identified, not only by several others of the qualities marking the
first scene, but more particularly by the wealth of its allusion, and
by a closeness, directness, and pertinency of reply which Fletcher's
most spirited dialogues do not reach. It presents more than one
exceed[33:1]ingly beautiful climax; a figure which repeatedly occurs in
the play, and is always used with peculiar energy.
SCENE--_Before the Gates of Athens.--Enter Perithous, Hippolita, and
Emilia._
_Perithous._ No further.
_Hippolita._ Sir, farewell. Repeat my wish|es
To our great lord, of whose success I dare | not
Make any timorous question; yet I wish | him
Excess and overflow of power, an't might | be,
To dure ill-dealing Fortune. Speed to him!
Store never hurts good governors.
[Sidenote: Shakspere metaphor,]
_Perithous._ Though I know
His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they
Must yield their tribute there. (_To Emilia._) My precious maid,
Those best affections that the heavens infuse
In their _best-tempered pieces_, keep _enthroned_
In your dear heart!
_Emilia._ Thanks, sir! Remember me
To our all royal brother, for whose speed
The great Bellona I'll solicit; and,
Since in our terrene state, petitions are | not,
Without gifts, understood, I'll offer to | her
What I shall be advised she likes. Our hearts
Are in his army, in his tent.
[Sidenote: phrase.]
_Hippolita._ In's bos|om!
We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep
When our friends don their helms or put to sea,
Or tell of babes broacht on the lance, or wom|en
That have sod their infants in (and after eat | them)
The brine they wept at killing them; then if
You stay to see of us such spinsters, we
Should hold you here for ever.
. . . . .
_Emilia._ How his long|ing
Follows his friend!...
Have you observëd him
Since our great lord departed?
_Hippolita._ With much la|bour,
And I did love him for't.[33:2]...
[Sidenote: Female friendship: the description has Shakspere's
characteristics.]
[34:1]The description of female friendship which follows is familiar to
all lovers of poetry. It is disfigured by one or two strained conceits,
and some obscurities arising partly from errors in the text: but the
beauty of the sketch in many parts is extreme, and its character
distinctly that of Shakspeare, vigorous and even quaint, thoughtful and
sometimes almost metaphysical, instinct with animation, and pregnant
with fancy; offering, in short, little resemblance to the manner of any
poet but Shakspeare, and the most unequivocal opposition to Fletcher's.
_Emilia._ Doubtless
There is a best, and reason has no man|ners
To say, it is not you. I was acquaint|ed
Once with a time when I enjoy'd a play|fellow----
You were at wars when she the grave enrich'd,
(Who made too proud the bed,) took leave o' the moon,
Which then look'd pale at parting, when our count
Was each eleven.
_Hippolita._ 'Twas Flavina.
[Sidenote: Shakspere fancy.]
_Emilia._ Yes.
You talk of Perithous' and Theseus' love:
Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seas|oned,
More buckled with strong judgment; and their needs,
The one of the other, may be said to wat|er
Their intertangled roots of love.--But I
And she I sigh and spoke of, were things in|nocent,--
Loved for we did, and,--like the elements,
That know not what nor why, yet do effect
Rare issues by their operance,--our souls
Did so to one another. What she liked,
Was then of me approved; what not, condemned.
No more arraign|ment.| The flower that I would pluck,
And put between my breasts, (then but begin|ning
To swell about the blossom,) she would long
Till she had such another, and commit | it
To the like innocent cradle, where, phoenix-like,
They died in perfume; on my head, no toy
But was her pattern; her affections, (pret|ty,
Though happily her careless wear,) I fol|low'd
For my most serious decking.--Had mine ear
Stolen some new air, or at adventure humm'd
From musical coinage,--why, it was a note
Whereon her spirits would sojourn, rather dwell | on,
And sing it in her slumbers.--This rehears|al
[34:2](Which, every innocent wots well, comes in
Like old importment's bastard) has this end,
That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be
More than in sex dividual....
[Sidenote: Act I. scene iv. Shakspere's.]
The fourth scene is laid in a battle-field near Thebes, and Theseus
enters victorious. The three queens fall down with thanks before him;
and a herald announces the capture of the Two Noble Kinsmen, wounded and
senseless, and scarcely retaining the semblance of life. [Sidenote: Has
Shakspere's words and quibbles.] The phraseology of this short scene is
like Shakspeare's, being brief and energetic, and in one or two
instances passing into quibbles.
[Sidenote: Act I. scene v. is Shakspere's.]
The last scene of this act is of a lyrical cast, and comprised in a few
lamentations spoken by the widowed queens over the corpses of their dead
lords. It ends with this couplet:
The world's a city full of straying streets,
And death's the market-place, where each one meets.
[Sidenote: Act II. not Shakspere's.]
In the Second Act no part seems to have been taken by Shakspeare.
[Sidenote: The prose of II. i. is not from Chaucer,] It commences with
one of those scenes which are introduced into the play in departure from
the narrative of Chaucer, forming an underplot which is clearly the work
of a different artist from many of the leading parts of the drama. The
Noble Kinsmen, cured of their wounds, have been committed to strait and
perpetual prison in Athens, and the first part of this scene is a prose
dialogue between their jailor and a suitor of his daughter. The maiden's
admiration of the prisoners is then exhibited. [Sidenote: and is very
dull: it is not Shakspere's.] You will see afterwards, that there are
several circumstances besides the essential dulness of this prose part,
which fully absolve Shakspeare from the charge of having written it.
[Sidenote: The verse of Act II. scene i.]
The versified portion of this scene, which follows the prose dialogue
among the inferior characters, presents the incident on which the
interest of the story hinges, the commencement of the fatal and
chimerical passion, which, inspiring both the knights towards the young
Emilia, severs the bonds of friendship which had so long held them
together. The noble prisoners are discovered in their turret-chamber,
looking out on the palace-garden, which the lady afterwards enters. They
speak [35:1]in a highly animated strain of that world from which they
are secluded, and find themes of consolation for the hard lot which had
overtaken them. The dialogue is in many respects admirable. [Sidenote:
The verse of Act II. scene i. has the characteristics of Fletcher:
double endings, end-stopt lines, vague images,] It possesses much
eloquence of description, and the character of the language is smooth
and flowing; the versification is good and accurate, frequent in double
endings, and usually finishing the sense with the line; and one or two
allusions occur, which, being favourites of Fletcher's, may be in
themselves a strong presumption of his authorship; the images too have
in some instances a want of distinctness in application or a vagueness
of outline, which could be easily paralleled from Fletcher's
acknowledged writings. [Sidenote: but romantic;] The style is fuller of
allusions than his usually is, but the images are more correct and
better kept from confusion than Shakspeare's; some of them indeed are
exquisite, but rather in the romantic and exclusively poetical tone of
Fletcher, than in the natural and universal mode of feeling which
animates Shakspeare. [Sidenote: slack dialogue.] The dialogue too
proceeds less energetically than Shakspeare's, falling occasionally into
a style of long-drawn disquisition which Fletcher often substitutes for
the quick and dramatic conversations of the great poet. [Sidenote: II.
i. one of the finest scenes that Fletcher ever wrote.] On the whole,
however, this scene, if it be Fletcher's, (of which I have no doubt,) is
among the very finest he ever wrote; and there are many passages in
which, while he preserves his own distinctive marks, he has gathered no
small portion of the flame and inspiration of his immortal friend and
assistant. In the following speeches there are images and phrases, which
are either identically Fletcher's, or closely resemble his, and the
whole cast both of versification and idiom is strictly his:--
[Sidenote: Act II. scene i. Fletcher's.]
_Palamon._ Oh, cousin Ar|cite!
Where is Thebes now? where is our noble coun|try?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts; never see
The hardy youths strive in the games of hon|our,
Hung with the painted favours of their la|dies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start among | them,
And as an east wind leave them all behind | us
Like lazy clouds, while Palamon and Ar|cite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Outstript the people's praises, won the gar|lands,
[37:1]Ere they have time to wish them ours. Oh, nev|er
Shall we two exercise, like twins of hon|our,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery hors|es
Like proud seas under us! our good swords now,
(Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore,)
Ravish'd our sides, like age must run to rust,
And deck the temples of the gods that hate | us:
These hands shall never draw them out like light|ning
To blast whole armies more.
[Sidenote: Picture fully wrought out.]
[Sidenote: Romantic, pathetic sketch.]
_Arcite._ ...
The sweet embraces of a loving wife,
Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand cu|pids,
Shall never clasp our necks: no issue know | us;
No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach | them
Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say,
"Remember what your fathers were, and con|quer."
--The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments,
And in their songs curse ever-blinded For|tune,
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done
To youth and Nature.--This is all our world:
We shall know nothing here but one anoth|er,--
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes;
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see | it:
Summer shall come, and with her all delights,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here | still!
_Palamon._ 'Tis too true, Arcite! To our Theban hounds,
That shook the aged forest with their ech|oes,
No more now must we halloo; no more shake
Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian[37:2] quiver from our rag|es,
Struck with our well-steel'd darts....
In this scene there is one train of metaphors which is perhaps as
characteristic of Fletcher as any thing that could be produced.
[Sidenote: Lines from II. i. on page 38, of slow orderly development of
ideas, markt by Fletcher's characteristics.] It is marked by a slowness
of association which he often shews. Several allusions are successively
introduced; but by each, as it appears, we are prepared for and can
anticipate the next; we see the connection of ideas in the poet's mind
through which the one has sprung out of the other, and that all are but
branches, of which one original thought is the root. [Sidenote: No leap
to the end, and off with a fresh bound, like Shakspere.] All this is the
work of [37:3]a less fertile fancy and a more tardy understanding than
Shakspeare's: he would have leaped over many of the intervening steps,
and, reaching at once the most remote particular of the series, would
have immediately turned away to weave some new chain of thought:--
[Sidenote: All workt out thro' every step.]
_Arcite._ ... What worthy bless|ing
Can be, but our imaginatiöns
May make it ours? and here, being thus togeth|er,
We are an endless mine to one anoth|er:
We are one another's wife, ever beget|ting
New births of love; we are fathers, friends, acquaint|ance;
We are, in one another, families;
I am your heir and you are mine; this place
Is our inheritance; no hard oppress|or
Dare take this from us....
But the contentment of the prison is to be interrupted. The fair Emilia
appears beneath, walking in the garden "full of branches green,"
skirting the wall of the tower in which the princes are confined. She
converses with her attendant, and Palamon from the dungeon-grating
beholds her as she gathers the flowers of spring. He ceases to reply to
Arcite, and stands absorbed in silent ecstasy.
_Arcite._ Cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon!
_Palamon._ Never till now I was in prison, Ar|cite.
_Arcite._ Why, what's the matter, man?
_Palamon._ Behold and won|der:
By heaven, she is a goddess;
_Arcite._ Ha!
_Palamon._ Do rev|erence;
She is a goddess, Arcite!
The beauty of the maiden impresses Arcite no less violently than it
previously had his kinsman; and he challenges with great heat a right to
love her. [Sidenote: The sharp and spirited quarrel between the Kinsmen,
not Shakspere's.] An animated and acrimonious dialogue ensues, in which
Palamon reproachfully pleads his prior admiration of the lady, and
insists on his cousin's obligation to become his abettor instead of his
rival. It is spirited even to excess; and probably Shakspeare would have
tempered, or abstained from treating so sudden and perhaps unnatural an
access of anger and jealousy, and so utter an abandonment to [38:1]its
vehemence, as that under which the fiery Palamon is here represented as
labouring.
[Sidenote: Act II. scene i. Fletcher's.]
_Palamon._ If thou lovest her,
Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wish|es,
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fel|low
False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us, I disclaim,
If thou once think upon her!
_Arcite._ Yes, I love | her!
And, if the lives of all my name lay on | it,
I must do so. I love her with my soul;
If that will lose thee, Palamon, farewell!
I say again I love, and, loving her
I am as worthy and as free a lov|er,
And have as just a title to her beau|ty,
As any Palamon, or any liv|ing
That is a man's son!
_Palamon._ Have I call'd thee friend!
. . . . .
_Palamon._ Put but thy head out of this window more,
And, as I have a soul, I'll nail thy life to't!
_Arcite._ Thou dar'st not, fool: thou canst not: thou art fee|ble:
Put my head out? I'll throw my body out,
And leap the garden, when I see her next,
And pitch between her arms to anger thee.
[Sidenote: Fletcher has left out Chaucer's making the Knights 'sworn
brethren.']
In transferring his story from Chaucer, the poet has here been guilty of
an oversight. The old poet fixes a character of positive guilt on
Arcite's prosecution of his passion, by relating a previous agreement
between the two cousins, by which either, engaging in any adventure
whether of love or war, had an express right to the co-operation of the
other. Hence Arcite's interference with his cousin's claim becomes, with
Chaucer, a direct infringement of a knightly compact; while in the
drama, no deeper blame attaches to it, than as a violation of the more
fragile rules imposed by the generous spirit of friendship.
In the midst of the angry conference, Arcite is called to the Duke to
receive his freedom; and Palamon is placed in stricter confinement, and
removed from the quarter of the tower overlooking the garden.
[Sidenote: Act II. scene ii. (Weber, sc. iii. Littledale) is
Fletcher's.]
In the second scene of this act, Arcite, wandering in the
[39:1]neighbourhood of Athens, soliloquizes on the decree which had
banished him from the Athenian territory; and, falling in with a band of
country people on their way to games in the city, conceives the notion
of joining in the celebration under some poor disguise, in the hope of
finding means to remain within sight of his fancifully beloved mistress.
[Sidenote: Act II. scene ii. iii. (Weber, sc. iii. iv. Littledale),]
Neither this scene, nor the following, in which the jailor's daughter
meditates on the perfections of Palamon, and intimates an intention of
assisting him to escape, have any thing in them worthy of particular
notice.
[Sidenote: Act II. scene iv. (Weber, sc. v. Littledale),]
In the fourth scene, Arcite, victorious in the athletic games, is
crowned by the Duke, and preferred to the service of Emilia.
[Sidenote: Act II. scene v. (Weber, sc. vi. Littledale), are all
Fletcher's.]
In the last scene of the second act, the jailor's daughter announces
that she has effected Palamon's deliverance from prison, and that he
lies hidden in a wood near the city, the scenery of which is prettily
described.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Act III. scene i. is Shakspere's.]
Nothing in the Third Act can with confidence be attributed to
Shakspeare, except the first scene. This opening scene is laid in the
wood where Palamon has his hiding-place. Arcite enters; and a monologue,
describing his situation and feelings, is, as in Chaucer, overheard by
Palamon, who starts out of the bush in which he had crouched, and shakes
his fettered hands at his false kinsman. [Sidenote: Arcite's first
speech has Shakspere's clear images, and familiar dress, nervous
expression, &c.] A dialogue of mutual reproach ensues; and Arcite
departs with a promise to return, bringing food for the outcast, and
armour to fit him for maintaining, like a knight, his right to the
lady's love. The commencing speech of Arcite has much of Shakspeare's
clearness of imagery, and of the familiarity of dress which he often
loves to bestow upon allusion; it has also great nerve of expression and
calmness of tone, with at least one play on words which is quite in his
manner, and one (perhaps more) of his identical phrases. The text seems
faulty in one part.
[Sidenote: Act III. sc. i. is Shakspere's.]
[Sidenote: Shaksperean phrases.]
[Sidenote: Shakspere phrase.]
_Arcite._ The Duke has lost Hippolita: each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloom'd May, and the Athenians pay|it
_To the heart of ceremony_. Oh, queen Emil|ia!
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her _gold buttons_ on the boughs, or all
[40:1]The enamell'd knacks o' the mead or garden! Yea,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph,
That makes the stream seem flowers!--Thou,--oh jew|el
_O' the wood, o' the world_,--hast likewise blest a place
With thy sole presence. In thy rumina|tion
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between,
And chop on some cold thought!--Thrice blessed chance,
To drop on such a mistress! Expecta|tion
Most guiltless of | it.| Tell me, oh lady For|tune,
(Next after Emily my sovran,) how far
I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn,
(The primest of all the year,) presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings back'd, in a field
That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas!
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner!...
... If
Thou knew'st my mistress breathed on me, and that
I _cared_ her language, lived in her eye, oh coz,
What passion would enclose thee!
There is great spirit, also, in what follows. Some phrases, here again,
are precisely Shakspeare's; and several parts of the dialogue have much
of his pointed epigrammatic style. The massive accumulation of
reproaches which Palamon hurls on Arcite is, in its energy, more like
him than his assistant; and the opposition of character between Palamon
and his calmer kinsman, is well kept up; but the dialogue cannot be
accounted one of the best in the play.
[Sidenote: Shaksperean string of epithets.]
_Palamon._ ... Oh, thou most perfid|ious
That ever gently look'd! The void'st of hon|our
That e'er bore gentle token! Falsest cous|in
That ever blood made kin! call'st thou her thine?
I'll prove it in my shackles, in these hands
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Not worth the name of villain!--Had I a sword,
And these house-clogs away!
[Sidenote: Shaksperean word-play.]
_Arcite._ _Dear cousin Pal|amon!_
_Palamon._ _Cozener Arcite!_ give me language such
As thou hast shewed me feat.
_Arcite._ Not finding in
[41:1]The circuit of my breast, any gross stuff
To form me like your _blazon_, holds me to
This gentleness of answer. 'Tis your pas|sion
That thus mistakes; the which, to you being en|emy,
Cannot to me be kind....
[Sidenote: Act III. scene ii.]
In the second scene, the only speaker is the jailor's daughter, who,
having lost Palamon in the wood, begins to shew symptoms of unsettled
reason. There is some pathos in several parts of her soliloquy, but
little vigour in the expression, or novelty in the thoughts.
[Sidenote: Act III. scene iii.]
The third scene is an exchange of brief speeches between the two
knights. Arcite brings provisions for his kinsman, and the means of
removing his fetters, and departs to fetch the armour. [Sidenote: is
probably Fletcher's, and not Shakspere's.] In most respects the scene is
not very characteristic of either writer, but leans towards Fletcher;
and one argument for him might be drawn from an interchange of sarcasms
between the kinsmen, in which they retort on each other, former amorous
adventures: such a dialogue is quite like Fletcher's men of gaiety; and
needless degradation of his principal characters, is a fault of which
Shakspeare is not guilty. You may be able, hereafter, to see more
distinctly the force of this reason. The scene contains one strikingly
animated burst of jealous suspicion and impatience.
_Arcite._ Pray you sit down then; and let me entreat | you,
By all the honesty and honour in | you,
No mention of this woman; 'twill disturb | us;
We shall have time enough.
_Palamon._ Well, sir, I'll pledge | you.
. . . . .
_Arcite._ Heigh-ho!
_Palamon._ For Emily, upon my life!--Fool,
Away with this strained mirth!--I say again,
That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cous|in,
Darest thou break first?
_Arcite._ You are wide.
_Palamon._ By heaven and earth,
There's nothing in thee honest!...
[Sidenote: Act III. scenes iv. v.]
In the next two scenes, placed in the forest, the jailor's daughter has
reached the height of frenzy. [Sidenote: Gerrold has no spark of
humour.] She meets the country[42:1]men who had encountered Arcite, and
who are now headed by the learned and high-fantastical schoolmaster
Gerrold, a personage who has the pedantry of Shakspeare's Holofernes,
without one solitary spark of his humour. They are preparing a dance for
the presence of the duke, and the maniac is adopted into their number,
to fill up a vacancy. The duke and his train appear,--the pedagogue
prologuizes,--the clowns dance,--and their self-satisfied Coryphaeus
apologizes and epiloguizes. [Sidenote: Act III. scene iv. v.
Fletcher's.] Some of Fletcher's very phrases and forms of expression
have been traced in these two scenes.
[Sidenote: Act III. scene vi.]
We have then, in the sixth and last scene of this act, the interrupted
combat of the two princes. [Sidenote: Fletcher's, not Shakspere's.] The
scene is a spirited and excellent one; but its tone is Fletcher's, not
Shakspeare's. [Sidenote: Has not Shakspere's grasp of imagery.] The
raillery and retort of the dialogue is more lightly playful than his,
and less antithetical and sententious; and though there are fine images,
they are not seized with the grasp which Shakspeare would have given,
sometimes harsh, but always at least decided. Some of the illustrations
have been quoted (page 17). The knightly courtesy with which the princes
arm each other is well supported; and their dignity of greeting before
they cross their swords, is fine, exceedingly fine. Nothing can be more
beautifully conceived than the change which comes over the temper of the
generous Palamon, when he stands on the verge of mortal battle with his
enemy. [Sidenote: Fletcher's sweet versification and romantic
phraseology.] His usual heat and impatience give place to the most
becoming calmness. The versification is very sweet, and the romantic air
of the phraseology is very much Fletcher's, especially towards the end
of the following quotation.
_Palamon._ My cause and honour guard | me.
(_They bow several ways, then advance and stand._)
_Arcite._ And me my love; Is there aught else to say?
_Palamon._ This only, and no more: Thou art mine aunt's | son,
And that blood we desire to shed is mu|tual;
In me, thine; and in thee, mine. My sword
Is in my hand, and, if thou killest me,
The gods and I forgive thee! If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in hon|our,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win | it!
Fight bravely, cous|in;| give me thy noble hand!
_Arcite._ Here, Palamon; this hand shall never more
[43:1]Come near thee with such friendship.
_Palamon._ I commend | thee.
_Arcite._ If I fall, curse me, and say I was a cow|ard;
For none but such dare die in these just tri|als.
Once more farewell, my cousin.
_Palamon._ Farewell, Ar|cite.
(_They fight._)
[Sidenote: Act III. scene vi.]
The combat is interrupted by the approach of the Duke and his court;
and Palamon, refusing to give back or conceal himself, appears before
Theseus, and declares his own name and situation, and the presumptuous
secret of Arcite. [Sidenote: is in Fletcher's style.] The scene is good,
but in the flowing style of Fletcher, not the more manly one of
Shakspeare. [Sidenote: Death-penalty for the losing knight, a good
addition to Chaucer.] The sentence of death, which the duke, in the
first moments of his anger, pronounces on the two princes, is recalled
on the petition of Hippolita and her sister, on condition that the
rivals shall meantime depart, and return within a month, each
accompanied by three knights, to determine in combat the possession of
Emilia; and death by the block is denounced against the knights who
shall be vanquished. Some of these circumstances are slight deviations
from Chaucer; and the laying down of the severe penalty is well
imagined, as an addition to the tragic interest, giving occasion to a
very impressive scene in the last act.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Act IV. all Fletcher's.]
The Fourth Act may safely be pronounced wholly Fletcher's. [Sidenote:
Wants all the leading features of Shakspere's style.] All of it, except
one scene, is taken up by the episodical adventures of the jailor's
daughter; and, while much of it is poetical, it wants the force and
originality, and, indeed, all the prominent features of Shakspeare's
manner, either of thought, illustration, or expression. There are
conversations in which are described, pleasingly enough, the madness of
the unfortunate girl, and the finding of her in a sylvan spot, by her
former wooer; but when the maniac herself appears, the tone and subjects
of the dialogue become more objectionable.
[Sidenote: Act IV. scene ii.]
In the second scene of this act, the only one which bears reference to
the main business of the piece, Emilia first muses over the pictures of
her two suitors, and then hears from a messenger, in presence of Theseus
and his attendants, a description, (taken in [44:1]its elements from the
Knightes Tale,) of the warriors who were preparing for the field along
with the champion lovers. [Sidenote: Emilia's soliloquy on the pictures,
not Shakspere's.] In the soliloquy of the lady, while the poetical
spirit is well preserved, the alternations of feeling are given with an
abruptness and a want of insight into the nicer shades of association,
which resemble the extravagant stage effects of the 'King and No King,'
infinitely more than the delicate yet piercing glance with which
Shakspeare looks into the human breast in the 'Othello'; the language,
too, is smoother and less powerful than Shakspeare's, and one or two
classical allusions are a little too correct and studied for him.
[Sidenote: Act IV. scene ii. Fletcher's.] One image occurs, not the
clearest or most chastened, in which Fletcher closely repeats himself:--
[Sidenote: His description of Arcite, paralleld in his _Philaster_.]
What a brow,
Of what a spacious majesty, he car|ries!
Arched like the great-eyed Juno's, but far sweet|er,--
Smoother than Pelop's shoulder. Fame and Hon|our,
Methinks, from hence, as from a promontor|y
Pointed in Heaven, should clap their wings, and sing
To all the under-world, the loves and fights
Of gods and such men near them.[45:1]
[Sidenote: Act V. is Shakspere's,]
In the Fifth Act we again feel the presence of the Master of the Spell.
Several passages in this portion are marked by as striking tokens of his
art as anything which we read in 'Macbeth' or 'Coriolanus.' The whole
act, a very long one, may be boldly attributed to him, with the
exception of one episodical scene.
[Sidenote: except scene iv. (Weber: sc. ii. Littledale).]
The time has arrived for the combat. Three temples are exhibited, as in
Chaucer, in which the rival Knights, and the [45:2]Lady of their Vows,
respectively pay their adorations. One principal aim of their
supplications is to learn the result of the coming contest; but the
suspense is kept up by each of the Knights receiving a favourable
response, and Emilia a doubtful one. [Sidenote: Act V. sc. ii.[45:3] (i.
L.) is lower in key.] [Sidenote: Act V. sc. i. iii. (Weber: both i.
Littledale) are Shakspere's all through.] Three scenes are thus
occupied, the second of which is in somewhat a lower key than the other
two; but even in it there is much beauty; and in the first and third the
tense dignity and pointedness of the language, the gorgeousness and
overflow of illustration, and the reach, the mingled familiarity and
elevation of thought, are admirable, inimitable, and decisive. From
these exquisite scenes there is a temptation to quote too largely.
[Sidenote: Act V. scene i.]
In the first scene, Theseus ushers the Kinsmen and their Knights into
the Temple of Mars, and leaves them there. After a short and solemn
greeting, the Kinsmen embrace for the last time, Palamon and his friends
retire, and Arcite and his remain and offer up their devotions to the
deity of the place. [Sidenote: Spirit and Language Shakspere's.] A fine
seriousness of spirit breathes through the whole scene, and the language
is alive with the most magnificent and delicate allusion. In Arcite's
prayer the tone cannot be mistaken. [Sidenote: His reflection on Fortune
and strife.] The enumeration of the god's attributes is coloured by all
that energetic depth of feeling with which Shakspeare in his historical
dramas so often turns aside to meditate on the changes of human fortune
and the horrors of human enmity.[46:1]
. . . . .
_Theseus._ You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,
You royal germane foes, that this day come
To blow the nearness out that flames between | ye,--
Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove|-like,
Before the holy altars of your Help|ers
(The all-feard Gods) bow down your stubborn bod|ies!
Your ire is more than mortal: so your help | be!
. . . . .
[Sidenote: Shakspere phrases.]
_Arcite._ ... Hoist | we
Those sails that must these vessels port even where
The Heavenly Limiter pleases!
. . . . .
[46:2]Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifi|ces!
True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you
Expels the seeds of fear, and the apprehen|sion
Which still is father of it,--go with me
Before the god of our profession. There
Require of him the hearts of lions, and
_The breath of tigers, yea the fierceness too,
Yea the speed also!_ to go on I mean,
Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize
Must be draggd out of blood: Force and great Feat
Must put my garland on, where she will stick
The queen of flowers; our intercession then
Must be to him that makes the camp _a ces|tron
Brimmd with the blood of men_: give me your aid,
And bend your spirits towards him!
(_They fall prostrate before the statue._)
[Sidenote: Shakspere's own work,]
Thou mighty one! that with thy power has turn'd
Green Neptune into purple,--whose approach
Comets prewarn,--_whose havock in vast field
Unearthèd skulls proclaim_,--whose breath blows down
The teeming Ceres' foyson,--who dost pluck
_With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds_
The masoned turrets,--that both mak'st and break'st
The stony girths of cities;--me, thy pup|il,
Young'st follower of thy drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee
Be styled the lord o' the day: Give me, great Mars,
Some token of thy pleasure!
(_Here there is heard clanging of armour, with a short thunder, as the
burst of a battle; whereupon they all rise and bow to the altar._)
[Sidenote: Shakspere again.]
Oh, great Corrector of enormous times!
_Shaker of o'er rank states!_ Thou grand Decid|er
Of dusty and old ti|tles;|--_that heal'st with blood
The earth when it is sick_, and cur'st the world
O' the pleurisy of people! I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly. Let us go! (_Exeunt._)
[Sidenote: Palamon's prayer in V. ii (i. L.) not equal to V. i. or iii.
(i. L.), but is yet clearly Shakspere's.]
The passionate and sensitive Palamon has chosen the Queen of Love as his
Patroness, and it is in her Temple that, in the [47:1]second scene, he
puts up his prayers. This scene is not equal to the first or third,
having the poetical features less prominently brought out, while the
tone of thought is less highly pitched, and also less consistently
sustained. But it is distinctly Shakspeare's. The rugged versification
is his, and the force of language. [Sidenote: Even the incompetent old
husband bit is his.] One unpleasing sketch of the deformity of decrepit
old age, which need not be quoted, is largely impressed with his air of
truth, and some personifications already noticed are also in his manner.
[Sidenote: Act V. scene ii. (Weber; i. Littledale) is Shakspere's.]
[Sidenote: A Shakspere touch.]
_Palamon._ Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
To-day extinct: our argument is love!
. . . . . (_They kneel._)
Hail, sovereign Queen of Secrets! who hast pow|er
To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage
To weep unto a girl!--that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars's drum,
And turn the alarm to whis|pers!|...
What gold-like pow|er
Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou
Add'st flames hotter than his: the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal son, thou him: The Hunt|ress
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace
Me thy vowd soldier,--who do bear thy yoke
As 'twere a wreath of roses, yet is heav|ier
Than lead itself, stings more than net|tles:--
I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law;
... I have been harsh
To large confessors, and have hotly askt | them
If they had mothers: _I_ had one,--a wom|an,
And women 'twere they wronged....
Brief,--I am
To those that prate and have done,--no compan|ion;
To those that boast and have not,--a defi|er;
To those that would and cannot,--a rejoi|cer!
Yea, him I do not love, that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language: Such a one I am,
And vow that _lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I_....
(_Music is heard, and doves are seen to flutter: they fall upon their
faces._)
[48:1]I give thee thanks
For this fair token!...
[Sidenote: Emilia's Prayer is surely Shakspere's.]
Emilia's Prayer in the Sanctuary of the pure Diana, forming the third
scene, is in some parts most nervous, and the opening is inexpressibly
beautiful in language and rhythm. Several ideas and idioms are
identically Shakspeare's.
[Sidenote: Act V. scene iii. (Weber; i. Littledale) Shakspere's]
_Emilia._ (_Kneeling before the altar._) Oh, sacred, shadowy, cold,
and constant Queen!
_Abandoner of revels!_ mute, contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fanned snow!--who to thy _female knights_
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is there order's robe!--I here, thy priest,
Am humbled 'fore thine altar. Oh, vouchsafe,
With that thy rare _green eye_,[49:1] which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virg|in!
And,--sacred silver Mistress!--lend thine ear,
(Which ne'er heard scurril term, into whose port
Ne'er entered wanton sound,) to my petit|ion
Seasoned with holy fear!--This is my last
Of vestal office: [49:2]I'm bride-habited,
But maiden-heart|ed.| A husband I have, appoint|ed,
But do not know him; out of two I should
Chuse one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election of mine eyes.[49:2]
. . . . .
(_A rose-tree ascends from under the altar, having one rose upon it._)
See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy al|tar
With sacred act advances! But one rose?
If well inspired, this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights, and I a virgin flow|er
Must grow alone unplucked.
(_Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from
the tree._)
[49:3]The flower is fallen, the tree descends!--oh, mis|tress,
Thou here dischargest me: I shall be gath|ered,
I think so; but I know not thine own will;
Unclasp thy mystery!--I hope she's pleased;
Her signs were gracious. (_Exeunt._)
[Sidenote: Act V. scene iv. (Weber; ii. Littledale) is stuff.]
The fourth scene, in which the characters are the jailor's daughter, her
father and lover, and a physician, is disgusting and imbecile in the
extreme. It may be dismissed with a single quotation:
_Doctor._ What stuff she utters!
[Sidenote: Act V. scene v. (Weber; iii. Littledale). Its strangeness.]
The fifth scene is the Combat, the arrangement of which is unusual.
Perhaps there is nothing in every respect resembling it in the circle of
the English drama. Theseus and his court cross the stage as proceeding
to the lists; Emilia pauses and refuses to be present; the rest depart,
and she is left. She then, the prize of the struggle, the presiding
influence of the day, alone occupies the stage: within, the trumpets are
heard sounding the charge, and the cries of the spectators and tumult of
the encounter reach her ears; one or two messengers recount to her the
various changes of the field, till Arcite's victory ends the fight. The
manner is admirable in which the caution, which rendered it advisable to
avoid introducing the combat on the stage, is reconciled with the pomp
of scenic effect and bustle. [Sidenote: Shakspere's hand is in it.] The
details of the scene, with which alone we have here to do, make it clear
that Shakspeare's hand was in it. The greater part, it is true, is not
of the highest excellence; but the vacillations of Emilia's feelings are
well and delicately given, some individual thoughts and words mark
Shakspeare, there is a little of his obscure brevity, much of his
thoughtfulness legitimately applied, and an instance or two of its
abuse. The strong likeness to him will justify some quotations.
In the following lines Theseus is pleading with Emilia for her presence
in the lists:--
[Sidenote: Shakspere.]
_Theseus._ You must be there:
This trial is as 'twere in the night, and you
The only star to shine.
[Sidenote: Shakspere.]
[50:1]_Emilia._ I am extinct.
There is but envy in that light, which shews
The one the other. Darkness, which ever was
The dam of Horror, who does stand accursed
Of many mortal millions, may even now,
By casting her black mantle over both
That neither could find other, get herself
Some part of a good name, and many a mur|der
Set off whereto she's guilty.[50:2]
. . . . .
One good description is put into the mouth of Emilia after she is left
alone:--
[Sidenote: Act V. scene v. (Weber; or sc. iii. Littledale). Shakspere's
hand in it.]
[Sidenote: Shakspere.]
_Emilia._ Arcite is gently visaged; yet his eye
Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weap|on
In a soft sheath: Mercy and manly Cour|age
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect: his brow
Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns | on;
Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts: long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object: melanchol|y
Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite's mirth:
But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,
And sadness mer|ry:| those darker humours that
Stick unbecomingly on oth|ers,| on him
Live in fair dwelling.
After several alternations of fortune in the fight, she again speaks
thus of the two:
... [51:1]Were they metamor|phosed
Both into one--oh why? there were no wom|an
Worth so composed a man! their single share,
Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives
The prejudice of dispar|ity,| value's shortness,
To any lady breathing....
(_Cornets: a great shout, and cry_, Arcite, victory!)
[51:2]_Servant._ The cry is
Arcite and victory! Hark, Arcite, vic|tory!
The combat's consummation is proclaimed
By the wind instruments.
[Sidenote: Shakspere touch.]
[Sidenote: Shakspere reflection.]
_Emilia._ Half-sights saw
That Arcite was no babe: god's-lid! _his rich|ness_
_And costliness of spirit looked through |him_: | it could
No more be hid in him than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with wa|ters
That drift winds force to raging. I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew | not
Why I did think | so.| _Our Reasons are net proph|ets
When oft our Fancies are._ They're coming off:
Alas, poor Palamon!
Theseus enters with his attendants, conducting Arcite, as conqueror, and
presents him to Emilia as her husband. Arcite's situation is a painful
one, and is well discriminated: he utters but a single grave sentence.
_Theseus._ (_To Arcite and Emilia._) Give me your hands:
Receive you her, you him: be plighted with
A love that grows as you decay!
_Arcite._ Emily!
To buy you I have lost what's dearest to | me,
Save what is bought; and yet I purchase cheap|ly,
As I do rate your value.
. . . . .
[Sidenote: Shakspere touch.]
_Theseus._ (_To Arcite._) Wear the gar|land
With joy that you have won. For the subdued,--
Give them our present justice, _since I know
Their lives but pinch them_. Let it here be done.
The sight's not for our seeing: go we hence
Right joyful, with some sorrow!--Arm your prize:
I know you will not lose | her.| Hippolita,
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,
The which it will deliv|er.|
_Emilia._ Is this, winning?
Oh, all you heavenly powers! where is your mer|cy?
But that your wills have said it must be so,
And charge me live to comfort this unfriend|ed,
This miserable prince, that cuts away
A life more worthy from him than all wom|en,
I should and would die too.
[52:1]_Hippolita._ Infinite pity,
That four such eyes should be so fixed on one,
That two must needs be blind for't. (_Exeunt._)
[Sidenote: Act V. scene vi. (Weber; sc. iv. Littledale) is clearly
Shakspere's.]
The authorship of the last scene admits of no doubt. The manner is
Shakspeare's, and some parts are little inferior to his very finest
passages. Palamon has been vanquished, and he and his friends are to
undergo execution of the sentence to which the laws of the combat
subjected them. The depth of the interest is now fixed on these
unfortunate knights, and a fine spirit of resigned melancholy inspires
the scene in which they pass to their deaths.[52:2]
(_Enter Palamon and his knights, pinioned; jailor, executioner, and
guard._)
_Palamon._ There's many a man alive that hath outlived
The love of the people; yea, in the self-same state
[53:1]Stands many a father with his child; some com|fort
We have by so considering. We expire,--
And not without men's pity;--to live still,
Have their good wishes. We prevent
[53:2]The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The gout and rheum, that in lag hours attend
For grey approachers. We come towards the gods
Young and unwarped, not halting under crimes
Many and stale; that sure shall please the gods
[53:3]Sooner than such, to give us nectar with | them,--
For we are more clear spir|its!|...
_2 Knight._ Let us bid farewell;
And with our patience anger tottering for|tune,
Who at her certain'st reels.
_3 Knight._ Come, who begins?
_Palamon._ Even he that led you to this banquet shall
Taste to you all....
. . . . .
Adieu, and let my life be now as short
As my leave-taking. (_Lies on the block._)
If we were in a situation to give due effect to the supernatural part of
the story, the miserable end of Palamon would affect us with a mingled
sense of pity and indignation. He has been promised success by the
divinity whom he adored, and yet he lies vanquished with the uplifted
axe glittering above his head. Both the drama and Chaucer's poem assume
the existence of such feelings on our part, and hasten to remove the
cause of them. [Sidenote: Chaucer's celestial agency to work out the
plot.] A way is devised for reconciling the contending oracles; and the
catastrophe which effects that end, is, in the old poet, anxiously
prepared by celestial agency.[53:4] Arcite has got the victory in the
field, as his warlike divinity had promised him; and an evil spirit is
raised for the purpose of bringing about his death, that the votary of
the Queen of Love may be allowed to enjoy the gentler meed which his
protectress had pledged herself to bestow. These supernal intrigues are,
in the play, no more than hinted at in the way of metaphor.
A cry is heard for delay of the execution; Perithous rushes in, ascends
the scaffold, and, raising Palamon from the block, announces the
approaching death of Arcite, with nearly the same circumstances as in
the poem. While he rode townwards from the lists, on a black steed which
had been the gift of Emily, he had been thrown with violence, and now
lies on the brink of dissolution. [Sidenote: Description of Arcite's
mishap is bad, but Shakspere's.] The speech which describes Arcite's
misadven[54:1]ture has been much noticed by the critics, and by some
lavishly praised. With deference, I think it decidedly bad, but
undeniably the work of Shakspeare. [Sidenote: Over-labourd, involvd,
hard, yet Shakspere's, with his words and thoughts.] The whole manner of
it is that of some of his long and over-laboured descriptions. It is
full of illustration, infelicitous but not weak; in involvement of
sentence and hardness of phrase no passage in the play comes so close to
him; and there are traceable in one or two instances, not only his
words, but the trains of thought in which he indulges elsewhere,
especially the description of the horse, which closely resembles some
spirited passages in the Venus and Adonis. It is needless to quote any
part of this speech.
[Sidenote: End of the _Two Noble Kinsmen_.]
The after-part of this scene, which ends the play, contains some
forcible and lofty reflection, and the language is exceedingly vigorous
and weighty. In Chaucer, the feelings of the dying Arcite are expressed
at much length, and very touchingly; in the play, they are dispatched
shortly, and the attention continued on Palamon, who had been its
previous object:--
(_Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chair._)
_Palamon._ Oh, miserable end of our alli|ance!
The gods are mighty!--Arcite, if thy heart,
Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbro|ken,
Give me thy last words. I am Palamon,
One that yet loves thee dying.
_Arcite._ Take Emil|ia,
And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand:
Farewell! I've told my last hour. I was false,
But never treacherous: Forgive me, cous|in!
One kiss from fair Emilia!--'Tis done:
Take her.--I die!
_Palamon._ Thy brave soul seek Elys|ium!
. . . . .
[Sidenote: Shakspere.]
_Theseus._ _His part is played; and, though it were too short,
He did it well._ Your day is lengthened, and
The blissful dew of heaven does arrose | you:
The powerful Venus well hath graced her al|tar,
And given you your love; our master Mars
Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention: So the de|ities
Have shewed due justice.--Bear this hence.
_Palamon._ Oh, cous|in!
That we should things desire, which do cost | us
[55:1]The loss of our desire! that nought could buy
Dear love, but loss of dear love!
[Sidenote: Shakspere.]
_Theseus._ ... Palamon!
Your kinsman hath confessed, the right o' the la|dy
Did lie in you: for you first saw her, and
Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restord | her
As your stolen jewel, and desired your spir|it
To send him hence forgiven! The gods my jus|tice
Take from my hand, and they themselves become
The executioners. Lead your lady off:
And call your lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my friends.--A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The funeral of Arcite; in whose end,
The visages of bridegrooms we'll put on,
And smile with Palamon; for whom, an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sor|ry,
As glad of Arcite; and am now as glad,
As for him sorry.--Oh, you _heavenly charm|ers_!
What things you make of us! For what we lack,
We laugh; for what we have, are sorry still;
Are children in some kind.--Let us be thank|ful
For that which is, and with you leave disputes
That are above our question.--Let us go off,
And bear us like the time! (_Exeunt omnes._)
You have now before you an outline of the subject of this highly
poetical drama, with specimens which may convey some notion of the
manner in which the plan is executed. But detached extracts cannot
furnish materials for a just decision as to the part which Shakspeare
may have taken even in writing the scenes from which the quotations are
given. If I addressed myself to one previously unacquainted with this
drama, I should be compelled to request an attentive study of it from
beginning to end. [Sidenote: Two authors wrote _The Two Noble Kinsmen_.]
Such a perusal would convince the most sceptical mind that two authors
were concerned in the work; it would be perceived that certain scenes
are distinguished by certain prominent characters, while others present
different and dissimilar features. [Sidenote: Fletcher was one.] If we
are to assume that Fletcher wrote parts of the play, we must admit that
many parts of it were written by another person, and we have only to
inquire who that other was. [Sidenote: The other was Shakspere.] Without
recurring to any external presump[56:1]tions whatever, I think there is
enough in most or all of the parts which are evidently not Fletcher's,
to appropriate them to the great poet whose name, in this instance,
tradition has associated with his. Even in the passages which have been
here selected, you cannot but have traced Shakspeare's hand frequently
and unequivocally. The introductory views which I slightly suggested to
your recollection, may have furnished some rules of judgment, and
cleared away some obstacles from the path; and where I have failed in
bringing out distinctly the real points of difference, your own acute
judgment and delicate taste must have enabled you to draw instinctively
those inferences which I have attempted to reach by systematic
deduction.
[Sidenote: Fletcher easily distinguisht from Shakspere.]
In truth, a question of this sort is infinitely more easy of decision
where Fletcher is the author against whose claims Shakspeare's are to be
balanced, than it could be if the poet's supposed assistant were any
other ancient English dramatist. If a drama were presented to us, where,
as in some of Shakspeare's received works, he had taken up the ruder
sketch of an older poet, and exerted his skill in altering and enlarging
it, it would be very difficult indeed to discriminate between the
original and his additions. [Sidenote: Shakspere's Histories: their
fault.] He has often, especially in his earlier works, and in his
histories more particularly, much of that exaggeration of ideas, and
that strained and labouring force of expression, which marked the
Hercules-like infancy of the English Drama. [Sidenote: Marlowe.]
[Sidenote: Marlowe's magnificence like Shakspere sometimes.] The
stateliness with which Marlowe paces the tragic stage, and the
magnificence of the train of solemn shews which attend him like the
captives in a Roman procession of triumph, bear no distant likeness to
the shape which Shakspeare's genius assumes in its most lofty moods. And
with those also who followed the latter, or trode side by side with him,
he has many points of resemblance or identity. [Sidenote: Jonson.]
[Sidenote: Massinger.] [Sidenote: Middleton.] Jonson has his seriousness
of views, his singleness of purpose, his weight of style, and his
"fulness and frequency of sentence;" Massinger has his comprehension of
thought, giving birth to an involved and parenthetical mode of
construction; and Middleton, if he possesses few of his other qualities,
has much of his precision and straightforward earnestness of
expression.[57:1] In examining isolated passages with the view of
ascertaining whether they were written by Shakspeare or by any of those
other [57:2]poets, we should frequently have no ground of decision but
the insecure and narrow one of comparative excellence. [Sidenote:
Fletcher and Shakspere contrasted.] [Sidenote: They differ in _kind_.]
When Fletcher is Shakspeare's only competitor, we are very seldom driven
to adopt so doubtful a footing; we are not compelled to reason from
difference in _degree_, because we are sensible of a striking
dissimilarity in _kind_. [Sidenote: Fletcher.] [Sidenote: Shakspere.]
[Sidenote: Fletcher.] [Sidenote: Shakspere.] [Sidenote: Fletcher.]
[Sidenote: Shakspere.] [Sidenote: Fletcher.] [Sidenote: Shakspere.] We
observe ease and elegance of expression opposed to energy and
quaintness; brevity is met by dilation, and the obscurity which results
from hurry of conception has to be compared with the vagueness
proceeding from indistinctness of ideas; lowness, narrowness, and
poverty of thought, are contrasted with elevation, richness, and
comprehension: on the one hand is an intellect barely active enough to
seek the true elements of the poetical, and on the other a mind which,
seeing those finer relations at a glance, darts off in the wantonness of
its luxuriant strength to discover qualities with which poetry is but
ill fitted to deal; in the one poet we behold that comparative
feebleness of fancy which willingly stoops to the correction of taste,
and in the other, that warmth, splendour, and quickness of imagination,
which flows on like the burning rivers from a volcano, quenching all
paler lights in its spreading radiance, and destroying every barrier
which would impede or direct its devouring course. You will remark that
certain passages or scenes in this play are attributed to Shakspeare,
not because they are superior to Fletcher's tone or manner, but because
they are unlike it. [Sidenote: Shakspere's work unlike Fletcher's.] It
may be true that most of these possess higher excellence than Fletcher
could have easily reached; but this is merely an extrinsic circumstance,
and it is not upon it that the judgment is founded. [Sidenote: Test
between Shakspere and Fletcher.] These passages are recognized as
Shakspeare's, not from possessing in a higher degree those qualities in
which Fletcher's merit lies, but from exhibiting other qualities in
which he is partially or wholly wanting, and which even singly, and
still more when combined, constitute a style and manner opposite to his.
Indeed, since Fletcher is acknowledged to stand immeasurably lower than
Shakspeare, the excellence of some passages might perhaps in itself be
no unfair reason for refusing to the inferior poet the credit of their
execution. But an analysis of the means by which the excellence is
produced places us beyond [58:1]the necessity of resorting, in the first
instance at least, to this general ground of decision, which must,
however, be taken into view, when we have been able to assume a position
which entitles us to take advantage of it. [Sidenote: Shakspere's
external qualities in the _Two Noble Kinsmen_.] [Sidenote: Are they
imitations?] In many parts of this play we find those external qualities
which form Shakspeare's distinguishing characteristics, not separately
and singly present, but combined most fully and most intimately; and it
is consequently indisputable that we have, either Shakspeare's own
writing, or a faithful and successful imitation of it. [Sidenote:
Imitation of Shakspere difficult.] It is not easy to perceive with
perfect clearness why it is that imitation of Shakspeare is peculiarly
difficult; but every one is convinced that it is far more so than in the
case of any other poet whatever. [Sidenote: Why it is so.] The range and
opposition of his qualities, the rarity and loftiness of the most
remarkable of these, and still more, the coincident operation of his
most dissimilar powers, make it next to impossible, even in short and
isolated passages, to produce an imitation which shall be mistaken for
his original composition: but there is not even a possibility of success
in an attempt to carry on such an imitation of him throughout many
entire scenes. [Sidenote: Given, his outside dress, ask whether his
spirit is inside it.] Where the external qualities of a work resemble
his, the question of his authorship can be determined in no other way
than by inquiring whether the essential elements, and the spirit which
animates the whole, are his also; and that inquiry is not one for
logical argument; it can be answered only by reflection on the effect
which the work produces on our own minds. [Sidenote: The poetic sense
alone can judge.] The dullest eye can discriminate the free motions of
the living frame from the convulsed writhings which art may excite in
the senseless corpse; the nightly traveller easily distinguishes between
the red and earthy twinkling of the distant cottage-lamp, and the cold
white gleam of the star which rises beyond it;--and with equal quickness
and equal certainty the poetical sense can decide whether the living and
ethereal principle of poetry is present, or only its corporeal clothing,
its dead and inert resemblance. [Sidenote: By the emotion it creates,
must Shakspere's work be judgd.] The emotion which poetry necessarily
awakens in minds qualified as the subjects of its working, is the only
evidence of its presence, and the measure and index of its strength. If
we can read with coldness and indifference the drama which we are now
examining, we must pronounce it to [59:1]be no more than a skilful
imitation of Shakspeare; but we must acknowledge it as an original if
the heart burns and the fancy expands under its influence,--if we feel
that the poetical and dramatic spirit breathes through all,--and if the
mind bows down involuntarily before the powers of whose presence it is
secretly but convincingly sensible. [Sidenote: And his part of _The Two
Noble Kinsmen_ witnesses for itself.] I cannot have a doubt that the
parts of this work which I have pointed out as Shakspeare's will the
more firmly endure this trial, the more closely and seriously they are
revolved and studied.
[Sidenote: Shakspere's share of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_.]
The portions of the drama which, on such principles as these, have been
set down as Shakspeare's, compose a large part of its bulk, and embrace
most of the material circumstances of the story. [Sidenote: Act I.]
[Sidenote: Act III. sc. i.] [Sidenote: Act V. except scene iv.] They
are,--the First Act wholly,--one scene out of six in the Third,--and the
whole of the Fifth Act, (a very long one,) except one unimportant scene.
These parts are not of equal excellence, but the grounds on which a
decision as to their authorship rests, seem to be almost equally strong
with regard to each.
We have as yet been considering these scenes as so many separate pieces
of poetry; and they are valuable even in that light, not less from their
intrinsic merit than as being the work of our greatest poet. If it be
true merely that Shakspeare has here executed some portions of a plan
which another had previously fixed on and sketched, the drama demands
our zealous study, and is entitled to a place among Shakspeare's works.
An examination of separate details cannot enable us to form any more
specific opinion as to the part which he may have taken in its
composition.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Is the design of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_ Shakspere's?]
But there is a further inquiry on which we are bound to enter, whatever
its result may be,--whether it shall allow us to attribute to Shakspeare
a wider influence over the work, or compel us to limit his claim to the
subsidiary authorship, which only we have yet been able to establish for
him. We must now endeavour to trace the design of the work to its
origin; we must look on the parts in their relation to the whole, and
investigate the qualities and character of that whole which the parts
compose. Such an analysis is essential to an appreciation of the real
merit of the drama, and suggests views of far-greater inte[60:1]rest
than any which offer themselves in the examination of isolated passages.
And it is likewise necessary as a part of the inquiry which is our
object, not merely because it may tend to strengthen or modify the
decisions which we have already formed, but because it will allow us to
determine other important questions which we have had no opportunity of
treating. [Sidenote: Yes, it is.] It will justify us, if I mistake not,
in pronouncing with some confidence, that this drama owes to Shakspeare
much more than the composition of a few scenes,--that he was the poet
who chose the story, and arranged the leading particulars of the method
in which it is handled.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: The tragic-comic underplot not Shakspere's.]
Before we enter the extensive and interesting field of inquiry thus
opened to us, it may be well that I explain the reasons which seem
distinctly to exclude from Shakspeare's part of the work one
considerable portion of it,--the whole of the tragi-comic under-plot. I
have as yet assigned no ground of rejection, but inferiority in the
execution; but there are other reasons, which, when combined with that,
remove all uncertainty. Slightly as this subordinate story has been
described, enough has been said to point out remarkable imitations of
Shakspeare, both in incident and character. [Sidenote: Fletcher's
borrowings in the underplot, from Shakspere.] The insane maiden is a
copy of Ophelia, with features from 'Lear'; the comments of the
physician on her sickness of the mind, are borrowed in conception from
'Macbeth'; the character of the fantastic schoolmaster is a repetition
of the pedagogue in 'Love's Labour Lost'; and the exhibition of the
clowns which he directs, resemble scenes both in that play and in the
'Midsummer Night's Dream.' All these circumstances together, or even one
of them by itself, are enough to destroy the notion of Shakspeare's
authorship. The likeness which is found elsewhere to Shakspeare's style,
(and which is far closer in those other parts of the play than it is
here,) is an argument, as I have shewn, in favour of his authorship; the
likeness here in character and incident is even a stronger one against
it. [Sidenote: Shakspere doesn't imitate himself in character as he does
in style.] In neither of these latter particulars does Shakspeare
imitate himself as he does in style. In some of his earlier plays indeed
we may trace the rude outlines of characters, chiefly comic, which he
was afterwards able to develope with [61:1]greater distinctness and more
striking features; but though the likeness, in those cases, were nearer
and more frequent than it is, the transition from the rude block to the
finished sculpture is the allowable and natural progress of genius.
[Sidenote: He doesn't reproduce a figure badly.] The bare reproduction
of a figure or a scene already drawn with clearness and success, stands
in a very different situation; and, even if it should be nearly equal to
the original in actual merit, it creates a strong presumption of its
being no more than the artifice of an imitator. Where the inferiority of
the execution is palpable, the doubt is raised into certainty.
[Sidenote: Shakspere could not have turned his Ophelia into the Jailer's
daughter of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_.] In the case before us, it is
impossible to receive the idea of Shakspeare sitting down in cold blood
to imitate the Ophelia, and to transfer all the tenderness of her
situation to a new drama of a far lower tone, in which also it should
occupy only a subordinate station. He could not have been guilty of
this; he neither needed it, nor would have done it of free will; and,
therefore, I could not have believed it to be his, though the execution
had been far better than it is. [Sidenote: This Daughter is an utter
failure.] But the inferiority is decided; the imitation produces neither
vigour of style nor depth of feeling; in short, Shakspeare, if he had
made the attempt, could not have failed so utterly. [Sidenote: The
Schoolmaster is not Shakspere's.] The comic parts are only subservient
to the serious portion of this story; and if Shakspeare did not write
the leading part, he was still less likely to have written the
accessory; but, besides, the imitation is equally unsuccessful; and the
original of the schoolmaster is said to have been a personal portrait,
which was very unlikely to have been repeated by the first painter after
the freshness of the jest was gone. I have been the more anxious to
place in its true light the question as to this part of the drama,
because, on its seeming likeness to Shakspeare, Steevens founds an
ingenious hypothesis, by which he endeavours to account for the origin
of the tradition as to Shakspeare's concern in the play. That this is a
designed imitation of Shakspeare is abundantly clear; and it is not
difficult to see why it is an unsuccessful one. [Sidenote: Fletcher's
designd imitation of Shakspere.] Fletcher possesses much humour, but it
is of a cast very unlike Shakspeare's, and very unfit to harmonise with
it, or to qualify him for the imitation which he has here attempted. Why
he made the attempt, we shall be able to discover only when the freaks
of caprice, and of poetical caprice, [62:1]the wildest of all, shall be
fully analyzed and fully accounted for. [Sidenote: The underplot not
Shakspere's.] All that I have to prove is, that this portion of the work
is not, and could not have been, Shakspeare's.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Shakspere's choice of subjects for his Plays.]
I have said that I consider as his, both the selection of the plot, and
much of its arrangement. [Sidenote: He differs from his chief
contemporaries and successors.] As to the Choice of the Subject, my
position is, that in this particular, Shakspeare stands in unequivocal
opposition to Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and those others,
contemporary with him, or a little his juniors, with whom his name is
generally associated. I can easily shew that this opposition to the
newer school in the choice of stories exists in Shakspeare individually;
and this would be enough for my purpose; but I will go a little farther
than I am called on, because I conceive him to share that opposition
with some other poets, and because views open to us from this
circumstance, which are of some value for the right understanding of his
characteristics. [Sidenote: He belongs to the old school.] I say then,
that in the choice of subjects particularly, as well as in other
features, Shakspeare belongs to a school older than that of Fletcher,
and radically different from it. [Sidenote: Shakspere took old stories;
new poets new ones.] The principle of the contrariety in the choice of
subjects between the older and newer schools, is this: the older poets
usually prefer stories with which their audience must have been
previously familiar; the newer poets avoid such known subjects, and
attempt to create an adventitious interest for their pieces, by
appealing to the passion of curiosity, and feeding it with novelty of
incident. [Sidenote: Early Plays founded on] The early writers may have
adopted their rule of choice from a distrust in their own skill: but
they are more likely to have been influenced by reflecting on the
inexperience of their audience in theatrical exhibitions. [Sidenote:
History and Tales of Chivalry.] By insisting on this quality in their
plots, they hampered themselves much in the choice of them; and the
subjects which offered themselves to the older among them, were mainly
confined to two classes, history and the chivalrous tales, being the
only two cycles of story with which, about the time of Shakspeare's
birth, any general familiarity could be presumed. That such were the
favourite themes of the infant English drama is abundantly clear, even
from the lists of old lost dramas which have been preserved to us.
[Sidenote: Classical fables and foreign novels.] By the time when
Shakspeare stepped into [63:1]the arena, the zeal for translation had
increased the stock of popular knowledge by the addition of the
classical fables and the foreign modern novels; and his immediate
precursors, some of whom were men of much learning, had especially
availed themselves of the former class of plots. [Sidenote: Plots of
Shakspere's successors.] If, passing over Shakspeare, we glance at the
plots of Fletcher, Jonson, or others of the same period, we find, among
a great diversity of means, a search for novelty universally set on
foot. Jonson is fond of inventing his plots; Beaumont and Fletcher
usually borrow theirs; but neither by the former nor the latter were
stories chosen which were familiar to the people, nor in any instance
perhaps do they condescend to use plots which had been previously
written on. [Sidenote: Beaumont and Fletcher's.] Where Beaumont and
Fletcher do avail themselves of common tales, they artfully combine them
with others, and receive assistance from complexity of adventure in
keeping their uniform purpose in view. [Sidenote: Historical Drama grew
obsolete.] The historical drama was regarded by the new school as a rude
and obsolete form; and there are scarcely half a dozen instances in
which any writer of that age, but Shakspeare, adopted it later than
1600. Historical subjects indeed wanted the coveted charm, as did also
the Romantic and the Classical Tales, both of which shared in the
neglect with which the Chronicles were treated. [Sidenote: Plots were
got from foreign novels and invention.] The Foreign Novels, and stories
partly borrowed from them, or wholly invented, were almost the sole
subjects of the newer drama, which has always the air of addressing
itself to hearers possessing greater dramatic experience and more
extended information than those who were in the view of the older
writers.
[Sidenote: Shakspere belongs to the older class of dramatists.]
Shakspeare, in point of time, stood between these two classes: does he
decidedly belong to either, or shew a leaning, and to which? He
unequivocally belongs to the older class; or rather, the opposition to
the newer writers assumes in him a far more decided shape than in any of
his immediate forerunners; for in them are found numerous exceptions to
the rule, in him scarcely one. He returns, in fact, to more than one of
the principles of the old school, which had begun in his time to fall
into disuse. [Sidenote: Compare his Histories, narrative chorus long
rymed passages,] The external form of some of his plays, particularly
his histories, is quite in the old taste. The narrative chorus is the
most observable remnant of antiquity; and the long rhymed pas[64:1]sages
frequent in his earlier works, are abundant in the older writers: Peele
uses them through whole scenes, and Marlowe likewise to excess.
[Sidenote: jesters, and choice of known stories.] His continual
introduction of those conventional characters, his favourite jesters, is
another point of resemblance to the ruder stage. [Sidenote: He's of the
school of Lodge and Greene.] And his choice of subjects, when combined
with the peculiarities of economy just noticed, as well as others,
clearly appropriates him to the school of Lodge, Greene, and those elder
writers who have left few works and fewer names. His Historical Plays
are the perfection of the old school, the only valuable specimens of
that class which it has produced, and the latest instance in which its
example was followed; and he has had recourse to the Classical story for
such subjects as approached most nearly to the nature of his English
Chronicles. [Sidenote: Of new novel stories,] And you must take especial
note, that, even in the class of subjects in which he seems to coincide
with the new school,--I mean his Plots borrowed from Foreign Novels,--he
assumes no more of conformity than its appearance, while the principle
of contrariety is still retained. [Sidenote: Shakspere chose the most
widely known.] The new writers preferred untranslated novels, and, where
they chose translated ones, disguised them till the features of the
original were lost: Shakspeare not only uses translated tales--(this
indeed from necessity)--and closely adheres to their minutest
circumstances, but in almost every instance he has made choice of those
among them which can be proved to have been most widely known and
esteemed at the time. Most of his plots founded on fanciful subjects,
whether derived from novels or other sources, can be shewn to have been
previously familiar to the people. [Sidenote: 6 Plays of Shakspere
founded on well-known stories.] The story of 'Measure for Measure' had
been previously told; that of 'As you Like It', he might have had from
either of two popular collections of tales; the fable of 'Much Ado about
Nothing' seems to have been widely spread, and those of 'All's Well that
Ends Well', and 'The Winter's Tale'; 'Romeo and Juliet' appears in at
least one collection of English novels, and in a poem which enjoyed much
popularity. These are sufficient as examples; but a still more
remarkable circumstance is this. [Sidenote: 12 on subjects of former
Plays.] In repeated instances, about twelve in all, Shakspeare has
chosen subjects on which plays had been previously written; nay more, on
the sub[65:1]jects which he has so re-written, he has produced some of
his best dramas, and one his very masterpiece. 'Julius Cæsar' belongs to
this list; '_Lear_' does so likewise; and 'HAMLET.' Is not that a
singular fact? I can use it at present only as a most valuable proof
that the view which I take is an accurate one. But Shakspeare has also,
oftener than once, applied to the chivalrous class of subjects, which
was exclusively peculiar to the older school. Its tales indeed bore a
strong likeness to his own most esteemed subjects of study; for, amidst
all their extravagancies and inconsistencies, the Gothic romances and
poems, the older of them at all events, professed in form to be
chronicles of fact, and in principle to assume historical truth as their
groundwork. [Sidenote: 3 on Classical subjects turned into romances.]
'Pericles' is founded on one of the most popular romances of the middle
ages, which had been also versified by Gower, the second father of the
English poetical school. The characters in 'The Midsummer Night's Dream'
are classical, but the costume is strictly Gothic, and shews that it was
through the medium of romance that he drew the knowledge of them; and
the 'Troilus and Cressida' presents another classical and chivalrous
subject, which Chaucer had handled at great length, also invested with
the richness of the romantic garb and decoration.
[Sidenote: Shakspere chose the story of the _Two Noble Kinsmen_.]
Fletcher and Shakspeare being thus opposed to each other in their choice
of subjects, what qualities are there in the Plot of The Two Noble
Kinsmen, which may appropriate the choice of it to either? In the first
place, it is a chivalrous subject,--a classical story which had already
been told in the Gothic style. [Sidenote: Fletcher would neither have
chosen Chaucer's classical story for his plot,] The nature of the story
then could have been no recommendation of it to Fletcher. He has not a
single other subject of the sort; he has even written one play in
ridicule of chivalrous observances; and the sarcasm of that humorous
piece[66:1], both in the general design and the particular references,
is aimed solely at the prose romances of knight-errantry, a diseased and
posthumous off-shoot from the parent-root, whose legitimate and ancient
offspring, the metrical chronicles and tales, he seems neither to have
known nor cared for. [Sidenote: nor an old story,] Secondly, this story
must have been unacceptable to Fletcher, because it was a fa[66:2]miliar
one in England. This fact is perhaps sufficiently proved by its being
the subject of that animated and admirable poem of Chaucer, which Dryden
has pronounced little inferior to the Iliad or Æneid; but it is still
more distinctly shewn by a third fact, which completely clenches the
argument against Fletcher's choice of it as a subject. [Sidenote: nor
one on which two 16th-century plays had been written.] No fewer than two
plays had been written on this story before the end of the sixteenth
century; the earlier of the two, the Palamon and Arcite of Edwards,
acted in 1566, and printed in 1585, and another play called by the same
name, brought on the stage in 1594.[66:3]
[Sidenote: Fletcher didn't choose the subject of _The Two Noble
Kinsmen_.]
It is thus, I think, proved almost to demonstration, that the person who
chose this subject was not Fletcher; and what has been already said,
even without the specific evidence of individual passages, creates a
strong probability that the choice was made by Shakspeare rather than by
any other dramatic poet of his time. If the question be merely one
between the two writers,--if, assuming it to be proved that Shakspeare
wrote parts of the play, we have only to ask which of the two it was
that chose the subject,--we can surely be at no loss to decide.
[Sidenote: Shakspere's study of chivalrous poetry.] But the presumption
in Shakspeare's favour may be elevated almost into absolute certainty,
while, at the same time, some important qualities of his will be
illustrated,--if we inquire what was the real extent to which he
attached himself to the study of the chivalrous poetry, from which this
subject is taken, and the influence which that study was likely to have
had, and did actually exercise on his writings.
If, being told that a dramatic poet was born in England in the latter
half of the sixteenth century, whose studies, for all effectual benefit
which they could have afforded him, were limited to his own tongue, we
were asked to say what course his acquisitions were likely to have
taken, our reply would be ready and unhesitating. English literature was
of narrow extent before the time in question, and, according to the
invariable progress of mental culture, had been evolved first in those
finer branches which issue primarily from the ima[67:1]gination and
affections, and appeal for their effect to the principles in which they
have their source. [Sidenote: Shakspere certain to have first studi'd,
and been influenct by, our old narrative poets,] Poetry had reached a
vigorous youth, history was in its infancy, philosophy had not come into
being. Had the field of study been wider, it was to poetry in an
especial manner that a poet had to betake himself for an experience and
skill in his art, and in the language which was to be its instrument.
And it was almost solely to the narrative poets that Shakspeare had to
appeal for aid and guidance; for preceding writers in the dramatic walk
could teach him little. They could serve as beacons only, and not
examples, and he had to search in other mines for the materials to rear
his palace of thought. [Sidenote: who were of the Gothic school.] But
the English poetical writers who preceded him are all more or less
impressed with the seal of the Gothic school, and the most noted among
them belong to it essentially. Chaucer, Lydgate, and Gower, to more than
one of whom Shakspeare is materially indebted, were the heads of a sect
whose subjects and form of composition were varied only as the various
forms and subjects of the foreign romantic writers. [Sidenote: Britain
the mother of much fine chivalrous poetry.] The rhymed romance, the
metrical vision, the sustained allegorical narrative or dialogue, were
but differing results of the same principle, and forms too of its
original development; for Britain was the mother and nurse of much of
the finest chivalrous poetry, as well as the scene where some of its
most fascinating tales are laid. It is true that English poetry before
the time of Elizabeth presents but few distinguished names; but there is
a world of unappropriated treasures of the chivalrous class of poetry,
which are still the delight of those who possess the key to their secret
chambers, and were the archetypes of the earlier poets of that prolific
age. It is important to recollect, that among the poets who adorn that
epoch, the narrative preceded the dramatic. [Sidenote: Spenser belongs
to the Gothic school.] Spenser belongs, in every view, to the romantic
or Gothic school; the heroic Mort d'Arthur was the rule of his poetical
faith; and it was that school, headed by him, which Shakspeare, on
commencing his course and choosing his path, found in possession of all
the popularity of the day. [Sidenote: Shakspere too.] Every thing proves
that he allowed himself to be guided by the prevailing taste. His early
poems belong in design to Spenser's school, and their style is
[68:1]often imitative of his. In his dramas he has many points of
resemblance to the older chivalrous poets, besides his occasional
adoption of their subjects. His respect for Gower is shewn by the
repeated introduction of his shade as the speaker in his choruses[68:2];
and particular allusions and images, borrowed from Gothic usages and
chivalrous facts, occur at the first blush to the recollection of every
one. But there is a more widely spread influence than all this.
[Sidenote: Shakspere's mistakes and] Many of his most faulty
peculiarities are directly drawn from this source, and his innumerable
misrepresentations or mistakes are not so truly the fruit of his own
ignorance, as the necessary qualities of the class of poets to which he
belonged, shared with him by some of the greatest poetical names which
modern Europe can cite. [Sidenote: anomalies, those of his Gothic
school.] In this situation are indeed almost all the irregularities and
anomalies which have furnished the unbelievers in the divinity of his
genius with objects of contemptuous abuse;--his creation of geographies
wholly fictitious,--his anachronisms in facts and customs,--his
misstatements of historical detail,--his dukes and kings in
republics,--his harbours in the heart of continents, and his journies
over land to remote islands,--his heathenism in Christian lands and
times, and his bishops, and priests, and masses, _in partibus
infidelium_. [Sidenote: Chaucer and Spenser had the like.] We may
censure him for these irregularities if we will; but it is incumbent on
us to recollect that Chaucer and Spenser must bear the same sentence:
and if the faults are considered so weighty as to shut out from our
notice the works in which they are found, the early literature, not of
our own country only, but of the whole of continental Europe, must be
thrown aside as one mass of unworthy fable.
In truth, Shakspeare, in throwing himself on a style of thought and a
track of study which exposed him to such errors, did no more than retire
towards those principles which not only were the sources of poetry in
his own country, but are the fountains from which, in every nation, her
first draughts of inspiration are drunk. [Sidenote: Poetry is first a
falsifying of History,] Poetry in its earlier stages is universally
neither more nor less than a falsifying of history. The decoration of
the Real is an exertion of the fancy which marks an age elder than the
creation of the purely Ideal; it is an effort more successful than the
[69:1]attempt which follows it, and the wholly fictitious has always the
appearance of being resorted to from necessity rather than choice.
Cathay is an older and fitter seat of romance than Utopia; and the
historical paladins and soldans are characters more poetical than the
creatures of pure imagination who displaced them. [Sidenote: and has
Ignorance as her ally.] [Sidenote: Her errors depend on the kind of her
small knowledge.] But this walk of poetry is one in which she never can
permanently linger; her citadel indeed is real existence partially
comprehended, but she is unable to defend the fortress after knowledge
has begun to sap its outworks; she needs ignorance for her ally while
she occupies the domain of history, and when that companion deserts her,
she unwillingly retreats on the Possible and Invented[69:2], where she
has no enemy to contest her possession of the ground.--While however she
does continue in her older haunt, she must sometimes wander out of her
imperfectly defined path, and her errors will depend, both in kind and
in amount, on the amount and kind of her knowledge. That the qualities
of poetical literature, in every nation, are dependent on the number and
species of those experiences from which in each particular case the art
receives its materials, is indeed too evident to need illustration; but
some curious inferences are deducible from an application of this truth
to the contrast which is found between the poetical literature of modern
Europe, and that older school which has been called the classical.
[Sidenote: And hence come distinctive qualities of the Greek and Modern
school.] The inherent excellencies of the ancient Greek poetry may yet
remain to be accounted for from other causes; but this one principle was
adequate to produce the most distinguishing qualities of the pagan
literature, while it is distinctly the very same principle, acting in
different circumstances, which has given birth to the opposite character
of the modern school of invention. [Sidenote: Middle-Age knowledge of
vast extent, but never thorough.] During the period which witnessed the
gradual rise of that anomalous fabric of poetry, from whose prostrate
fragments the perfected literature of Christian Europe has been erected,
knowledge (I am uttering no paradox) was of vast extent; it embraced
many different ages and many distant regions: but it was also
universally imperfect; much was known in part, but nothing wholly.
[Sidenote: So it invested History with incongruous attributes.] Hence
proceeded the specific difference of that widely-spread form of poetical
invention, namely, the super-abundance and incongruity of attributes
with which [70:1]it invested historical truth; and it is not very
difficult to discover why many of those attributes have never thoroughly
amalgamated with the principal mass. The various sources from which the
materials of the romantic poetry were drawn, present themselves at once
to every mind. [Sidenote: Early modern poets invented a national and
original literature,] By the peculiar state of their knowledge, and the
rude activity of spirit which was its consequence, the early poets of
modern Europe were prepared to invent a species of literature which
should be strictly national in its subjects, and in its essential parts
wholly original. That new branch was exposed, however, to modifications
of various kinds. One temptation to introduce foreign elements, by which
its authors were assailed, was singularly strong, and can scarcely in
any other instance have operated on a literature arising in
circumstances otherwise so favourable to originality, as those in which
they were placed. [Sidenote: but, knowing classics badly,] That
temptation was offered by the imperfect acquaintance with the classical
authors which formed one part of their scattered and ill-reconciled
knowledge. [Sidenote: grafted on their own works excrescences from
classical literature,] They were influenced by this cause, as they could
not have failed to be; and the representations of feelings, habits, and
thought, which they borrowed from this source, being in their nature
dissimilar to the constituent parts of the system to which they were
adjected, never could have harmonised with these, and, under any
circumstances, must have always continued to be excrescences. Other
elements of the new system were naturally neither evil in themselves,
nor inconsistent with the principles with which it was attempted to
combine them, but have assumed the aspect of deformity and incongruity
solely from incidental and extraneous causes. [Sidenote: and on History,
fictions and mistakes.] The fictions and mistakes which the ignorance of
those fathers of our modern poetical learning superinduced on history
ancient and modern, and on every thing which related to the then
existing state either of the material world or of human society, were
allowable ornaments, so long as knowledge afterwards acquired did not
stamp on them the brand of falsehood; but the moment that the falsity
was exposed, and the charm of possible existence broken, those adjuncts
lost their empire over the imagination, and with it their appearance of
fitness as materials for mental activity. [Sidenote: Supernaturalism of
the Romantic Poets only believable by superstition.] In supernatural
invention, the early romantic poets [71:1]were still more unfortunate;
for when they endeavoured to colour with imaginary hues the awful
outlines of the true faith, they attempted a conjunction of holiness
with impurity, an identification of the spirit with the flesh, a
marriage between the living and the dead; the purer essence revolted
from the union, and the human mind could acquiesce in imagining it only
while it remained bound in the darkness and fetters of religious
corruption. [Sidenote: Characteristics of early Greek poetry.] Turn now
to the Grecian poetry, and mark how closely the same principles have
operated on it, although the difference of the circumstances has made
the result different. [Sidenote: its tendency to orientalism;] The first
Grecian inventors were, it is true, protected in a great measure from
the influence of any foreign literature, simply by the ignorant rudeness
of those ages of the world during which their task was performed; and
even here I have no doubt that an influence not very dissimilar did
actually operate; for there seems to be good reason for supposing that,
if we had before us the wild songs of such bards as the Thracian
Orpheus, or the old Musæus, we should find them strongly marked by that
orientalism towards which the later Greek poetry which remains to us
betrays so continual a tendency. In other respects, the spirit in which
the Greeks formed their poetical system was identical with our own.
[Sidenote: its falsification of History,] Their elder poets falsified
historical facts, invented or disguised historical characters, and
framed erroneous representations of the past in time and the distant in
place, no otherwise than did the romantic fabulists; and the classical
inventors continued to have sufficient faith placed in their fictions,
merely because knowledge advanced too slowly to allow detection of their
falsity so long as the literature of the nation continued to exist for
it as a present possession. [Sidenote: its treatment of Religion.] With
their religious belief, again, every attractive invention harmonised,
and every splendid addition was readily incorporated as a consistent
part; where all was false, a falsity the more was unperceived or
uncensured, and where sublimity and beauty were almost the only objects
sought, they were gladly accepted from whatever quarter or in whatever
shape they came.
[Sidenote: Shakspere, for his stories and form, left his own time, and
delighted in the past.]
So far as these considerations seem to elucidate the principles on which
Shakspeare proceeded, they do so by exhibiting him as withdrawing from
his own times as to his subjects and the ex[72:1]ternal form of his
works, though not as to their animating spirit,--as placing himself
delightedly amidst the rude greatness of older poetry and past ages, and
viewing life and nature from their covert, as if he had sat within a
solitary and ruined aboriginal temple, and looked out upon the valley
and the mountains from among those broken and massive columns, whose
aspect gave majesty and solemnity to the landscape which was beheld
through their moss-grown vistas. [Sidenote: Thence his faults.] So far
as these views have any force as a defence of faults detected in the
great poet, that defence is founded on the consideration that the errors
were unavoidable consequences of the system which produced so much that
was admirable, and that they were shared with him by those whom he
followed in his selection of subjects and form of writing. So far as all
that has been said on this head has a close application to the main
subject of our inquiry, its sum is briefly this. [Sidenote: Summary of
reasons why Shakspere chose the plot of _Two Noble Kinsmen_.] [Sidenote:
He went back to the school of Chaucer and Spenser; which Milton, after,
sought.] [Sidenote: Shakspere's love of old poems.] An argument arises
in favour of Shakspeare's choice of the plot of this drama, from its
general qualities, as a familiar and favourite story, and one of a class
which had been frequently used by the older dramatists; that argument
receives additional strength from the fact of this individual subject
having been previously treated in a dramatic form; and it is rendered
almost impregnable when we consider the subject particularly as a
chivalrous story, and as belonging and leading us back to that native
school to which Shakspeare, though in certain respects infected by the
exotic taste of the age, yet in essentials belonged,--the wilderness in
which Chaucer had opened up the well-head of poetry, where Gower and
Lydgate had drunk freely, and Sackville had more sparingly dipped his
brow,--the paradise through which Spenser had joyfully wandered with the
heavenly Una,--the patriarchal forest into which afterwards Milton
loved to retire from his lamp-lighted chamber, to sleep at the foot
of some huge over-hanging oak, and dream of mailed knights riding by
his resting-place, or fairy choirs dancing on the green hillocks
around,--the enchanted rose garden where Shakspeare himself gathered
those garlands of beauty, which he has described as adding glory even to
his thoughts of love.
[73:1]When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see description of the fairest wights,
_And beauty making beautiful old ryme_
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights;
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see this antique pen would have expresst
Even such a beauty as you master now.
_Sonnet 106._