41 I believe the stage was in possession of some rude outline of
_Falstaff_ before the time of _Shakespeare_, under the name of _Sir
John Oldcastle_; and I think it probable that this name was retained
for a period in _Shakespeare_’s Hen. 4th. but changed to _Falstaff_
before the play was printed. The expression of “_Old Lad of the
Castle_,” used by the Prince, does not however decidedly prove this;
as it might have been only some known and familiar appellation too
carelessly transferred from the old Play.
42 I doubt if _Shakespeare_ had Sir _John Fastolfe_ in his memory when
he called the character under consideration _Falstaff_. The title
and name of _Sir John_ were transferred from _Oldcastle_ not
_Fastolfe_, and there is no kind of similarity in the characters. If
he had _Fastolfe_ in his thought at all, it was that, while he
approached the name, he might make such a departure from it as the
difference of character seemed to require.
43 It would be no difficult matter, I think, to prove that all those
Plays taken from the English chronicle, which are ascribed to
_Shakespeare_, were on the stage before his time, and that he was
employed by the Players only to refit and repair; taking due care to
retain the names of the characters and to preserve all those
incidents which were the most popular. Some of these Plays,
particularly the two parts of Hen. IV., have certainly received what
may be called a _thorough repair_; that is, _Shakespeare_ new-wrote
them to the old names. In the latter part of Hen. V. some of the old
materials remain; and in the Play which I have here censured (Hen.
VI.) we see very little of the new. I should conceive it would not
be very difficult to feel one’s way thro’ these Plays, and
distinguish every where the metal from the clay. Of the two Plays of
Hen. IV. there has been, I have admitted, a complete transmutation,
preserving the old forms; but in the others, there is often no union
or coalescence of parts, nor are any of them equal in merit to those
Plays more peculiarly and emphatically _Shakespeare_’s _own_. The
reader will be pleased to think that I do not reckon into the works
of _Shakespeare_ certain absurd productions which his editors have
been so good as to compliment him with. I object, and strenuously
too, even to _The Taming of the Shrew_; not that it wants merit, but
that it does not bear the peculiar features and stamp of
_Shakespeare_.
The rhyming parts of the Historic plays are all, I think, of an
older date than the times of _Shakespeare_.—There was a Play, I
believe, of _the Acts of King John_, of which the bastard
_Falconbridge_ seems to have been the hero and the fool: He appears
to have spoken altogether in rhyme. _Shakespeare_ shews him to us in
the latter part of the second scene in the first act of _King John_
in this condition; tho’ he afterwards, in the course of the Play,
thought fit to adopt him, to give him language and manners, and to
make him his own.
44 The reader must be sensible of something in the composition of
_Shakespeare_’s characters, which renders them essentially different
from those drawn by other writers. The characters of every Drama
must indeed be grouped; but in the groupes of other poets the parts
which are not seen do not in fact exist. But there is a certain
roundness and integrity in the forms of _Shakespeare_, which give
them an independence as well as a relation, insomuch that we often
meet with passages which, tho’ perfectly felt, cannot be
sufficiently explained in words, without unfolding the whole
character of the speaker: And this I may be obliged to do in respect
to that of _Lancaster_, in order to account for some words spoken by
him in censure of _Falstaff_.—Something which may be thought too
heavy for the _text_, I shall add _here_, as a conjecture concerning
the composition of _Shakespeare_’s characters: Not that they were
the effect, I believe, so much of a minute and laborious attention,
as of a certain comprehensive energy of mind, involving within
itself all the effects of system and of labour.
Bodies of all kinds, whether of metals, plants, or animals, are
supposed to possess certain first principles of _being_, and to have
an existence independent of the accidents which form their magnitude
or growth: Those accidents are supposed to be drawn in from the
surrounding elements, but not indiscriminately; each plant and each
animal imbibes those things only which are proper to its own
distinct nature, and which have besides such a secret relation to
each other as to be capable of forming a perfect union and
coalescence: But so variously are the surrounding elements mingled
and disposed, that each particular body, even of those under the
same species, has yet some _peculiar_ of its own. _Shakespeare_
appears to have considered the being and growth of the human mind as
analogous to this system: There are certain qualities and capacities
which he seems to have considered as first principles; the chief of
which are certain energies of courage and activity, according to
their degrees; together with different degrees and sorts of
sensibilities, and a capacity, varying likewise in _degree_, of
discernment and intelligence. The rest of the composition is drawn
in from an atmosphere of surrounding things; that is, from the
various influences of the different laws, religions and governments
in the world; and from those of the different ranks and inequalities
in society; and from the different professions of men, encouraging
or repressing passions of particular sorts, and inducing different
modes of thinking and habits of life; and he seems to have known
intuitively what those influences in particular were which this or
that original constitution would most freely imbibe and which would
most easily associate and coalesce. But all these things being, in
different situations, very differently disposed, and those
differences exactly discerned by him, he found no difficulty in
marking every individual, even among characters of the same sort,
with something peculiar and distinct.—Climate and complexion demand
their influence; “_Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
and love thee after_,” is a sentiment characteristic of, and fit
only to be uttered by a _Moor_.
But it was not enough for _Shakespeare_ to have formed his
characters with the most perfect truth and coherence; it was further
necessary that he should possess a wonderful facility of
compressing, as it were, his own spirit into these images, and of
giving alternate animation to the forms. This was not to be done
_from without_; he must have _felt_ every varied situation, and have
spoken thro’ the organ he had formed. Such an intuitive
comprehension of things and such a facility must unite to produce a
_Shakespeare_. The reader will not now be surprised if I affirm that
those characters in _Shakespeare_, which are seen only in part, are
yet capable of being unfolded and understood in the whole; every
part being in fact relative, and inferring all the rest. It is true
that the point of action or sentiment, which we are most concerned
in, is always held out for our special notice. But who does not
perceive that there is a peculiarity about it, which conveys a
relish of the whole? And very frequently, when no particular point
presses, he boldly makes a character act and speak from those parts
of the composition which are _inferred_ only, and not distinctly
shewn. This produces a wonderful effect; it seems to carry us beyond
the poet to nature itself, and gives an integrity and truth to facts
and character, which they could not otherwise obtain: And this is in
reality that art in _Shakespeare_ which, being withdrawn from our
notice, we more emphatically call _nature_. A felt propriety and
truth from causes unseen, I take to be the highest point of Poetic
composition. If the characters of _Shakespeare_ are thus _whole_,
and as it were original, while those of almost all other writers are
mere imitation, it may be fit to consider them rather as Historic
than Dramatic beings; and, when occasion requires, to account for
their conduct from the _whole_ of character, from general
principles, from latent motives, and from policies not avowed.
45 These observations have brought me so near to the regions of Poetic
_magic_ (using the word here in its strict and proper sense, and not
loosely as in the _text_), that, tho’ they lie not directly in my
course, I yet may be allowed in this place to point the reader that
way. A felt propriety, or truth of art, from an unseen, tho’
supposed adequate cause, we call _nature_. A like feeling of
propriety and truth, supposed without a cause, or as seeming to be
derived from causes inadequate, fantastic, and absurd,—such as
wands, circles, incantations, and so forth,—we call by the general
name _magic_, including all the train of superstition, witches,
ghosts, fairies, and the rest.—_Reason_ is confined to the line of
visible existence; our _passions_ and our _fancy_ extend far beyond
into the _obscure_; but however lawless their operations may seem,
the images they so wildly form have yet a relation to truth, and are
the shadows at least, however fantastic, of _reality_. I am not
investigating but passing this subject, and must therefore leave
behind me much curious speculation. Of Personifications however we
should observe that those which are made out of abstract ideas are
the creatures of the Understanding only: Thus, of the mixed modes,
virtue, beauty, wisdom and others,—what are they but very obscure
ideas of _qualities_ considered as abstracted from any _subject_
whatever? The mind cannot steadily contemplate such an abstraction:
What then does it do?—Invent or imagine a subject in order to
support these qualities; and hence we get the Nymphs or Goddesses of
virtue, of beauty, or of wisdom; the very obscurity of the ideas
being the cause of their conversion into sensible objects, with
precision both of feature and of form. But as reason has its
personifications, so has _passion_.—Every passion has its Object,
tho’ often distant and obscure;—to be brought nearer then, and
rendered more distinct, it is personified; and Fancy fantastically
decks, or aggravates the _form_, and adds “a local habitation and a
name.”
But passion is the _dupe_ of its own artifice and _realises_ the
image it had formed. The Grecian theology was mixed of both these
kinds of personification. Of the images produced by passion it must
be observed that they are the images, for the most part, not of the
passions themselves, but of their remote effects. _Guilt_ looks
through the medium, and beholds a devil; _fear_, spectres of every
sort; _hope_, a smiling cherub; _malice_ and _envy_ see hags, and
witches, and inchanters dire; whilst the innocent and the young
behold with fearful delight the tripping fairy, whose shadowy form
the moon gilds with its softest beams.—Extravagant as all this
appears, it has its laws so precise that we are sensible both of a
local and temporary and of an universal magic; the first derived
from the general nature of the human mind, influenced by particular
habits, institutions, and climate; and the latter from the same
general nature abstracted from those considerations: Of the first
sort the _machinery_ in _Macbeth_ is a very striking instance; a
machinery, which, however exquisite at the time, has already lost
more than half its force; and the Gallery now laughs in some places
where it ought to shudder:—But the magic of the _Tempest_ is lasting
and universal.
There is besides a species of writing for which we have no term of
art, and which holds a middle place between nature and magic; I mean
where fancy either alone, or mingled with reason, or reason assuming
the appearance of fancy, governs some real existence; but the whole
of this art is pourtrayed in a single Play; in the real madness of
_Lear_, in the assumed wildness of _Edgar_, and in the Professional
_Fantasque_ of the _Fool_, all operating to contrast and heighten
each other. There is yet another feat in this kind, which
_Shakespeare_ has performed;—he has personified _malice_ in his
_Caliban_; a character kneaded up of three distinct natures, the
diabolical, the human, and the brute. The rest of his preternatural
beings are images of _effects_ only, and cannot subsist but in a
surrounding atmosphere of those passions from which they are
derived. _Caliban_ is the passion itself, or rather a compound of
malice, servility, and lust, _substantiated_; and therefore best
shewn in contrast with the lightness of _Ariel_ and the innocence of
_Miranda_.—_Witches_ are sometimes substantial existences, supposed
to be possessed by, or allyed to the unsubstantial: but the Witches
in _Macbeth_ are a gross sort of shadows, “bubbles of the earth,” as
they are finely called by _Banquo_.—_Ghosts_ differ from other
imaginery beings in this, that they belong to no element, have no
specific nature or character, and are effects, however harsh the
expression, supposed without a cause; the reason of which is that
they are not the creation of the poet, but the servile copies or
transcripts of popular imagination, connected with supposed reality
and religion. Should the poet assign the true cause, and call them
the mere painting or _coinage of the brain_, he would disappoint his
own end, and destroy the being he had raised. Should he assign
fictitious causes, and add a specific nature, and a local
habitation, it would not be endured; or the effect would be lost by
the conversion of one being into another. The approach to reality in
this case defeats all the arts and managements of fiction.—The whole
play of the _Tempest_ is of so high and superior a nature that
_Dryden_, who had attempted to imitate in vain, might well exclaim
that
“——_Shakespeare_’s _magic_ could not copied be,
Within that circle none durst walk but He.”
46 Ænobarbus, in Anthony and Cleopatra, is in effect the Chorus of the
Play; as Menenius Agrippa is of Coriolanus.
47 The censure commonly passed on _Shakespeare’s puns_, is, I think,
not well founded. I remember but very few, which are undoubtedly
his, that may not be justifyed; and if _so_, a greater instance
cannot be given of the art which he so peculiarly possessed of
converting base things into excellence.
“For if the Jew doth cut but deep enough,
I’ll pay the forfeiture _with all my heart_.”
A play upon words is the most that can be expected from one who
affects gaiety under the pressure of severe misfortunes; but so
imperfect, so broken a gleam, can only serve more plainly to
disclose the gloom and darkness of the mind; it is an effort of
fortitude, which, failing in its operation, becomes the truest,
because the most unaffected _pathos_; and a skilful actor, well
managing his tone and action, might with this miserable pun steep a
whole audience suddenly in tears.