THE GOOD MAN THEORY
When I was young the orthodox critics of Shakespeare taught, and
everybody accepted the idea, that there was no poet who had been more
aloof from his own work, and that it was impossible to tell anything
about him from the characters he portrayed. But now comes Frank Harris
with his book, “The Man Shakespeare and His Tragic Life-Story.” Harris
contends that no poet has revealed himself more continuously than
Shakespeare; the character speaking out of the plays is that of a man
tormented all his life by sensuality, and fighting in pain and
bewilderment to save a brilliant intellect from ruin by excess.
Frank Harris is such a man himself; he makes no secret of the fact that
this has been his tragic life-story. So, as we read the book, our first
question is, to what extent has Frank Harris read himself into
Shakespeare. It has been a long time since I read the plays straight
through, and I should want to do it again before I felt I had an
opinion. Meantime, we can say this much: if the Shakespeare of Frank
Harris is not Shakespeare, but a work of imagination, it is one of the
most fascinating works of imagination in the world, fully as significant
as any character in any of Shakespeare’s plays.
All critics would assent to the statement that Shakespeare began with
youthful glorification of his leisure-class friends, their graces and
their charms; and that as the years passed he met with a series of
disillusionments, which drove him to bitterness, almost to madness. But
it is to be noted that throughout this period of disillusionment he
remains purely personal, he never rises above the “good man” theory of
life. You know how it is in our politics; if there is corruption, it is
because we have elected bad men to office. The test of one’s ability to
think straight on social questions is the outgrowing of this “good man”
theory.
“Just a moment,” says Mrs. Ogi, who has not entirely outgrown this
theory herself. “Do you deny that there are some things a good man can
do in the world that would not be done otherwise?”
“Of course; I’m willing to admit that any social system would work, if
we could manage to get good men in charge, and to keep them there. The
trouble about evil systems is that they keep good men out of power; they
turn good men into bad men, even before they get into office. They keep
us from finding the good men; they make us think that bad men are
good--until ruin has come and it’s too late.”
“But think of the frightful pictures that Shakespeare drew of evil men
in power!”
“Shakespeare was a man of refinement, he loathed brutality and cruelty.
That was a part of his propaganda, his hatred of power blindly used; he
comes back again and again to cry out against it, to defend the gentle
and the innocent and the kind. In those ways he was far ahead of his
time; for those things we love him, they help to make him a world poet.
But here is the point--with Shakespeare it is all a family matter,
inside the leisure class. Some bad member of the family has got power,
and our attention is concentrated upon turning him out, and putting in
some good member of the family, who will make wiser use of power.
“We shall find that the leisure-class artist is frequently permitted
this kind of criticism. He has his friends among the ruling class, he
comes to think of himself as belonging; so he has a right to find fault.
You know how it is with Mrs. Ogi; she will say things about her own
family--they are ignorant, they are arrogant, they are this and that.
But it is the part of discretion for her husband to remain silent at
such times. Mrs. Ogi will entertain the company with tales about the
absent-mindedness and general absurdity of her own husband; but it will
be the part of discretion for the company to dissent gently from such
ridicule.”
“If you stay married to me long enough,” says Mrs. Ogi, “you will know
enough about human nature to be able to write a novel. But now we are
talking about Shakespeare. Aren’t you ahead of the time in expecting him
to have revolutionary feelings?”
“Not at all. There was plenty of revolt, both political and social, in
Shakespeare’s day; there had been two centuries of social protest before
he was born. John Ball, the rebel priest, had been hanged and quartered
for asking the dangerous question:
‘When Adam delved and Eve span
Who then was the gentleman?’
“So, if Shakespeare had wanted to cast in his lot with the poor he had
his opportunity. But there was nothing of that sort in him. He was a
brilliant youth who had come up to London, poor and friendless, to
become intimate with noble earls and wealthy gentlemen, to dedicate his
poems and sonnets to them, and have his plays produced by their licensed
companies. If they proved faithless, if they insulted and humiliated a
man of genius, if their brilliant ladies and dashing maids of honor
intrigued with him and then betrayed him--he would fly into a rage and
write plays of almost insane fury, such as ‘Timon of Athens’ and ‘King
Lear,’ or pictures of grim and somber cruelty such as ‘Measure for
Measure.’ But when these plays failed, he would learn his lesson and go
back to writing romantic dreams, pretty fairy stories like ‘A Winter’s
Tale’ and ‘The Tempest.’ In these latter we find the wistful sadness of
the old man who has learned that life is not the beautiful thing it
ought to be, but who sighs in vain for an all-powerful magician to come
and set it right. Again, you see, the ‘good man’ theory; while the
social classes whose destiny it is to abolish parasitism are the object
of Shakespeare’s haughty and aristocratic sneers.”
“Ah, now!” says Mrs. Ogi. “That’s the part of the story you’re saving
for a climax!”