference, indeed the abyss between them. In -the famous <i>Spanish Tragedy</i> of Kyd, there is a scene (perhaps due to -another hand) in which Hieronymus asks a painter to paint for him the -assassin of his own son, and cries out:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"There you may show a passion, there you may show a passion....<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>Make me rave, make me cry, make me mad,<br /> -Make me well again, make me curse hell,<br /> -Invocate, and in the end leave me<br /> -In a trance, and so forth."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The same character is attacked by doubt and asks with anxiety: "Can -this be done?" and the painter replies: "Yes, Sir."</p> - -<p>Such was not the method of Shakespeare, who would have made the painter -reply, not with a yes, but with a yes and a no together.</p> - -<p>His art, then, was neither defective nor vitiated in any part of its -own constitutive character, although certain works are obviously -weak and certain parts of other works, in the vast mass that goes -under his name. Such youthful plays as <i>Love's Labour's Lost, The -Two Gentlemen,</i> the <i>Comedy of Errors,</i> are not notable, save for a -certain ease and grace, only manifesting in certain places the trace -of his profound spirit. The "historical plays," are as we have already -shown, fragmentary and do not form complete poems animated with a -single breath of passion. Some of them, and especially the first -part of <i>Henry VI,</i> have about them an arid quality and are loosely -anecdotal; in others, such as <i>Henry IV</i> and <i>Henry V,</i> is evident the -desire to stimulate patriotic feelings, and they are further burdened -with scenes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> of a purely informative nature. <i>Coriolanus</i> too, which -was apparently composed later and is derived from a different source, -also lacks complete internal justification, for it consists of a -study of characters. <i>Timon</i> (assuming that it was his) is developed -in a mechanical manner, although it is full of social and ethical -observations and possesses rhetorical fervour. <i>Cymbeline</i> and the -<i>Winter's Tale</i> contain lovely scenes, but are not as a whole works -of the first order; the idyllic and romantic Shakespeare appears -in them to have rather declined in comparison to the author of the -earlier plays of the same sort, inspired with a very different vigour. -<i>Measure for Measure</i> contains sentiments and personages that are -profoundly Shakespearean, as the protagonist Angelo, the meter out of -inexorable justice, so sure of his own virtue, who yields to the first -sensual temptation that occurs, in Claudius, who wishes and does not -wish to die, and in the Barnadine already mentioned. This play, which -oscillates between the tragic and the comic, and has a happy ending, -instead of forming a drama of the sarcastic-sorrowful-horrible sort, -fails to persuade us that it should have been thus developed and thus -ended. There is something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> of the composite in the structure of the -wonderful <i>Merchant of Venice,</i> and certain of the scenes of <i>Troilus -and Cressida,</i> such as those of the speeches of Ulysses and those -on the other side of Hector and Troilus, seem to be echoes or even -entire pieces taken from historical plays and transported with ironic -intention into comedy. Points of this sort are to be found even in the -great tragedies. In <i>Lear,</i> for instance, the adventures of Gloucester -and his son are not completely satisfactory, grafted as they are upon -those of the king and his daughters, either because they introduce too -realistic an element into a play with an imaginary theme, or because -they create a heavy parallelism, much praised by an Italian critic, -who has attempted to express <i>King Lear</i> in a geometrical form; but -the origin for this parallelism may perhaps be really due to the need -for theatrical variety, complication and suspense, rather than to any -moral purpose of emphasising horror at ingratitude. The clown, who -accompanies the king, abounds in phrases, which are not all of them -in place and significant. But if to set about picking holes in the -beauties of Shakespeare's plays has seemed to us a superfluous and -tiresome occupation, such too, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> another point of view and in -addition pedantic and irreverent, seems to be the investigation of -defects that we observe in them; they are opaque points, which the eye -does not observe in the splendour of such a sun.</p> - -<p>Another judgment which also has vogue refers to a constitutive or -general defect in Shakespeare's poetry, a certain limit or barrier -in it, a narrowness, albeit an ample and a rich narrowness. We must -distinguish two forms of this judgment, the first of which might -be represented by the epigrams of Platen, who, while recognising -Shakespeare's power to move the heart and the strength of his -characterisation, declared that "so much truth is a fatal gift," and -that Shakespeare draws so incisively, only because he cannot veil -his personages in grace and beauty. He greatly admired even what is -painful in Shakespeare, looking upon it as beautiful, and was full -of admiration for his comical figures, such as Falstaff and Shylock, -"an incomparable couple"; but he denied to Shakespeare true tragic -power, which "must open the deepest of wounds and then heal them." -The second of these forms is the commonest, and Mazzini may stand as -its representative. He maintained that Shakespeare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> was a poet of the -real, not of the ideal, of the isolated individual, not of society; -that he was not dominated by the thought of duty and responsibility -towards mankind, as expressed in politics and history, that his was a -voice rather of the Middle Ages than of modern times, which found their -origin in Schiller, the poet of humanity and Providence.</p> - -<p>Even Harris's book concludes with a series of reservations: he says -that Shakespeare was neither a philosopher nor a sage; that he never -conceived a personage as contesting and combating his own time; -that he had only a vague idea of the spirit by which man is led to -new and lofty ideals in every historical period; that he was unable -to understand a Christ or a Mahomet; that instead of studying, he -ridiculed Puritanism and so remained shut up in the Renaissance, and -that for these reasons, in spite of <i>Hamlet;</i> he does not belong -to the modern world, that the best of a Wordsworth or of a Tolstoi -is outside him, and so on. We may perfectly admit all this and it -may even be of use in putting a curb upon such hyperbole and such -superlatives as those of Coleridge, to the effect that Shakespeare -was <i>anér myriónous,</i> the myriad-minded man (although even this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> -myriad-mindedness may seem to be but a very ample narrowness, if -myriads be taken as a finite number).</p> - -<p>Shakespeare could never have desired to possess the ideal of beauty, -which visited the soul of the hirsute and unfortunate Platen, the -social or humanitarian ideals of the Schillers and Tourgueneffs. But -he had no need whatever of these things to attain the infinite, which -every poet attains, reaching the centre of the circle from any point -of the periphery. For this reason, no poet, whatever the historical -period at which he was born and by which he is limited, is the poet -of only one historical epoch. Shakespeare formed himself during the -period of the Renaissance, which he surpasses, not with his practical -personality, but with his poetry. There is nothing, then, for these -limiters to do, save to manifest their dissatisfaction with poetry -itself, which is always limited-unlimited. This, I think, was also the -case with Emerson, who lamented that Shakespeare (whom he nevertheless -placed in the good company of Homer and of Dante) "rested in the beauty -of things and never took the step of investigating the virtue that -resides in symbols," which seemed to be inevitable for such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> a genius, -and that "he converted the elements awaiting his commands," into a -diversion, and gave "half truths to half men": whereas, according -to Emerson, the entire truth for entire men could only be given by -a personage whom the world still awaits. To Emerson, this personage -seemed most attractive, but to others he may possibly perhaps seem as -little amiable as Antichrist: he called him "the poet-priest."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h5> - - -<h4>SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM</h4> - - -<p>Criticism of Shakespeare, like every criticism, has followed and -expressed the progress and alternations of the philosophy of art, -or aesthetic; it has been strong or weak, profound or superficial, -well-balanced or one-sided, according to the doctrines that have -there been realised. Their history would form an excellent History -of Aesthetic, because the fame of Shakespeare became widespread, -concurrently with the spread of aesthetic theory, with its liberation -from external norms and concepts, and its penetration to the heart of -its subject. Shakespeare's poetry in its turn stimulated this deepening -of the theory of aesthetic, by its revelation of a poetic world, for -emotion and admiration, in appearance at least, very different from -what had previously passed as its sole and perfect example. But since -we are occupied at the present moment with Shakespeare and not with -aesthetic theory, we shall touch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> only upon certain points of this -criticism, in order the more firmly to establish by indirect proof the -judgment expressed above, and to indicate certain obstacles, which the -student of Shakespeare will meet with in critical literature relating -to that poet. Our description and definition of them may render -avoidable certain of the most common errors.</p> - -<p>Among these must be included (not in the seat of criticism, but in -the entrance-hall and at the gates) what may be called <i>exclamatory</i> -criticism, which instead of understanding a poet in his particularity, -his finite-infinity, drowns him beneath a flood of superlatives. This -is the method employed by English writers towards Shakespeare (I am -bound to admit that the Italians do the same as regards Dante). An -example of this habit, selected from innumerable others, is Swinburne's -book, from which we learn that "it would be better that the world -should lose all the books it contains rather than the plays of -Shakespeare"; that Shakespeare is "the supreme creator of men"; that -he "stands alone," and at the most might admit "Homer on his right and -Dante on his left hand"; then, as to individual plays, we learn that -the trilogy of <i>Henry IV-V</i> suffices<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> to reveal him as "the greatest -playwright of the world," that the <i>Dream</i> stands "without and above -any possible or imaginable criticism." Thus he continues, puffing out -his cheeks to find hyperboles, which themselves finally turn out to be -inferior to hyperbolic requirements. Sometimes such exclamations not -only border on the ridiculous, but fall right into it, as is the case -with Carlyle, who stood in perplexity before the hypothetical dilemma, -as to whether England could better afford to lose "the empire of India -or Shakespeare." Victor Hugo, more generous, and an admirer of the -ocean, constituted a series of <i>hommes océans,</i> where the tragic poet -of Albion found a place alongside of Aeschylus, Dante, Michael-Angelo, -Isaiah and Juvenal.</p> - -<p>Another style of criticism, <i>by images</i> to be found in works that -are estimable in other respects, is somewhat akin to this criticism -without criticism, besides being far more justifiable, because, if it -does not explain, it tries at least to give, as though in a poetical -translation, a synthetic impression of Shakespeare's art and of the -physiognomy of his various works. It describes the works of Shakespeare -by means of landscapes and other pictures, as Herder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> and other writers -of the <i>Sturm and Drang</i> period delighted in doing. Coleridge too did -likewise and Hazlitt even more often, as may be shown by an extract -from the letter of a certain Miss Florence O'Brien, on <i>King Lear,</i> -to be found in well-nigh all books that deal with this tragedy. She -begins: "This play is like a tempestuous night: the first scene is like -a wild sunset, grandiose and terrible, with gusts of wind and rumblings -of thunder, which announce the imminence of the hurricane: then comes a -furious tempest of madness and folly, through which we see darkly the -monstrous and unnatural figures of Goneril and Regan"; et cetera. The -danger of such poetical variations is that of superimposing one art on -another, and of leading astray or of distracting the attention from the -genuine features of the original to be enjoyed and understood, in the -attempt to render its effect.</p> - -<p>Let us pass over <i>biographical-aesthetic</i> criticism: its fundamental -error and the arbitrary judgments with which it disturbs both biography -and the criticism of art have already been sufficiently illustrated; -and let us also pass over the <i>aesthetic</i> criticism of <i>philologists,</i> -who imagine themselves to be interpreting and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> judging poetry, when -they are talking mere philology and uttering ineptitudes prepared with -infinite pains. Being confined to citing but one example of their -method, I would select for that purpose Furnivall's introduction to -the <i>Leopold Shakespeare.</i> I fail to understand why this introduction -is so highly esteemed and reverenced. Furnivall too, when he contrives -not to lose himself in exclamations and attempts poetry, ("who could -praise Falstaff sufficiently?" "who could fail to love Percy?" "the -countess mother in <i>All's Well</i> resembles one of Titian's old ladies;" -etc.), amuses himself by establishing links between the plays. These he -discovers in the situations, in the action and elsewhere, regarding the -works externally and from a general point of view. Thus he discovers -a connection between <i>Julius Caesar</i> and <i>Hamlet,</i> in the repetition -of the name of "Caesar," which is found thrice in the latter play, in -the mouth of Horatio, of Polonius and of Hamlet, on the occasion of -both seeing a ghost, in Hamlet's feeling that he must avenge his father -like Antonius Caesar, and in the likeness of character between Brutus -and Hamlet's father. Thus he attains to the ridiculous, as Carlyle and -Swinburne by another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> route, when, for instance, he affirms that "in a -certain sense Hotspur (the fiery Hotspur of <i>Henry IV</i>) is Kate (that -is to say, the shrew in the <i>Taming of the Shrew,</i>) become a man and -bearing armour!"</p> - -<p>We shall also not dwell upon <i>rhetorical</i> criticism, which employs the -method of "styles." This method, after having rejected Shakespeare, -because he does not pay attention to the different styles of writing -(French criticism), and having then proceeded to reconcile him with -styles as explained by Aristotle in his <i>Poetics,</i> when these are well -understood (Lessing), having sung his praises as the "genius of the -drama," the "Homer of dramatic style" (Gervinus), is still seeking for -what is "his alone and individually" in "the treatment" of the "drama." -This it will never find, because such a thing as a "dramatic style" -does not exist in the world of poetry: what does exist is simply and -solely "poetry." These questions of literary style are now rather out -of date: they survive rather in the lazy repetition of words and forms -than in actual substance. It is certainly surprising to know that there -still exist persons who examine what are called the "historical plays," -and because they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> "historical," compare them with history books, -blaming the poet for not having given to Caesar the part that should -have been his in <i>Julius Caesar,</i> and quoting in support of their -argument (like Brandes) the histories of Mommsen and of Boissier. And -there are also fossils who discuss in the language of the sixteenth -century, verisimilitude, incongruity or multiplicity of plot, congruity -or reverse of characters, crudeness of expression, and observation or -failure to observe by Shakespeare the rules of dramatic composition. To -German criticism of the speculative period and to the vast monographs -that it produced upon Shakespeare must be given the credit of having -tried to discover and determine the <i>soul</i> of Shakespeare's poetry. -We must also admit, as a general quality of scientific German books -on literature, even when these are of the heaviest and most full of -mistakes, that they do make us feel the presence of problems not -yet solved, whereas other books, more easy to read, better written -and perhaps less full of mistakes, are less fruitful of thoughts -that arise by repercussion or reaction. Unfortunately, these German -writers imagined that soul to reside in a sort of <i>philosophical, -moral, political and historical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> teaching,</i> upon which Shakespeare -was supposed to have woven his plays. This was a flagrant offence -against all sense of poetry, for not only did they forget the poetical -in favour of the non-poetical; and attributed equal value to all of -Shakespeare's widely differing works, whatever their real value, but -also, since this non-poetical teaching had no existence, they set -about creating it on their own account by means of various subtleties, -and of a sort of allegorical exegesis. Thus in Ulrici, Gervinus, -Kreyssig, Vischer and others like them, we read with astonishment, -that in <i>Richard III</i> (to take a historical play) Shakespeare wished -to impart "an immortal doctrine upon the divine right of kings and -their intangibility," and at the same time to give warning that it does -not suffice a king to be conscious of his right divine, unless he be -prepared to maintain it with force against force. These writers have an -almost prophetic vision that Germany will need this lesson in the case -of its romantic king, Frederick William IV of Prussia! In the <i>Tempest</i> -again (to take an imaginative play) Shakespeare is supposed by them to -have desired to give his opinion upon the great question, common to -our time and his, as to the right of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> Europeans to colonise and the -need of subjecting the native savage by means of whip and sword, free -of any scruple dictated by false sentiment. Finally (to take a last -example from the great tragedies), they held that the ideal teaching -of <i>Othello</i> is that punishment awaits unequal marriages, marriage -between persons of different race, or different social condition, or -of different age; and that Desdemona deserved her cruel fate, for she -was weighed down with sin, having disobeyed her old father, imprudently -and over-warmly supported the cause of Cassio, and shown negligence and -lack of care in handling the famous handkerchief, which she let fall at -her feet! We can only reply to all this in the witty words of Riimelin, -<i>à propos</i> of such incredible interpretations of Shakespeare's -catastrophes, to the effect that this "dramatic justice," so dear to -German aestheticians, is "like Draco's sanguinary code, which decreed a -single penalty for all misdeeds: death."</p> - -<p>Numberless are the shocks that the artistic consciousness receives -from such a method as this. Gervinus, who professed "an even firmer -belief in Shakespeare's infallibility in matters of morality than in -his lack of aesthetic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> defects," is indignant with readers disposed to -find hard and cruel Prince Henry's repulse on coming to the throne, -of his old friend Falstaff, the companion of his merry adventures. He -gravely declares that this proves modern readers to be "far inferior -both to Prince Henry and to Shakespeare in nobility and ethical -fervour"; whereas it is evident that the poor readers are right, -because we have to deal here with poetical images, not with practical -and moral acts, and readers justly feel that Shakespeare was on this -occasion obeying certain ends outside the province of art. Falstaff is -sympathetic to every reader: even Gervinus does not dare to declare -him antipathetic, but sets about finding plausible explanations for -this illicit attractiveness. He produces three: the artistic perfection -of the representation, the logical perfection of the type, and the -struggle between the will for pleasure that always stimulates Falstaff, -and his old age and his paunch, which hinder or make him impotent, -and according to Gervinus, are bestowed upon him, in order to appease -or mitigate our shocked sense of ethical severity. But the only and -obvious explanation of Falstaff's sympathetic attractiveness is the -sympathy which the poet himself felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> in his genial way for him as -a human force. In like manner, what we have held to be an error of -composition, such as the story of Gloucester and his sons forming a -parallel with that of Lear, is held to be a miracle by the professors -aforesaid, because, as says Ulrici, the poet wished to teach us that -"moral corruption is not isolated, but diffused among the most noble -families, representative of all the others." Vischer holds a similar -view, to the effect that Shakespeare "intended to show that, if impiety -is widely diffused, society becomes impossible, and the world rocks to -its foundation; but one instance of this did not suffice, so he had to -accumulate the most terrifying confirmation of the fact."</p> - -<p>These professors are also unanimous in rejecting the interpretation of -the words: "He has no sons!" uttered by Macduff, when he learns that -Macbeth has caused his wife and little son to be murdered, as they are -understood by the ingenuous reader, namely, that Macduff thus expresses -his rage at not being able to take an equal vengeance upon Macbeth, -by slaying his sons. Their reason for this is that such a thing would -be unworthy of so upright and honourable a man as Macduff. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> though -such honourable men as Macduff are not subject to the impulse of anger -and capable of at least momentary blindness; as though the eyes, even -of Manzoni's Father Christopher did not sometimes blaze "with a sudden -vivacity," though he kept them as a rule fixed on the ground, as if -(in the word of the author), they were two queer-tempered horses, -driven by a coachman, whom they know to be their master, yet they -will nevertheless indulge in an occasional frolic, for which they -immediately atone with a good pull on the bit.</p> - -<p>That is what happens to Macduff, who assumes possession of himself when -he hears Malcolm's words that immediately follow. "Dispute it like a -man,"—and says: "I shall do so; but I must also feel it like a man."</p> - -<p>Quitting psychology and returning to poetry, nothing short of Malcolm's -savage outburst can express his torment, in the climax of the dialogue. -Were Shakespeare himself to come forward and declare that he meant what -those insipid, moralising professors declare that he meant, Shakespeare -would be wrong, and whoever said that he was wrong, would be in better -accordance with his genius than he himself, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> he was a genius; only -upon condition of remaining true to the logic of poetry.</p> - -<p>We could fill a large volume with the misinterpretations of moralising -and philosophising Shakespearean critics, but it is hoped that having -here demonstrated the absurdity of the principle, readers should be -able to recognise it for themselves, in its sources and methods of -approach.</p> - -<p>But it would need a series of volumes to catalogue all the absurdities -of another form of Shakespearean criticism, which differs from the -preceding, in being in full flower and vigour to-day: we refer to -<i>objectivistic</i> criticism. The reason for this is that few are yet -fully aware that every kind and example of art is only successful to -the extent that it is irradiated with a sentiment, which determines -and controls it in all its parts. This used to be denied of certain -forms of poetry, particularly of the dramatic; hence the false, but -extremely logical deduction, of Leopardi, that the dramatic was the -lowest and least noble kind of poetry, because it was the most remote -and alien from pure form, which is the lyric. Shakespeare's objectivity -of "representation" and the perfect "reality" of his characters, which -live their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> own lives independently are often praised. This can be -said in a certain sense, but must not be taken literally, for it is -metaphorical; because, when we would reach and handle those images of -the poet's sentiment, there may not be an "explosion" (as happened when -Faust threw himself upon the phantom of Helen), but in any case they -will lose their shape, fall into shreds and vanish before our eyes. -In their place will appear an infinite number of insoluble questions -as to the manner of understanding or reestablishing their solidity -and coherence. What is known as the <i>Hamlet-Litteratur</i> is the most -appalling of all these manifestations and it is daily on the increase. -Historians, psychologists, lovers of amorous adventures, gossips, -police-spies, criminologists investigate the character, the intentions, -the thoughts, the affections, the temperament, the previous life, the -tricks they played, the secrets they hid, their family and social -relations, and so on, and crowd, without any real claim to do so, round -the "characters of Shakespeare," detaching them from the creative -centre of the play and transferring them into a pretended objective -field, as though they were made of flesh and blood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among those inclined to such realistic and antipoetical investigation, -some there are, who see in Hamlet a pleasure-seeker, called to the -achievement of an undertaking beyond his powers; others find in him -a scrupulous person, who struggles between the call to vengeance and -his better moral conscience, or one who studies vengeance, but without -staining his conscience. For others again, he is an artistic genius, -inclined to contemplation, but ill-adapted to action, or a partial -genius not adapted to artistic creation, or a pure soul, or an impure -and diseased soul, or a decadent, or a sexual psychopath, obsessed with -lust and incest. We find others able to discover that he inherited -the characteristics of a father, who was tyrannical, vicious and a -bad husband, and of an uncle possessed of a lofty soul and capacity -for governing a kingdom. Finally, some have even suspected him of not -being a man, but a woman, daughter of the king, disguised as a man, -and for that reason and for no other, rejecting the beautiful Ophelia -and seeking Horatio, with whom she (Hamlet) was secretly in love. And -what kind of maiden was Ophelia? Was she naïve and innocent, or was -she not rather a malicious little court lady? Perhaps she too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> had -her secret, which would explain her strange relations with Hamlet. An -English enquirer has arrived at the conclusion that Ophelia was not -chaste, that she had given birth to a baby, and what is more, to a baby -whose father was not Hamlet, and that this was the reason why Hamlet -advised her to get her to a nunnery, and the priest refused to give -her body Christian burial. Her brother, Laertes, had lived in Paris, -and having there learned French customs, was for this reason so ready -to accept the advice of the king to use a poisoned sword. According -to some, Macbeth was so powerfully restrained by his own conscience, -that, save for his wife, he would never have satisfied his ambition -and slain King Duncan. But according to others, he had meditated -regicide for some time and had deferred his design, because he hoped -to succeed in a legitimate manner, were the king to die without an -heir. But he broke truce, when the king contemplated bestowing upon -his son the title of Duke of Cumberland, that is to say, Crown Prince. -For many, Lady Macbeth is a cold, pitiless woman, but for others she -is tender and sweet by nature; for some, she is madly in love with her -husband, for others, madly incensed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> him, because, judging by his -undoubted military prowess, she had at first believed him to possess -the great soul of a conqueror, and then, when she found him vile with -human mildness, sensible of scruples and remorse perturbed at the -results of his own deeds, to the extent of experiencing hallucinations -and behaving rashly, she is consumed with scorn and dies of a broken -heart, on the fall of that idol and which she had aspired, the perfect -criminal.</p> - -<p>Othello has been by some identified with a Moor, a Berber, a -Mauritanian, for others he is without doubt a bestial negro, boiling -with African blood. Iago is generally characterised as amoral and -Machiavellian, a true Italian; but others deem him worthy the name -of "honest Iago," because he was good, amiable, serviceable in all -things—when his personal ambition was not at stake.</p> - -<p>By some, Desdemona has been held to be desirable as a wife (others, on -the other hand, would be ready to marry Cordelia or Ophelia, others -Imogen or Hermione, others the nun Isabel, and finally there are some -who would prefer Portia, as "an ideal woman," and a "perfect wife"); -but as regards this, there are some who have divined the secret -tendencies of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> Desdemona and have had no hesitation in defining her as -"a virtual courtesan."</p> - -<p>Then again: what was the difference of age between Othello and -Desdemona? Had Othello seen the wonderful things existing in other -countries of which he speaks, or had he imagined them, or had he been -told of them? Perhaps he had enjoyed the wife of Iago, which would -explain the regard he has for the husband?</p> - -<p>Brutus, until lately, passed for an idealist tormented with ideals; -but more accurate investigations have revealed him to be a hypocrite -in the Puritan manner, who, by means of repeated lies, ends by himself -believing the noble motives to be found on his lips; however, things -turn out badly and he finally receives the punishment he deserves.</p> - -<p>Falstaff's religious origin has been discovered: he was a Lollard, -and thus a declared eudemonist, convinced of the nullity of the world -and of the inutility of life, living from minute to minute. He is not -really a liar and a boaster, but an imaginative person; nor is he vile, -save in appearance; he should be regarded rather as an opportunist.</p> - -<p>We read these and an infinity of other not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> less astonishing statements -in the volumes, opuscules and articles which are published every year -upon the characters of Shakespeare. The effect of such discussions, -even where most sensibly written, is never to clear up or decide -anything, but on the contrary, to darken what appeared perfectly -certain, and gave no reason for any difficulty, to render uncertain -what was clearly determined. Such works give rise further to the doubt -that Shakespeare was perhaps so inexpert a writer as not to be able to -represent his own conceptions, nor express his own thoughts.</p> - -<p>But when we do not allow ourselves to be caught in the meshes of these -fictitious problems, of which we indicated the <i>proton pseudos,</i> -when we resolutely banish them from the mind, and read and reread -Shakespeare's plays without more ado, everything remains or becomes -clear again, everything, that is to say, which should (as is natural) -be clear for the ends of poetry, in a poetical work. As Grillparzer -remarked in his time, that very Hamlet, whom Goethe took such trouble -to explain psychologically, and over whom so many hundreds of -interpreters have so diligently toiled, "is understood with perfect -ease by the tailor or the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> bootmaker sitting in the gallery, who -understands the whole of the play by raising his own feelings to its -level."</p> - -<p>From this derives another consequence: Shakespeare has been loudly -praised for his portentous fidelity to nature and reality, but at -the same time the critics, as quoted above, have placed obstacles of -various sorts in the way of those who would understand him so it has -been freely stated that Shakespeare is certainly a great poet, but that -his method is not that of "fidelity," to nature, on the contrary, he -violates "reality" at every turn, creating characters and situation, -"which are not found in nature." It would be better to say simply -that Shakespeare, like every poet, is neither in accordance nor in -disaccordance with external reality (which for that matter is what each -one of us likes to make and to imagine in his own way), for the reason -that he has nothing to do with it, being intent upon the creation of -his own spiritual reality.</p> - -<p>The third great misadventure that has befallen Shakespeare, after those -of the moralising and psychological-objectivistic critics, is his -transference, we will not call it his promotion, to the position of a -<i>German,</i> opposed to that of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> a <i>Latin</i> or neo-Latin poet. It is not -difficult to trace the origin of this transference, when we remember -that Shakespeare was looked upon, both by his contemporaries and yet -more so when rediscovered in the eighteenth century, as a spontaneous, -rough, natural, popular poet, just the opposite of the cultured, -mannered school, in which, however, he had shown evidence of prowess -with the lesser poems and the sonnets.</p> - -<p>This conception of his as a natural poet is found in the first school -of the new German literature, known as the <i>Sturm und Drang,</i> which -cultivated the idea of "genius"; and from this arose the idea of -Shakespeare as the expression of "pure virgin genius, ignorant of rules -and limits, a force as irresistible as those of nature" (Gerstenberg). -And since the new German poets and men of letters greatly admired him, -and as has been said, the new Aesthetic understood him much better -than the old Poetic had done or been able to do, instead of this -better sympathy and intelligence being attributed to the spiritual -dispositions of the Germans of that period and to the progress that -they were effecting in the life of thought, it was attributed to -affinity and relationship, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> was supposed to connect the German -spirit with that of Shakespeare. It is true that this theory was soon -found to lack foundation, because the best German critics, among whom -were August William Schlegel, proved that there was as much art and -regularity in Shakespeare as in any other poet, although they were -not the same in him as in others, and he did not obey contingent and -arbitrary rules.</p> - -<p>It is also true that to a Frenchman was due the first revelation -of Shakespeare outside his own country: Voltaire, with his <i>odi et -amo,</i> has always been blamed and held up to ridicule for the negative -side of his criticism, but the positive side of it, the mental -courage, the freshness of mental impressions, which his interest in -Shakespeare, his admiration for his sublimity, deserved, have not -been sufficiently remarked. But it is likewise true that France has -never understood Shakespeare well, owing to her classical tradition -in literature and her intellectualist tradition in philosophy, though -we do not forget her fugitive enthusiasms for the poet. Even to-day, -Maeterlinck notes "la profonde ignorance" that still reigns "de -l'œuvre shakespearienne," even among "les plus lettrés." This afforded -an opportunity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> for underlining the antithesis between "German" and -"French" taste, which was soon, but without any justification, expanded -into "Latin" taste.</p> - -<p>The English of that period, both in speech and literature, were almost -as indifferent to Shakespeare as were the French. This was observed -and commented upon in a lively manner, among others by Schlegel, -Tieck, Platen and Heine. However, the new methods of German criticism -soon made their influence felt in England (Coleridge, Hazlitt), and -it seemed to the Germans that these writers had preserved the true -tradition of the race and had reillumined the fire that was languishing -or had been altogether extinguished among their brethren of the same -race, and that they had dissipated the heavy cloud of classical, -French and Latin taste, which was hanging over England. To their real -merit in recognising the fame of Shakespeare and their profound study -of the poet, and to the false interpretation that they gave of these -merits by attributing them to the virtue of their race, were added, -for well known political reasons, German pride and self-conceit, which -did the rest. All the moralising critics, to whom we have referred, -were also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> critics imbued with the German spirit. They united the -austere morality, which they discovered in Shakespeare and his heroes, -to celebration of the German nature of these qualities and of the -poet. They set in opposition the genuine, rude, realistic quality of -Shakespeare's poetry, to the artificial, cold, schematic poetry of the -Latins. They celebrated the Germanism of a Henry IV (his wild youth is -just that of a German youth, says Gervinus; it is the genius of the -German race, with its incorruptible health, its strength of marrow, its -infinite depths of feeling, beneath a hard and angular exterior, its -childlike humility, its wealth of humour, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, -says Kreyssig), of a Hamlet (naturally, because he is represented -as a student of Wittenberg) and so on, through the Ophelias and the -Cordelias, and even the characters of the comedies, such as Benedick -and Biron (this last "possessing a character entirely German," "with -the harshness of a Saxon," humorous, remote from sentimentality and -affectation, and therefore "out of place among the gallantries of Latin -society"—all the above is taken from Gervinus).</p> - -<p>Shakespeare's place "is in the Pantheon of the Germanic people, in the -sanctuary richly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> adorned with all the gods and demons of this race, -the most vigorous in life, the best capable of development, the most -widely diffused of all races." He stands, either beside Durer and -Rembrandt, or on a spur of Parnassus, facing Homer and Aeschylus on -another spur, sometimes permitting Dante to stand at his side—Dante -was of German origin—, while the impotent crowd of the poets of Latin -race seethes at his feet. For Carrière, he is the mouthpiece of the -German spirit in England, while for another, he is England's permanent -ambassador to Germany, accredited to the whole German people.</p> - -<p>Both French and Italian critics also gave credence to this boasting, -sometimes echoing the theory of difference between the two different -arts, that of the north and that of the south, romantic and classic, -realistic and idealistic or abstract, passionate or rhetorical, -while others bowed reverently before the superiority of the former. -In the recent war took place a rapid change of style, but not of -mental assumptions. Both French and Italians mocked and expressed -their contempt for the rough and violent poetry of Germany, and even -Shakespeare did not have <i>une bonne presse</i> on the occasion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> of his -centenary, which took place during the second year.</p> - -<p>But return to serious matters, it seems undeniable that the historical -origin of Shakespeare is to be found in the Renaissance, which -is generally admitted to have been chiefly an Italian movement. -Shakespeare got from Italy, not only a great part, both of his form -and of his material, but what is of greater moment, many thoughts that -went to form his vision of reality. In addition to this, he obtained -from Italy that literary education, to which all English writers of -his time submitted. One may think, however, what one likes as to the -historical derivation of Shakespeare's poetical material and of his -literary education: the essential point to remember is that the poetry -had its origin solely in himself; he did not receive it from without, -either from his nation, his race, or from any other source. For this -reason, divisions and counter-divisions of it, into Germanic and Latin -poetry, and similar dyads, based upon material criteria, are without -any foundation whatever. Shakespeare cannot be a Germanic poet, for -the simple reason that in so far as he is a poet, he is nothing but a -poet and does not obey the law of his race, whether it be <i>lex salica, -wisigothica,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> langobardica, anglica</i> or any other <i>barbarorum,</i> nor -does he obey the <i>romana—</i>he obeys only the universally human <i>lex -poetica.</i></p> - -<p>That a more profound and a better understanding of Shakespeare should -have been formed and be steadily increasing, in the midst of and -because of these and other errors, is a thing that we are so ready to -admit as indubitable and obvious that we take it as understood, because -it always happens thus, in every circle of thought and in literary -history and criticism in general, and so in the particular history and -criticism of Shakespeare.</p> - -<p>Our object has not been, however, to give the history of that -criticism, but rather to select those points in it, which it was -advisable to clear up, in order to confirm the judgment that we -propose and defend. If erroneous positions of criticism serve by their -opposition to arouse correct thoughts relating to the poet, others, -which are not erroneous, lead directly to them. In addition to the -pages of older writers, always worthy of perusal (though devoted -to problems of different times), such as those of Herder, Goethe, -Schlegel, Coleridge and Manzoni, the student will find among those -with whom he will like to think among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> Dowdens, the Bradleys, the -Raleighs of to-day. These will inspire in him the wish to continue -thinking on his own account about the nature of the great poetry of -Shakespeare.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h5> - - -<h4>SHAKESPEARE AND OURSELVES</h4> - - -<p>Shakespeare (and this applies to every individual work) had a history, -but has one no longer. He had a history, which was that of his poetical -sentiment, of its various changing notes, of the various forms in -which it found expression. He had also (we must insist), an individual -history which it is difficult to identify united with that of the -Elizabethan drama, to which he belongs solely as an actor and provider -of theatrical works. The general traits, which, among many differences, -he shares with his contemporaries, predecessors and imitators (even -when these are more substantial than theatrical imitations, conventions -and habits) form part of the history of the Renaissance in general and -of the English Renaissance in particular, but do not of themselves -constitute the history that was properly speaking his own.</p> - -<p>But he no longer has this, because what happened afterwards and what -happens in the present, is the history of others, is our history,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> -no longer his. Indeed, the histories of Shakespeare, which have -been composed, considered in the light of later times—and they are -still being written—have been and are understood, in a first sense, -as the history of the criticism of his works; and it is clear that -in this case, it is the history of us, his critics, the history of -criticism and of philosophy, no longer that of Shakespeare. Or they -are understood as the history of the spiritual needs and movements of -different periods, which now approach and now recede from Shakespeare, -causing either almost complete forgetfulness of his poetry, or causing -it to be felt and loved. In this case too, it is the history, not of -Shakespeare, but of the culture and the mode of feeling of other times -than his. Or they are understood in a third sense, as the history of -the literary and artistic works, in which the so-called influence of -Shakespeare is more or less discernible; and since this influence would -be without interest, if it produced nothing but mere mechanical copies, -and on the contrary has interest only because we see it transformed in -an original manner by new poets and artists, it is the history of the -new poets and artists and no longer that of Shakespeare.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> - -<p>As regards the last statement, it will not be out of place to remark -that the accounts which have been given of the representations of -his plays are altogether foreign to Shakespeare; because theatrical -representations are not, as is believed, "interpretations," but -variations, that is to say "creations of new works of art," by means -of the actors, who always bring to them their own particular manner of -feeling. There is never a <i>tertium comparationis,</i> in the sense of a -presumably authentic and objective interpretation, and here the same -criterion applies as to music and painting suggested by plays, which -are music and painting, and not those plays. Giuseppe Verdi, who for -his part composed an <i>Othello,</i> wrote to the painter Morelli, who had -conceived a painting of Iago (in a letter of 1881, recently published): -"You want a slight figure, with little muscular development, and if I -have understood you rightly, one of the cunning, malignant sort ... -But if were I an actor and wished to represent Iago, I should prefer a -lean, meagre figure, with thin lips, and small eyes close to the nose, -like a monkey's, a high retreating forehead, with a deal of development -at the back of the head; absent and <i>nonchalant</i> in manner, indifferent -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> everything, incredulous, sneering, speaking good and evil lightly, -with an air of thinking about something quite different from what he -says ..." They might have entered into a long discussion as to the two -different interpretations, had not Verdi, with his accustomed good -sense, hastened to conclude: "But whether Iago be small or big, whether -Othello be Venetian or Turk, <i>execute them as you conceive them</i>: the -result will always be good. But remember <i>not to think too much about -it.</i>"</p> - -<p>The insurmountable difference that exists between the most studiously -poetic theatrical representation and the original poetry of -Shakespeare, is the true reason why, contrary to the general belief in -Shakespeare's eminent "theatricality," Goethe considered that "he was -not a poet of the theatre and did not think of the stage, which is too -narrow for so vast a soul, that the visible world is too narrow for -it." Coleridge too held that the plays were not intended for acting, -but to be read and contemplated as poems, and added sometimes to say -laughingly, that an act of Parliament should be passed to prohibit the -representation of Shakespeare on the stage.</p> - -<p>Certainly, Lear and Othello, Macbeth and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> Hamlet, Cordelia and -Desdemona are part of our souls, and so they will be in the future, -more or less active, like every part of our souls, of our experiences, -of our memories. Sometimes they seem inert and almost obliterated, yet -they live and affect us; at others they revive and reawaken, linking -themselves to our greatest and nearest spiritual interests. This latter -was notably the case in the epoch that extends from the "period of -genius" at the end of romanticism, from the criticism of Kant to the -exhaustion of the Hegelian school. At that time, poets created Werther -and Faust, as though they were the brothers of Hamlet, Charlotte and -Margaret and Hermengarde, as though sisters of the Shakespearean -heroines, and philosophers constructed systems, which seemed to frame -the scattered thoughts of Shakespeare, reducing his differences to -logical terms, and crowning them with the conclusion that he either did -not seek or did not find. At that time persisted even the illusion that -the spirit of Shakespeare had transferred itself from the Elizabethan -world to the new world of Europe, was poetising and philosophising with -the mouths of the new men and directing their sentiments and actions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> - -<p>Perhaps after that period, love of Shakespeare, if not altogether -extinguished, greatly declined. The colossal mass of work of every sort -devoted to Shakespeare, cannot be brought up against this judgment, -for this mass, in great part due to German, English and American -philologists, proves rather the sedulity of modern philology, than a -profound spiritual impulse. This was more lively, when Shakespeare -was far less investigated, rummaged and hashed up, and was read in -editions far less critically correct. How could he be truly loved and -really felt in an age which buried dialectic and idealism beneath -naturalism and positivism, for the former of which he stood and which -he represented in his own way? In this age, the consciousness of the -distinction between liberty and passion, good and evil, nobility and -vileness, fineness and sensuality, between the lofty and the base -in man, became obscured; everything was conceived as differing in -quantity, but identical in substance, and was placed in a deterministic -relation with the external world. In such an atmosphere artistic -work became blind, diseased, gloomy, instinctive; struggling for -expression amid the torment of sick senses, no longer amid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> passionate, -moral struggles of the soul; confused writers, half pedantic, half -neurasthenic, were taken for and believed themselves to be, the heirs -of Shakespeare. Even when one reads some of the most highly praised -pages of the critics of the day upon Shakespeare, so abounding in -exquisite refinements, a sort of repugnance comes over one, as though a -warning that this is not the genuine Shakespeare. He was less subtle, -but more profound, less involved, but more complex and more great than -they.</p> - -<p>This is not a lamentation directed against the age, which is perhaps -now drawing to a close and perhaps has no desire to do so, and will -continue to develop its own character for a greater or lesser period. -It is simply an observation of fact, which belongs to that history, -which is not the history of William Shakespeare. He continues to live -his own history, in those spirits alone, who are perpetually making -anew that history which was truly his, as they read him with an -ingenuous mind and a heart that shares in his poetry.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III">PART III</a></h4> - - -<h3>PIERRE CORNEILLE</h3> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a><br /><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h5> - - -<h4>CRITICISM OF THE CRITICISM</h4> - - -<p>There is no longer any necessity for a criticism of Corneille's -tragedies in a negative sense, for it is already to be found in -several works. Further, if there exists a poet, who stands outside -the taste and the preoccupations of our day (at least in France), it -is Corneille. The greater number of lovers of poetry and art confess -without reserve that they cannot endure his tragedies, which "have -nothing to say to them." The fortune of Corneille has declined more -and more with the growth of the fame of Shakespeare, which has been -correlative to the formation and the growth of modern aesthetic -and criticism; and if the fame of Shakespeare seemed strange and -repugnant to classicistic elegance, the same fate has befallen the -French dramatist, as the result of Shakespeareanism in relation to the -appreciation of art which has now penetrated everywhere. Corneille -once represented "<i>la<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> profondeur du jugement</i>" as opposed to "<i>les -irrégularités sauvages et capricieuses</i>" of the Englishman, decorum -against the lack of it, calm diffused light against shadows pierced -at rare intervals with an occasional flash. Lessing had selected for -examination and theme the <i>Rodogune,</i> which he held to be a work, not -of poetical genius, but of an ingenious intellect, because genius loves -simplicity, and Corneille, after the manner of the ingenious, loved -complications. Schiller, when he had read the most highly praised works -of Corneille, expressed his astonishment at the fame which had accrued -to an author of so poor an inventive faculty, so meagre and so dry in -his treatment of character, so lacking in passion, so weak and rigid in -the development of action, and almost altogether deprived of interest. -William Schlegel noted in him, in place of poetry, "tragic epigrams" -and "airs of parade," pomp without grandeur—he found him cold in the -love scenes—his love was not as a rule love, but, in the words of the -hero Sertorius, a well calculated <i>aimer par politique—</i>intricate -and Machiavellian and at the same time ingenuous and puerile in -the representation of politics. He defined the greater part of the -tragedies as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> nothing but treatises on the reason of State in the -form of discussions, conducted rather in the manner of a chess-player -than of a poet. Even the most temperate De Sanctis could not succeed -in enjoying this writer, as is to be gathered from his lectures upon -dramatic literature delivered in 1847. He found that he does not render -the fullness of life, but only the extreme points of the passions -in collision, and that he prefers eloquence to the development of -tragedy, so that he often unconsciously turns tragedy into comedy. The -confrontation of Corneille's <i>Cid</i> with its Spanish original, <i>Las -mocedades</i> of Guillén de Castro, has however prevailed above all others -as the text upon which to base arguments against the French dramaturge. -Shack declared that the work of Corneille was altogether negative, that -he reduced and reëlaborated his original, losing the poetical soul -of the Spanish poet in the process and destroying the alternate and -spontaneous expression of tenderness and of violent passion. He found -that he substituted oratorical adornments and a swollen phraseology -for the pure language of sentiment, coquetry for the struggle of the -affections, to which it is directly opposed, and a boastful charlatan -for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> heroic figure of Rodrigo. Klein, passing from severe -criticism into open satire, described the <i>Cid</i> to be a "commentary in -Alexandrines" upon the poem of the <i>Mocedades,</i> comparing the Spanish -Jimena to a fresh drop of dew upon "a flower that has hardly bloomed," -and the French Chimène on the contrary to a "muddy drop, which presents -a tumultuous battle of infusorians to the light of the sun": the -"infusorians" would represent the antithesis to the "Alexandrine tears" -(<i>Alexandrinerthränen</i>), which she pours forth.</p> - -<p>But these negative judgments were not restricted altogether and -at first to foreigners and romantics. In the eighteenth century, -Voltaire (who for that matter sometimes lifts his eyes to the -dangerous criterion of Shakespeare in his notes upon Corneille) did -not refrain from criticising his illustrious predecessor for the -frequent <i>froideur</i> observable in his dramatic work, as well as for his -constant habit of speaking himself as the author and not allowing his -personages to speak, for his substitution of reflections for immediate -expressions, and for the artifices, the conventions and the padding, in -which he abounds. Vauvenargues showed himself irreconcilable (Racine -was his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> ideal). He too blamed the heroes of Corneille for uttering -great things and not inspiring them, for talking, and always talking -too much, with the object of making themselves known—whereas great -men are rather characterised by the things they do not say than those -they do say—and in general for ostentation, which takes the place -of loftiness, and for declamation, which he substitutes for true -eloquence. Gaillard allowed the influence of the generally unfavorable -verdict or the verdict full of retractations and cautions in respect -of its theme, to colour the eulogy which he composed in 1768. It used -to be said of Corneille that he aimed rather at "admiration" than at -"emotion," and that he was in fact "not tragic." This insult (declared -Gaillard) was spoken, but not written down, "because the pen is always -wiser than the tongue." But the accusation of "coldness" had made -itself heard on the lips of Corneille's contemporaries in the second -half of the seventeenth century, particularly when the tragedies of -Racine, with their very different message to the heart, had appeared to -afford a contrast.</p> - -<p>The defenders of Corneille have often yielded to the temptation of -accepting Shakespeare's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> dramas or at least the tragedies of Racine as -a standard of comparison and a reply to criticism. They have attempted -to prove that Corneille should be read, judged and interpreted in the -spirit of those poets. They have claimed to discover in Corneille just -that which their adversaries failed to discover and of which they -denied the existence: this they call truth, reality and life, meaning -thereby, passion and imagination. Thus we find Sainte-Beuve lamenting -that not only foreigners, but France herself, had not remarked and -had not gloried in the possession of Pauline (in <i>Polyeucte</i>), one -of the divine poetical figures, which are to be placed in the brief -list containing the Antigones, the Didos, the Francescas da Rimini, -the Desdemonas, the Ophelias. More recently others have elevated the -Cleopatra (of <i>Rodogune</i>) to the level of Lady Macbeth, and the Cid, on -account of the youthful freshness of his love-making, to the rank of -<i>Romeo and Juliet,</i> while they have discovered in <i>Andromède</i> nothing -less than that kind of <i>féerie poétique</i> "to which the English owe a -<i>Midsummer Night's Dream</i> and the <i>Tempest.</i>" They also declare that -the <i>Horace</i> is a tragedy in which reigns a sort of "savage Roman -sanctity,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> culminating in the youthful Horace, "intransigent and -fanatical, ferociously religious"; while his sister Camilla is "a -creature of nerves and flesh, who has strayed into a family of heroes" -and rises up in revolt against that hard world. For them Camilla is -an "invalid of love," "one possessed by passion," a "neurotic," of -an altogether modern complexion. <i>Polyeucte</i> represents "a drama of -nascent Christianity," and its protagonist, a "mystical rebel," recalls -at once "Saint Paul, Huss, Calvin and Prince Krapotkine," arousing -the same curiosity as a Russian nihilist, such as one used to see -some years ago in the beershops, with bright eyes, pale and fair, the -forehead narrow about the temples and of whom it was whispered that he -had killed some general or prefect of police at Petersburg. Severus -seems to them to be similar in some respects to "a modern exegete," -who is writing the history of the origin of Christianity. There exists -no play "which penetrates more profoundly into the human soul or opens -a wider perspective of untrodden paths." <i>Cinna</i> represents in the -tragedy of Augustus another neurotic after the modern manner. Augustus, -ambitious and without scruples, has attained to the summit of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> -desires and is weary and tired of power. He negates the man who ordered -the proscriptions that is in himself and his generosity is due almost -to satiety for too easy triumphs and vengeances. Attila, in the tragedy -of that name, springs out before us as "a monster of pride, cruel, -emphatic and subtle, conscious of being the instrument of a mysterious -power, an ogre with a mission": this "stupendous" conception is worthy -to stand side by side with the gigantic figures of the <i>Légende des -Siècles.</i></p> - -<p>These are all fantastic embroideries, metaphors, easel pictures, which -sometimes do honour to the artistic capacity of the eulogists, but -have no connexion whatever with the direct impression of Corneille's -tragedies. Spinoza would have said that they have as much connexion -with them as the dog of zoology with the dog-star. An obvious instance -of this is the strange comparison of the character Polyeucte with -the "Russian nihilist"—but it is little less evident in the other -instances, because it is altogether arbitrary to interpret the Augustus -of the <i>Cinna</i> as though he were a Shakespearean Richard II or Henry IV -and to attribute to him the psychology of what Nietzsche describes as -the "generous man."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> - -<p>Fancy for fancy, as well admit Napoleon's comment. He declared himself -persuaded that Augustus was certainly not changed in a moment into a -<i>"prince débonnaire,"</i> into a poor prince exercising "<i>une si pauvre -petite vertu</i>" as clemency, and that if he holds out to Cinna the right -hand of friendship, he only does this to deceive him and in order to -revenge himself more completely and more usefully at the propitious -moment. It is an amusement like another to take up the personages of -a play or of a story and refashion them in our own way by the free -use of the fancy, or to weave a new mode of feeling out of the facts -concerning certain cases and characters. Camilla can thus be quite -well transformed even into a nymphomaniac; but unfortunately criticism -insinuates itself into the folds of fancy and causes the fancier -himself (Lemaître) to note that Camilla sacrifices her love to her duty -<i>"délibérément,"</i> that she certainly resembles a character of Racine, -but "<i>non certes par la langue,</i>" and that she would show us what she -really is "<i>si elle parlait un langage moins rude at moins compact.</i>" -As though the speech and the inflection were an accident and not the -whole of a poetic creation, the beating of its heart! The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> demoniacal, -the neurotic Camilla, it is true, speaks in this way:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -"Il vient, préparons-nous a montrer constamment<br /> -Ce que doit une amante à la mort d'un amant."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here Voltaire's unconquerable good sense could not refrain from -remarking: "'<i>Préparons-nous</i>' adds to the defect. We see a woman who -is thinking how she can demonstrate her affliction and may be said to -be rehearsing her lesson of grief."</p> - -<p>The same fantastic and anticritical method of comparison has been -adopted with De Castro's play, with the object of obtaining a contrary -result: this comparison, whenever it is conducted with the criterion -of realistic art, or of art full of passion, cannot but result in -a condemnation of Corneille's reëlaboration of the theme. This has -been frankly admitted by more than one French critic (Fauriel for -example), who contrived to loosen somewhat the chains of national -preconceptions and traditional admirations. Indeed it was already -implied in the celebrated judgment of the Academy, which is not the -less just and acute for having been delivered by an academy and written -by a Chapelain. Guillen de Castro's play,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> which is epical and popular -in tone, celebrates the youthful hero Rodrigo, the future Cid, strong, -faithful and pious, admired by all, and looked upon with love by -princesses. An anecdote is recounted, with the object of celebrating -him, describing how he was obliged to challenge and to slay the father -of the maiden he loved. Bound to the same degree as himself by the laws -of chivalry, she is held to be obliged to provide for the vendetta -required by the death of her father. She performs her duty without -hatred and solely as a legal enemy, an <i>"ennemie légitime"</i> (to employ -a phrase of the same Corneille in the <i>Horace).</i> She does not cease -to love, nor does she feel any shame in loving. Finally, his prowess -and the favour of heaven, which he deserves and which ever accompanies -him, obtain for Rodrigo the legal conquest of his loving beloved, -who is also his enemy for honour's sake. De Castro's play is limpid, -lively, full of happenings. Corneille both simplifies and complicates -it, reducing it to series of casuistical discussions, vivified here and -there with echoes of the passionate original, softened with moments -of abandonment, as in the vigorous scene of the challenge, which is -an echo of the Spanish play,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> or in the tender sigh of the duet, -"<i>Rodrigue, qui Veut cru?... Chimène, qui l'eût dit?...</i>" which is also -in De Castro. After this, it can be asserted that Corneille "has made a -human drama, a drama of universal human appeal, out of an exclusively -Spanish drama"; it will also be declared that "the most beautiful -words of the French language find themselves always at the point of -the pen, when one is writing about the <i>Cid;</i> duty, love, honour, the -family, one's native land," because "everything there is generous, -affectionate, ingenuous, and there never has been breathed a livelier -or a purer air upon the stage, the air of lofty altitudes of the soul." -But this is verbiage. It is also possible to revel in the description -of "the fair cavalier, protected of God and adored by the ladies, who -carries his country about with him wherever he goes, and along with it -everybody's heart; in the beautiful maiden with the long black veil, so -strong and yet so weak, so courageous and so tender; in the grand old -man, so majestic and yet so familiar, the signor so rude and so hoary, -yet with a soul as straight and as pure as a lily, in whom dwells the -ancient code of honour and all the glory of times past; in the king, -so good-natured and ingenuous, yet so clever, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> the good king one -finds in fairy stories; in the gentle little infanta, with her precious -soliloquies, so full of gongorism and knightly romances ..."; but as we -have previously observed, this will be merely drawing fancy pictures. -It suffices to read the <i>Cid,</i> to see that it contains nothing of this -and nothing of this is to be found among the tragedies of Corneille.</p> - -<p>The vanity of such criticisms, which attempt to alter Corneille by -presenting him as that which he is not and does not wish to be, a -poet of immediate passions, would at once be apparent, were it to be -realised that no such attempts are made in the case of Racine, whose -passionate soul makes its presence at once felt through literary and -theatrical conventions, in the affection which he experiences for the -sweet, for what is tremendous and mysterious with religious emotion, -which palpitates in Andromache, in Phaedra, in Iphigenia and Eriphylis -in Joad and in Attila. But it confutes itself by becoming modified, -sometimes among the very critics whom we have been citing, into the -thesis that Corneille is the poet of the "reason," or of "the rational -will." And we say modified, because the reason or the rational will -is in poetry itself a passion, and he would be correctly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> described -as a poet of that kind of inspiration, who should accentuate the -rational-volitional moment in the representation of the passions, by -creating types of wise and active men, such as are to be found in the -epic, in many dramatic masterpieces, in high romance and elsewhere. But -not even this exists in Corneille, so much so that the very persons who -maintain the thesis, remark that he isolates a principle and a force, -the reason and the will, and seeks out how the one makes the other -triumph. To this, they declare, we must attribute the "character of -stiffness" proper to the heroes of Corneille, who are necessarily bound -to lack "the seductive flexibility, the languors, the perturbations, -which are to be observed in those moved by sentiment." Now this is not -permissible in art, because art, in portraying a passion, even if it -be that of inflexible rationality and inflexible will and duty, never -"isolates" it, in the fashion of an analyst in a laboratory, or a -physicist, but seizes it in its becoming, and so together with all the -other passions, and together with the "languors" and "disturbances." -Thus Corneille, described as they describe him by isolating the reason -and the will, would be a slayer of life, and so of the will and the -reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> themselves. And when he is blamed for having given so small and -so unhappy a place to love, "to the act by which the race perpetuates -itself, to the relations of the sexes and to all the sentiments that -arise from them, and which, by the nature of things form an essential -part of the life of the human race," it is not observed that beneath -this reproof, which is somewhat physiological and lubricious and lacks -seriousness of statement, there is concealed the yet more serious -and more general reproof that Corneille suffocates and suppresses -the quiver of life. La Bruyère was probably among the first to give -currency to the saying, which has been repeated, that Corneille depicts -men not "as they are," but "as they ought to be," and leads to a like -conclusion, though expressed in an euphemistic form; because poetry in -truth knows nothing of being or of having to be, and its existence is a -having to be, its having to be a being.</p> - -<p>This critical position, which desires to explain and to justify -Corneille as poet of the reason and of the rational will (although, as -we shall see further on, it contains some truth), is indeed equivocal, -because it seems to assert on the one hand that he possesses a -particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> form of passion, and on the other takes it away from him -with its "isolation," its "having to be," and with its assertion that -his personages "surpass nature," with its boasting of his "Romans -being more Roman than Romans," his "Greeks more Greek than Greeks" -and the like, that is to say, by making of him an exaggerator of -types and of abstractions, the opposite of a poet. The passage, then, -is easy from this position to its last thesis or modification, by -means of which Corneille is exalted as an eminent representative of -a special sort of poetry, "rationalistic poetry," which is held to -coincide with poetry that is especially "French." The theory here -implied is to be found both among the French and those who are not -French, among classicists and romantics, sometimes being looked upon -among both as a merit, that is to say, it is recognised by them that -this sort of poetry is legitimate. In the course of his proof that -French rationalistic tragedy excludes the lyrical element and demands -the intrigue of action and the eloquence of the passions, Frederick -Schlegel indicated "the splendid side of French tragedy, where it -evinces lofty and incomparable power, fully responding to the spirit -and character of a nation, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> eloquence occupies a dominant -position, even in private life." A contemporary writer on art, -Gundolf, blames his German conationals for the prejudices in which -they are enmeshed, and for their lack of understanding of the great -rationalistic poetry of France, so logical, so uniform, so ordered and -subordinated, so regular and so easily to be understood. It is the -natural and spontaneous expression of the French character, in the same -way as is the monarchy of Louis XIV, differing thereby from the narrow -convention or imitation, which it became in the hands of Gottsched and -others of Gallic tendencies, in other countries. Sainte-Beuve, alluding -in particular to Corneille, argued that in French tragedy "things are -not seen too realistically or over-coloured, since attention is chiefly -bestowed upon the saying of Descartes:—I think, therefore I am: I -think, therefore I feel;—and everything there happens in or is led -back to the bosom of the interior substance," in the "state of pure -sentiment, of reasoned and dialogued analysis," in a sphere "no longer -of sentiment, but of understanding, clear, extended, without mists and -without clouds." Another student of Corneille opposes the different and -equally admissible system of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> French tragedian, "a constructor and -as it were an engineer of action," to that of Shakespeare, portrayer -of the soul and of life. Thus, while all the most famous plays of -Shakespeare are drama, but lyrical drama, "hardly one of the most -beautiful and popular plays of Corneille is essentially lyrical." What -are we to think of "rationalistic" or "intellectualistic," or "logical" -or "non-lyrical" poetry? Nothing but this: that it does not exist. And -of French poetry? The same: that it does not exist; because what is -poetry in France is naturally neither intellectualiste nor essentially -French, but purely and simply poetry, like all other poetry that has -grown in this earthly flower-bed. And if the old-fashioned romanticism, -which sanctifies and gives substance to nationality and demands of art, -of thought and of everything else, that it should first be national, is -reappearing among French writers in the disguise of anti-romanticism -and neo-classicism, this is but a proof the more of the spiritual -dulness and mental confusion of those nationalists, who embrace their -presumed adversary.</p> - -<p>The only reality that could be concealed in "rationalistic poetry," -for which Corneille is praised, as shown above, would be one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> -categories in old-fashioned books of literary instruction, known as -"didactic poetry," which was not too well spoken of, even there. -Corneille is admired from this point of view, among other things, -for his famous political dissertations in the <i>China</i> and in the -<i>Sertorius,</i> where Voltaire considers that he is deserving of great -praise for "having expressed very beautiful thoughts in correct and -harmonious verse." In this connexion are quoted the remarks of the -Maréchal de Grammont about the <i>Othon,</i> that "it should have been the -breviary of kings," or of Louvois, "an audience of ministers of state -would be desirable for the judgment of such a work." It is indeed only -in "didactic poetry," which is versified prose, that we find "thoughts" -that are afterwards "versified." The method employed by another man of -letters would also make of the tragedies of Corneille masked didactic -poetry. He is an unconscious manipulator of thesis, antithesis and -synthesis, in the manner of Hegel, and describes it as "the alliance of -the individual with the species, of the particular with the general," -which were separate in the medieval "farces" and "moralities," the -former being all compact of individuals and actions, the latter of -ideas, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> Corneille was able to unite, being one of those great -masters who proceed from the general to the particular and vivify the -abstractions of thought with the power of the imagination.</p> - -<p>The justification of the tragedies of Corneille, as based upon the -foundations of French society and history in the time of Corneille, -is certainly more solid than that which explains them as based upon a -mystical French "character," or "race," or "nation." Do conventions and -etiquette govern and embarrass the development of dialogue and action -in every part of those tragedies? But such was life at court, or life -modelled upon life at court, in those days. Do the characters rather -reason about their sentiments than express them? But such was the -custom of well-bred men of that day. And do they always discuss matters -according to all the rules of rhetoric and with perfect diction? But -to speak well was the boast of men in society and diplomatists at that -time. Do the women mingle love and politics, and rather make love -for political reasons than politics for love? But the ladies of the -Fronde did just this; indeed Cardinal Mazarin, in conversation with the -Spanish ambassador, gave vent to the opinion that in France "an honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> -woman would not sleep with her husband, nor a mistress with her lover, -unless they had discussed affairs of State with them during the day." -And so discussions continue and are to be found continuing in Taine -and many others, without explaining anything, because they pass over -the poetry and the problem of the poetry, which is not, as Taine held, -"the expression of the genius of an age" or "the reflection of a given -society" (society reflects and expresses itself in its own actions -and customs), but "poetry, that is to say, one of the free forces of -every people, society and time, which must be interpreted with reasons -contained in itself."<a name="FNanchor_1_21" id="FNanchor_1_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_21" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> It is superfluous to add that the poetry is -lost sight of in the delight of finding the personages and social types -of the French seventeenth century, beyond the verses and the ideal -conceptions of character; for example, we find them declaring their -own affectionate sympathy for "Christian Theodora," for "this martyr, -of the dress with the starched collar and the equally proudly starched -sentiments, "for this proud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> martyr, in the grand style of Louis XIII," -altogether forgetting the reality of the art of Corneille and the -critical problems suggested by the <i>Théodora.</i> This is certainly very -prettily and gracefully said, but it misses the point.</p> - -<p>There remains to mention but one last form of defence, which however is -not a justification of the art of Corneille, but a eulogy of him as an -ingenious man, who deserved well of culture and possessed refinement -of manners, particularly as regards theatrical representations. To him -belongs the "great merit" (said Voltaire in concluding his commentary) -of "having found France rustic, gross and ignorant, about the time of -the <i>Cid,</i> and of having changed it 'by teaching it not only tragedy -and comedy, but even the art of thinking." And his rival Racine, in -his praise of Corneille before the Academy at the time of his death, -had recorded "the debt that French poetry and the French stage owed -to him." He had found it disordered, irregular and chaotic, and after -having sought the right road for some time and striven against the -bad taste of his age, "he inspired it with an extraordinary genius -aided by study of the ancients, and exhibited reason (<i>la raison</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> -on the stage, accompanied with all the pomp and all the ornaments, of -which the French language is capable." All the historians of French -literature repeat this, beginning by bowing down before Corneille, the -"founder," or "creator" of the French theatre. Such praise as this -means little or nothing in art, because non-poets, or poets of very -slender talents, even pedants, are capable of exercising this function -of being founders and directors of the culture and the literature of -a people. An instance of this in Italy was Pietro Bembo, "who removed -this pure, sweet speech of ours from its vulgar obscurity, and has -shown us by his example what it ought to be."</p> - -<p>He was not a poet, yet was surrounded with the gratitude, and with the -most sincere reverence on the part of poets of genius, among whom was -Ariosto, to whom belong the verses cited above.</p> - -<p>That other merit accorded to Corneille, of having accomplished a -revolution, cleared the ground and "raised the French tragic system -upon it," the "classical system," is without poetical value. We shall -leave it to others to define as they please, precisely of what this -work consisted, the introduction of the unities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> and of the rules of -verisimilitude, the conception and realisation of tragic psychological -tragedy, or the tragedy of character, of which actions and catastrophes -should form, the consequences, the fusing and harmonising in a single -type of sixteenth century tragedy, which starts from "the tragic -incident," with that of the seventeenth century, which ends with it, -and so on. We prefer to remark, with reference to this and to so many -other disputes that have taken place since the time of Calepio and -Lessing onward, and especially during the romantic period, with regard -to the merits and the defects of the "French system," as compared with -the "Greek system" and with the "romantic" or "Shakespearean," that -"systems" either have nothing to do with poetry, or are the abstract -schemes of single poems, and therefore that such disputes are and -always have been, sterile and vain. Here too it should be mentioned -that a "system" may be the work of non-poets or of mediocre poets, as -was the case in Italy with the system of "melodrama," of which (to -employ the figure of De Sanctis), Apostolo Zeno was the "architect" -and Pietro Metastasio the "poet." In England too, the system of the -drama was not fixed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> Shakespeare, but by his predecessors, small fry -indeed as compared with him. We would also observe that death or life -may exist in one and the same system, for indeed a system is a prison, -with bolts and bars. Note in this respect, that although the romantics -had boasted the salvation that lay in the Shakespearean system, a new -dramatic genius springing therefrom was vainly awaited. There appeared -only semigeniuses and a crowd of strepitous works, not less cold and -empty than those that had been condemned in the opposing "French -system."</p> - -<p>We may therefore conclude that the arguments of the admirers and -apologists of Corneille, which have been passed in review, do not -embrace the problem, but leave the judgments of negative criticism free -to exercise their perilous potency. They find in Corneille intellectual -combinations in place of poetical formations, abstractions in place of -what is concrete, oratory in place of lyrical inspiration and shadow in -place of substance.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_21" id="Footnote_1_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_21"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Est-ce que la critique moderne n'a pas abandonné l'art -pour l'histoire? La valeur intrinsèque d'un livre n'est rien dans -l'école Sainte-Beuve-Taine. On y prend tout en considération, sauf le -talent." (Flaubert, <i>Correspondence,</i> IV, 81.)</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE IDEAL OF CORNEILLE</h4> - - -<p>Nevertheless, when all this has been said and the conclusion drawn, -there remains the general impression of the work, which has in it -something of the grandiose, and brings back to the lips the homage -that the next generations rendered to the author, when they called -him "the great Corneille." It is to be hoped that no one has been -deceived as to the intention of our discourse up to this point, which -has been directed not against Corneille, but against his critics, -nor among them against those who have written many other things both -true and beautiful on the subject; we have but to refer to the acute -Lemaître among the most recent, to the diligent and loving Dorchain, -and to the most solid of all, Lanson. We shall avail ourselves of -them in what follows, but shall oppose their particular theories -and presuppositions, which are misrepresentations of the subject of -their judgments itself. For the negative criticism, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> we have -recapitulated, does not win our confidence, but rather shows itself -to be erroneous or (which amounts to the same thing) incomplete, -exaggerated and one-sided, for the very reason that it does not account -for that impression of the grandiose. Conducted as it has been, it -would very well suit a writer who was a rhetorician with an appearance -of warmth, a writer able to make a good show before the public and in -the theatre, while remaining internally unmoved himself, superficial -and frivolous. But Corneille looks upon us and upon those critics with -so serious and severe a countenance, that we lose the courage to treat -him in so unceremonious and so expeditious a manner.</p> - -<p>Whence comes that air of severity, which we find not only in his -portraits but in every page of his tragedies, even in those and in -those parts of them, in which he fails to hit the mark, or appears to -be tired, to have lost his way, and to be making efforts?</p> - -<p>From this fact alone: that Corneille had an ideal, an ideal in which -he believed, and to which he clung with all the strength of his soul, -of which he never lost sight and which he always tended to realise in -situations, rhythms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> and words, seeking and finding his own intimate -satisfaction, the incarnation of his ideal, in those brave and solemn -scenes and sounds.</p> - -<p>His contemporaries felt this, and it was for this reason that Racine -wrote that above all, "what was peculiar to Corneille consisted of a -certain force, a certain elevation, which astonishes and carries us -away, and renders even his defects, if there be found some to reprove -him for them, more estimable than the virtues of others"; and La -Bruyère also summed it up in the phrase that "what Corneille possessed -of most eminent was his soul, which was sublime."</p> - -<p>The most recent interpreters have found Corneille's ideal to reside -in will for its own sake, the "pure will," superior or anterior to -good and evil, in the energy of the will as such, which does not pay -attention to particular ends. Thus the false conception of him as -animated with the ideal of moral duty or with that of the triumph of -duty over the passions has been eliminated, and agreement has been -reached, not only with the reality of the tragedies, but also with -what Corneille himself laid down in his <i>Discours</i> as to the dramatic -personage. Such a personage may indeed be plunged in all sorts of -crimes, like Cleopatra in the <i>Rodogune,</i> but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> in the words of the -author, "all his actions are accompanied with so lofty a greatness of -soul that we admire the source whence his actions flow, while we detest -those actions themselves."</p> - -<p>On the other hand, the concept of the pure will runs some risk of -being perverted at the hands of those who proceed to interpret it by -identification with that other "will for power" of Nietzsche, who -understood the French poet in this hyperbolical manner and referred -to him with fervent admiration on account of this fancy of his. The -ideal of the will for power has an altogether modern origin, in the -protoromantic and romantic superman, in over-excited and abstract -individualism. It did not exist at the time of Corneille, or in the -heart of the poet, who was very healthy and simple. The figures of -Corneille's tragedies must be looked at through coloured and deforming -glasses, as supplied by fashionable literature, in order to see in them -such attitudes and gestures.</p> - -<p>The further definition, which, while it renders the first conception -more exact and more appropriate, at the same time shuts the door on -these new fancies, is this: that Corneille's ideal does not express -the pure will at the moment of violent onrush and actuation, but of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> -ponderation and reflection, that is to say, as <i>deliberative will.</i> -This was what Corneille truly loved: the spirit which deliberates -calmly and serenely and having formed its resolution, adheres to it -with unshakeable firmness, as to a position that has been won with -difficulty and with difficulty strengthened. This represented for -him the most lofty form of strength, the highest dignity of man. -<i>"Laissez-moi mieux consulter mon âme,"</i> says one of Corneille's -personages, and all of them think and act in the same way. "<i>Voyons,</i>" -says the king of the Gepidi to the king of the Goths in the <i>Attila, -"—voyons qui se doit vaincre, et s' il faut que mon âme. A votre -ambition immole cette flamme. Ou s'il n'est point plus beau que votre -ambition. Elle-même s'immole a cette passion."</i></p> - -<p>Augustus hesitates a long while, and gives vent to anguished -lamentations, when he has discovered that Cinna is plotting against -his life, as though to clear his soul and to make it better capable of -the deliberation, which begins at once under the influence of passion, -in the midst of anguish and with anguish. Has he the right to lament -and to become wrathful? Has he not also made rivers of blood to flow? -Does he then resign himself in his turn? Does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> he forsake himself as -the victim of his own past? Far from it: he has a throne and is bound -to defend it, and therefore will punish the assassin. Yes, but when he -has caused more blood to flow, he will find new and greater hatreds -surrounding him, new and more dangerous plots. It is better, then, to -die? But wherefore die? Why should he not enjoy revenge and triumph -once again? This is the tumult of irresolution, which, while felt as a -hard, a desperate torment, and although it seems to hold the will in -suspense, in reality sets it in motion, insensibly guiding it to its -end. <i>"O rigoureux combat d'un cœur irrésolu!..."</i> The more properly -deliberative process enters his breast with the appearance upon the -scene of Livia, to whose advice he is opposed, for he disputes and -combats it, yet listens and weighs it, seeming finally to remain still -irresolute, yet he has already formed hi:; resolve, he has decided in -his heart to perform an act of political clemency, so thunderous, so -lightning-like in quality, as to bewilder his enemy and to hurl him -vanquished at his feet.</p> - -<p>The two brother princes in <i>Rodogune</i> are conversing, while they await -the announcement as to which is the legitimate heir to the throne.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> -Upon this announcement also depends which shall become the happy -husband of Rodogune, whom they both love with an equal ardour. How will -they face and support the decision of fate? One of the two, uncertain -and anxious about the future, proposes to renounce the throne in favour -of his brother, provided the latter renounces Rodogune; but he is met -with the same proposal by the other. Thus the satisfaction of both, -by means of mutual renunciation, is precluded. But the other course -is also precluded, that of strife and conflict, for their brotherly -affection is firm, and so is the sentiment of moral duty in both. This -also forbids the one sacrificing himself for the other, because neither -would accept the sacrifice. What can be saved from a collision, from -which it seems that, nothing can be saved? One of the two brothers, -after these various and equally vain attempts at finding a solution, -returns upon himself, descends to the bottom of his soul, finds there -a better motive and is the first to formulate the unique resolution: -"<i>Malgré l'éclat du trône et l'amour d'une femme, Faisons si bien -régner l'amitié sur notre âme, Qu'étouffant dans leur perte un regret -suborneur, Dans le bonheur d'un frère on trouve son bonheur....</i>" And -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> other, who has not been the first to see and to follow this path -asks: "<i>Le pourriez, vous mon frère?</i>" The first replies: "<i>Ah; que -vous me pressez! Je le voudrais du moins, mon frère, et c'est assez; Et -ma raison sur moi gardera tant d'empire, Que je désavoûrai mon cœur, -s'il en soupire."</i> The other, firm in his turn replies: "<i>J'embrasse -comme vous ces nobles sentiments....</i>"</p> - -<p>Loving as he did, in this way, the work of the deliberative will (we -have recorded two only of the situations in his tragedies, and we could -cite hundreds), Corneille did not love love, a thing that withdraws -itself from deliberation, a severe illness, which man discovers in his -body, like fire in his house, without having willed it and without -knowing how it got there. Sometimes the deliberative will is affected -by it and for the moment at least upset, and then we hear the cry of -Attila: "<i>Quel nouveau coup de foudre! O raison confondue, orgueil -presque étouffé...</i>." as he struggles against its enchantments: <i>"cruel -poison de l'âme et doux charme des yeux."</i> But as a general rule, -he promptly drives it away from him, coldly and scornfully; or he -subdues it and employs it as a means and an assistance in far graver -matters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> such as ambition, politics, the State; or he accepts it for -what it contains of useful and worthy, which as such is the object and -the fruit of deliberation. "<i>Ce ne sont pas les sens que mon amour -consulte: Il hait des passions l'impétueux tumulte..</i>.." Certainly, -this attitude is intransigent, ascetic and severe: but what of it? -"<i>Un peu de dureté sied bien aux grandes âmes.</i>" Certainly love comes -out of it diminished and humiliated: "<i>D'Amour n'est pas le maître -alors qu'on délibère</i>;" love deserves its fate and almost deserves -the gibe: "<i>La seule politique est ce qui nous émeut; On la suit et -l'amour s'y mêle comme il peut: S'il vient on l'applaudit; s'il manque -on s'en console...</i>." It manages as best it can and becomes less -powerful and wonderfully ductile beneath this pressure, ready to bend -in whatever direction it is commanded to bend by the reason. Sometimes -it remains suspended between two persons, like a balance, which awaits -the addition of a weight in order to lean over: "...<i>Ce cœur des deux -parts engagé, Se donnant à vous deux ne s'est point partagé, Toujours -prêt d'embrasser son service et le vôtre, Toujours prêt à mourir et -pour l'un et pour l'autre. Pour n'en adorer qu'une, il eût fallu -choisir; Et ce choix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> eût été au moins quelque désir, Quelque espoir -outrageux d'être mieux reçu d'elle ...</i>." On another occasion, although -there might be some inclination or desire, rather toward the one than -the other side, it is yet kept secret, beneath the resolve to suffocate -it altogether, should reason ordain that love must flow into a contrary -channel. Not only are Corneille's personages told to their face: <i>"Il -ne faut plus aimer,"</i> an act of renunciation to be asked of a saint, -but they are also bidden thus: "<i>Il faut aimer ailleurs,</i>" an act -worthy of a martyr.</p> - -<p>He did not love love, not because it is love, but because it is -passion, which carries one away and which, if it be allowed to do so, -will not consent to state the terms of the debate clearly, and engage -in deliberation. His dislike for the inebriation of hatred and of -anger, which blind or confound the vision, and which, as passion, is -also foreign to his ideal, also appears in confirmation of this view. -"<i>Qui hait brutalement permet tout à sa haine, Il s'emporte où sa -fureur l'entraîne.... Mais qui hait par devoir ne s'aveugle jamais; -c'est sa raison qui hait ...</i>." His ideal personages sometimes declare, -when face to face with their enemy: "<i>je te dois estimer, mais je te -dois haïr.</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> On the other hand, we perceive clearly why Corneille was -led to admire the will, even when without moral illumination, even -indeed when it is actively opposed to or without morality; for it has -the power of not yielding to and of dominating the passions, of not -being violent weakness, but strength, or as it was called during the -Renaissance, "virtú." In that sphere of deliberation there existed a -common ground of mutual understanding between the honest and dishonest -man, between the hero of evil and the hero of good, for each pursued -a course of duty, in his own way and both agreed in withstanding and -despising the madness of the passions.</p> - -<p>And we also see why the domain towards which Corneille directed his -gaze and for which he had a special predilection, was bound to be that -of politics, where "virtú," in the sense that it possessed during the -period of the Renaissance, found ample opportunity for free expansion -and for self-realisation. In politics, we find ourselves continuously -in difficult and contradictory situations, where acuteness and long -views are of importance and where it is necessary to make calculations -as to the interests and passions of men, to act energetically upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> -what has been decided after nice weighing in the balance, to be -firm as well as prudent. It has been jocosely observed by William -Schlegel that Corneille, the most upright and honest of men, was more -Machiavellian than any Machiavelli in his treatment and representation -of politics, that he boasted of the art of deceiving, and that he -had no notion of true politics, which are less complicated and far -more adroit and adaptable. Lemaître too admits that in this respect -he was <i>"fort candide."</i> But who is not excessive in the things that -he loves? Who is not sometimes too candid regarding them, with that -candour and simplicity which is born of faith and enthusiasm? His very -lack of experience in real politics, his simplicism and exaggeration -in conceiving them, is there to confirm the vigour of his affection -for the ideal of the politician, as supremely expressed by the man who -ponders and deliberates. He always has <i>la raison d'état</i> and <i>les -maximes d'état</i> upon his lips. We feel that these words and phrases -move, edify and arouse in him an ecstasy of admiration.</p> - -<p>It was free determination and complete submission to reason, duty, -objective utility, to what was fitting—and not a spirit of courtly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> -adulation—that led him to look with an equal ecstasy of admiration -upon personages in high positions and upon monarchs, the summit of -the pyramid. He did not therefore admit them because they can do -everything, still less because they can enjoy everything, but on -the contrary, because, owing to their office, their discipline and -tradition, they are accustomed to sacrifice their private affections -and to conduct themselves in obedience to motives superior to the -individual. Kings too have a heart, they too are exposed to the soft -snares of love; but better than all others they know what is becoming -behaviour: "<i>Je suis reine et dois régner sur moi: Je rang que nous -tenons, jaloux de notre gloire, Souvent dans un tel choix nous défend -de nous croire, Jette sur nos désirs un joug impérieux, Et dédaigne -l'avis et du cœur et des yeux.</i>" And elsewhere: "<i>Les princes out cela -de leur haute naissance, Leur âme dans leur rang prend des impressions -Qui dessous leur vertu rangent leurs passions; Leur générosité soumet -tout à leur gloire ...</i>." They love, certainly, as it happens to all -to love, but they do not on that account yield to the attractions of -the senses. "<i>Je ne le cèle point, j'aime, Carlos, oui, j'aime; Mais -l'amour de l'état plus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> fort que de moi-même, Cherche, au lieu de -l'objet le plus doux à mes yeux, Le plus digne héros de régner en ces -lieux.</i>" His predilection for history, especially for Roman history, -has the same root, and had long been elaborated as an ideal—even in -the Rome of the Empire, yet more so at the time of the Renaissance and -during the post-Renaissance, and even in the schools of the Jesuits. -It was thus transformed into a history that afforded examples of civic -virtues, such as self-sacrifice, heroism, and greatness of resolve. We -spare the reader the demonstration that this tendency was altogether -different from, and indeed opposed to historical knowledge and to the -so-called "historical sense," because questions of this sort and the -accompanying eulogies accorded to Corneille as a historian, are now to -be looked upon as antiquated.</p> - -<p>The historical relations of Corneille's ideal are clearly indicated or -at any rate adumbrated in these references and explanations, as also -its incipience and genesis, which is to be found, as we have stated, -in the theory and practice of the Renaissance, concerning politics and -the office of the sovereign or prince, and for the rest in the ethics -of stoicism, which was so widely diffused in the second half of the -sixteenth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> century, and not less in France than elsewhere. The image -of Corneille is surrounded in our imagination with all those volumes, -containing baroque frontispieces illustrative of historical scenes, -which at that time saw the light every day in all parts of Europe. -They were the works of the moralists, of the Machiavellians, of the -Taciteans, of the councillors in the art of adroit behaviour at court, -of the Jesuit casuists Botero and Ribadeneyra, Sanchez and Mariana, -Valeriano Castiglione and Matteo Pellegrini, Gracian and Amelot de la -Houssaye, Balzac and Naudée, Scioppio and Justus Lipsius. They might -be described as comprizing a complete and conspicuous section of the -Library of the Manzonian Don Ferrante, the "intellectual" of the -seventeenth century.</p> - -<p>Such literature as this and the history of the time itself have been -more than once given as the source of the poetical inspiration proper -to Corneille, and indeed they appear spontaneously in the mind of -anyone acquainted with the particular mode of thought and of manners -that have prevailed during the various epochs of modern society. It -is therefore unpleasant to find critics intent on fishing out other -origins for it, in an obscure determinism of race and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> religion, almost -as if disgusted with the obvious explanation, which is certainly the -only true one in this case, pointing out for instance in Corneille "an -energy that comes from the north," that is to say from the Germany that -produced Luther and Kant, or from the country that was occupied for a -time by their forefathers the Normans, those Scandinavian pirates who -disembarked under the leadership of Rollo (if this fancy originated -with Lemaître, they all repeat it); or they discover the characteristic -of his poetry in the subtlety and litigious spirit of the Norman, and -in the lawyer and magistrate whose functions he fulfilled.</p> - -<p>The customary association of his ideal with the theory of Descartes is -also without much truth. Chronological incompatibility would in any -case preclude derivation or repercussion from this source, the utmost -that could be admitted being that both possessed common elements, since -they were both descended from a common patrimony of culture, namely -the stoical morality already mentioned, and from the cult of wisdom in -general. In Descartes, as later in Spinoza, the tendency was towards -the domination of the passions by means of the intellect or the pure -intelligence, which dissipates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> them by knowing and thinking them, -while with Corneille the domination was all to be effected by means of -an effort of the will.</p> - -<p>The historical element in the ideal of Corneille does not mean that its -value was restricted to the times of the author and should be looked -upon as having disappeared with the disappearance of those customs and -doctrines, because every time expresses human eternal truth in its -forms that are historically determined, laying in each case especial -stress upon particular aspects or moments of the spirit. The idea of -the deliberative will has been removed in our day to the second rank, -indeed it has almost been lost in the background, under the pressure -of other forces and of other more urgent aspects of reality. Yet it -possesses eternal vigour and is perpetually returning to the mind and -soul, through the poets and philosophers and through the complexities -of life itself, which make us feel its beauty and importance. The -history of the manners, of the patriotism, of the moral spirit, of -the military spirit of France, bears witness to this, for one of its -mainstays in the past as in the present has been the tragedies of -Corneille. The heroic, the tragic Charlotte Corday gave reality in her -own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> person to one of Corneille's characters, so full of will power -and ready for any enterprise: she was one of those <i>aimables furies,</i> -nourished like the tyrannicides of the Renaissance on the <i>Lives</i> of -Plutarch, whom her great forefather had set on paper with such delight.</p> - -<p>It is inconceivable that such heroines as she, sublime in their -meditated volitional act, should have been audaciously classed and -confounded with those weak and impulsive beings extolled by the -philosophers and artists of the will for power, from Stendhal to -Nietzsche, who freely sought their models among the degenerates of the -criminal prisons.</p> - -<p>The whole life of Corneille, the whole of his long activity, was -dominated by the ideal that we have described, with a constancy -and a coherence which leaps to the eye of anyone who examines the -particulars. As a young man, he touched various strings of the lyre, -the tragedy of horrors in the manner of Seneca (<i>Médée,</i>) eccentric -comedy in <i>L'Illusion comique,</i> the romantic drama of adventures and -incidents in <i>Clitandre,</i> the comedies of love; but we already find -many signs in these works and especially in the comedies, of the -tendency to fix the will in certain situations, as will for a purpose -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> choice. After his novitiate (in which period is to be comprehended -the <i>Cid,</i> which is rather an attempt than a realisation, rather a -beginning than an end) he proceeded in a straight line and with over -increasing resolution and self-consciousness. It is due to a prejudice, -born of extrinsic or certainly but little acute considerations, that -an interval should be placed between the <i>Cid</i> and the later works, -though this was done by Schlegel, by Sainte-Beuve and by many others, -both foreigners and French. They deplored that Corneille should have -abandoned the Spanish mediaeval and knightly style, so in harmony -with his generous, grandiose and imaginative inclinations, so full of -promise for the romantic future, and should have restricted himself to -the Graeco-Roman world and to political tragedy. It is impossible (as -we have shown in passing), to assert the originality and the beauty of -the <i>Cid,</i> when it is compared with and set in opposition to the model -offered to Corneille by Guillen de Castro. Now if there is not to be -found beauty, there is certainly to be found a sort of originality in -the personality of Corneille, who eats into the popular epicity of the -model and substitutes for it the study of deliberative situations. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> -harmonious versification of these explains in great part the success -which the play met with in a society accustomed to debate "questions -of love" (as they had been called since the period of the troubadours -at the Renaissance), and those of honour and knighthood, of challenges -and duels. But on the other hand, the reason of its success was also -to be found in what persisted scattered here and there of the ardour -and tenderness of the original play, which moved the spectators and -made them love Chimène: "<i>Tout Paris pour Chimene a les yeux de -Rodrigue.</i>" Yet these words of tenderness and strong expressions, -though beautiful in themselves, show themselves to be rather foreign -to the new form of the drama, and there is some truth in the strange -remark of Klein: that "there is not enough Cidian electricity, enough -material for electro-dramatic shocks in that atmosphere full of the -exhalations of the <i>antichambre,</i> to produce a slap in the face of -equally pathetic force and consequence" with the <i>bofetada</i> which -Count Lozano applied to the countenance of the decrepit Diego Laynez -in the Spanish drama. And there is truth also in the judgment of the -Academy, that the subject of the <i>Cid</i> is "defective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> in the essential -part" and "lacking in verisimilitude"; of course not because it was -so with Guillen de Castro, or that a subject, that is to say, mere -material, can be of itself good or bad, verisimilar or the reverse, -poetic or unpoetic, but because it had become defective and discordant -in the hands of Corneille, who elaborated and refined it. Rodrigue, -Jimena the lady Urraca, are simple, spontaneous, almost childlike -souls, in the mould of popular heroes. Chimène and Rodrigue and the -Infanta are reflective and dialectical spirits, and since their novel -psychological attitude does not chime well with the old-fashioned -manner of behaviour, Rodrigue and the father sometimes appear to be -charlatans, Chimène sometimes even a hypocrite, the Infanta insipid and -superfluous. Also, when Corneille returned to the "Spanish style," in -<i>Don Sanche d'Aragon,</i> he charged it with reflections and ponderations -and deliberative resolutions, without aiming at the picturesque, as the -romantics did later, but at dialectic and subtlety. It must however be -admitted that all this represents a superiority, if viewed from another -angle: but this superiority does not reside in the artistic effect -obtained;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> it is rather mental and cultural and represents a more -complex and advanced humanity.</p> - -<p>Thus the <i>Cid</i> is to be looked upon as really a work of transition, -a transition to the <i>Horace,</i> which has seemed to a learned German, -to be substantially the same as the <i>Cid,</i> the <i>Cid</i> reconstructed -after the censures passed upon it by his adversaries and in the -Academy, which Corneille inwardly felt to be, in a certain measure -at any rate, just. But another prejudice creates a gap between what -are called the four principal tragedies, the <i>Cid,</i> the <i>Horace,</i> -the <i>China</i> and the <i>Polyeucte</i>—"the great Cornelian quadrilateral" -eulogised by Péguy in rambling prose,—and the later tragedies, as -though Corneille had changed his method in these and begun to pursue -another ideal, "political tragedy." Setting aside for the time being -the question of greater or lesser artistic value, it is certain that -he never really changed his method. In the <i>Horace,</i> there is no -suggestion of the ferocious national sanctity of a primitive society, -in the <i>Cinna,</i> there is no trace of the imagined tragedy of satiety -or of the <i>lassitude,</i> which the sanguinary Augustus is supposed to -have experienced. The <i>Polyeucte</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> does not contain a shadow of the -fervour, the delirium, the fanaticism, of a religion in the act of -birth, but as Schlegel well expressed it, "a firm and constant faith -rather than a true religious enthusiasm." In the four tragedies above -mentioned, <i>le cœur</i> is not supreme, any more than <i>l'esprit</i> is -supreme in the later tragedies, but "political tragedy" is present more -or less in all of them, in the intrinsic sense of a representation -of calculations, ponderations and resolutions, and often too in the -more evident sense of State affairs. He pursues these and suchlike -forms of representation, heedless, firm and obstinate, notwithstanding -the disfavour of the public and of the critics, who asked for other -things. They divest themselves of extraneous elements and attain to -the perfection at which they aimed. This may be observed in one of the -very latest, the <i>Pulchérie.</i> The author congratulated himself upon its -half-success or shadow of success, declaring that "it is not always -necessary to follow the fashion of the time, in order to be successful -on the stage." Just previously, he was pleased with Saint-Évremond -for his approbation of the secondary place to be assigned to love in -tragedy, "for it is a passion too surcharged with weaknesses to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> be -dominant in a heroic drama." Voltaire was struck with this constancy -to the original line of development, for he felt bound to remark at -the conclusion of his commentary, not without astonishment and in -opposition to the current opinion, that "he wrote very unequally, -but I do not know that he had an unequal genius, as is maintained by -some; because I always see him intent, alike in his best and in his -inferior works, upon the force and the profundity of the ideas. He is -always more disposed to debate than to move, and he reveals himself -rich in finding expedients to support the most ungrateful of arguments, -though these are but little tragic, since he makes a bad choice of his -subjects from the <i>Oedipe</i> onwards, where he certainly does devise -intrigues, but these are of small account and lack both warmth and -life. In his last works he is trying to delude himself." But Corneille -did not delude himself; rather he knew himself, and he himself the -author was a personage who had deliberated and had made up his mind, -once and for all.</p> - -<p>The vigour of this resolution and the compactness of the work which -resulted from it, are not diminished, but are rather stressed by -the fact that Corneille possessed other aptitudes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> and sources of -inspiration, which he neglected and of which he made little or no -use. Certainly, the poet who versified the delicious <i>Psyche,</i> in -collaboration with Molière, would have been able, had he so desired, -to enter into the graces of those "<i>doucereux</i>" and "<i>enjoués,</i>" whom -he despised. There are witty, tender and melancholy poems among his -miscellaneous works, and in certain parts of the paraphrase of the -<i>Imitation</i> and other sacred compositions, there is a religious fervour -that is to seek in the <i>Polyeucte.</i> His youthful comedies contain a -power of observation of life, replete with passionate sympathy, which -foreshadows the coming social drama. We refer especially to certain -personages and scenes of the <i>Galerie du Palais,</i> of the <i>Veuve</i> and -of the <i>Suivante;</i> to certain studies of marriageable girls, obedient -to the resolve of their parents, and to mothers, who still carry in -their heart how much that submission cost them in the past and do -not wish to abuse the power which they possess over their daughters. -There are also certain tremulous meetings of lovers, who had been -separated and are annoyingly interrupted by the irruption of prosaic -reality in the shape of their relations and friends ("<i>Ah! mère, sœur, -ami,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> comme vous m'importunez!</i>") and certain odious and painful -psychological cases, like that of Amaranthe, the poor girl of good -family, who is made companion of the richer girl, not superior to her -either in attractiveness, or spirit, or grace, or blood. She envies -and intrigues against her, attempts to carry off her lover and being -finally vanquished, hurls bitter words at society and distils venomous -maledictions.</p> - -<p><i>"Curieux," "étonnant," "étrange," "paradoxal," "déconcertant,"</i> are -the epithets that the critics alternately apply to the personage -of Alidor, in the <i>Place Royale,</i> and Corneille himself calls him -"<i>extravagant</i>" in the examination of his work that he wrote later. -All too have held that uncompromising lover of his own liberty to be -very "Cornelian" or "pure Cornelian," who although in love, is afraid -of love, because it threatens to deprive him of his internal freedom. -He therefore tries to throw the woman he loves and who adores him, -into the arms of others, by stratagem. Failing in this endeavour, and -being finally abandoned by the lady herself, who decides to enter a -convent, instead of sorrowing or at least being mortified at this, he -rejoices at his good fortune. Indeed, Corneille, despite the tardy -epithet of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> <i>"extravagant,"</i> which he affixes to this personage, -does not turn him to ridicule in the comedy, nor does he condemn or -criticise him. On the contrary, in the dedicatory epistle, addressed to -an anonymous gentleman, who might be the very character in question, -he approves of the theory, which Alidor illustrates. "I have learned -from you"—he writes—"that the love of an honest man must always be -voluntary; that he must never love in one way what he cannot but love; -that if he should find himself reduced to this extremity, it amounts -to a tyranny and the yoke must be shaken off. Finally, the loved one -must have by so much the more claim to our love, in so far as it is -the result of our choice and of the loved one's merit and does not -derive from blind inclination imposed upon us by a heredity which we -are unable to resist." But the disconcertion and perplexity caused -by the play in question, have their origin in this; that Corneille -had not yet succeeded in repressing and suppressing the spontaneous -emotions, and therefore throws his ideal creation into the midst of a -throng of beings, whose limbs are softer, their blood warmer and more -tumultuous, who love and suffer and despair, like Angélique. This would -render<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> that ideal personage comic, ironical and extravagant, if the -poet did not for his part think and feel it to be altogether serious. A -subtle flaw, therefore, permeates every part of the play, which lacks -fusion and unity of fundamental motive. This is doubtless a grave -defect, but a defect which adds weight to the psychological document -that it contains, proving the absolute power which the ideal of the -deliberative will was acquiring in Corneille.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE MECHANISM OF THE CORNELIAN TRAGEDY</h4> - - -<p>The ideal of the deliberative will, then, formed the real, living -<i>passion</i> of this man devoid of passions; for no one that lives can -withhold himself from passion: he is only able to change its object by -passing from one to the other. The judgment that holds Corneille to -be an intrinsically prosaic, ratiocinatory and casuistical genius is -therefore to be looked upon as lacking of penetration. Had he been a -casuist, it seems clear that he would have composed casuistical works. -Nor did he lack of requests and encouragement in that direction in the -literature that was admired and sought after in his time. Instead, -however, of acceding to them, he dwelt ever in the world of poetry -and was occupied throughout his life, up to his seventieth year, with -the composition of tragedies. He was not a casuist, although he loved -casuistry: these two things are as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> different as the love for warlike -representations and accounts of wars and the being actually a soldier, -the perpetual dwelling of the imagination upon matters of business, -commerce and speculation (like Honoré de Balzac for instance), and -being really a man of business. Nor can his gift be described as merely -that of a didactic poet, although he often gives a dissertation in -verse, because he was not inspired with the wish to teach, but rather -to admire and to present the power and the triumphs of the free will -for admiration. Those philologists who have patiently set to work to -reconstruct Corneille's conception of the State into a <i>Staatsidee</i> -have not understood this. Corneille's conception of the State, of -absolute monarchy, of the king, of legitimacy, of ministers, of -subjects, and so on, were not by any means in him political doctrine, -but just forms and symbols of an attitude of mind, which he caressed -and idolised.</p> - -<p>The enquiry as to the nature and degree and tone of that passion -differs altogether from the fact of Corneille's powerful passionality, -as to which there can be no doubt. The problem, that is to say, is, -whether passion, which is certainly a necessary condition for poetry, -was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> shaped and found in him such compensations and restraints as -to yield itself with docility to poetry and to give it a fair field -for expression. It is well known that the sovereign passion, the pain -that renders mute, the love that leads to raving, impede the dream of -the poet, they impede artistic treatment, the cult of perfect form -and the joy in beauty. There is too a form of passion, which has in -it something of the practical: it is more occupied with embodying -its favourite dreams, in order to obtain from them stimulus and -incentive, than with fathoming them poetically and idealising them in -contemplation.</p> - -<p>It seems impossible to deny that something of this sort existed in -the case of Corneille, for as we read his works, while we constantly -receive the already mentioned impression of seriousness and severity, -there is another impression that is sometimes mingled with these and -suggests the disquieting presence of men firmly fixed and rooted -in an ideal. When faced with his predilection for deliberation and -resolution, the figure of the Aristophanic Philocleon sometimes returns -to the memory. This Philocleon was a "philoheliast," that is to say -he was the victim of a mania for judging, τοὔ δικάζειν. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> son -locked him up, but he climbed out of window, in order to hasten to the -tribunal and satisfy his vital need of administering justice!</p> - -<p>The consequences of this excess of practical passionality in the case -of Corneille, of its exclusive domination in him, was that he either -did not love or refused to allow himself to love anything else in the -world, and lost interest in all the rest of life. He did not surpass -it ideally, in which case he would have remained trembling and living -in its presence, although it was combated and suppressed, but he drove -it out or cut it off altogether. He acted as one, who for the love of -the human body, should eliminate from his picture, landscape, sky, -air, the background of the picture, upon and from which the figure -rises and with which it is conj nected, although separated from it -in relief, and should limit himself to the delineation of bodies and -attitudes of bodies. Corneille, having abolished all other forms -of life, found nothing before him but a series of situations for -deliberation, vigorously felt, warmly expressed, sung with full voice, -and illustrated with energetic yet becoming gestures.</p> - -<p>What tragedy, what drama, what representation, could emerge from such a -limitation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> volitional attitudes? How could the various tonalities -and affections and so the various personages, unite and harmonise -among themselves with all their shades and gradations? The bridge -that should give passage to this full and complete representation was -wanting or had been destroyed. All that was possible was a suite of -deliberative lyrics, of magnificent perorations, of lofty sentiments, -sometimes standing alone, sometimes also taking the form of a duet -or a dialogue, a theory of statues, draped in solemn attitudes, of -enormous figures, rigid and similar as Byzantine mosaics. Here and -there a writer such as Lanson has to some extent had an inkling of this -intrinsic impossibility when, writing about the <i>Nicomède,</i> he remarked -that Corneille "in his pride at having founded a new kind of tragedy, -without pity or terror, and having admiration as its motive, did not -perceive that he was founding it upon a void; because the tragedy will -be the less dramatic, the purer is the will, since it is defeats or -semi-defeats that are dramatic, the slow, difficult victories of the -will, incessant combats." But he held on the other hand that Corneille -had once constructed, in <i>Nicomède,</i> a perfect tragedy, on the single -datum of the pure will,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> <i>par un coup de génie</i>; but this was the -only one that ever could be written, the reason that it could not be -repeated being "that all the works of Corneille are dramatic, precisely -to the extent that the will falls short in them of perfection and in -virtue of the elements that separate it from them." The beauty, he -says, of the <i>Cid,</i> of <i>Polyeucte</i> and of <i>Cinna</i>, "consists in what -they contain of passion, cooperating with and striving against the will -of the heroes." But "strokes of genius" are not miracles and they do -not make the impossible possible and the other dramas of Corneille that -we have mentioned do not differ substantially from the <i>Nicomède,</i> for -in them passionate elements are intruded and felt to be out of harmony -(as in the <i>Cid</i>), or they are apparent and conventional.</p> - -<p>Apparent and conventional: because the lack of the bridge for crossing -over forbade Corneille to construct poetically out of volitional -situations representations of life, to which they did not of themselves -lead. It did not however prevent another kind of construction, which -may be called intellectualistic or practical. He deduced other -situations and other antitheses from the volitional situations and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> -their antitheses that he had conceived, and thus he formed a sort of -semblance of the representation of life. At the same time he reduced it -to the dimensions of the drama that he was originating mentally, partly -through study of the ancients and above all Seneca, partly from the -Italian writers of tragedy of the sixteenth century, partly from that -of the Spanish writers and of his French predecessors, but not without -consulting, following or modifying the French and Italian casuists and -regulating the whole with his own sense for theatrical effect and for -the forms of it likely to suit the taste of the French public of his -day.</p> - -<p>This structure of tragedy, with its antitheses and parallelisms, its -expedients for accelerating and arresting and terminating the action -has been qualified with praise or blame as possessing great "logical" -perfection. Logic, however, which is the life of thought, has nothing -to do with the balancing and counter-balancing of mechanical weights, -whose life lies outside them, in the head and in the hand that has -constructed and set them in motion. It has been also compared to -architecture and to the admirable proportions of the Italian art of the -Renaissance. But here too, we must suspect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> that the true meaning of -the works thus characterised escapes us, for attention is paid only to -the external appearance of things, in so far as it can be expressed in -mathematical terms. We have said exactly the same thing, without having -recourse to logic or to architecture, when we noted that the structure -of Corneille's tragedies did not derive from within, that is, from his -true poetical inspiration, but rose up beside it, and was due to the -unconscious practical need of making a canvas or a frame upon which to -stretch the series of volitional situations desired by the imagination -of the poet. Thus it was poetically a cold, incoherent, absurd thing, -but practically rational and coherent, like every "mechanism." -This word is not pronounced here for the first time owing to our -irreverence, but is to be found among those who have written about -Corneille and have felt themselves unable to refrain from referring -to his <i>"mécanique théâtrale"</i> and to the "<i>système fermé</i>" of his -tragedies, where <i>"s'opère par un jeu visible de forces, la production -d'un état définitif appelé dénouement."</i></p> - -<p>When this has been stated, it is easy to see that anyone who examines -this assemblage of thoughts and phrases with the expectation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> -finding there a soft, rich, sensuous and passionate representation of -life, full of throbs, bedewed with tears, shot through with troubles -and enjoyments, such as are to be found in Shakespearean drama and -also in Sophoclean tragedy, is disappointed, and thereupon describes -Corneille's art as false, whereas he should perhaps describe his own -expectation as false. But it is strange to find, as counterpoise to -that delusion, the attempt to demonstrate that the apparatus is not -an apparatus, but flesh and blood, that the frame is not a frame -but a picture, like one of Titian's or Rembrandt's, and now setting -comparisons aside, that the pseudo-tragedy and the pseudo-drama -of Corneille is pure drama or tragedy, that his intellectualistic -deductions, his practical devices, are lyrical motives and express the -truth of the human heart. Such, however, is the wrong-headedness of -the criticisms that we have reviewed above. The mode of procedure is -to deny what is evident, for example that Corneille argues through the -mouths of his characters, instead of expressing and setting in action -his own mode of feeling, in such a way as the situations would require, -were they poetically treated. Faguet answers Voltaire's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> remarks upon -the famous couplet of Rodogune: <i>"Il est des nœuds secrets, il est des -sympathies..."</i> to the effect that "the poet is always himself talking -and that passion does not thus express itself," by saying that people -are accustomed to express themselves in this way, that is to say, in -the form of general ideas, when they are calm, as though the question -could be settled with an appeal to the reality of ordinary life, -whereas on the contrary it is a question of poeticity, that is to say, -of the tragic situation, which by its own nature, excludes <i>couplets</i> -in certain cases, however well turned they be.</p> - -<p>Yet the very same critics, who are thus guilty of sophistry in their -attempts to defend Corneille, are capable of observing on another -occasion that if not all, at any rate many or several of Corneille's -tragedies are "melodramas," and that the author tended more and more -to melodrama, in the course of his development or decadence, as we -may like to call it. Perhaps in so saying, they are making a careless -use of the word "melodrama," and mean by it a drama of intrigue, of -surprises, of shocks and of recognitions. If on the contrary they -have employed it in its true sense, or if their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> tongue has been -instinctively more correct than their thought, since "melodrama" means -precisely a melodrama, that does not exist for itself, but for the -music, and is a canvas or frame, they have again declared the extrinsic -character of the Cornelian tragedy.</p> - -<p>Another confirmation of this character of the tragedies is to be found -in that suspicion of I comicality, which lurks so frequently in the -background as we read them, and occasionally makes itself clearly -audible in the course of development of their pseudo-tragic action. It -has been asked whether the <i>Cid</i> were a tragedy or a comedy and inquiry -has resulted in no satisfactory answer being arrived at, because -involuntary comicality is present there, akin to what is to be found -in certain of the pompous and emphatic melodramas of Metastasio. It -is true that Don Diego's reply to the king has been cited as sublime, -when he does not wish the new duel to take place at once, in order -that the Cid may have a little rest, after the great battle that he -has won against the Moors, which he has described triumphantly and at -great length: "<i>Rodrigue a pris haleine en vous la racontant!</i>" But -are we then to regard as sinful the smile that gradually dawns upon -the lips of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> those who are not pledged to admire at all costs? And -consider the case of the furious Emilia, who at the end of the <i>Cinna</i> -gets rid in the twinkling of an eye, of all the convictions anchored -in her breast, of that hatred that burned her up, much in the same -manner as a stomach-ache disappears upon the use of a sedative, and -declares that she has all of a sudden become the exact opposite of what -she was previously? <i>"Ma haine va mourir, que j'ai cru immortelle; -elle est morte et ce cœur devient sujet fidèle, Et prenant désormais -cette haine en horreur, L'ardeur de vous servir succède à sa fureur."</i> -And Curiace, who finds himself in such a situation as to deliver -the following madrigal to his betrothed: "<i>D'Albe avec mon amour -j'accordais la querelle; je soupirais pour vous, en combattant pour -elle; Et s'il fallait encor que l'on en vint aux coups, Je combattrais -pour elle en soupirant pour vous."?</i> But we will not insist upon this -descent into the comic, for it is not always to be avoided, being a -natural effect of the "mechanicity" of the Cornelian drama and is for -the rest in conformity with the theory which explains the comic as -<i>"l'automatisme installé dans la vie et imitant la vie"</i> (Bergson).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span></p> - -<p>Another form of the comic, discoverable in him, must also be insisted -upon; but this is not involuntary and blameworthy, but coherent and -praiseworthy. The form in question is that which led to the comedy -of character and of costume, to psychological and political comedy. -Brunetière even said between jest and earnest: "The <i>Cid, Horace, -Cinna</i> and <i>Polyeucte,</i> give me much trouble. Were it not for these -four, I should say that Corneille is fundamentally and above all a -comic poet, and an excellent comic poet; and this is perfectly true; -but how are we to say it, when the <i>Cid, Horace, Cinna</i> and <i>Polyeucte</i> -are there? These four tragedies embarrass me exceedingly!" And he -proceeds to note and illustrate the "family scenes" scattered among -his tragedies, the prosaic and conversational phraseology, which so -displeased Voltaire, and the complete absence in some of them of tragic -quality, even of the external sort, that is, scenes of blood and death, -and the prevalence of the ethical over the pathetic representation, -in the manner of the comedy of Menander and of Terence. Despite all -this, his definition of Corneille as a comic poet will be admired as -acute and ingenious, but will never carry conviction as being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> true: -none of those tragedies is a comedy, because none is accentuated in -that manner. For the same reason that Corneille could not attain to the -poetical representation of life, because he was not able to pass beyond -the one-sidedness of his ideal, by merging it in the fulness of things, -he was unable to present the comic or ethical side of them, because -he did not pass beyond the spectacle of life and so of his ideal, by -viewing it <i>sub specie intellectus,</i> in its external and internal -limitations. The attempt to do so in the Alidor of the <i>Place Royale</i> -had not been successful, and it never was successful, even assuming -that he attempted it. He did not indeed attempt it, and the ethos -that so often took the place of the pathos in the structure of his -tragedies, was itself a natural consequence of their mechanicity. Owing -to this, when they had lost the guidance of the initial poetic motive, -they often fluctuated between emphasis and cold observation, between -eloquence and prose, between stylisation of the characters and certain -realistic determinations.</p> - -<p>This hybridism, which has sometimes led to the belittling of Corneille -to the level of a poet of observation and of comicality, has more often -led, from another point of view, to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> being increased in stature and -importance, to his being belauded and acclaimed as possessing "romantic -tendencies," or as a "French Shakespeare," although but "a Shakespeare -in trammels." There is really nothing whatever in him of the romantic, -in the conception, that is to say, and in the sentiment of life; and -there is less than nothing in him of Shakespeare, whose work had -its origins in a far wider and certainly a very different sphere -of spiritual interests. But since "romanticism" and "Shakespeare" -perhaps stand here simply for poetry, it must be admitted that he is a -poet, who does not explain himself fully, or explains himself badly, -without the liberty, the sympathy, the abandonment of self necessary -for poetry. He harnesses his inspiration to an apparatus of actions -and reactions, of parallelisms and of conventions, which may be well -described as "trammels," when compared with poetry.</p> - -<p>But they are in any case trammels which he sets in his own way, -trammels which he creates and fixes in his soul and are not imposed -upon him by the rules, conventions and usages, which were in vogue -at the time he wrote, as is erroneously maintained, coupled with -lamentations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> as to the unfavorable period for the writing of poetry, -which fell to his lot. What poet can be trammeled from without? The -poet sets such obstacles aside, or he passes through them, or he goes -round them, or he feigns to bow to them, or he does bow to them, but -only in secondary matters that are almost indifferent. For this reason, -disputes and doctrines as to the three unities, as to the characters -of tragedy, as to the manner of obtaining the catharsis or purgation, -have considerable importance for anyone investigating the history of -aesthetic and critical ideas, of their formation, growth and progress, -by means of struggles that seem to us now to be ridiculous, though -they were once serious; but they have no importance whatever as an -element in the judgment of a poem. Corneille did not rebel against the -so-called rules, because he did not feel any need for rebellion; he -accepted or accustomed himself to them, because, having treated tragedy -mechanically, it suited him, or did him no harm, to take heed of the -mechanical rules, laid down by custom and literary and theatrical -precepts.</p> - -<p>For this reason, his method of theatrical composition was not only -susceptible of being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> tolerated, but even of pleasing and receiving the -praise, the applause and the admiration of the contemporary public, -which did not seek in them the joy of poetic rapture, but a different -and more or less refined pleasure, answering to its spiritual needs and -aspirations. It could later and can now prove insupportable, because -the delight of a certain period in dexterity, expedients and clever -devices, in the fine phrases of the courtier, in certain actions that -were the fashion, in the gallantries of pastoral and heroic romance, -in epigrams, antitheses and madrigals, are no longer our delights. -Passionate or realistic art, as it is called, flourishes everywhere, -in place of the old scholastic, academic and court models. But for us, -everything that concerns Corneille's composition and the technique of -his work is indifferent, since we are viewing the problem from the -point of view of poetry. We shall not therefore busy ourselves with -discriminating those parts of it that are well from those that are -ill put together, nor his clever from his unsuccessful expedients, -his well-constructed "scenes" from those that suffer from padding, -his "acts" that run smoothly from those that drag, the more from the -less happy "endings," as is the habit of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> critics, who nourish a -superstitious admiration for what Flaubert would have called <i>"l'arcane -théâtral."</i> We care nothing for the canvas, but only for what of -embroidery in the shape of poetry there is upon it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE POETRY OF CORNEILLE</h4> - - -<p>The poetry of Corneille, or what of poetry there is in him, is all to -be found in the lyrical quality of the volitional situations, in those -debates, remarks, solemn professions of faith, energetic assertions of -the will, in that superb admiration for one's own personal, unshakable -firmness. Here it is that we must seek it, not in the development of -the dramatic action or in the character of the individual personages. -For it is only an affection for life, that is to say, penetration of -it in all its manifestations, which is capable of generating those -beings, so warm with passion, who insinuate themselves into us and take -possession of our imagination, who grow in it and eventually become so -familiar to us that we seem to have really met them: the creations of -Dante, of Shakespeare, or of Goethe. Certainly, Corneille's lyricism, -which seems to be exclusive and one-sided, would not be lyricism and -poetry, if it were really always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> exclusive and one-sided and although -it cannot give us drama in the sense we have described, owing to its -driving away the other passions, yet it does not succeed in doing so -in such a complete and radical manner that we fail to perceive their -fermentation, however remote, in those severe and vigorous assertions -of the will. The loftiness itself of the rhythm indicates the high -standard of the vital effort, which it represents and expresses. To -continue the illustration above initiated, Corneille's situations may -be drawings rather than pictures, or pictures in design rather than -in colour; but these pictures also possess their own qualities as -pictures, they too are works of love and must not be confounded with -drawings directed to intellectual ends, with illustration of real -things, or concepts with prosaic designs.</p> - -<p>And indeed everyone has always sought and seeks the flower of the -spirit of Corneille, the beauty of his work, in single situations, or -"places." The commentators who busy themselves with the exposition and -the dégustation of his works have but slight material for analysis of -the sort that is employed by them in the case of other poets, whose -fundamental poetic motive furnishes a basis for the rethinking of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> -the characters and of their actions. Here on the contrary they feel -themselves set free from an obstruction, when they pass to the single -passages, and at once declare with Faguet, one of the latest <i>"Il y a -de beaux vers à citer"</i> The actors too, who attempt to interpret his -tragedies in the realistic romantic manner, fail to convince, while -those succeed on the other hand who deliver them in a somewhat formal -style. In thus listening to the intoned declamations of the monologues, -exhortations, invectives, sentiments and <i>couplets,</i> one feels oneself -transplanted into a superior sphere, exactly as happens with singing -and music.</p> - -<p>Corneille's characters are not to be laid hold of in their full and -corporate being. It is but rarely that they allow us a glimpse of their -human countenance, or permit us to catch some cry of scorn, and then -rapidly withdraw themselves into the abstract so completely that we -do not succeed in taking hold of even a fold of their fleeting robes, -although a long-enduring echo of their lightning-like speech remains in -the soul. The old father of the Horatii strengthens his sons in their -conflict between family affection and their imperious duty to their -country, with the maxim: <i>"Faites votre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> devoir et laissez faire aux -Dieux."</i> The youthful Curiace murmurs with tears in his voice, to the -youthful Horace, his friend and brother-in-law <i>"Je vous connais encore -et c'est ce qui: me tue,"</i> but Horace is as inflexible as a syllogism, -having arrived at the conclusion that the posts assigned to them in the -feud between Rome and Alba have made enemies of them, and therefore -that they must not know one another in future. Curiace, when at last -he has become bitterly resigned to their irremediable separation and -hostility, exclaims: <i>"Telle est nôtre misère</i> ..."—Emilia, another -being with nerves like steel springs, reveals her proud soul in a -single phrase; when Maximus suggests flight to her, she exclaims as -she faces him, in a cry that is like a blow: <i>"Tu oses m'aimer et tu -n' oses mourir!"</i> She is perhaps more deeply wounded here in her pride -as a woman, who fails to receive the tribute of heroism, which she -expects, than in her moral sentiment. The noble Suréna holds it an -easy thing, a thing of small moment, to give his life for his lady: he -wishes "<i>toujours aimer, toujours souffrir, toujours mourir!</i>"; and -Antiochus, in <i>Rodogune,</i> when he discovers that he is surrounded with -ambushes, decides to die and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> in doing so directs his thought to the -sad shade of his brother, who has been slain in a like manner: "<i>Cher -frère, c'est pour moi le chemin du trépas</i>..."; and Titus feels himself -penetrated with the melancholy of the fleeting hour, the sense of human -fragility:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Oui, Flavian, c'est affaire à mourir.<br /> -La vie est pen de chose; et tôt ou tard qu'importe<br /> -Qu'un traître me l'arrache, ou que l'âge l'emporte?<br /> -Nous mourrons a toute heure; et dans le plus doux sort<br /> -Chaque instant de la vie est un pas vers la mort.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Words expressive of death are always those whose accent is clearest -and whose resonance is the most profound with Corneille. It is perhaps -as well to leave the <i>Moi</i> of Medea and the <i>Qu'il mourrait</i> of the -old Horace to the admirative raptures of the rhetoricians; but let us -repeat to ourselves those words of the sister of Heraclius (in the -<i>Heraclius</i>), mortified by fate, ever at the point of death and ever -ready to die:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Mais à d'autres pensers il me faut recourir:<br /> -Il n'est plus temps d'aimer alors qu'il faut mourir....<br /> -</p> - -<p>And again:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Crois-tu que sur la foi de tes fausses promesses<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span>Mon âme ose descendre à de telles bassesses?<br /> -Prends mon sang pour le sien; mais, s'il y faut mon cœur,<br /> -Périsse Héraclius avec sa triste sœur!<br /> -</p> - -<p>And when she stays the hand of the menacing tyrant suddenly and with a -word:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -... Ne menace point, je suis prête a mourir.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Or, finally, those sweetest words of all, spoken by Eurydice in the -<i>Suréna</i>:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Non, je ne pleure pas, madame, mais je meurs.<br /> -</p> - -<p>These dying words form as it were the extreme points of the resolute -will, of the will, fierce <i>usque ad mortem.</i> But the others, in which -the volitional situations are fixed and developed and determination to -pursue a certain course is asserted, are, as we have said, the proper -and normal expression of the poetry of Corneille, which can be fully -enjoyed, provided that we do not insist upon asking whether they are -appropriate in the mouths of the personages, who should act and not -analyse and define themselves, or whether they are or are not necessary -for the development of the drama. Their poetry consists of just that -analysis, that passionate self-definition, that arranging of the folds -of their own decorous robes, that sculpturing of their own statues.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span></p> - -<p>Let us examine a few examples of it, taking them from the least known -and the least praised tragedies of Corneille, for it is perhaps time -to have done with the so-called decadence or exhaustion of Corneille, -with his second-childhood (according to which, some would maintain that -he returned to his boyish, pre-Cidian period in his maturity), and -with the excessive and to no small extent affected and conventional -exaltation of the famous square block of stone representing the four -faces of honour (the <i>Cid</i>), of patriotism <i>(Horace)</i>, of generosity -<i>(Cinna)</i> and of sanctity <i>(Polyeucte).</i> There is often in those four -most popular tragedies a certain pomposity, an emphasis, an apparatus, -a rhetorical colouring, which Corneille gradually did away with in -himself, in order to make himself ever more nude, with the austere -nudity of the spirit. It was perhaps not only constancy and coherence -of logical development, but progress of art on the road to its own -perfection, which counselled him to abandon too pathetic subjects. In -any case, unless we wish to turn the traditional judgment upside down, -we must insist that those four tragedies, like those that followed -them, are not to be read by the lover of poetry otherwise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> than in an -anthological manner, that is to say, selecting the fine passages where -they are to be found, and these occur in no less number and in beauty -at least equal in the other tragedies also, some of which are more and -some less theatrically effective.</p> - -<p>Pulchérie is the last and one of the most marvellous Cornelian -condensations of force in deliberation. She thus manifests her mode of -feeling to the youthful Léon whom she loves:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Je vous aime, Léon, et n'en fais point mystère:<br /> -Des feux tels que les miens n'out rien qu'il faille taire.<br /> -Je vous aime, et non point de cette folle ardeur<br /> -Que les yeux éblouis font maîtresse du cœur;<br /> -Non d'un amour conçu par les sens en tumulte,<br /> -A qui l'âme applaudit sans qu'elle se consulte,<br /> -Et qui, ne concevant que d'aveugles désires,<br /> -Languit dans les faveurs et meurt dans les plaisirs:<br /> -Ma passion pour vous généreuse et solide,<br /> -A la vertu pour âme et la raison pour guide,<br /> -La gloire pour objet et veut, sous votre loi,<br /> -Mettre en ce jour illustre et l'univers et moi.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we have clearly the lyricism of a soul which has achieved complete -possession of itself, of a soul overflowing with affections, but -knowing which among them are superior and which inferior, and has -learned how to administer and how to rule itself, steering the ship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> -with a steady and experienced hand through treacherous seas, and -feeling its own nobility to lie in just what others would call coldness -and lack of humanity. Note the expressions <i>"folle ardeur"</i> and <i>"sens -en tumulte"</i> and the contempt, not to say the disgust, with which they -are uttered and the hell that is pointed out as lying in that soul -which allows itself to be carried away <i>"sans qu' elle se consulte."</i> -Note too the vision of the sad effeminacy of those affections, so blind -and so egotistic, which consume and corrupt themselves in themselves, -and how he enhances it by contrast with her own rational passion, so -<i>"généreuse et solide,"</i> with those solemn words of <i>"vertu,"</i> of -<i>"raison,"</i> of <i>"gloire,"</i> and the final apotheosis, which lays at the -feet of the man she loves and loves worthily, her person and the whole -world.</p> - -<p>And Pulchérie, when she has been elected empress, again takes counsel -with herself and recognises that this love of hers for Léon is still -inferior, not yet sufficiently pure, and decides to slay it, in order -that it may live again as something different, as something purely -rational:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Léon seul est ma joie, il est mon seul désir;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span>Je n'en puis choisir d'autre, et je n'ose le choisir:<br /> -Depuis trois ans unie à cette chère idée,<br /> -J'en ai l'âme à toute heure en tous lieux obsédée;<br /> -Rien n'en détachera mon cœur que le trépas,<br /> -Encore après ma mort n'en répondrai-je pas,<br /> -Et si dans le tombeau le ciel permet qu'on aime,<br /> -Dans le fond du tombeau je l'aimerai de même.<br /> -Trône qui m'éblouis, titres qui me flattez,<br /> -Pourriez-vous me valoir ce que vous me coûtez?<br /> -Et de tout votre orgueil la pompe la plus haute<br /> -A-t-elle un bien égal à celui qu'elle m'ôte?<br /> -</p> - -<p>She thus concedes to human frailty the relief of a lament, such a -lament as can issue from her lips, full of strength and charged with -resolution in passion, but at the same time noble, measured and -dignified. After this, she follows the direction of her will with -inexorable firmness. Léon shall not be her spouse, because her choice -must be and seem to be dictated by the sole good of the State, and fall -upon a man whom she will not love with love, but who will be for Rome -an emperor to be feared and respected. A conflict had been engaged -between one part of herself and another, between the whole and a part, -and she has again subjected the part to the whole and has assigned to -it its duty, that of obedience.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Je suis impératrice et j'étais Pulchérie.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span>De ce trône, ennemi de mes plus doux souhaits,<br /> -Je regarde l'amour comme un de mes sujets;<br /> -Je veux que le respect qu'il doit à ma couronne<br /> -Repousse l'attentat qu'il fait sur ma personne;<br /> -Je veux qu'il m'obéisse, au lieu de me trahir;<br /> -Je veux qu'il donne à tous l'exemple d'obéir;<br /> -Et, jalouse déjà de mon pouvoir suprême,<br /> -Pour l'affermir sur tous, je le prends sur moi-même.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Thus love is subjected to the mind, or as it used to be expressed in -the language of the time, which was of Stoic origin, to the "hegemonic -potency." She would desire to raise her youthful beloved to the -lofty level of her intent, by removing him from the sphere of weak -lamentations and assuring his union with herself in a mystic marriage -of superior wills. What contempt is hers for sentimentalism, which -wishes to insinuate itself where it is not wanted, for "tears," for -"the shame of tears"!</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -La plus ferme couronne est bientôt ébranlée<br /> -Quand un effort d'amour semble l'avoir volée;<br /> -Et pour garder un rang si cher à nos désirs<br /> -Il faut un plus grand art que celui des soupirs.<br /> -Ne vous abaissez pas à la honte des larmes;<br /> -Contre un devoir si fort ce sont de faibles armes;<br /> -Et si de tels secours vous couronnaient ailleurs,<br /> -J'aurais pitié d'un sceptre acheté par des pleurs.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> - -<p>When we read such verses as these, our breast expands, as it does -when we are in the company of men whose gravity of word and deed -induce gravity, whose superiority over the crowd makes you forget -the existence of the crowd, transporting you to a sphere where -the non-accomplishment of duty would appear, not only vile, but -incomprehensible. On another occasion our admiration is about to -shroud itself in pity, but soon shines forth again and displays itself -triumphant, as in the young princess Hiedion of the <i>Attila,</i> who is -accorded to the abhorred king of the Huns by a treaty of peace—were -she to refuse the union, immeasurable calamities would fall upon her -family and people. She too observes a sorrowful attitude but hers is an -erect and combative sorrow:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Si je n'étais pas, seigneur, ce que je suis,<br /> -J'en prendrais quelque droit à finir mes ennuis:<br /> -Mais l'esclavage fier d'une haute naissance,<br /> -Où toute autre peut tout, me tient dans l'impuissance;<br /> -Et, victime d'état, je dois sans reculer<br /> -Attendre aveuglement qu'on daigne m'immoler.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The heart trembles and restrains itself at the same moment before -that <i>"esclavage fier,"</i> that proud and sarcastic <i>"qu'on daigne -m'immoler"</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> the victim has already scrutinised the situation in -which she finds herself, the duty which is incumbent upon her, the -prospect of vengeance which opens itself before her and her race, and -has already conceived her terrible design. In like manner with Queen -Rodolinde in the <i>Pertharite,</i> when she is solicited and implored -by the usurper Grimoalde, who wished to espouse her and promises -to declare himself tutor to her son and to make him heir to the -throne,—suspecting that in this way he will deprive her of the honour -of marriage faith and may then put her son to deatii—she decides upon -a horrible course of action, proposing to him that he should put her -son to death on the spot:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Puisqu'il faut qu'il périsse, il vaut mieux tôt que tard;<br /> -Que sa mort soit un crime, et non pas un hazard;<br /> -Que cette ombre innocente à toute heure m'anime,<br /> -Me demande à toute heure une grande victime;<br /> -Que ce jeune monarque, immolé de ta main,<br /> -Te rende abominable à tout le genre humain;<br /> -Qu'il t'excite par tout des haines immortelles;<br /> -Que de tous tes sujets il fasse des rebelles.<br /> -Je t'épouserai lors, et m'y viens d'obliger,<br /> -Pour mieux servir ma haine et pour mieux me venger,<br /> -Pour moins perdre des vœux contre ta barbarie,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>Pour être à tous moments maîtresse de ta vie,<br /> -Pour avoir l'accès libre à pousser ma fureur,<br /> -Et mieux choisir la place où te percer le cœur.<br /> -Voilà mon désespoir, voilà ses justes causes:<br /> -A ces conditions, prends ma main, si tu l'oses.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Her husband Pertharite, who had been believed to be dead, is alive: -he returns and is made prisoner by Grimoalde, and Rodolinde, fearing -ruin, decides to avenge him or to perish with him. But he sees the -situation in which he finds himself with his consort in a different -light objectively: he sees it as a conquered king, who bows his head -to the decision of destiny, recognises the right of the conqueror and -holds ever aloft in his soul the idea of regal majesty. So he asserts -it with firmness and serenity, going beyond all personal feelings, in -order that he may consider only what appertains both to the rights and -duties of a king:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Quand ces devoirs communs out d'importunes lois,<br /> -La majesté du trône en dispense les rois;<br /> -Leur gloire est au-dessus des règles ordinaires,<br /> -Et cet honneur n'est beau que pour les cœurs vulgaires.<br /> -Sitôt qu'un roi vaincu tombe aux mains du vainqueur,<br /> -Il a trop mérité la dernière rigueur.<br /> -Ma mort pour Grimoald ne peut avoir de crime:<br /> -Le soin de s'affermir lui rend tout légitime.<br /> -Quand j'aurai dans ses fers cessé de respirer,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span>Donnez-lui votre main sans rien considérer;<br /> -Epargnez les efforts d'une impuissante haine,<br /> -Et permettez au Ciel de vous faire encor reine.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The courageous and sagacious Nicomède speaks kingly words of a -different sort, well calculated to arouse him and make him lift up his -head, to the vacillating father, who wishes to content both Rome and -the queen, establish agreement between love and nature, be father and -husband:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -—Seigneur, voulez-vous bien vous en fier à moi?<br /> -Ne soyez l'un ni l'autre.—Et que dois-je être?—Roi.<br /> -Reprenez hautement ce noble caractère.<br /> -Un véritable roi n'est ni mari ni père;<br /> -Il regarde son trône, et rien de plus. Régnez;<br /> -Rome vous craindra plus que vous ne la craignez.<br /> -Malgré cette puissance et si vaste et si grande,<br /> -Vous pouvez déjà voir comme elle m'appréhende,<br /> -Combien en me perdant elle espère gagner,<br /> -Parce qu'elle prévoit que je saurai régner.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Let us listen also for a moment to the Christian Theodora, who has been -granted the time to choose between offering incense to the gods and -being abandoned to the soldiery in the public brothel:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Quelles sont vos rigueurs, si vous les nommez grâce!<br /> -Et que choix voulez-vous qu'une chrétienne fasse,<br /> -Réduite à balancer son esprit agité<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span>Entre l'idolâtrie et l'impudicité?<br /> -Le choix est inutile où les maux sont extrêmes.<br /> -Reprenez votre grâce, et choisissez vous-mêmes:<br /> -Quiconque peut choisir consent à l'un des deux,<br /> -Et le consentement est seul lâche et honteux.<br /> -Dieu, tout juste et tout bon, qui lit dans nos pensées,<br /> -N'impute point de crime aux actions forcées;<br /> -Soit que vous contraigniez pour vos dieux impuissans<br /> -Mon corps à l'infamie ou ma main à l'encens,<br /> -Je saurai conserver d'une âme résolue<br /> -À l'époux sans macule une épouse impollue.<br /> -</p> - -<p>She really does <i>balance</i> herself mentally at the parting of the ways -placed before her, analyses it and formulates her determination, -rejecting as cowardly both the choice of the sacrilege and of the -shameful punishment and casting it in the teeth of her unworthy -oppressors. It is the only answer that befits the Christian virgin, -firm in her determination of saving her constancy in the faith and -modesty, which resides not only in the will, but also in desire itself. -The expression of her intention has just such a tone and adopts just -the formulae of a theologian speaking by her mouth—<i>"le consentment," -"l'époux sans macule," "l'épouse impollue."</i></p> - -<p>In <i>Theseus</i> of the <i>Oedipe</i> the poet himself protests against a -conception that menaces the foundation of his spirit itself, because it -offends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> the idea of free choice and makes unsteady the consciousness -that man has of being able to determine upon a line of conduct -according to reason. He is protesting against the ancient idea of fate, -or rather against its revival in modern form, as the Jansenist doctrine -of grace:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;"> -Quoi! la nécessité des vertus et des vices<br /> -D'un astre impérieux doit suivre les caprices,<br /> -Et Delphes, malgré nous, conduit nos actions<br /> -Au plus bizarre effet de ses prédictions?<br /> -L'âme est donc toute esclave: une loi souveraine<br /> -Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraîne;<br /> -Et nous ne recevons ni crainte ni désir<br /> -De cette liberté qui n'a rien à choisir,<br /> -Attachés sans relâche à cet ordre sublime,<br /> -Vertueux sans mérite et vicieux sans crime.<br /> -Qu'on massacre les rois, qu'on brise les autels,<br /> -C'est la faute des dieux et non pas des mortels:<br /> -De toute la vertu sur la terre épandue<br /> -Tout le prix à ces dieux, toute la gloire est due:<br /> -Ils agissent en nous quand nous pensons agir;<br /> -Alors qu'on délibère, on ne fait qu'obéir;<br /> -Et notre volonté n'aime, hait, cherche, évite,<br /> -Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la précipite!<br /> -D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser.<br /> -Le Ciel, juste à punir, juste à récompenser,<br /> -Peur rendre aux actions leur perte ou leur salare,<br /> -Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire....<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span></p> - -<p>What indignation, what a revolt of the whole being against the thought -that <i>"quand on délibère, on ne fait qu' obéir"</i>! How he defends the -liberty, not only of the <i>"virtus,"</i> but also of the <i>"vices,"</i> the -liberty <i>"de nous laisser faire!"</i> This eloquence of the will and of -liberty, this singing declamation, is the true lyricism of Corneille, -intimate and substantial, and not the so-called "lyrical pieces," which -he inserted into his tragedies here and there. These are lyrical in the -formal and restricted scholastic sense of the term, but they are often -as affected as the monologue of Rodrigue, which is accompanied by a -refrain. Others have demonstrated in an accurately analytical manner -that he lacks lyricism or poetry of style; that the construction of his -phrase is logical, with its "because," its "but," its "then," that he -over-abounds in maxims and altogether ignores metaphor, the picturesque -and musicality. But the same writer who has maintained this, has also -declared that his poetry is to be found, if not in the coloured image -and in the musical sound, then certainly "in the rhythm, in the wide -or rapid vibration of the strophe, which extends or transports the -thought" (Lanson): that is to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> say, in making this admission, he has -confuted his previous mean and narrow theory concerning poetry and -lyricism. The other judgment is to the effect that Corneille is not a -poet by style, but by the conception and meaning of his works—that -he is a latent poet or one who dressed up his thought in prose. But -it is unthinkable that there should exist latent poets, who do not -manifest themselves in poetic form. The truth of the matter is that -where Corneille felt as a poet, he expressed himself as a poet, -without many-coloured metaphors, without musical trills and softnesses -of expression, but with many maxims, many conjunctive particles, -declaratory and expressive of opposition. He employed the latter -rather than the former, because he had need of the latter and not of -the former. His rhythm too, which has been so much praised and owing -to which his alexandrine rings out so differently from the mechanical -alexandrines of his imitators, the rhetoricians, is nothing but his -spirit itself, noble and solemn, debating and deliberating, resolute, -unafraid and firm in its rational determinations.</p> - -<p>Corneille's keenest adversaries have always been compelled to recognise -in him a residuum, which withstood their destructive criticism.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> -Vauvenargues said that "he sometimes expressed himself with great -energy and no one has more loftly traits, no one has left behind him -the idea of a dialogue so closely compacted and so vehement, or has -depicted with equal felicity the power and the inflexibility of the -soul, which come to it from virtue. There are astonishing flashes -that come forth even from the disputes and upon which I commented -unfavourably, there are battles that really elevate the heart, and -finally, although he frequently removes himself from nature, it must -be confessed that he depicts her with great directness and vigour in -many places, and only there is he to be admired." Jacobi, in an essay -which is an indictment, was however, compelled to excogitate or to -beg for the reason of such fame; he found himself obliged to praise -the many vivacious scenes, the depth of discourse, the loftiness of -expression, to be found scattered here and there in those tragedies. -Although Schiller did not care for him at all, he made an exception for -"the part that is properly speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> heroic," which was "felicitously -treated," although he added that "even this vein, which is not rich in -itself, was treated monotonously." Schlegel was struck with certain -passages and with the style which is often powerful and concise and De -Sanctis observed that Corneille was in his own field, when he portrayed -greatness of soul, not in its gradations and struggles, but "as nature -and habit, in the security of possession." A German philologist, after -he has run down the tragedies of the "quadrilateral," judges Corneille -to be "a jurist and a cold man of intellect, although full of nobility -and dignity of soul, but without clearness as to his own aptitudes, and -without original creative power." This writer declares that "nowhere -in his works do we feel the breath of genius that laughs at all -restraints," but he goes on to make exception for the splendour of his -"language." It seems somewhat difficult to make an exception for the -language, precisely when discussing the question of poetical genius!</p> - -<p>NOTE. [Schiller, etc...] I draw attention to it in this note, because I have never seen it -mentioned: it is to be found in the <i>Charactere der vornehmsten Dichter -aller Nationen.... von einer Gesellschaft von Gelehrten</i> (Leipzig, -1796), Vol. V, part I, pp. 38-138.</p> - -<p>We certainly find monotony present in the figures that he sets before -us, repetitions of thoughts and of schemes, analogies in the matter -of process. A <i>concordantia corneliana,</i> explicatory of this side of -his genius could be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> constructed and perhaps the sole reason that this -has not been done is because it would be too easy. Steinweg, whom we -have quoted above, has provided a good instance of this. But even the -monotony of Corneille must not be looked upon altogether as a proof of -poverty, or a defect, but rather as an intrinsic characteristic of his -austere inspiration, which was susceptible of assuming but few forms.</p> - -<p>I cannot better close this discussion of Corneille than with the -citation of a youthful page of Sainte-Beuve, which contains nothing -but a fanciful comparison, but this comparison has much more to say to -us, who have now completed the critical examination of his works, than -Sainte-Beuve was himself able to say in his various critical writings -relative to the poet, for he there shows himself to be at one moment -inclined to be uncertain and to oscillate, at another inclined to yield -to traditional judgments and conventional enthusiasms. This affords -another proof, if such be necessary, that it is one thing to receive -the sensible impression aroused by a poem and another to understand -and to explain it. "Corneille"—wrote Sainte-Beuve,—"a pure genius, -yet an incomplete one, gives me, with his qualities and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> defects, -the impression of those great trees, so naked, so gnarled, so sad and -so monotonous as regards their trunk, and adorned with branches and -dark green leaves only at their summits. They are strong, powerful, -gigantic, having but little foliage; an abundant sap nourishes them; -but you must not expect from them shelter, shade or flowers. They put -forth their leaves late, lose them early and live a long while half -dismantled. Even when their bald heads have abandoned their leaves to -the winds of autumn, their vital nature still throws out here and there -stray boughs and green shoots. When they are about to die, their groans -and creakings are like that trunk, laden with arms, to which Lucan -compared the great Pompey."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p> -<span style="font-weight: bold;">INDEX</span><br /> -<br /> -Action, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>; Shakespeare and, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.<br /> -Adonis, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Aesthetic theory, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br /> -Affinities, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br /> -Alexandra, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br /> -Alexandrines, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>.<br /> -Alidor, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.<br /> -<i>All's Well,</i> <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> -Amaranthe, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>.<br /> -Angelica, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> -Anthony, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> -<i>Anthony and Cleopatra,</i><a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> -Ariosto, Lodovico, as poet of harmony, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">autobiography, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>; character of his love, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">character of his poetry, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">circumstances, character and associates, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comedies, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>; comparisons with other poets, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">content, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>; epicity, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>; eroticism, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">feeling toward the Estes, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">harmony which he attains, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>; heart of his heart, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">humanism, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>; irony, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>; Italian poems, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">jealousy, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>; Latin poems, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>; love of harmony, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">love of women as his single passion, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>; minor works, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">naturalism, objectivism, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>; need of love, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">negative qualities, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>; octaves, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pains taken with <i>Orlando Furioso,</i><a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">philosophy, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>; political sentiments, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">principal accent of his art, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>; reflection, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">religious outlook, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>; satires, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakespeare compared with, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">style, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>; wisdom of life, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art, essence, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>; for art's sake, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">futile and material, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>; in its idea, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">musical character, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>; of Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.</span><br /> -Artist, end or content, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>; poet and, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.<br /> -<i>As You Like It,</i> <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br /> -Astolfo, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.<br /> -Attila, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.<br /> -<i>Attila,</i> <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br /> -Augustus, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>. Baconian hypothesis, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Balzac, Honoré de, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>.<br /> -Barnadine, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> -Beatrice (Dante's), <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.<br /> -Beatrice and Benedick, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.<br /> -Beauty, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br /> -Bembo, Pietro, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br /> -Bentivoglio, Hercules, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br /> -Bibbivena, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> -Biography, details of poets', <a href="#Page_133">133</a>; Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> -Boiardo, M. M., <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>; <i>Orlando Innamorato,</i> <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.<br /> -Boileau-Despréaux, Nicolas, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.<br /> -Bolingbroke, Henry St. John, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.<br /> -Brandes, G. M. C, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a><br /> -Brunello, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.<br /> -Brunetière, Ferdinand, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>.<br /> -Brutus, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.<br /> -Burlesque in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Caesar, Julius, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> -<i>Calandria,</i> <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> -Caliban, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> -Camilla, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>.<br /> -Canello, U. A., <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> -Canova, Antonio, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br /> -Cantù, Cesare, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> -Carducci, Giosnè, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.<br /> -Carlyle, Thomas, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> -Cassius, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> -Castro, Guillen de, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>.<br /> -Casuistry, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>.<br /> -Catherine (Shakespeare's), <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> -Cervantes, Saavedra Miguel de, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br /> -Characters, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;<br /> -Corneille's, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>.<br /> -Chasles, Michel, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.<br /> -Chateaubriand, F. A. R., on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.<br /> -Chimène, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.<br /> -Chivalry, Ariosto and, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>; poets and poems of, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br /> -<i>Cid,</i> <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br /> -<i>Cinna,</i> <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br /> -<i>Cinque Canti,</i> <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> -Cinzio, Giraldi, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br /> -Classicists, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Claudio, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.<br /> -Cleopatra, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> -Coleridge, S. T., on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.<br /> -Comedies, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.<br /> -<i>Comedy of Errors,</i> <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Comedy of love in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.<br /> -Comic, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>; in Corneille, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>.<br /> -Complexity, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br /> -Concepts in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.<br /> -"Confidential air," <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.<br /> -Conflict, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.<br /> -Constance, Queen, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.<br /> -Corday, Charlotte, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>.<br /> -Cordelia, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> -Coriolanus, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> -<i>Coriolanus,</i> <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> -Corneille, Pierre, basis of tragedies, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>; characters, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>;<br /> -critic and defenders, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>; deliberative will, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>;<br /> -eulogy, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>; ideal, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>; love, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>;<br /> -mechanism of his tragedy, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>; miscellaneous works, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>;<br /> -monotony, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>; politics, personages, history, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;<br /> -practical passionality and its results, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>; rational will, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>;<br /> -reputation, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>; source of inspiration, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>; suppression of life, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>;<br /> -where his poetry lies, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a><br /> -Cosmic poetry, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> -Cressida, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br /> -Criticism, office, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>; <i>see also</i> Shakespearean criticism.<br /> -Curiace, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.<br /> -<i>Cymbeline,</i> 196, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Dante, <a href="#Page_41"> 41</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>.<br /> -Davenant, William, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> -Death, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.<br /> -De Sanctis, Francesco, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.<br /> -Descartes, René, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.<br /> -Desdemona, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.<br /> -Discord, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> -<i>Don Quixote, </i> <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Dorchain, Auguste, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>.<br /> -Dream, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> -Dualism, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br /> -Duty, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>; in <i>Hamlet,</i> <a href="#Page_248">248</a>; in <i>Macbeth,</i> <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> -Emerson, R. W., on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br /> -Emilia, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.<br /> -Epicity, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>; Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> -Eroticism in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br /> -Ethics, Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.<br /> -Eurydice, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>.<br /> -Evil, as perversity in <i>Othello,</i> <a href="#Page_237">237</a>; in <i>Macbeth,</i> <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Fagnet, Emile, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>.<br /> -Falstaff, Sir John, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.<br /> -Fate, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.<br /> -Fauriel, C. C, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>.<br /> -<i>Faust</i> <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> -Ferdinand and Miranda, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> -Ferrara, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> -Ferrara, Duke of, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br /> -Ferrarese Homer, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br /> -Fiordiligi, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> -Fitton, Mary, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br /> -Florence, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br /> -Form and content, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> -Fragility, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> -France, military spirit, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>; misunderstanding of Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.<br /> -French Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>.<br /> -French theatre, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br /> -Friar Laurence, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br /> -Friendship, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> -Furnivall, F. J., <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Gaillard, G. H., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>.<br /> -Galilei, Galileo, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> -Garfagnana, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> -Garofalo, the Ferrarese, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> -German criticism of Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> -Gerstenberg, H. W. von, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br /> -Gervinus, G. G., <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.<br /> -<i>Gerusalemme</i> <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br /> -God in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br /> -Goethe, J. W. von, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>; on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.<br /> -Goneril, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> -Good and evil, tragedy of, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.<br /> -Goodness, in <i>King Lear,</i> <a href="#Page_230">230</a>;<br /> -in <i>Macbeth,</i>229; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">material world and, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</span><br /> -Greatness, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.<br /> -Grillparzer, Franz, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.<br /> -Gundolf (writer on art), <a href="#Page_353">353</a>.<br /> -Hamlet, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.<br /> -<i>Hamlet,</i> <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.<br /> -<i>Hamlet-Litteratur,</i> <a href="#Page_313">313</a>.<br /> -Harmony, Ariosto as poet of, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>; Ariosto's attainment, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">concept, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>; cosmic, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>; realisation, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</span><br /> -Harrington, Sir John, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> -Harris, Frank, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.<br /> -Hazlitt, William, on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.<br /> -Hegel, G. W. F., <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> -Heine, Heinrich, on Shakespearean comedy, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> -Henry V, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.<br /> -<i>Henry Fill,</i> <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> -<i>Héraclius,</i> <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.<br /> -Herder, J. G. von, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> -Hero, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> -Historical plays, Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakespeare's, personages, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</span><br /> -Historical romance, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.<br /> -Historicity, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.<br /> -History, Corneille and, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>; Shakespeare and, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.<br /> -Horace (Corneille's), <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.<br /> -<i>Horace,</i> <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br /> -Hotspur, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> -Humanists, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Humboldt, K. W. von, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Hugo, Victor, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> -Humour, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Hyacinth, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Iago, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.<br /> -Ideals, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br /> -Idyll, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -Imagination, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>.<br /> -Improvisation, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Indulgence, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> -<i>Innamorato,</i> <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.<br /> -Inspiration, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br /> -Irony, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> -Isabella, Ariosto's octaves on the name, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> -Italy, Shakespeare's indebtedness to, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Jacobi, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>.<br /> -Jealousy, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> -Jessica and Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br /> -Jew, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> -Juliet, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br /> -<i>Julius Caesar,</i> <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.<br /> -Jussurand, J. A. A. J., on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.<br /> -Justice, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> -<i>King Lear,</i> <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.<br /> -Kings, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>.<br /> -Klein, J. L., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>.<br /> -Knightly romance, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> -Kreyssig, Friedrich, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.<br /> -<br /> -La Bruyère, Jean de, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>.<br /> -Lanson, Gustave, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br /> -Laurence, Friar, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br /> -Lemaître, Jules, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>.<br /> -Leopardi, Giacomo, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br /> -<i>Leopold Shakespeare,</i> <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br /> -Lessing, G. E., <a href="#Page_83">83</a>; on Corneille, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br /> -Liberty, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br /> -Life, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">love of life in Shakespeare's characters, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakespeare's sense of, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</span><br /> -Literary style, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.<br /> -Literature in Shakespeare's time, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Logic, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>.<br /> -Love, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>; Ariosto's love of woman, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>; Ariosto's need, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">character of Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>; comedy of, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corneille, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">highest, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>; <i>Orlando Furioso</i> matter, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</span><br /> -Ludwig, Otto, on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Lyricism. <i>See</i> Poetry.<br /> -<br /> -Macbeth, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.<br /> -<i>Macbeth,</i> <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -Macbeth, Lady, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.<br /> -Macduff, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.<br /> -Machiavelli, Niccolô, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>.<br /> -Maeterlinck, Maurice, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.<br /> -Malvolio, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> -<i>Mandragola</i> of Machiavelli, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br /> -Manzoni, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>; on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> -Marfisa, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.<br /> -Margutte, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br /> -Marino, Giambattista, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> -Marlowe, Christopher, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br /> -Material of the <i>Orlando Furioso,</i> <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> -Matrimony, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> -Mazzini, Giuseppe, on Shakepeare, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.<br /> -<i>Measure for Measure,</i> <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> -Mechanism, Corneille's, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>.<br /> -Medoro, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> -Melodrama, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>.<br /> -Menander, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> -Mental presumptions, Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.<br /> -<i>Merchant of Venice,</i> <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br /> -<i>Midsummer Night's Dream,</i> <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.<br /> -Miranda, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> -<i>Mocedades,</i> <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>.<br /> -Moderation, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.<br /> -Monotony, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.<br /> -Montaigne, M. E., <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> -Monti, Vincenzo, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br /> -Morf, Heinrich, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> -<i>Morgante,</i> <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> -<i>Much Ado About Nothing,</i> <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.<br /> -Music, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> -Mystery, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Names, Ariosto's use, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> -Naturalism, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br /> -Nature, in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<br /> -Neoplatonism, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.<br /> -Nicomède, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>.<br /> -<i>Nicomède,</i> <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>.<br /> -Nietzsche, Friedrich, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Oberon, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> -O'Brien, Florence, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.<br /> -Octaves, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> -<i>Oedipe,</i> <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.<br /> -Olympia, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> -Ophelia, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.<br /> -Orlando, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>; madness, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br /> -<i>Orlando Furioso,</i> character and personages, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">critical problem, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>; emotional passages, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">frivolity and seriousness, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>; languid parts, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">love matter, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>; material, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">obsolete problems, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>; reading, methods of, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">relation to Ariosto's minor works, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>; restraint, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">scrupulous attention of its author, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>; spirit which animates, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">toning down, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</span><br /> -<i>Orlando Innamorato,</i> <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.<br /> -Othello, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.<br /> -<i>Othello,</i> <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br /> -<i>Othon,</i> <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> -Ovid, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Painting, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Pandarus, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br /> -Parrizzi, Antonio, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> -Passions, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.<br /> -Past, love of, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>; nostalgia for, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.<br /> -Pastiche, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Pauline, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.<br /> -Pellissier, G. J. M., <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.<br /> -Pembroke theory as to Shakespeare's <i>Sonnets,</i> <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.<br /> -<i>Pertharite,</i> <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>.<br /> -Petrarch, Francesco, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br /> -Petruchio, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> -Philiberta of Savoy, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.<br /> -Philocleon, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.<br /> -Philologism, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br /> -Philosophy, Ariosto's, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>; Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> -Picaresque romance, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br /> -<i>Place Royale,</i> <a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.<br /> -Platen, August, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br /> -Plautus, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> -Pleasure, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> -Poet and artist, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.<br /> -Poetry, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corneille's, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>; cosmic, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">didactic, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>; latent poets, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>; non-lyrical, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">rationalistic, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.</span><br /> -Politian, Angelo, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> -Politics, in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>; in Corneille, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</span><br /> -<i>Polyeucte,</i> <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br /> -Pontano, G. G., <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br /> -Portia, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br /> -Power, will for, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>.<br /> -Pre-philosophy, Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.<br /> -<i>Promessi Sposi,</i> <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> -Prospero, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> -Puck, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> -Pulchérie, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br /> -<i>Pulchérie,</i> <a href="#Page_384">384</a>.<br /> -Pulci, Luigi, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>; <i>Morgante,</i> <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Quickly, Mistress, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.<br /> -Quixote, Don, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Rabelais, François, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br /> -Racine, Jean, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>.<br /> -Rajna, Pio, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> -<i>Rape of Lucrèce,</i> <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br /> -Reason, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>.<br /> -Reflections of Ariosto, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> -Regan, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> -Religious beliefs, in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> -Renaissance, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>; Shakespeare and, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> -Rhythm, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>; of the universe, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Richard II, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.<br /> -Richard III, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br /> -Rinaldo, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.<br /> -Rio (Shakespearean critic), <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br /> -<i>Rodogune,</i> <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>.<br /> -Rodolinde, Queen, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>.<br /> -Rodrigo, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.<br /> -Rodrique, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.<br /> -Romance, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakespeare's romantic plays, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</span><br /> -Romances, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br /> -<i>Romeo and Juliet,</i> <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br /> -Rümelin, Gustav, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br /> -Rutland, Earl of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Sadoleto, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> -Sainte-Beuve, C. A., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>; on French tragedy, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>.<br /> -St. John, Ariosto's representation, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> -Salvemini, Signor, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br /> -Sannazaro, Jacopo, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br /> -Sarcasm, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> -Schack, A. F., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.<br /> -Schiller, J. C. F. von, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>; on Corneille, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>.<br /> -Schlegel, A. W., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.</span><br /> -Schlegel, Frederick, on French tragedy, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>.<br /> -Scientific study, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.<br /> -Scott, Walter, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.<br /> -Sculpture, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Seneca, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>.<br /> -Sentiment, Shakespearean, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.<br /> -Seriousness, Ariosto's<a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> -<i>Sertorius,</i> <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> -Shakespeare, William, analysis and eulogy of plays, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as a German poet, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ariosto compared with, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">art of, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>; biographical problem, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">biography, useless labours and conjectures, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">chronology of plays, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>; classical, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comedy of love, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>; comparisons with certain painters, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conceptions, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>; conflict, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>; Corneille and, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">distinction of <i>lesser</i> and <i>greater</i> Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dualism, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>; English indifference to, in former times, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">errors and defects, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>; ethics, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">excellence long disputed, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>; Fate, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fidelity to Nature, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>; French judgments on his art, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">goodness and God, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>; historical plays, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">historicity, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>; ideal development and chronological series, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">idealism, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>; interest in practical action, and his historical plays, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">justice and indulgence as motives in his plays, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">life of his time, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>; literary education, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">literature of his time and his literary plays, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">mass of work devoted to, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>; mental presuppositions, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">models, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>; moderation, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>; motives and development of his poetry, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">mystery, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>; order of plays, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>; ourselves and, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">philosophy, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>; political faith, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">practical personality and poetical personality, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pre-philosophy, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>; reading, Shakespeare's course of, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">religion, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>; Renaissance and, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>; romance, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">romance as a motive and the romantic plays, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sense of life, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>; sentiment, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">society of the time, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>; <i>Sonnets,</i> <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Sonnets,</i> theories about, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>; soul of his poetry, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">strife, conflict, war, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>; taste, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">theatrical representation, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>; universality, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">useless conjectures about plays, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>; useless philology, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</span><br /> -Shakespearean criticism, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>; criticism by images, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">exclamatory criticism, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>; French and Italian, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">German school, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>; objectivistic, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">philological, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>; present age, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>; rhetorical, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</span><br /> -Shylock, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> -Sleep, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> -Sonata form, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -<i>Sonnets,</i> Shakespeare's, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Sources, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.<br /> -Southampton, Earl of, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> -Southampton theory as to Shakespeare's <i>Sonnets</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.<br /> -Stanley, William, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br /> -State, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>.<br /> -Steinweg (philologist), <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>.<br /> -Stoveisus, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>.<br /> -Stories of knightly romance, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> -Strife, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>; in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> -<i>Sturm und Drang,</i> <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br /> -Styles of writing, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>; Ariosto's style, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.<br /> -Sulzer, J. G., <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.<br /> -Suréna, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.<br /> -<i>Suréna,</i> <a href="#Page_413">413</a>.<br /> -Swinburne, A. C, on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.<br /> -System, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Taine, H. A., <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;<a href="#Page_357">357</a>; on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -<i>Taming of the Shrew,</i> <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> -Tasso, Torquato, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> -Tears, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>.<br /> -Technique, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -<i>Tempest,</i> <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br /> -Theseus, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.<br /> -<i>Timon of Athens,</i> <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> -Titania, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> -<i>Titus Andronicus,</i> <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> -Tolomei, Claudio, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> -Tolstoi, Leo, on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.<br /> -Toning down, in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> -Tornabuoni, Lucrezia, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> -Tragedy, Corneille's mechanism, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">French rationalistic, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>; of character, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of good and evil, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>; of the will, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</span><br /> -Trammels, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>.<br /> -<i>Troilus and Cressida,</i> <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br /> -<i>Twelfth Night,</i> <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> -<i>Two Gentlemen of Verona,</i> <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Ulrici, Hermann, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.<br /> -Unity, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br /> -Universal, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.<br /> -Universe, rhythm of, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Unreality, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Vauvenargues, L. de C., <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>.<br /> -<i>Venus and Adonis,</i> <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> -Verdi, Giuseppe, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.<br /> -Vico, Giambattista, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>.<br /> -Virtue, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br /> -Vischer, F. T. von, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br /> -Voltaire, J. F. M. A., on Corneille, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>,<br /> -358, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>; on Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.<br /> -Voluptuousness, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> -<br /> -War, in Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.<br /> -Will, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>; deliberative, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>;<br /> -pure, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>; rational, in Corneille, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>;<br /> -resolute, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>; sophistry of, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>; tragedy of, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>;<br /> -"will for power,"<a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>.<br /> -Winckelmann, J. J., <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -<i>Winter's Tale,</i> <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> -Wisdom of life, in Ariosto, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.<br /> -Wölfflin, Heinrich, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br /> -Woman, as object of Ariosto's love, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>; love and politics, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Zerbino, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ariosto, Shakespeare, Corneille, by Benedetto Croce - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARIOSTO, SHAKESPEARE, CORNEILLE *** - -***** This file should be named 54165-h.htm or 54165-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/6/54165/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (back online -soon in an extended version, also linking to free sources -for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational -materials,...) (Images generously made available by the -Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/54165-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/54165-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 04df8f1..0000000 --- a/old/54165-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null |
