August 25, 1894. Shakespeare's Lyrics.
In their re-issue of _The Aldine Poets_, Messrs. George Bell & Sons
have made a number of concessions to public taste. The new binding is
far more pleasing than the old; and in some cases, where the notes and
introductory memoirs had fallen out of date, new editors have been set
to work, with satisfactory results. It is therefore no small
disappointment to find that the latest volume, "The Poems of
Shakespeare," is but a reprint from stereotyped plates of the Rev.
Alexander Dyce's text, notes and memoir.
The Rev. A. Dyce.
Now, of the Rev. Alexander Dyce it may be fearlessly asserted that his
criticism is not for all time. Even had he been less prone to accept
the word of John Payne Collier for gospel; even had Shakespearian
criticism made no perceptible advance during the last quarter of a
century, yet there is that in the Rev. Alexander Dyce's treatment of
his poet which would warn us to pause before accepting his word as
final. As a test of his æsthetic judgment we may turn to the "Songs
from the Plays of Shakespeare" with which this volume concludes. It
had been as well, in a work of this sort, to include all the songs;
but he gives us a selection only, and an uncommonly bad selection. I
have tried in vain to discover a single principle of taste underlying
it. On what principle, for instance, can a man include the song "Come
away, come away, death" from _Twelfth Night_, and omit "O mistress
mine, where are you roaming?"; or include Amiens' two songs from _As
you Like It_, and omit the incomparable "It was a lover and his lass"?
Or what but stark insensibility can explain the omission of "Take, O
take those lips away," and the bridal song "Roses, their sharp spines
being gone," that opens _The Two Noble Kinsmen_? But stay: the Rev.
Alexander Dyce may attribute this last pair to Fletcher. "Take, O take
those lips away" certainly occurs (with a second and inferior stanza)
in Fletcher's _The Bloody Brother_, first published in 1639; but Dyce
gives no hint of his belief that Fletcher wrote it. We are, therefore,
left to conclude that Dyce thought it unworthy of a place in his
collection. On _The Two Noble Kinsmen_ (first published in 1634) Dyce
is more explicit. In a footnote to the Memoir he says: "The title-page
of the first edition of Fletcher's _Two Noble Kinsmen_ attributes the
play partly to Shakespeare; I do not think our poet had any share in
its composition; but I must add that Mr. C. Lamb (a great authority in
such matters) inclines to a different opinion." When "Mr. C. Lamb" and
the Rev. Alexander Dyce hold opposite opinions, it need not be
difficult to choose. And surely, if internal evidence count for
anything at all, the lines
"Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true."
or--
"Oxlips in their cradles growing"
or--
"Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious, or bird fair,
Be absent hence."
--were written by Shakespeare and not by Fletcher. Nor is it any
detraction from Fletcher to take this view. Shakespeare himself has
left songs hardly finer than Fletcher wrote at his best--hardly finer,
for instance, than that magnificent pair from _Valentinian_. Only the
note of Shakespeare happens to be different from the note of
Fletcher: and it is Shakespeare's note--the note of
"The cowslips tall her pensioners be"
(also omitted by the inscrutable Dyce) and of
"When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight ..."
--that we hear repeated in this Bridal Song.[A] And if this be so, it
is but another proof for us that Dyce was not a critic for all time.
Nor is the accent of finality conspicuous in such passages as this
from the Memoir:--
"Wright had heard that Shakespeare 'was a much better poet than
player'; and Rowe tells us that soon after his admission into the
company, he became distinguished, 'if not as an extraordinary
actor, yet as an excellent writer.' Perhaps his execution did not
equal his conception of a character, but we may rest assured that
he who wrote the incomparable instructions to the player in
_Hamlet_ would never offend his audience by an injudicious
performance."
I have no more to urge against writing of this order than that it has
passed out of fashion, and that something different might reasonably
have been looked for in a volume that bears the date 1894 on its
title-page. The public owes Messrs. Bell & Sons a heavy debt; but at
the same time the public has a peculiar interest in such a series as
that of _The Aldine Poets_. A purchaser who finds several of these
books to his mind, and is thereby induced to embark upon the purchase
of the entire series, must feel a natural resentment if succeeding
volumes drop below the implied standard. He cannot go back: and to
omit the offending volumes is to spoil his set. And I contend that the
action taken by Messrs. Bell & Sons in improving several of their more
or less obsolete editions will only be entirely praiseworthy if we may
take it as an earnest of their desire to place the whole series on a
level with contemporary knowledge and criticism.
Nor can anyone who knows how much the industry and enthusiasm of Dyce
did, in his day, for the study of Shakespeare, do more than urge that
while, viewed historically, Dyce's criticism is entirely respectable,
it happens to be a trifle belated in the year 1894. The points of
difference between him and Charles Lamb are perhaps too obvious to
need indication; but we may sum them up by saying that whereas Lamb,
being a genius, belongs to all time, Dyce, being but an industrious
person, belongs to a period. It was a period of rapid development, no
doubt--how rapid we may learn for ourselves by the easy process of
taking down Volume V. of Chalmers's "English Poets," and turning to
that immortal passage on Shakespeare's poems which Chalmers put forth
in the year 1810:--
"The peremptory decision of Mr. Steevens on the merits of these
poems must not be omitted. 'We have not reprinted the Sonnets,
etc., of Shakespeare, because the strongest Act of Parliament
that could be framed would fail to compel readers into their
service. Had Shakespeare produced no other works than these, his
name would have reached us with as little celebrity as time has
conferred upon that of Thomas Watson, an older and much more
elegant sonnetteer.' Severe as this may appear, it only amounts
to the general conclusion which modern critics have formed.
Still, it cannot be denied that there are many scattered beauties
among his Sonnets, and in the Rape of Lucrece; enough, it is
hoped, to justify their admission into the present collection,
especially as the Songs, etc., from his plays have been added,
and a few smaller pieces selected by Mr. Ellis...."
No comment can add to, or take from, the stupendousness of this. And
yet it was the criticism proper to its time. "I have only to hope,"
writes Chalmers in his preface, "that my criticisms will not be found
destitute of candour, or improperly interfering with the general and
acknowledged principles of taste." Indeed they are not. They were the
right opinions for Chalmers; as Dyce's were the right opinions for
Dyce: and if, as we hope, ours is a larger appreciation of
Shakespeare, we probably hold it by no merit of our own, but as the
common possession of our generation, derived through the chastening
experiences of our grandfathers. That, however, is no reason why we
should not insist on having such editions of Shakespeare as fulfil our
requirements, and refuse to study Dyce except as an historical figure.
It is an unwise generation that declines to take all its inheritance.
I have heard once or twice of late that English poets in the future
will set themselves to express emotions more complex and subtle than
have ever yet been treated in poetry. I shall be extremely glad, of
course, if this happen in my time. But at present I incline to rejoice
rather in an assured inheritance, and, when I hear talk of this kind,
to say over to myself one particular sonnet which for mere subtlety of
thought seems to me unbeaten by anything that I can select from the
poetry of this century:--
Thy bosom is endeared of all hearts
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns Love and all Love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious Tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone!
Their images I lov'd I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.