D. Wilson (Caliban, the Missing Link, 1873, p. 262): What inimitable power

and humorous depth of irony are there in the Athenian weaver and prince of clown¬ ish players ! Vain, conceited, consequential ; he is nevertheless no mere empty lout, but rather the impersonation of characteristics which have abounded in every age, and find ample scope for their display in every social rank. Bottom is the work of the same master hand which wrought for us the Caliban and Miranda, the Puck and Ariel, of such diverse worlds. He is the very embodiment and idealisation of that self-esteem which is a human virtue by no means to be dispensed with, though it needs some strong counterpoise in the well-balanced mind. In the weak, vain man, who fancies everybody is thinking of him and looking at him, it takes the name of shyness, and claims nearest kin to modesty. With robust, intensitive vulgarity it assumes an air of universal philanthropy and good-fellowship. In the man of genius it reveals itself in very varying phases ; gives to Pope his waspish irritability as a satirist, and crops out anew in the transparent mysteries of publication of his laboured- impromptu private letters; betrays itself in the self-laudatory exclusiveness which carried Wordsworth through long years of detraction and neglect to his final triumph ; in the morbid introversions of Byron, and his assumed defiance of ‘ the world’s dread ‘ laugh ’ ; m the sturdy self-assertion of Burns, the honest faith of the peasant bard that ‘ The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man’s the gowd for a’ that !’ In Ben Jonson it gave character to the whole man. Goldsmith and Chatterton Hogg and Hugh Miller, only differed from their fellows in betraying the self-esteem which more cunning adepts learn to disguise under many a mask, even from themselves. It shines in modest prefaces, writes autobiographies and diaries by the score, and publishes poems by the hundred, — ‘ Obliged by hunger and request of friends.’ Nick Bottom is thus a representative man, ‘ not one, but all mankind’s epitome.’ He is a natural genius. If he claims the lead, it is not without a recogrised fitness to fulfill the duties he assumes. He is one whom nothing can put oat. ‘ I have a device to make all well,’ is his prompt reply to every difficulty, and the device, such as it is, is imme¬ diately forthcoming. . . . Bottom is as completely conceived, in all perfectness of con¬ sistency, as any character Shakespeare has drawn ; ready-witted, unbounded in his self-confidence, and with a conceit nursed into the absolute proportions which we wit
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Dess by the admiring deference of his brother clowns. Yet this is no more than the recognition of true merit. Their admiration of his parts is rendered ungrudgingly, as it is received by him simply as his due. Peter Quince appears as responsible manager of the theatricals, and indeed is doubtless the author of 4 the most lament- 4 able comedy.’ For Nick Bottom, though equal to all else, makes no pretension to the poetic art. . . .
But fully to appreciate the ability and self-possession of Nick Bottom in the most unwonted circumstances, we must follow the translated mechanical to Titania’s bower, where the enamoured queen lavishes her favours on her strange lover. His cool prosaic commonplaces fit in with her rhythmical fancies as naturally as the dull grey of the dawn meets and embraces the sunrise. . . .
We cannot but note the quaint blending of the ass with the rude Athenian 4 thick- 4 skin ’ ; as though the creator of Caliban had his own theory of evolution ; and has here an eye to the more fitting progenitor of man. Titania would know what her sweet love desires to eat. ‘Truly a peck of provender; I could munch your good 4 dry oats.’ The puzzled fairy queen would fain devise some fitter dainty for her lover. But no ! Bottom has not achieved the dignity of that sleek smooth head, and those fair large ears, which Titania has been caressing and decorating with musk- roses, to miss their befitting provender. 4 1 had rather have a handful or two of dry 4 peas.’ It comes so naturally to him to be an ass ! . . .
There are Bottoms everywhere. Nor are they without their uses. Vanity becomes admirable when carried out with such sublime unconsciousness ; and here it is a van¬ ity resting on some solid foundation, and finding expression in the assumption of a leadership which his fellows recognise as his own by right. If he will play the lion’s part, 4 let him roar again !’ Look where we will, we may chance to come on 4 sweet 4 bully Bottom.’ In truth, there is so much of genuine human nature in this hero of A Midsummer Night' s Dream , that it may not always be safe to peep into the look- ing-glass, lest evolution reassert itself for our special behoof, and his familiar counte¬ nance greet us, 4 Hail, fellow, well met, give me your neif !’
J. Weiss ( Wit, Humor, and Shakespeare, Boston, 1876, p. no) : It is also a sug¬ gestion of the subtlest humor when Titania summons her fairies to wait upon Bottom ; for the fact is that the soul’s airy and nimble fancies are constantly detailed to serve the donkeyism of this world. 4 Be kind and courteous to this gentleman.’ Divine gifts stick musk-roses in his sleek, smooth head. The world is a peg that keeps all spiritual being tethered. John Watt agonises to teach this vis inertiae to drag itself by the car-load; Palissy starves for twenty years to enamel its platter; Franklin charms its house against thunder ; Raphael contributes halos to glorify its ignorance of divinity ; all the poets gather for its beguilement, hop in its walk, and gambol before it, scratch its head, bring honey-bags, and light its farthing dip at glow-worms’ eyes. Bottom’s want of insight is circled round by fulness of insight, his clumsiness by dexterity. In matter of eating, he really prefers provender ; 4 good hay, sweet 4 hay, hath no fellow.’ But how shrewdly Bottom manages this holding of genius to his service ! He knows how to send it to be oriental with the blossoms and the sweets, giving it the characteristic counsel not to fret itself too much in the action.
You see there is nothing sour and cynical about Bottom. His daily peck of oats, with plenty of munching-time, travels to the black cell where the drop of gall gets secreted into the ink of starving thinkers, and sings content to it on oaten straw. Bottom, full-ballasted, haltered to a brown-stone-fronted crib, with digestion always
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waiting upon appetite, tosses a tester to Shakespeare, who might, if the tradition be true, have held his horse in the purlieus of the Curtain or Rose Theatre ; perhaps he sub-let the holding while he slipped in to show Bottom how he is a deadly earnest fool ; and the boxes crow and clap their unconsciousness of being put into the poet’s celestial stocks. All this time Shakespeare is divinely restrained from bitterness by the serenity which overlooks a scene. If, like the ostrich, he had been only the largest of the birds which do not fly, he might have wrangled for his rations of ten- penny nails and leather, established perennial indigestion in literature, and furnished plumes to jackdaws. But he flew closest to the sun, and competed with the dawn for a first taste of its sweet and fresh impartiality.
Professor J. Macmillan Brown (‘ An Early Rival of Shakespeare,’ New Zea¬ land Maga., April, 1877, p. 102) : Shakespeare, with all his tolerance, was unable to refrain from retaliation ; but it is with no venomous pen he retaliates. ... In the Mid¬ summer Night's Dream he takes this early school of amateur player-poets, and pil¬ lories them in Bottom, Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout, and Starveling ; and with the elfin machinery he borrows from Greene, turns his caricature, Bottom, into everlasting ridicule.
[Prof. Brown exaggerates, I think, the loan of elfin machinery from Greene, even granting that James IV preceded the present play, which is doubtful. Grosart ( Introd . to Greene’s Works , p. xxxix) says it is ‘ unknown which was earlier;’ see the extracts from James IV supra in * Source of the Plot.’ In the conjecture that Greene was portrayed in Bottom, Brown anticipates Fleay, who observes ( Life and Work, p. 18), ‘Bottom and his scratch company have long been recognised as a personal ‘ satire, and the following marks would seem to indicate that Greene and the Sussex’ ‘ company were the butts at which it was aimed. Bottom is a Johannes Factotum ‘ who expects a pension for his playing; his comrades are unlettered rustics who once ‘ obtain an audience at Theseus’ court. The Earl of Sussex’ men were so inferior a ‘company that they acted at Court but once, viz. in January, 1591-2, and the only
* new play which can be traced to them at this date is George a Greene, in which
* Greene acted the part of the Pinner himself. This only shows that the circumstances ‘ of the fictitious and real events are not discrepant ; but when we find Bottom saying
* that he will get a ballad written on his adventure, and “ it shall be called Bottom’s ‘ “ Dream, because it hath no bottom,” and that peradventure he shall “ sing it at her ‘ “ (?) death,” we surely may infer an allusion to Greene’s Maiden's Dream ( Sta - ‘ tioners’ Registers, 6th Dec. 1591), apparently so called because it hath no maiden ‘ in it, and sung at the death of Sir Christopher Hatton.’ — Ed.]
Hudson ( Introduction , 1880, p. 20): But Bottom’s metamorphosis is the most potent drawer out of his genius. The sense of his new head-dress stirs up all the manhood within him, and lifts his character into ludicrous greatness at once. Hitherto the seeming to be a man has made him content to be little better than an ass ; but no sooner is he conscious of seeming an ass than he tries his best to be a man ; while all his efforts that way only go to approve the fitness of his present seeming to his former being.
Schlegel happily remarks, that ‘ the droll wonder of Bottom’s metamorphosis is ‘ merely the translation of a metaphor in its literal sense.’ The turning of a figure of speech thus into visible form is a thing only to be thought of or imagined ; so that no attempt to paint or represent it to the senses can ever succeed. We can bear — at
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least we often have to bear — that a man should seem an ass to the mind’s eye ; but that he should seem such to the eye of the body is rather too much, save as it is done in those fable-pictures which have long been among the playthings of the nursery. So a child, for instance, takes great pleasure in fancying the stick he is riding to be a horse, when he would be frightened out of his wits were the stick to quicken and expand into an actual horse. In like manner we often delight in indulging fancies and giving names, when we should be shocked were our fancies to harden into facts ■ we enjoy visions in our sleep that would only disgust or terrify us, should we awake and find them solidified into things. The effect of Bottom’s transformation can hardly be much otherwise, if set forth in visible, animated shape. Delightful to think of, it is scarcely tolerable to look upon ; exquisitely true in idea, it has no truth, or even veri¬ similitude, when reduced to fact ; so that, however gladly imagination receives it, sense and understanding revolt at it.
F. A. Marshall ( Irving Shakespeare, 1888, lntrod. ii, 325) : As far as the human characters of this play are concerned, with the exception of ‘ sweet-faced ’ Nick Bottom and his amusing companions, very little can be said in their praise. Theseus and Hippolyta, Lysander and Ilermia, Demetrius and Helena, are all alike essentially uninteresting. Neither in the study, nor on the stage, do they attract much of our sympathy. Their loves do not move us ; not even so much as those of Biron and Rosaline, Proteus and Julia, Valentine and Silvia. If we read the play at home, we hurry over the tedious quarrels of the lovers, anxious to assist at the rehearsal of the tragi-comedy of ‘ Pyramus and Thisbe.’ The mighty dispute that rages between Oberon and Titania about the changeling boy does not move us in the the least degree. We are much more anxious to know how Nick Bottom will acquit himself in the tragical scene between Pyramus and Thisbe. It is in the comic portion of this play that Shakespeare manifests his dramatic genius ; here it is that his power of charac¬ terisation, his close observation of human nature, his subtle humour, make themselves felt.
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\ ScHLEGEL {Lectures, &c., trans. by J. BLACK, 1815, ii, 176) : The Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest may be in so far compared together, that in both the influence of a wonderful world of spirits is interwoven with the turmoil of human passions and with the farcical adventures of folly. The Midsummer Night’s Dream is certainly an earlier production ; but The Tempest, according to all appearance, was written in Shakespeare’s later days ; hence most critics, on the supposition that the poet must have continued to improve with increasing maturity of mind, have given the last piece a great preference over the former. I cannot, however, altogether agree with them in this ; the internal worth of these two works, in my opinion, are pretty equally balanced, and a predilection for the one or the other can only be governed by personal taste. The superiority of The Tempest in regard to profound and original characterisation is obvious ; as a whole we must always admire the masterly skill which Shakespeare has here displayed in the economy of his means, and the dexter¬ ity with which he has disguised his preparations, the scaffolding for the wonderful aerial structure In the Midsummer Night’s Dream again there flows a luxuriant
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vein of the boldest and most fantastical invention ; the most extraordinary combina¬ tion of the most dissimilar ingredients seems to have arisen without effort by some ingenious and lucky accident, and the colours are of such clear transparency that we think the whole of the variegated fabric may be blown away with a breath. The fairy world here described resembles those elegant pieces of Arabesque where little Genii, with butterfly wings, rise, half embodied, above the flower cups. Twilight, moonlight, dew, and spring-perfumes are the elements of these tender spirits; they assist Nature in embroidering her carpet with green leaves, many-coloured flowers, and dazzling insects ; in the human world they merely sport in a childish and wayward manner with their beneficent or noxious influences. Their most violent rage dissolves in good-natured raillery ; their passions, stripped of all earthly matter, are merely an ideal dream. To correspond with this, the loves of mortals are painted as a poetical enchantment, which, by a contrary enchantment, may be immediately suspended and then renewed again. The different parts of the plot, the wedding of Theseus, the disagreement of Oberon and Titania, the flight of the two pair of lovers, and the theatrical operations of the mechanics, are so lightly and happily interwoven that they seem necessary to each other for the formation of a whole. . . . The droll wonder of the transmutation of Bottom is merely the translation of a metaphor in its literal sense ; but in his behavior during the tender homage of the Fairy Queen we have a most amusing proof how much the consciousness of such a head-dress heightens the effect of his usual folly. Theseus and Hippolyta are, as it were, a splendid frame for the picture ; they take no part in the action, but appear with a stately pomp. The discourse of the hero and his Amazon, as they course through the forest with their noisy hunting-train, works upon the imagination, like the fresh breath of morning, before which the shades of night disappear. Pyramus and Thisbe is not unmean¬ ingly chosen as the grotesque play within the play ; it is exactly like the pathetic part of the piece, a secret meeting of two lovers in the forest, and their separation by an unfortunate accident, and closes the whole with the most amusing parody.
Gervinus ( Shakespeare , Leipzig, 1849, i, 246) : Shakespeare depicts [his fairies} as creatures devoid of refined feelings and of morality; just as we too in dreams meet with no check to our tender emotions and are freed from moral impulse and responsibility. Careless and unprincipled themselves, they tempt mortals to be un¬ faithful. The effects of the confusion which they have set on foot make no impres¬ sion on them ; with the mental torture of the lovers they have no jot of sympathy ; but over their blunders they rejoice, and at their fondness they wonder. Furthermore, the poet depicts his fairies as creatures devoid of high intellectuality. If their speeches are attentively read, it will be noted that nowhere is there a thoughtful reflection ascribed to them. On one solitary occasion Puck makes a sententious observation on the infidelity of man, and whoever has penetrated the nature of these beings will instantly feel that the observation is out of harmony. . . . Titania has no inner, spirit¬ ual relations to her friend, the mother of the little Indian boy, but merely pleasure in her shape, her grace, and gifts of mimicry.
[Page 252.] In the old Romances of Chivalry, in Chaucer, in Spenser, the Fairies are wholly different creatures, without definite character or purpose ; they harmonise with the whole world of chivalry in an unvarying monotony and lack of consistency. Whereas, in the Saxon Elfin-lore, Shakespeare found that which would enable him to cast aside the romantic art of the pastoral poets, and pass over to the rude popular taste of his country-folk. From Spenser’s Faerie Queene he could learn the melody
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of speech, the art of description, the brilliancy of romantic pictures, and the charm of visionary scenes ; but all the haughty, pretentious, romantic devices of this Elfin- world he cast aside and grasped the little pranks of Robin Goodfellow, wherein the simple faith of the common people had been preserved in pure and unpretentious form. Thus, also, with us, in Germany, at the time of the Reformation, when the Home-life of the people was restored, the chivalric and romantic conceptions of the spiritual world of nature, were cast aside and men returned to popular beliefs, and we can read nothing which reminds us of Shakespeare’s Fairy realm so strongly as the Theory of Elemental Spirits by our own Paracelsus. [This extraordinary state¬ ment should be seen in the original to vindicate the accuracy of the translation : ‘ man ‘ kann nichts lesen, was an Shakespeare’s Elfenreich so sehr erinnert, wrie unseres ‘ Paracelsus Theorie der Elementargeister.’ — Ed.] Indeed, it may be said that from the time when Shakespeare took to himself the dim ideas of these myths and their simple expression in prose and verse, the Saxon taste of the common people domi¬ nated in him more and more. In Romeo and Juliet and in The Merchant of Venice his sympathies with the one side and with the other are counterbalanced, almost of necessity, inasmuch as the poet is working exclusively with Italian materials. But it was the contemporaneous working on the Historical Plays which first fully and abso¬ lutely made the poet native to his home, and the scenes among the common folk in Henry the Fourth and Fifth reveal how comfortably he felt there.
Ulrici [Shakespeare' s Dramatic Art , vol. ii, p. 72. Trans, by L. Dora Schmitz, London, 1876, Bohn’s ed.) : In the first place, it is self-evident that the play is based upon the comic view of life, that is to say, upon Shakespeare’s idea of comedy. This is here expressed without reserve and in the clearest manner possible, in so far as it is not only in particular cases that the maddest freaks of accident come into conflict with human capriciousness, folly, and perversity, thus thwarting one another in turn, but that the principal spheres of life are made mutually to parody one another in mirthful irony. This last feature distinguishes A Midsummer Night's Dream from other comedies. Theseus and Hippolvta appear obviously to represent the grand, heroic, historical side of human nature. In place, however, of maintaining their greatness, power, and dignity, it is exhibited rather as spent in the common every¬ day occurrence of a marriage, which can claim no greater significance than it pos sesses for ordinary mortals; their heroic greatness parodies itself, inasmuch as it appears to exist for no other purpose than to be married in a suitable fashion.
[P. 74] Hence A. Scholl ( Blatter fur lit. Unterhaltung, 184) very justly re¬ marks that, ‘ When Demetrius and Lysander make fun of the candour with which ‘ these true-hearted dilettanti cast aside their masks during their performance, we can- ‘ not avoid recalling to mind that they themselves had shortly before, in the wood, no ‘ less quickly fallen out of their own parts. [See Schlegel, above. — Ed.] When these ‘ gentlemen consider Pyramus a bad lover, they forget that they had previously been ‘ no better themselves ; they had then declaimed about love as unreasonably as here ‘ Pyramus and Thisbe. Like the latter, they were separated from their happiness by ‘ a wall which was no wall but a delusion, they drew daggers which were as harm¬ less as those of Pyramus, and were, in spite of all their efforts, no better than the ‘ mechanics, that is to say, they were the means of making others laugh, the elves ‘ and ourselves. Nay, Puck makes the maddest game of these good citizens, for Bottom is more comfortable in the enchanted wood than they. The merry Puck ‘ has, indeed, by a mad prank had his laugh over the awkward mechanical and the
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lovely fairy queen, but in deceiving the foolish mortals has at the same time deceived himself. For although he, the elf, has driven Lysander and Demetrius and the ter- ' r'^ec^ mechanics about the wood, the elves have, in turn, been unceremoniously sent 1 hither and thither to do the errands of Bottom, the ruling favourite of Titania ; ‘ Bottom had wit enough to chaff the small Masters Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and ‘ Mustard-seed, as much as Puck had chaffed him and his fellows. Thus no party can accuse the other of anything, and in the end we do not know whether the mor- ‘ tals have been dreaming of elves, the elves of mortals, or we ourselves of both.’ Ii fact, the whole play is a bantering game, in which all parties are quizzed in turn, and which, at the same time, makes game of the audience as well.
[P. 76.] The marriage festival of Theseus and Hippolyta forms, so to say, a splendid golden frame to the whole picture, with which all the several scenes stand in some sort of connection. Within it we have the gambols of the elves among one another, which, like a gay ribbon, are woven into the plans of the loving couples and into the doings of the mechanics ; hence they represent a kind of relation between these two groups, while the blessings, which at the beginning they intended to bestow, and in the end actually do bestow, upon the house and lineage of Theseus make them partakers of the marriage feast, and give them a well-founded place in the drama. The play within the play, lastly, occupies the same position as a part of the wedding festivities. . . .
Human life appears conceived as a fantastic midsummer night’s dream. As in a dream, the airy picture flits past our minds with the quickness of wit; the remotest regions, the strangest and most motley figures mix with one another, and, in form and composition, make an exceedingly curious medley; as in a dream they thwart, embarrass, and disembarrass one another in turn, and, — owing to their con¬ stant change of character and wavering feelings and passions, — vanish, like the figures of a dream, into an uncertain chiaroscuro ; as in a dream, the play within the play holds up its puzzling concave mirror to the whole ; and as, doubtless, in real dreams the shadow of reason comments upon the individual images in a state of half doubt, half belief, — at one time denying them their apparent reality, at another again, allowing itself to be carried away by them,— so this piece, in its tendency to parody, while flitting past our sight is, at the same time, always criticising itself.
Dr. H. Woelffel ( Album des literarischen Vereins in Numberg fur 1852, p. 126) : If we gather, as it were, into one focus all the separate, distinguishing traits of these two characters [Lysander and Demetrius], if we seek to read the secret of their nature in their eyes, we shall unquestionably find it to be this, viz. in Lysander the poet wished to represent a noble magnanimous nature sensitive to the charms of the loveliness of soul and of spiritual beauty ; but in Demetrius he has given us a nature fundamentally less noble ; in its final analysis, even unlovely, and sensitive only to the impression of physical beauty. If there could be any doubt that these two characters are the opposites of each other, the poet has in a noteworthy way decided the question. The effect of the same magic juice on the two men is that Demetrius is rendered faithful, Lysander unfaithful — an incontrovertible sign that their natures, like their affections, are diametrically opposite.
This conclusion will be fully confirmed if we consider the two female characters, and from their traits and bearing, their features and demeanour, decipher their natures. Nay, in good sooth, the very names Hermia and Helena seem to corrobo¬ rate our view. For, just as Hermes, the messenger of the gods, harmonises heaven
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and earth, and, as Horace sings, first brought gentler customs and spiritual beauty to rude primitive man, — so the name Hermia hints of a charm which, bom in Heaven, outshines physical beauty, and is as unattainable to common perception as is the sky to him who bends his eyes upon the earth. But since the days of Homer and of Troy, Helen has been the symbol of the charm of earthly beauty. And it is to Lysander that the poet gives Hermia, and to the earthbom Demetrius, Helena.
Kreissig ( Vorlesungen, &c.,iii, 103, 1862) : When foreigners question the musical euphony of the English language, Englishmen are wont to point to A Midsummer Might's Dream, just as we Germans in turn point to the First Part of Faust. Such questions do not really admit of discussion. But the most pronounced contemner, however, of the scrunching, lisping, and hissing sounds of English words must be here fairly astonished at the abundance of those genuine beauties, which any good translation can convey, those similes scattered in such original and dazzling wealth, those profound thoughts, those vigorous and lovely expressions, genuine jewels as they are, with which Titania and Oberon seem to have overspread the tinted glittering gar¬ ment of this delicious story. Note, for instance, the compliment to the ‘ fair vestal 4 throned by the West,’ the picture of Titania’s bower, the bank whereon the wild thyme blows, the grand daybreak after the night of wild dreams, and, above all, the glorification of the poet by Theseus.
K. Elze (Essays, &c., trans. by L. Dora Schmitz, p. 32, 1874) : It is, of course, out of the question to suppose that Jonson’s Masques influenced A Midsummer Night's Dream; it could more readily be conceived that the latter exercised an influence upon Jonson. At least in the present play, the two portions, masque and anti-masque, are divided in an almost Jonsonian manner. The love-stories of The¬ seus and of the Athenian youths,— to use Schlegel’s words, — 1 form, as it were, a 1 splendid frame to the picture.’ Into this frame, which corresponds to the actual masque, the anti-masque is inserted, and the latter again is divided into the semi¬ choruses of the fairies (for they too belong to the anti-masque) and the clowns. Shakespeare has, of course, treated the whole with the most perfect artistic freedom. The two parts do not, as is frequently the case in masques, proceed internally uncon¬ nected by the side of each other, but are most skilfully interwoven. The anti-masque, in the scenes between Oberon and Titania, rises to the full poetic height of the masque, while the latter, in the dispute between Hermia and Helena, does not indeed enter the domain of the comic, but still diminishes in dignity, and Theseus in the Fifth Act actually descends to the jokes of the clowns. The Bergomask dance per¬ formed by the clowns forcibly reminds us of the outlandish nothings of the anti¬ masque, as pointed out by Jonson. Moreover, we feel throughout the play that like the masques it was originally intended for a private entertainment. The resemblance to the masques is still heightened by the completely lyrical, not to say operatic stamp, of the Midsummer Night's Dream. There is no action which develops of internal necessity, and the poet has here, as Gervinus says, 4 completely laid aside his great 4 art of finding a motive for every action.’ ... In a word, exactly as in the masques, everything is an occurrence and a living picture rather than a plot, and the delinea¬ tion of the characters is accordingly given only with slight touches. ... Yet, however imperceptible may be [the transition from masque to anti-masque] Shakespeare’s play stands far above all masques, those of Jonson not excepted, and differs from them in
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essential poii ts. Ahove all, it is obvious that Shakespeare has transferred the subject from the domain of learned poetry into the popular one, and has thus given it an imperishable and universally attractive substance. Just as he transformed the vulgar chronicle -histories into truly dramatic plays, so in the Midsummer Night's Dream he raised the masque to the highest form of art, as, in fact, his greatness in general con¬ sists in having carried all the existing dramatic species to the highest point of perfec¬ tion. The difference between learned and popular poetry can nowhere appear more distinct than in comparing the present play with Jonson’s masques. Jonson also made Oberon the principal character of a masque, — but what a contrast ! Almost all the figures, all the images and allusions, are the exclusive property of the scholar, and can be neither understood by the people nor touch a sympathetic chord in their hearts. In the very first lines two Virgilian satyrs, Chromis and Mnasil, are introduced, who, even to Shakespeare’s best audience, must have been unknown and unintelligible, and deserved to be hissed off the stage by the groundlings. Hence Jonson found it necessary to furnish his masques with copious notes, which would do honour to a German philosopher ; Shakespeare never penned a note. Shakespeare in A Midsum¬ mer Night's Dream by no means effaced the mythological background, and the fabu¬ lous world of spirits peculiar to the masque, but has taken care to treat it all in an intelligible and charming manner. . . . Most genuinely national, Shakespeare shows himself in the anti-masque; whose clowns are no sy Ivans, fauns, or Cyclops, but English tradesmen such as the poet may have become acquainted with in Stratford and London, — such as performed in the ‘ Coventry Plays.’
W. Oechelhauser ( Einfuhrungen in Shakespeare' s Buhnen- Dramen, 2te Aufl. 1885, ii, 277) [After quoting with approval Ulrici’s theory, given above, that this play is a succession of parodies, the author, who is widely known as the advocate of a correct representation of Shakespeare’s plays on the stage, continues :] In the word parody is the key to the only true comprehension and representation of the Summer- night’s Dream ; but observe, there must be no attempt at a mere comic representation of love, least of all at a representation of true, genuine love, but at a parody of Itrve. Above all, there is nothing in the whole play which is to be taken seriously; every action and situation in it is a parody, and all persons , without exception, heroes as weh as lowers, fairies as well as clowns, are exponents of this parody.
In the midst of fairies and clowns there is no place for a serious main action. But if this be granted, then (and this it is which I now urge) let the true coloring be given to the main action when put upon the stage, and let it not, as has been hitherto the case, vaguely fluctuate between jest and earnest.
[P. 279.] There is, perhaps, no other piece which affords to managers and to actors alike, better opportunities for manifold comic effects and for a display of versa¬ tility than this very Summernight' s Dream. It need scarcely be said that my inter¬ pretation of this tendency of the piece to parody does not contemplate a descent to low comicality, to a parody d la Offenbach.
If, accordingly, in the light of this interpretation, we consider more closely the pres¬ entation of the different characters, we shall find that the r3le of Duke Theseus does not in the main demand any especial exaggeration. The dignified and benevolent words which the poet, especially in the Fifth Act, puts in his mouth must be in har¬ mony with the exterior representation of the r61e. The enlivening effect will be per¬ ceived readily enough without any aid from Theseus, as a reflex of the whole situation wherein he is placed. The old, legendary, Greek hero bears himself like an honour-
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able, courteous, and, in spite of his scoffings at lovers, very respectably enamoured bonhomme ; of the Greek or of the Hero, nothing but the name.
An exaggeration, somewhat more pronounced than that of Theseus is required for the Amazonian queen Hippolyta. Here the contrast between classicality and an appearance in Comedy is more striking ; moreover there are various indications in the play which lead directly to the conclusion that the poet intended to give this rdle a palpably comic tone. The jealous Titania speaks of her derisively as ‘ the bouncing ‘ Amazon, Your buskin’d mistress and your warrior love ’ [or, as it is given, very inadequately, in Schlegel’s translation : ‘ Die Amazone, Die strotzende, hochaufge ' schiirzte Dame, Dein Heldenliebchen.’ It is needless to note that there is no trace here of ‘ buskin’d,’ and that in the word substituted for it there is a vulgarity which no jealous fit could ever extort from Titania’s refined fairy mouth. Strotzende does duty well enough for ‘ bouncing,’ albeit Oechelhauser would substitute for it, fett, quatschelig, ‘ fat, dumpy,’ in which there is only a trace of * bouncing.’ — Ed.] . . . The r6les of Theseus and Hippolyta acquire the genuine and befitting shade of comicality, when they are represented as a stout middle-aged pair of lovers, past their maturity, for such was unquestionably the design of the poet, and was in har¬ mony with their active past life. The words of Titania, just quoted, refer to that corporeal superabundance which is wont to accompany mature years. But Theseus always speaks with the sedateness of ripe age. The mutual jealous recriminations of Oberon and Titania acquire herein the comic coloring whicli was clearly intended; thus too the amorous impatience of the elderly lovers which runs through the whole piece.
Utterly different from this must the tendency to parody be expressed in the acts and words of the pairs of youthful lovers. First of all, every actor must rid himself of any preconceived notion that he is here dealing with ideal characters, or with ordi¬ nary, lofty personages of deep and warm feelings. Here there is nought but the jest¬ ing parody of love’s passion. . . . One of Hermia’s characteristics is lack of respect for her father, who complains of her ‘ stubborn harshness ’ ; as also her pert questions and answers to the Duke, whose threats of death or enduring spinsterhood she treats with open levity, and behind the Duke’s back snaps her fingers at both of them. . . .
[P. 283] Actresses, therefore, need not fruitlessly try to make two fondly and devotedly loving characters out of Hermia or Helena, or hope to cloak Helena’s chase after Demetrius in the guise of true womanliness ; it is impossible and will only prove tedious. . . .
[P. 285] There is a rich opportunity in Hermia’s blustering father, Egeus. Here the colours should be well laid on. It is plain that Theseus is merely making merry with him when he says to Hermia : ‘ To you your father should be as a god,’ &c. ; and to Egeus’s appeals Theseus responds merely jocosely, as Wehl observed. [See Wehl’s description of the first performance of this play in Berlin, post. — Ed.]
[P. 287] As regards the Interlude, the colours may be laid heavily on the Arti¬ sans, but nothing vulgar in acting or movement, especially in the dance at the close, must be tolerated. Their most prominent trait is naivete ; not the smallest suspicion have they of their boorishness; the more seriously they perform, the more laughable are they. . . . The spectators on the stage of the Interlude must fall into the plan and accompany the clowns’ play with their encouragement and applause. For the public at large there lies in this clowns’ comedy the chief attraction of the piece.
NOTABLE PERFORMANCES
329
Notable Performances
Feodor Wehl ( Didaskalien , Leipsic, 1867, p. 2) : When Tieck, in the hey-day of his life, was in Dresden, he pleaded enthusiastically for a performance of the 1 Summernight’s Dream.’ But actors, managers, and theatre-goers shook their heads. ‘ The thing is impossible,’ said the knowing ones. ‘ The idea is a chimera, — a dream 4 of Queen Mab, — it can never be realised.’
Tieck flung himself angrily back in his chair, and held his peace.
Years passed by.
At last Tieck was summoned to Berlin, to the Court of Friedrich Wilhelm the Fourth, and among the pieces of poetry which he there read to attentive ears was Shakespeare’s 4 Summemight’s Dream.’ At the conclusion of the reading, which had given the keenest delight to the illustrious audience, the King asked : 4 Is it really
* a fact that this piece cannot be performed on the stage ?’
Tieck, as he himself often afterwards humourously related, was thunderstruck. He felt his heart beat to the very tip of his tongue, and for a minute language failed him. For more than twenty years, almost a lifetime, his cherished idea had been repelled with cold opposition, prosaic arguments, or sympathetic shrugs. And now a monarch, intellectual and powerful, had asked if the play could not be performed ! Tieck’s head swam ; before his eyes floated the vision of a fulfillment, at the close of his life, of one of the dearest wishes of his heart. 4 Your majesty !’ he cried at last, 4 Your majesty ! If 1 only had permission and the means, it would make the most
* enchanting performance on earth !’
4 Good then, set to work, Master Ludovico,’ replied Friedrich Wilhelm, in his pleasant, jesting way. 4 1 give you full power, and will order Kuestner (the Superin¬ tendent at that time of the Royal Theatre) to place the theatre and all his soupes (actors) at your disposal.’
It was the happiest day of Ludwig Tieck’s life ! The aged poet, crippled with rheumatism, reached his home, intoxicated with joy. The whole night he was think¬ ing, pondering, ruminating, scene-shifting. The next day he arranged the Comedy, read it to the actors who were to take part in it, and consulted with Felix Mendels¬ sohn Bartholdy about the needful music.
The aged Master Ludwig was rejuvenated; vanished were his years, his feebleness, his valetudinarianism. Day after day he wrote, he spoke, he drove hither and thither, — his whole soul was in the work which he was now to make alive.
At last the day came which was to reveal it to the doubting and astonished eyes of the public. And what a public ! All that Berlin could show of celebrities in Science, in Art, in intellect, in acknowledged or in struggling Authorship, in talent, in genius, in beauty, and grace, — all were invited to the royal palace at Potsdam, where the first representation was to take place.
The present writer was so fortunate as to be one of the invited guests, and never can he forget the impression then made on him.
The stage was set as far as possible in the Old English style, only, as was natural, it was furnished in the most beautiful and tasteful way. In the Orchestra stood Mendelssohn, beaming with joy, behind him sat Tieck, with kindling looks, hand¬ some, and transfigured like a god. Around was gathered the glittering court, and in the rear the rising rows of invited guests.
What an assemblage ! There sat the great Humboldt, the learned Boekh, Bach-
330
APPENDIX
mann, the historians Raumer and Ranke, all the Professors of the University, the poets Kopisch, Kugler, Bettina von Arnim, Paalzow, Theodor Mundt, Willibac. Alexis, Rellstab, Crelinger, Varnhagen von Ense, and the numberless host of the other guests.
It was a time when all the world was enthusiastic over Friedrich Wilhelm the Fourth. His gift as a public speaker, his wit, his love and knowledge of Art had charmed all classes, and filled them with hope. All hearts went out to meet him as he entered, gay, joyous, smiling, and took his place among the guests.
Verily, we seemed transported to the age of Versailles in the days of the Louises. It was a gala-day for the realm, fairer and more brilliant than any hitherto in its history.
What pleasure shone in all faces, what anticipation, what suspense ! An eventful moment was it when the King took his seat, and the beaming Tieck nodded to his joyous friend in the Orchestra, and the music began, that charming, original, bewitch¬ ing music which clung so closely to the innermost meaning of the poetry and to the suggestions of Tieck. The Wedding March has become a popular, an immortal com¬ position ; but how lovely, how delicious, how exquisite, and here and there so full of frolic, is all the rest of it ! With a master’s power, which cannot be too much ad¬ mired, Mendelssohn has given expression in one continuous harmony to the soft whisperings of elves, to the rustlings and flutterings of a moonlit night, to all the enchantment of love, to the clumsy nonsense of the rude mechanicals, and to the whizzings and buzzings of the mad Puck.
How it then caught the fancy of that select audience ! They listened, they mar¬ velled, they were in a dream !
And when at last the play fairly began, how like a holy benediction it fell upon all, no one stirred, no one moved, as though spellbound all sat to the very last, and then an indescribable enthusiasm burst forth, every one, from the King down to the smallest authorkin, applauded and clapped, and clapped again.
Take it for all in all, it was a day never to be forgotten, it was a day when before the eyes of an art-loving monarch, a poet revealed the miracle of a representation, and superbly proved that it was no impossibility to those who were devoted to art. In this ‘ Summernight’s Dream ’ the elfin world seemed again to live ; elves sprang up from the ground, from the air, from the trees, from the flowers ! they fluttered in the beams of the moon ! Light, shade, sound, echo, leaves and blooms, sighings and singings, and shoutings for joy ! everything helped to make the wonder true and living !
Not for a second time can the like be seen.
It was the highest pinnacle of the reign of Friedrich Wilhelm the Fourth. Who could have dreamt that behind this glittering play of poetic fancy there stood dark and bloody Revolution, and fateful Death ? Yet it was even so !
[After sundry suggestions as to the modulation of the voice when Mendelssohn’s music accompanies the performance on the stage, Wehl gives the following extraordi¬ nary interpretation, p. 15: ‘The actor who personates Theseus must have a joyous, gracious bearing. When he threatens Hermia with death or separation from the society of man, in case of her disobedience to her father, he must speak in a roguish, humorous style, and not in the sober earnestness with which the words are usually spoken.’ The inference is fair that Wehl is reporting the style of Theseus’s addre„r as it was given at this celebrated performance under Tieck’s direction. Oechel- hAusf.r, as we have seen above, approves of this interpretation. — Ed.]
NOTABLE PERFORMANCES
331
Th. Fontane [Aus England , Stuttgart, i860, p. 49) gives an elaborate descrip¬ tion, scene by scene, of the revival of this play by Charles Kean. The most note¬ worthy item is, perhaps, his account of Puck who ‘ grows out of the ground on a ‘ toadstool.’ ‘ Puck was acted by a child, a blond, roguish girl, about ten years old.
‘ This was well devised and accords with the traditional ideas of Robin Goodfellow.
* The Costume was well chosen : dark brownish-red garment, trimmed with blood-
* red moss and lichens ; a similar crown was on the blond somewhat dishevelled hair.
‘ Arms thin and bare and as long as though she belonged to the Clan Campbell,
‘ whose arms reach to the knees. In theory I am thoroughly agreed with this way ‘ of representing Puck, but in practice there will be always great difficulties. This ‘ ten year old Miss Ellen Terry was a downright intolerable, precocious, genuine ‘ English ill-bred, unchildlike child. Nevertheless the impression of her mere ‘ appearance is so deep that I cannot now imagine a grown up Puck, with a full neck
* and round arms. Let me record the way in which, on two occasions when he has to ‘ hasten, Puck disappeared. The first time he seemed to stand upon a board which ‘ with one sudden pull, jerked him behind the coulisse ; the second time he actually ‘ flew like an arrow through the air. Both times by machinery.’ [No one can bear an allusion to her salad days, her extremely salad days, with better grace than she who has been ever since those days so hung upon with admiration and applause. — Ed.]
In the Introduction to the edition of this play illustrated by J. Moyr Smith (Lon¬ don, 1892, p. xii), there are full accounts of the setting on the stage at the representa¬ tions by Mr. Phelps, at Sadler’s Wells, by Mr. Charles Calvert, at Manchester, and by Mr. Benson at the Globe Theatre in London. From the account of the first of these we learn that with Mr. Phelps was associated Mr. Frederic Fenton as scenic artist. The latter says: ‘ In those days’ [the date is nowhere given], ‘lighting was ‘ a serious difficulty. Very few theatres were enabled to have gas. When Phelps
* and Greenwood took the management into their hands, the lighting of Sadler’s ‘ Wells was merely upright side-lights, about six lamps to each entrance, which were ‘ placed on angular frames, and revolved to darken the stage ; no lights above. ‘ When set pieces were used, a tray of oil lamps was placed behind them, with ‘ coloured glasses for moonlight. For the footlights (or floats) there was a large pipe,
* with two vases at each end, with a supply of oil to charge the argand burners on
* the pipes ; it was lowered out between the acts, to be trimmed as necessity required. * ... I obtained permission for the gas to be supplied as a permanent lighting for the ‘ theatre, and it was used for the first time in A Midsummer Night's Dream. With ‘ its introduction the smell of oil and sawdust, which was the prevailing odour of all ‘ theatres, was finally removed. . . . The effect of movement was given by a diorama ‘ — that is, two sets of scenes moving simultaneously. . . . For the first time used, to « give a kind of mist, I sent to Glasgow expressly for a piece of blue net, the same ‘ size as the act-drop, without a seam. This after the first act, was kept down for the ‘ the actors behind it.’ In addition to this diaphanous blue net, other thicknesses of gauze, partly painted, were used occasionally to deepen the misty effect, and to give the illusion necessary when Oberon tells Puck to * overcast the night.’
William Winter ( Old Shrines and Ivy, 1892, p. 173) : The attentive observer of the stage version made by Augustin Daly. — and conspicuously used by him
332
APPENDIX
when he revived [this play] at his Theatre on January 31, 1888, — would observe that much new and effective stage business was introduced. The disposition of the groups at the start was fresh, and so was the treatment of the quarrel between Oberon and Titania, with the disappearance of the Indian child. The moonlight effects, in the transition from Act II. to Act III. and the gradual assembly of goblins and fairies in shadowy mists through which the fire-flies glimmered, at the close of Act III., were novel and beautiful. Cuts and transpositions were made at the end of Act IV. in order to close it with the voyage of the barge of Theseus, through a summer land¬ scape, on the silver stream that rippled down to Athens. The Third Act was judi¬ ciously compressed, so that the spectator might not see too much of the perplexed and wrangling lovers. But little of the original text was omitted. The music for the choruses was selected from various English composers, — that of Mendelssohn being prescribed only for the orchestra.
COSTUME
Knight ( Introductory Notice, p. 333) : For the costume of the Greeks in the heroical ages we must look to the frieze of the Parthenon. It has been justly remarked ( Elgin Marbles, p. 165) that we are not to consider the figures of the Par¬ thenon frieze as affording us ‘ a close representation of the national costume,’ har¬ mony of composition having been the principal object of the sculptors. But, never¬ theless, although not one figure in all the groups may be represented as fully attired according to the custom of the country, nearly all the component parts of the ancient Greek dress are to be found in the frieze. Horsemen are certainly represented with no garment but the chlamys, according to the practice of the sculptors of that age ; but the tunic which was worn beneath it is seen upon others, as well as the cothurnus, or buskin, and the petasus, or Thessalian hat, which all together completed the male attire of that period. On other figures may be observed the Greek crested helmet and cuirass the closer skull-cap, made of leather, and the large circular shield, &c. The Greeks of the heroic ages wore the sword under the left arm-pit, so that the pommel touched the nipple of the breast. It hung almost horizontally in a belt which passed over the right shoulder. It was straight, intended for cutting and thrusting, with a leaf-shaped blade, and not above twenty inches long. It had no guard, but a cross bar, which, with the scabbard, was beautifully ornamented. The hilts of the Greek swords were sometimes of ivory and gold. The Greek bow was made of two long goat’s horns fastened into a handle. The original bowstrings were thongs of leather, but afterwards horse-hair was substituted. The knocks were gen¬ erally of gold, whilst metal and silver also ornamented the bows on other parts. The arrow-heads were sometimes pyramidal, and the shafts were furnished with feathers. They were carried in quivers, which, with the bow, were slung behind the shoulders. Some of these were square, others round, with covers to protect the arrows from dust and rain. Several which appear on fictile vases seem to have been lined with skins. The spear was generally of ash, with a leaf-shaped head of metal, and furnished with a pointed ferrule at the butt, with which it was stuck in the ground,— a method used, according to Homer, when the troops rested on their arms, or slept upon their shields! The hunting-spear (in Xenophon and Pollux) had two salient parts, sometimes three crescents, to prevent the advance of the wounded animal. On the coins of zEtolia ts an undoubted hunting-spear.
COSTUME
333
The female dress consisted of the long sleeveless tunic (stola or calasiris), or a tunic with shoulder-flaps almost to the elbow, and fastened by one or more buttons down the arm ( axillaris ). Both descriptions hung in folds to the feet, which were protected by a very simple sandal ( solea or crepida). Over the tunic was worn the peplum, a square cloth or veil fastened to the shoulders, and hanging over the bosom as low as the zone {tcenia or strophium), which confined the tunic just beneath the bust. Athenian women of high rank wore hair-pins (one ornamented with a cicada, or grasshopper, is engraved in Hope’s Costume of the Ancients, plate 138), ribands or fillets, wreaths of flowers, &c. The hair of both sexes was worn in long, formal ring¬ lets, either of a flat and zigzagged, or of a round and corkscrew shape.
The lower orders of Greeks were clad in a short tunic of coarse materials, over which slaves wore a sort of leathern jacket, called dipthera ; slaves were also dis tinguished from freemen by their hair being closely shorn.
The Amazons are generally represented on the Etruscan vases in short embroidered tunics with sleeves to the wrist (the peculiar distinction of Asiatic or barbarian nations), pantaloons, ornamented with stars and flowers to correspond with the tunic, the chlamys , or short military cloak, and the Phrygian cap or bonnet. Hippolyta is seen so attired on horseback contending with Theseus. Vide Hope’s Costumes.
E. W. Godwin, F. S. A. ( The Architect , 8 May, 1875) : In affixing an approxi¬ mate date for the action, I see no reason why [this play] should not be considered as wholly belonging to its author’s time. The proper names . . . are no doubt eminently Greek, but the woods where Hermia and Helena ‘ upon faint primrose beds were ‘ wont to lie ’ are as English as the Clowns and the Fairies, than which nothing can be more English. The fact that Theseus refers to his battle with the Amazons, . . . although strictly in accordance with the classic legend, is hardly sufficient to weigh down the host of improbabilities that crowd the stage when this play is produced with costume, &c., in imitation of Greek fashions. Again, when Theseus talks of the liver)- of a nun, shady cloisters, and the like, he is of course distinctly referring to the votaries of Diana; and when the ladies and gentlemen swear they swear by pagan deities, although the names they give are Roman. But Puck and Bottom, — nay, even tall Helena and proud Titania, — each is quite enough to overweigh the Greek element in the play. Still, if it must be produced with classic accessories, we should do well to be true to the little there is of classic reference. Thus, although Theseus, in the heroic characrer we have of him, may be a myth, still the connection of his name with that of fair Helen of Troy brings the man within the range of archaeology. And thus we should be led to place his union with Hippolyta only a few years before the siege of Troy. ... If then the play of A Midsummer Night's Dream must needs be acted, and if it must needs be classically clothed, — and there are many reasons against both ifs, — the architecture, costume, and accessories may very well be the same as those in Troilus and Cressida. One thing is, or ought to be, quite clear, and that is that the Acropolis of Athens, as we know it, with its Par¬ thenon, Erectheium, and Propylea, has just about as much relation to the Greeks of the time of Ulysses or Theseus as the Reform Club has to King John. We have, indeed, to travel back, not merely beyond the time of the Parthenon (438-420 B. c.), or beyond that of its predecessor (650 B. C.), but beyond the days of Hesiod and Homer (900 B. C.), past the Dorian conquest of the Achaians in Peloponnesos, and so higher up the stream of time until we reach the early period of the Pelasgic civilisa¬ tion. ... I would accept the period 1184-900 B. C. in preference to any later or earliet
334
APPENDIX
time as that wherein to seek the architecture and costume of the two plays above mentioned.
A Room in the Palace of Theseus is the only architectural scene in A Midsummer Nights Dream , and for the character of this interior we must turn to Assyria and Persepolis, to the descriptions of Solomon’s Temple and house of the Forest of Leba¬ non (1005 B. C.), and the fragments of Mycenae and other Pelasgic towns. . . .
[1 15 May, 1875.] The costume of Greeks and Trojans in that wide-margined period of time that I selected for the action of Troilus and Cressida, i. e. 1184-900 B. c., is by no means ready to our hands. . . . Although the earliest figure-painted ves¬ sels in the First Vase-Room of the [British] Museum may not take us further back than 500 B. C., and the sculptures of the Temple at /Egina may lead us certainly to no earlier period, yet by taking these as our point de dipart, and so going up the stream of time until we reach the North-west palace at Nimroud, c. 900 B. C., we may, by the collateral assistance of Homer and Hesiod, together with such evidence as may be derived from Keltic remains, be enabled to arrive at something like a pos¬ sible, if not probable, conclusion as to the costume of Achaians and Trojans in the Heroic days. ... As to the several articles of dress, the Iliad supplies us with minute particulars, and from these we learn that the full armour, which was mostly made of brass, consisted of: — I, the helmet; 2, the thorax or cuirass over a linen vest; 3, the cuissots or thigh-pieces, and 4, the greaves ; no mention is anywhere made of the leather, felt, or metal straps which we find depending from the lower edge of the cuirass in the armed figures on vases of a much later period. Of belts we have three kinds, the zone or waist belt, the sword belt, and the shield belt. Besides the sword and shield we have the spear, the bow, and the iron-studded mace, which last is very suggestive of the morning-star or holy-water-sprinkler of mediaeval armouries. The men wore the hair long, and their skin was brown. The costume of the other sex seems to have depended for its effect not so much on quantity as on quality, and more than anything else on the proportion, articulation, and undulation of the splen¬ dour of human form. The chiton or tunic, the broad zone, the diplax, pallium or mantle sweeping the ground, the peplos or veil, the sandals, and the head-dress formed a complete toilette. Among their personal ornaments were ear-rings, diadems, or frontals, chains, brooches, and necklaces.
And now turn to the actors in this drama. Taking the Greeks first, we have Achilles presented to us as golden-haired ; his sceptre is starred with gold studs ; his greaves are of ductile tin ; his cuissots are of silver ; his cuirass of gold ; his four¬ fold helm of sculptured (repoussf) brass with a golden crest of horsehair gilded ; his shield of gold, silver, brass, and tin divided by concentric rings, each divided into four compartments ; his sword is of bronze, starred with gems ; and his baldrick is embroidered in various colours. Agamemnon wears, when unarmed, a fine linen vest, a purple mantle, embroidered sandals, and a lion’s skin at night over his shoul¬ ders. When armed he wears a four-fold helm with horsehair plume ; greaves with silver buckles ; a wonderful cuirass composed of ten rows of azure steel, twenty of tin, and twelve of gold, with three dragons rising to the neck ; a baldrick radiant with embroidery ; a sword with gold hilt, silver sheath, and gold hangers ; a broad belt with silver plates; and a shield of ten concentric bands or zones of brass, with twenty bosses and a Gorgon in the midst. Menelaus wore a leopard’s skin at night. Old Nestor’s mantle is of soft, warm wool, doubly lined ; his shield is of gold, and he weirs a scarf of divers colours. . . . Ajax is clothed in steel and carries a terrific mace, crowned with studs of iron, whilst Patroclus wears brass, silver buckled a
PETER SQUENTZ
335
flaming cuirass of a thousand dyes, a 6Word studded with gold, and a sword-belt like a starry zone. On the Trojan side, we see Hektor with a shield reaching frotn neck to ankle ; a plume or crest of white and black horsehair ; a brass cuirass and spears about sixteen feet long. Paris, in curling golden tresses, comes before us in gilded armour, buckled with silver buckles; his thigh-pieces are wrought with flowers ; his helmet is fastened by a strap of tough bull-hide ; a leopard’s skin he wears as a cloak, and his bow hangs across his shoulders. Of the fair Helen Homer says but little. . . . We see her pass out of the palace, attended by her two hand¬ maidens, her face and arms covered by a thin white peplos, her soft white chiton tucked up through the gold zone beneath her swelling bosom, and her embroidered diplax fastened with clasps of gold, whilst both peplos and diplax fall in multitud¬ inous folds until they lose themselves in a train of rippling waves. . . .
Such then is the evidence we gather from Homer as to the costume of Troilus and Cressida [as Godwin before remarked, it is the same for A Midsummer Night's Dream\ ; Hesiod, in so far as he refers to costume, confirms it. . . .
For the women’s armlets, bracelets, necklaces, and earrings ; for the woven pat¬ terns, and the embroidered borders of the square mantle and the chiton, we cannot be far wrong if we seek in the sculptures of the reign of Assur-nazir-pal (c. 880 B. c.). Necklaces of beads and of numerous small pendants might be used, if preferred, instead of the bolder medallion necklace. The twisted snake-like form as well as the single medallion may be used for bracelets. The hair was rolled and confined within a caul or net, made of coloured or gold thread, and a fillet not unusually of thin fine gold bound the base of the net. This fillet, in the cases of very important ladies, might expand into a frontal or diadem of thin gold, bent round the forehead from ear to ear and decorated with very delicate repousse work.
PETER SQUENTZ
Halliwell ( Introd ., Folio ed. 1856, p. 12) : Bottom appears to have been then considered the most prominent character in the play ; and 1 the merry conceited ‘ humours of Bottom the Weaver,’ with a portion of the fairy scenes, were extracted from the Midsummer Night’s Dream, and made into a farce or droll ( The Merry conceited Humours of Bottom the Weaver, as it hath been often publikely acted by some of his Majesties Comedians, and lately privately presented by several apprentices for their harmless recreation, with great applause, 4to, Lond. 1661), which was very frequently played ‘ on the sly,’ after the suppression of the theatres. ‘ When the pub- ‘ lique theatres were shut up,’ observes Xirkman, ‘ and the actors forbidden to present ‘ us with any of their tragedies, because we had enough of that in ernest ; and com- ‘ edies, because the vices of the age were too lively and smartly represented ; then ‘ all that we could divert ourselves with were these humours and pieces of plays, ‘ which passing under the name of a merry conceited fellow called Bottom the ‘ Weaver, Simpleton the Smith, John Swabber, or some such title, were only allowed ‘ us, and that but by stealth too, and under pretence of rope-dancing and the like.’ — The Wits, 1673, an abridgement of Kirkman’s Wits, or Sport upon Sport, 1672. Both these contain The Humours of Bottom the Weaver, in which Puck is transformed by name into Pugg. [In the Dramatis Persona are instances of the ‘ doubling ’ of characters, e. g. ‘ Oberon, King of the Fairies, who likewise may present the Duke. • Titania his Queen, the Dutchess. Pugg. A Spirit, a Lord. Pyramus, Thisbe, Wall. Who likewise may present three Fairies.’ — Ed.'
APPENDIX
336
Tieck (. Deutsches Theater , Berlin, 1817, ii, xvi) suggests that the foregoing Droll had, by some means, found its way to Germany, and was there translated for the stage, and brought out at Altdorf, by Daniel Schwenter; ‘Titania was omitted, ‘ Bottom changed into Pickleherring, and much added to the fun, and many phrases
* literally retained from Shakespeare, with whose play he was not acquainted.’
Yoss (Trans., 1818, i, 506) thinks that Schwenter might have adopted some old legend of Folk-lore. But the literalness with which Shakespeare’s words are trans¬ lated renders this impossible, unless Shakespeare went to the same source.
Albert Cohn ( Shakespeare in Germany, 1865, p. cxxx) denies that Schwenter could have translated The Merry Conceited Humours of Bottom, which was not printed till 1660; Schwenter died in 1636. ‘Nothing can be more probable,’ says Cohn, ‘ than that Shakespeare’s piece was brought to Germany by the English Come- 1 dians. Such a farce must have been especially suitable to their object. That the ‘ whole of the Midsummer Night's Dream belonged to the acting stock of the Come- ‘ dians is very unlikely. On the contrary, they probably took from it only the comedy ‘ of the clowns, as may also have been done occasionally in England.’
Argument on this point is, however, somewhat superfluous, seeing that no copy of Schwenter’s work has survived. Indeed all we know of it is derived from Gryphius, one of Germany’s earliest dramatists, who in 1663 issued, Absurda Comica, Or Herr Peter Squentz. A Pasquinade by A ndreas Gryphius, and from the ‘ Address to ‘ the Reader,’ we might be permitted to doubt (if the whole question were of any moment) whether any fragment even of Schwenter’s work has survived in Gryphius’s Absurda Comica. There need be no clashing of dates between The Merry Con¬ ceited Humours in 1660 and the Absurda Comica in 1663, and there can be no ques¬ tion that the latter is taken from the former. The only writer, as far as I know, who denies that Shakespeare was copied, is Dr W. Bell, who promises (Shakespeare' s Puck, &c, 1864, iii, 181) that he will ‘bring historical proof of a German origin of a ‘ very early date,’ but I can nowhere find his promise explicitly fulfilled.
Tieck reprinted Gryphius’s pasquinade in his Deutsches Theater (ii, 235). The address ‘ to the Most gracious and Highly honoured Reader ’ is as follows : — ‘ Herr ‘ Peter Squentz, a man no longer unknown in Germany, and greatly celebrated in his ‘ own estimation, is herewith presented to you. Whither or not his sallies are as ‘ pointed, as he himself thinks, they have been hitherto in various theatres received ‘ and laughed at, with especial merriment by the audience, and, in consequence here ‘ and there, wits have been found who, without shame or scruple, have not hesitated ‘ to claim his parentage. Wherefore, in order that he may be no longer indebted to
* strangers, be it known that Daniel Schwenter, a man of high desert throughout Ger- ‘ many, and skilled in all kinds of languages and in the mathematics, first introduced ‘ him on the stage at Altdorff, whence he travelled further and further until at last he
* encountered my dearest friend, who had him better equipped, enlarged by more ‘ characters, and subjected him, alongside of one of his own tragedies, to the eyes
and judgement of all. But inasmuch as this friend, engrossed by weightier matters, subsequently quite forgot him, I have ventured to summon Herr Peter Squentz from the shelves of my aforesaid friend’s library, and to send him in type to thee my most gracious and highly honoured reader ; if thou wilt accept him with favour thou mayest forthwith expect the incomparable Horribilicribrifax, depicted by the same
PETER SQUENTZ 337
‘ brush to which we owe the latest strokes on the perfected portrait of Peter Squentz 4 and herewith I remain thy ever devoted
‘ Philip-Gregorio Riesentod.’
As we are here concerned only in detecting the traces of Shakespeare, it suffices to say that in the Absurda Comica there is nothing of the plot of A Midsummer Night'' Dream , and that an Interlude of Pyramus and Thisbe is acted before King Theo¬ dore, and Cassandra, his wife, Serenus, the Prince, Violandra, the Princess, and Eubulus, the Chamberlain. The meaningless name, Peter Squentz, is clearly Shake¬ speare’s Peter Quince, adopted apparently in ignorance that ‘ Quince ’ is the name of the fruit, which in German is Quitte. The Dramatis Persona, other than those just mentioned, are : —
Herr Peter Squentz, Writer and Schoolmaster in Rumpels-Kirchen,
Prologus and Epilogus.
Pickleherring, the Ring’s merry counsellor, Piramus.
Meister Krix-over-and-over-again, Smith, the Moon.
Meister Bulla Butain, Bellowsmaker, Wall.
Meister Klipperling, Joiner, Lion.
Meister Lollinger, Weaver and Head Chorister, Fountain.
Meister Klotz-George, Bobbin-maker, Thisbe.
In this list 4 Bulla Butain ’ is of itself quite sufficient to stamp the play as an adap¬ tation from Shakespeare.
In the first scene Peter Squentz unfolds the story of Pyramus and Thisbe * as told 4 by that pious father of the church, Ovidius, in his Memorium phosis,' and while he is distributing the characters Pickleherring asks : 4 Does the lion have much to speak ?’
Peter Squentz. No, the lion has only to roar.
Pickleherring. Aha, then I will be the lion, for I am not fond of learning tnings by heart.
Peter Squentz. No, no ! Mons. Pickleherring has to act the chief part.
Pickleherring. Am I clever enough to be a chief person ?
Peter Squentz. Of course. But as there must be a noble, commanding, dignified man for the Prologus and Epilogus, I will take that part. . . .
Klip. Who must act the lion, then ? I think it would suit me best, because he hasn’t much to say.
Kricks. Marry, I think it would sound too frightful if a fierce lion should come bounding in, and not say a word. That would frighten the ladies too horribly.
Klotz. There I agree with you. On account of the ladies you ought to say right off that you are no real lion at all, but only Klipperling, the joiner.
Pickleherring. And let your leather apron dangle out through the lion’s skin. . . .
Klipperling. Never you mind, never you mind, I will roar so exquisitely that the King and Queen will say, 4 dear little lionkin, roar again !’
Peter Squentz. In the meanwhile let your nails grow nice and long, and don’t shave your beard, and then you will look all the more like a lion, — so that dijficultct is over. But there’s another thing; the water of my understanding will not. drive ffie mill wheels of my brain : — the father of the church, Ovidius, writes that the moon shone, and we do not know whether the moon shines or not when we play our play.
Pickleherring. That’s a hard thing.
Kricks. That's easily settled ; look in the Calendar and see if the moon shines on that day.
22
338
APPENDIX
Klotz. Yes, if we only had one.
Lollinger. Here, I have one. ... Hi there, Squire Pickleherring, you understand Calendars, just look and see if the moon will shine.
Pickleherring. All right, all right, gentlemen, the moon will shine when we play. . . .
Kricks. Hark ye, what has just occurred to me. I’ll tie some faggots round my waist, and carry a light in a lanthom, and represent moon. . . .
Peter Squentz. What shall we do for a wall ? . . . Piramus and Thisbe must speak through a hole in the wall.
Klipperling. I think we had better daub a fellow all over with mud and loam, and have him say that he is Wall. . . .
Peter Squentz. Squire Pickleherring you must be Pyramus.
Pickleherring. Perry must [ Birnen Most] ? what sort of a chap is that ?
Peter Squentz. He is the most gentlemanlike person in the whole play — a cheva- lieur, soldier, and lover. . . .
Peter Squentz. Where shall we find a Thisbe ?
Lollinger. Klotz- George can act her the best. . . .
Peter Squentz. No that won’t do at all. He has a big beard. . . .
Bullabutain. You must speak small, small, small.
Klotz. Thissen [Also ?] ?
Peter Squentz. Smaller yet.
Klotz. Well, well, I’ll do it right. I’ll speak so small and lovely that the King «nd Queen will just dote on me. . . .
Peter Squentz. Gentlemen, con your parts diligently, I will finish the Comedy to¬ morrow, and you will get your parts, therefore, day after tomorrow.
The foregoing affords ample evidence of the source whence came Peter Squentz. Throughout the rest of the play there are sundry whiffs of Shakespeare, but it would be time wasted either to point them out or to read them.
John spencer
Collier ( Annals of the Stage, i, 459, 2d ed. 1879): In the autumn of 1631 a very singular circumstance occurred, connected with the history of the stage. Unless the whole story were a malicious invention by some of the many enemies of John Williams, then Bishop of Lincoln (who, previous to his disgrace, had filled the office of Lord Keeper), he had a play represented in his house in London, on Sunday, Sep¬ tember 27th. The piece chosen, for this occasion, at least did credit to his taste, for it appears to have been Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream* and it was got up as a private amusement. The animosity of Laud to Williams is well known, and in the Library at Lambeth Palace is a mass of documents referring to different charges against him, thus indorsed in the handwriting of Laud himself: ‘These papers con¬ cerning the Bp. of Lincoln wear delivered to me bye his Majesty’s command.’ One of them is an admonitory letter from a person of the name of John Spencer (who seems to have been a puritanical preacher), which purports to have been addressed
* One of the actors exhibited himself in an Ass’s head, no doubt in the part of Bottom, and in the margin of the document relating to this event we read the words, The playe, M. Nights Dr.'
JOHN SPENCER
339
to some lady, not named, who was present on the occasion of the pertormance of the play. [To this letter is appended what] purports to be a copy of an order, or decree, made by a self-constituted Court among the Puritans, for the censure and punishment of offences of the kind :

Spencer.
* Forasmuch as this Courte hath beene informed, by Mr. Comisary general, of a ‘ greate misdemeanor committed in the house of the right honorable Lo. Bishopp of ‘ Lincolne, by entertaining into his house divers Knights and Ladyes, with many ‘ other householders servants, uppon the 27th Septembris, being the Saboth day, to ‘ see a playe or tragidie there acted ; which began aboute tenn of the clocke at night,
* and ended about two or three of the clocke in the morning :
‘ Wee doe therefore order, and decree, that the Rt. honorable John, Lord Bishopp
* of Lincolne, shall, for his offence, erect a free schoole in Eaton, or else at Greate Staughton, and endowe the same with 20/. per ann. for the maintenance of the
‘ schoolmaster for ever. . . .
‘ Likewise we doe order, that Mr. Wilson, because hee was a speciall plotter and ‘ contriver of this business, and did in such a brutishe manner acte the same with an « Asses head; and therefore hee shall uppon Tuisday next, from 6 of the clocke in
* the morning till six of the clocke at night, sitt in the Porters Lodge at my Lords
* Bishopps House, with his feete in the stocks and attyred with his asse head, and a
* bottle of hay sett before him, and this subscription on his breast :
‘ Good people I have played the beast,
And brought ill things to passe.
I was a man, but thus have made My selfe a silly Asse.’
Regarding this remarkable incident we are without further information from any •juarter.
[As much of the above order as refers to * Mr. Wilson ’ is given by Ingleby in his Centurie of Pray sc, p. 182, ed. ii. Miss Toulmin-Smith, who edited the second edition of Ingleby’s volume, remarks : ‘ I give this doubtful “ allusion,” because sev- « eral, following Collier’s Annals, have taken for granted that it refers to the Mid- ‘ summer Nighfs Dream. Beyond these notices, however, there is nothing to tell ‘ with certainty what the play was. Near the bottom of page 3 in the margin have « been written the words “ the play M Night Dr,” but these are evidently the work 1 of a later hand and have been written over an erasure ; they are not in the hand of
* either Laud, Lincoln, or Spencer, or of the endorser of the paper, but look like a bad imitation of old writing. No reliance can therefore be placed on them.
« author, at least he had a large share in the arrangement of it. In a Discourse cf
* Divers Petitions, 1641, p. 19, speaking of Bp. Lincoln and this presentment, Spen- « cer says, “ one Mr. Wilson a cunning Musition having contrived a curious Comodie,
“ and plotted it so, that he must needs have it acted upon the Sunday night, for he « was to go the next day toward the Court ; the Bishop put it off till nine of the “ clock at night.” ’]
340
APPENDIX
The Fairy Queen
In 1692 A Midsummer Night's Dream furnished the framework of an Opera called The Fairy Queen, whereof ‘ the instrumental and vocal parts were composed 4 by Mr. Purcell,’ so says Downes in his Roscius Anglicanus, and 4 the dances by Mr. 4 Priest.’ As this work is quite rare, and is the nearest approach that we have to a 4 Players Quarto ’ of this play, a brief account of it may not be unacceptable. Its date is only seven years later than F4 and fifteen years earlier than Rowe.
The Preface is a plea for the establishment of opera in England, and incidentally gives us a hint of the intoning of blank verse, which we have reason to believe was the practice of the stage. 4 That Sir William Davenant’s Siege of Rhodes was the 4 first Opera we ever had in England,’ it says, 4 no man can deny ; and is indeed a 4 perfect Opera : there being this difference only between an Opera and a Tragedy ; 4 that the one is a Story sung with a proper Action, the other spoken. And he must 4 be a very ignorant Player who knows not there is a Musical Cadence in speaking ; 4 and that a man may as well speak out of Tune, as sing out of Tune.’
The Opera opens with what is the Second Scene of the Comedy’s First Act, where the Clowns have assembled to arrange for the Play ; Shakespeare’s text is closely fol¬ lowed ; there are omissions, it is true, but there is no attempt at 4 improvement,’ and only in two instances is there what might be termed an emendation : first, where Bot¬ tom says 4 To the rest,’ this phrase is interpreted as a stage-direction and enclosed in brackets ; and secondly, where Bottom says 4 a lover is more condoling,’ the Opera has 4 a lover’s is,’ &c., in both instances anticipating modem conjectures. At the close of this scene, in which is interwoven the subsequent arrangements for the Clowns’ Interlude at the beginning of Act III, Titania enters 4 leading the Indian 4 boy,’ for whose entertainment she commands her 4 Fairy Coire ’ to describe, in song, 4 that Happiness, that peace of mind, Which lovers only in retirement find,’ and they proceed to do it in the following lively style : —
4 Come, come, come, let us leave the Town,
And in some lonely place,
Where Crouds and Noise were never known,
Resolve to end our days.
4 In pleasant Shades upon the Grass At Night our selves we’ll lay ;
Our Days in harmless Sport shall pass,
Thus Time shall slide away.’
Enter Fairies leading in three Drunken Poets, one of them Blinded.
Blind Poet. Fill up the Bowl, then, cr’c.
Fairy. Trip it, trip it in a Ring;
Around this Mortal Dance, and Sing.
Poet. Enough, enough,
We must play at Blind Man’s Buff.
Turn me round, and stand away,
I’ll catch whom I may.
2 Fairy. About him go, so, so, so,
Pinch the Wretch from Top to Toe;
THE FAIRY QUEEN
341
Pinch him forty, forty times,
Pinch till he confess his Crimes.
Poet. Hold, you damn’d tormenting Punk,
I confess —
Both Fairies. What, what, &c.
Poet. I’m Drunk, as I live Boys, Drunk.
Both Fairies. What art thou, speak ?
Poet. If you will know it,
I am a scurvy Poet.
Fairies. Pinch him, pinch him, for his Crimes,
His Nonsense, and his Dogrel Rhymes.
Poet. Oh ! oh ! oh !
i Fairy. Confess more, more.
Poet. I confess I’m very poor.
Nay, prithee do not pinch me so,
Good dear Devil let me go ;
And as I hope to wear the Bays,
I’ll write a Sonnet in thy Praise.
Chorus. Drive ’em hence, away, away,
Let ’em sleep till break of Day.
A. Fairy announces to Titania that Oberon is in sharp pursuit of the little Indian boy, whereupon Titania bids the earth open, the little boy disappears, and the act closes.
The Second Act of the Opera follows the original Second Act, in the entrances of the characters, and their speeches are mainly the same, throughout the quarrel of Oberon and Titania; the similarity continues through the description of the little Western flower, except that the compliment to Queen Elizabeth is diverted by Obe- ron’s saying that he ‘ saw young Cupid in the mid-way hanging, At a fair vestal ‘ virgin taking aim.’ At Titania’s command the second Scene changes to a Pros¬ pect of Grotto's , Arbors , and delightful Walks: The Arbors are Adorn'd with all variety of Flowers, the Grotto's supported by Terms , these lead to two Arbors on either side of the scene, &c. &c. Then through two pages we have, pretty much like a child’s fingers playing on two notes alternately on the piano, such stanzas as these : —
Come all ye Songsters of the sky,
Wake, and Assemble in this Wood;
But no ill-boding Bird be nigh,
None but the Harmless and the Good.
May the God of Wit inspire,
The Sacred Nine to bear a part ;
And the Blessed Heavenly Quire,
Shew the utmost of their Art.
While Eccho shall in sounds remote,
Repeat each Note,
Each Note, each Note.
Chorus. May the God, &c.
In the Third Act we have Pyramus and Thisbe as it is played before the Duke ; at its close Robin Goodfellow drives off the clowns and puts the Ass-head on Bottom. Then ensues the scene between Titania and Bottom, for whose delectation a Fairy
342
APPENDIX
Mask is brought on, and the Scene changes to ‘ a great Wood ; a long row of large Trees on each side ; a River in the middle ; Two rows of lesser Trees of a different ‘ kind just on the side of the River, which meet in the middle , and make so many ‘ Arches ; Two great Dragons make a Bridge over the River ; their Bodies form two ‘ Arches, through which two Swans are seen in the River at a distance.' A troop of Fawn, Dryades and Naiades sing as follows : —
* If Love’s a Sweet Passion, why does it torment ?
If a Bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content ?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,
Or grieve at my Fate, when I know ’tis in vain ?
Yet so pleasing the Pain is, so soft is the Dart,
That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my Heart.
I press her hand gently, look Languishing down,
And by Passionate Silence I make my Love known,
But oh ! how I’m blest, when so kind she does prove,
By some willing mistake to discover her Love.
When in striving to hide, she reveals all her Flame,
And our Eyes tell each other, what neither dares Name.’
While a Symphony' s Playing, the two Swans come swimming in through the Arches to the Bank of the River, as if they would Land ; there turn them¬ selves into Fairies and Dance ; at the same time the Bridge vanishes, and the Trees that were arch'd, raise themselves upright.
Four Savages Enter, fright the Fairies away, and dance an Entry.
Enter Coridon and Mopsa.
Co. Now the Maids and the Men are making of Hay,
We have left the dull Fools, and are stol’n away.
Then Mopsa no more Be Coy as before.
But let us merrily, merrily Play,
And kiss, and kiss, the sweet time away.
Mo. Why how now, Sir Clown, how came you so bold ?
I’d have you to know I’m not made of that mold.
I tell you again,
Maids must kiss no Men.
No, no ; no, no ; no kissing at all ;
I’le not kiss, till I kiss you for good and all.
Co. No, no.
Mo. No, no,
Co. Not kiss you at all.
Mo. Not kiss, till you kiss me for good and all.
Not kiss, iSr’c.
And so this struggle continues, to be relished by an audience who witnessed a conflict to which in daily life they were probably not accustomed.
The rest of Shakespeare’s play is incorporated ; the mistakes of Puck with the love-juice, and the mischances that befall the lovers in consequence, their slumber on the ground and their awakening by the horns of the hunters, all follow in due course. Although we have no record whatsoever that the Opera was intended to celebrate any nuptials, yet its appropriateness to such a celebration is as marked as in A Mid¬ summer Night's Dream, if not even more emphatically marked — a fact which I
THE FAIRY QUEEN
343
humbly commend to the consideration of those who contend for this interpretation of Shakespeare’s play.
The Play of Pyramus and Thisbe having been already given in the Second Act, its place in the Fifth Act is supplied by an elaborate Mask, during which a ‘ Chinese 4 enters and sings,’ and to him responds a ‘ Chinese-woman,’ and both join in a chorus to the effect that ‘ We never cloy, But renew our Joy, And one Bliss another ‘ invites.’ Then * Six Monkeys come from between the trees and dance,’ which appa¬ rently imparts so much exhilaration to 4 Two Women ’ that they burst into song and demand the presence of Hymen : —
4 Sure, the dull god of marriage does not hear ;
4 We’ll rouse him with a charm. Hymen, appear !
4 Chorus. Appear ! Hymen, appear !’
Hymen obeys, but complains that
4 My torch has long been out, I hate 4 On loose dissembled Vows to wait.
4 Where hardly Love out-lives the Wedding -Night,
4 False Flames, Love’s Meteors, yield my Torch no light.’
There is a grand dance of twenty-four persons, then Hymen and the Two Womeu sing together : —
4 They shall be as happy as they’re fair ;
4 Love shall fill all the Places of Care :
4 And every time the Sun shall display 4 His rising Light,
4 It shall be to them a new Wedding-Day ;
4 And when he sets, a new Nuptial-Night.’
This starts the Chinese man and woman dancing, which in turn starts 4 The Grand 4 Chorus,’ in which all the dancers join, and the Mask ends.
Oberon then resumes : —
4 At dead of Night we’ll to the Bride-bed come,
4 And sprinkle hallow’d Dew-drops round the Room.
4 Titania. We’ll drive the Fume about, about,
4 To keep all noxious Spirits out,
4 That the issue they create 4 May be ever fortunate,’ &c.
The Fairy King and Queen then bring the Opera to a close, pretty much in the Style of all plays in those days, by alternately threatening and cajoling the audience until the last words are : —
4 Ob. Those Beau’s, who were at Nurse, chang’d by my elves.
4 Tit. Shall dream of nothing, but their pretty selves.
4 Ob. We’ll try a Thousand charming Ways to win ye.
4 Tit. If all this will not do, the Devil’s in ye.’
Downes, in his Roscius Anglicanus (p. 57), says that this Opera in ornaments 4 was superior to ’ King Arthur by Dry den or The Prophetess by Beaumont and Fletcher, 4 especially in cloaths for all the Singers and Dancers ; Scenes, Machines, 4 and Decorations; all most profusely set off, and excellently performed.’ ‘The 4 Court and Town,’ he concludes, 4 were wonderfully satisfy’d with it ; but the 4 expences in setting it out being so great, the Company got very little by it.’
PLAN OF THE WORK, &c.
In this Edition the attempt is made to give, in the shape of Textual Notes, on the same page with the Text, all the Various Readings of A Midsummer Ntghf i Dream , from the First Quarto to the latest critical Edition of the play ; then, as Com¬ mentary, follow the Notes which the Editor has thought worthy of insertion, not only for the purpose of elucidating the text, but at times as illustrations of the history of Shakespearian criticism. In the Appendix will be found discussions of subjects, which on the score of length could not be conveniently included in the Commentary.
EDITIONS COLLATED IN THE TEXTUAL NOTES.
Fisher's Quarto (Ashbee’s Facsimile) Roberts's Quarto (Ashbee’s Facsimile)
The Second Folio .
The Third Folio .
The Fourth Folio .
Rowe (First Edition) .
Rowe (Second Edition) .
Pope (First Edition) .
Pope (Second Edition) .
Theobald (First Edition)
Theobald (Second Edition) . .
Hanmer .
Warburton .
Johnson .
Capell .
Johnson and Steevens .
Johnson and Steevens .
Johnson and Steevens .
Rann . .
Malone .
Steevens .
Reed’s Steevens .
Reed’s Steevens .
Boswell’s Malone .
Knight .
Collier (First Edition) .
Halliwell (Folio Edition)
Singer (Second Edition)
Dyce (First Edition) .
Staunton .
Collier (Second Edition)
Richard Grant White (First Edition) 344
• • [QJ • •
. . 1600
• • [QJ • •
. . 1600
• • [FJ • •
. . 1632
• • [FJ • •
. . 1664
. . [FJ . .
. . 1685
.. 1709
. . 1714
• • 1723
.. 1728
•• 1733
. . 1740
. . [Han.]
• • 1744
. . [Warb.]
.. 1747
. . [Johns.]
• • 1765
.. [Cap.]
(?) 1765
.. [Var. ’73]
• • 1773
'. . [Var. ’78]
. . 1778
. . [Var. ’85]
.. 1785
. . 1787
. . [Mai.]
. . 1790
• • 1793
. . 1803
• • [Var. ’13]
. . 1813
.. [Var.]
. . 1821
.. [Knt.]
(?) 1840
. . 1842
.. [Hal.]
. . 1856
. . [Sing, ii]
. . 1856
.. 1857
.. [Sta.]
.. 1857
. . [Coll, ii]
.. 1858
. . [Wh. i]
. . 1858
PLAN OF THE WORK
345
Clark and Wright ( The Cambridge Edi -
tion) . .
[Cam.]
.. 1863
Clark and Wright ( The Globe Edition) . ,
[Glo.]
. . 1864
Keightley .
[Ktly] . . . .
Charles and Mary Cowden-Clarke
[Cla.] . . . .
(?) 1864
Dyce (Second Edition) .
[Dyce ii]
. . 1866
Dyce (Third Edition) .
[Dyce iii] . .
. • 1875
Collier (Third Edition) .
[Coll, iii] . .
• • 1877
William Aldis Wright ( Clarendon Press Series) .
[Wrt]
Hudson .
[Huds.]
Richard Grant White (Second Edition) . .
[Wh. ii] . .
.. 1883
Cambridge (Second Edition, W. A. Wright)
[Cam. ii] . .
W. Harness . 1830
W. J. Rolfe . 1877
W. Wagner . 1881
F. A. Marshall ( Henry Irving Edition) . 1888
K. Deighton . 1893
A. W. Verity ( Pitt Press Edition ) 1894
The last six editions I have not collated beyond referring to them in disputed pas¬ sages. The text of Shakespeare has become, within the last twenty-five years, sc settled that to collate, word for word, editions which have appeared within these years, is a work of supererogation. The case is different where an editor revises his text and notes in a second or a third edition; it is then interesting to mark the effect of maturer judgement.
The Text is that of the First Folio of 1623. Every word, I might say almost every letter, has been collated with the original.
In the Textual Notes the symbol Ff indicates the agreement of the Second, Third, and Fourth Folios.
The omission of the apostrophe in the Second Folio, a peculiarity of that edition, is not generally noted.
I have not called attention to every little misprint in the Folio. The Textual Notes will show, if need be, that they are misprints by the agreement of all the Editors in their correction.
Nor is notice taken of the first Editor who adopted the modern spelling, or who substituted commas for parentheses, or changed ? to !.
The sign + indicates the agreement of Rowe, Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, War- burton, and Johnson.
When Warburton precedes Hanmer in the Textual Notes, it indicates that Hanmer has followed a suggestion of Warburton’s.
The words et cet. after any reading indicate that it is the reading of all other editions.
The words et seq. indicate the agreement of all subsequent editions.
The abbreviation {subs.) indicates that the reading is substantially given, and that immaterial variations in spelling, punctuation, or stage-directions are disregarded.
An Emendation or Conjecture which is given in the Commentary is not repeated
346
APPENDIX
in the Textual Notes unless it has been adopted by an editor in his Text ; nor is conj. added in the Textual Notes to the name of the proposer of the conjecture unless the conjecture happens to be that of an editor, in which case its omission would lead to the inference that such was the reading of his text.
Coll, (ms) refers to Collier’s annotated Second Folio.
Quincy (ms) refers to an annotated Fourth Folio in the possession of Mr J. P. Quincy.
In citations from plays, other than A Midsummer Night's Dream , the Acts, Scenes, and Lines of The Globe Edition are followed.
LIST OF BOOKS FROM WHICH CITATIONS HAVE BEEN MADE.
To economise space in the Commentary I have frequently cited, with the name of an author, an abbreviated title of his work, and sometimes not even as much as that. In the following List, arranged alphabetically, enough of the full title is given to serve as a reference.
Be it understood that this List gives only those books wherefrom Notes have been taken at first hand ; it does not include books which have been consulted or have been used in verifying quotations made by the contributors to the earlier Vario¬ rums, or by other critics. Were these included the List would be many times as long. Nor does it include the large number in German which I have examined, but from which, to my regret, lack of space has obliged me to forego making any extract.
'Fraser’s Magazin
E. A. Abbott : Shakespearian Grammar (3d ed.)
E. Arber : English Garner (vol. iii) . . ,
S. Bailey : The Received Text of Shakespeare . .