Schlegel, the finest of Shakspere's critics (as Hazlitt was the finest commentator), has some admirable remarks, in his "LECTURES ON DRAMATIC ART AND LITERATURE," concerning the character of the Duke, and the masterly way in which Shakspere contrives incidentally to give a satirical cut at his peculiarities from the mouth of Lucio. The Duke loves justice and truth, but it is his "crotchet" to attain them by crooked ways, and by lurking in disguises. "The interest," says Schlegel, "reposes altogether on the action; curiosity constitutes no part of our delight, for the Duke, in the disguise of a monk, is always present to watch over his dangerous representatives, and to avert every evil which could possibly be apprehended. The Duke acts the part of the monk naturally, even to deception; he unites in his person the wisdom of the priest and the prince. His wisdom is merely fond of too roundabout ways; his vanity is flattered by acting invisibly, like an earthly providence; he is more entertained with overhearing his subjects than governing them in the ordinary manner. As he at last extends pardon to all the guilty, we do not see how his original purpose of restoring the strictness of the laws, by committing the execution of them to other hands, has in anywise been accomplished." Hazlitt thinks he was "more absorbed in his own plots and gravity than anxious for the welfare of the state; more tenacious of his own character than attentive to the feelings and apprehensions of others." All this seems true, and yet we feel that the Duke, however "fantastical," is an amiable man: he loves justice, but mercy still more. "This deed unshapes me quite."—Act IV., Scene 4. This crime changes my natural shape, and deforms my authority. "Do not banish reason For inequality."-Act V., Scene 1. Do not consider me insane, nor refuse to hear my cause, because of my inferior rank to my oppressor. "But let your reason serve To make the truth appear where it seems hid; And hide the false seems true."-Act V., Scene 1. Make truth appear where it seems hid: and hide, or dismiss from your mind, the false which seems true. The exact meaning is not certain, the discrepancy being probably in duced by the equivocal use of the words "hid" and "hide." Mr. Malone goes a little out of the way to explain the passage. He says, "And for ever hide-that is, plunge into eternal darkness, the false one; that is, Angelo, who now seems honest." By what species of logic this prodigious reading of the simple word "hide" can be justified, is no more apparent than the preternatural power by which the Duke should have the means of plunging a man into "eternal darkness." "The play," says Schlegel, "takes improperly its name from the punishment: the sense of the whole is properly the triumph of mercy over strict justice; no man being himself so secure from error as to be entitled to deal it out among his equals. The most beautiful ornament of this composition is the character of Isabella, who, in the intention of taking the veil, allows herself to be prevailed on by pious love again to tread the perplexing ways of the world; while the heavenly purity of her mind is not even stained with one unholy thought by the general corruption: in the humble robes of the novice of a nunnery, she is a true angel of light." The following subtle remarks are made by Hazlitt: "This is a play as full of genius as it is of wisdom. But there is a general want of passion; the affections are at a stand; our sympathies are repulsed and defeated in all directions. The only passion which influences the story is that of Angelo; and yet he seems to have a much greater passion for hypocrisy than for his mistress. Neither are we greatly enamoured of Isabella's rigid chastity, though she could not act otherwise than she did. We do not feel the same confidence in the virtue that is 'sublimely good' at another's expense, as if it had been put to some less disinterested trial." The same writer, after remarking on the equivocal character and situation in the drama of the Duke, Claudio, and the love of Mariana for. Angelo, at whose conduct we revolt, adds, that "in this respect there may be said to be a general system of cross-purposes between the feelings of the different characters, and the sympathies of the reader or the audience." Coleridge says that this play is to him, "the most painful-say, rather, the only painful part of Shakspere's genuine works." The reasons he assigns, however, are rather poor and conventional. This was not only true, but it is a beautiful trait in the character of Isabel that she should be so forgiving as to admit the fact; and, at the passionate intercession of Mariana, make it a plea for the sparing of Angelo's life. Dr. Johnson is shocked at this forgiving disposition in Isabel, and propounds the moral, "that women think ill of nothing that raises the credit of their beauty, and are ready, however virtuous, to pardon any act which they think incited by their own charms." He ventures this opinion, however, by saying, "I am afraid, our varlet poet intended to inculcate, that women," &c. What must the Doctor have thought of Shakspere, and what of himself? However Shakspere might sink and dwindle in his comparison, it was hardly fair, notwithstanding, to saddle the "varlet" with the intention of inculcating so illiberal a calumny. It is one of the most marked characteristics of Shakspere, that he never "inculcates " anything he leaves people to find what they can. R. H. H. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS HE sparkling comedy of "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING" is like one of those feminine fascinators, who, in real life-despite of some irregularity of feature and some trifling incongruities of conduct-charm all beholders, and convert the sternest would-be critics into delighted admirers. The comic and serious portions of the dialogue relieve each other admirably. There is rather too much salt, perhaps, and that not invariably attic, in the verbal encounters of Benedick and Beatrice; but the combatants are, at any rate, always alive, and never fail, either in reading or on the stage, to infuse a portion of their superabundant vitality into the most lethargic spectator or reader. The better natures, too, of this cantankerous pair, "too wise to woo peaceably," are finely drawn forth by the wrongs of the amiable Hero. The tender friendship, and instinctive glowing scorn of meanness, falsehood, and cruelty, evinced by Beatrice on this trying occasion, however vehemently expressed, are to us proof potential that sne is no less capable of ardent, genuine love of "taming her wild heart to the loving hand" of any gallant possessing sufficient sense and sympathy to feel and appreciate its inner and less obvious qualities. The meridian sunbeams do not the less warm and invigorate the earth, because they flicker in our eyes, and will not indulge them in a long and placid gaze. Marriage, to such natures as those of Benedick and Beatrice, comes like evening, with its illumined clouds, its softened lights, and balmier odours. We cannot allow ourselves to doubt for a moment, even with Mr. Campbell, that these brilliant lovers, when they thoroughly understood each other, led very harmonious and contented lives. Of the depth of Benedick's sentiment, "the wise may make some scruple of a doubt." although the tendency of evidence is, upon the whole, decidedly in his favour; but Beatrice, our life upon it, subsided into a charming, reasonable wife, and a most affectionate, devoted mother. Of the serious characters, the Friar is the only one to whom we can thoroughly accord our personal liking. Goodness and wisdom seem to stand on either side of him, as visible supporters. His speeches, in what may be termed the accusation scene, are perhaps the finest things in the play. Don Pedro, however, and his bastard Brother, Leonato, Antonio, and Claudio, are all exhibited with Shakspere's usual nicety of discrimination, and enlivened with numerous masterly touches of poetic truth. Merely to name that marvellous "pretty piece of flesh," Dogberry, is to give signal for "the lungs to crow like chanticleer." Blessings on his good nature and his bad grammar! We respect the one, while laughing at the other. "Truly, he would not hang a dog with his good will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him." When the heart speaks, there is no fear of a blunder. In this feeling, honest Dogberry, thou wert the "right master constable," after all.-Affectionately we commit thee to thy pleasant destiny. Happy, and making happy, long mayst thou bestride thine innocent hobby, charging watchmen and detecting plots, till thou and the world grow tired of each other. Methinks we see thee at this moment, cantering off, Goodman Verges seated humbly behind thee ("if two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind "), yet turning round benignantly to vent the pregnant admonition to thine admiring satellites, "An there be any matter of WEIGHT chances, call up ME!" And so they will, of course. Depend upon it, your worship will not easily be forgotten by those who have once had the advantage of hearing thine erudite exposition of "the statues," and sitting with the docility of little children at the foot of the learned tribunal over which (in the richest of thy two justly-vaunted gowns) thou presidest with a dignity so amusing and so self-complacent. "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING" was originally published in quarto, and entered at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 1600. The serious incidents of the plot, in their main features, appear to have been derived from one of the " CENT HISTOIRES TRAGIQUES" of Belleforest, who in his turn copied from the Italian novelist, Bandello. SCENE I.-Before LEONATO's House. Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others, with a Messenger. Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina. Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio. Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro; he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how. Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not shew itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness. Leon. Did he break out into tears? Mess. In great measure. Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping! Beat. I pray you, is Signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no? Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was none such in the army of any sort. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick, of Padua. Mess. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the flight: and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.—I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. Leon. 'Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt t not. Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencherman, he hath an excellent stomach. Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord? Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues. Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man: but for the stuffing-well, we are all mortal. Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece; there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her: they never meet but there is a skirmish of wit between them. Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother. Mess. Is it possible? Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. |