CHAPTER XXIII

MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN AS SHOWN IN
"MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM," "HAMLET,"
AND "THE TEMPEST"
SN the last lecture we examined these
I three plays with reference to the ideas of man's relations to the supernatural which appear in the lines and between the lines of them. We found such a clear and notable advance from the conscienceless Pucks and Oberonsand
II tricksy chances which rule the world in A Midsummer Night's Dream, through the weak and inefiective belief of belief in Hamlet ^ to the lat^e and clear- eyed reliance upon the goodness and the ultimate purpose of things in The Tempest, as seems to ai^e that infinite widening of Shakspere's spiritual range and scope which lands him here fairly in that wished-for state of every fer- vent artist — the state which beholds with unfilmy and unglozing eye all the contradictions of this life, but which is nevertheless not compelled by them to look upon life as a mere Midsummer Night's Dream of grotesque mis- haps and crisscrosses and absurdities ; but r^ards it more as a Tempest r^sed by a conscientious power for a gende
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MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 277
purpose, and guided by that power to an end which de- velopes forgiveness, large behaviour, love, and all the better qualities of the Prosperos, the Alonsos, the An- tonios and the Sebastians of this world. We are now to study these same plays for the purpose of seeing whether they show any corresponding enlargement in Shakspere's conceptions of man's relations to his fellow-men and of man's relations to physical nature.
And first, of man's relations to his fellow-men. These plays are so exuberantly filled with indications of Shak- spere's greatly widening perceptions upon this matter as he successively emerged from the Dream Period and the Hamlet Period that I scarcely know when I have ever been more perplexed by the embarrassment of riches than in selecting the special matters to which I might most profitably ask your notice. The immense enlargement of Shakspere's horizon as to the right behaviour of man towards man in The Tempest as compared with A Mid- summer Nighfs Dream might be developed from so many texts out of these plays, and from as many points of com- parative view, as to fill many volumes. But only men- tioning this embarrassment of riches as explaining the very limited presentation which can be made in any one lecture — I have determined to confine the investigation here to the three very interesting plays-within-plays, or anti-masques, which appear in these three works of Shak- spere's. You all remember, of course, that, framed in all the gorgeous and grotesque and filmy tracery of this dream, we have the play of Pyramus and Thisbe within the play of A Midsummer Night* s Dream. Then we have the terrible play of the murderer pouring poison into the King's ear and getting the love of his wife, acted before Hamlet's uncle and mother — the play which, when the King asks, What do you call this play ? Hamlet
278 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
answers, The Mouse-trap. And finally we have that ex- quisite masque of the gods — Juno and Ceres and their train — which the wise and potent Prosper© arrays before his two young lovers, Ferdinand and Miranda. Now note by way of a preliminary outline the aim, or ground- motive, of each of these anti-masques. Here we have Bottom and Snug the joiner and Starveling the tailor and the other clowns performing the tedious-brief tragical comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe to grace the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta, and the manner in which the poetic speeches of the actors travesty real speeches shows clearly that Shakspere is having his good-humoured laugh at somebody ; so that we may say the ostensible motive of the anti-masque is a light and playful amusement for a great warrior and his bride, while the underlying thought is a gentle fun over somebody's play-writing ; that is to say, the ground-motive is Ridicule.
Here in Hamlet the motive of the anti-masque is quite as clear : it is to entrap the King's conscience into a clear betrayal of his guilt in murdering his brother and usurping Denmark ; that is to say, the ground-motive of this anti-masque is Revenge. Here, lastly, in The Tempest^ Prospero, a student of nature, a physicist, — who is never- theless also a man with man's delights and passions, and an artist, — brings about the anti-masque of Juno and Ceres in grateful and exuberant delight over the happy issues of his own working, before the eyes of the two whom he most loves, to bless their marriage ; in short, the underlying motive here is Blessing. We may then write Ridicule, Revenge, Blessing as mnemonic words which embody the prominent ideas that remain when we strip away the unessential accessories of these three anti- masques.
But now let us look a little more closely at these
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 279
plays-within-plays, and put some flesh upon the bones of this outline. In considering the anti-masque of Pyramus and Thisbcj here, I have thought that perhaps I could make this necessarily dry analysis somewhat more interest- ing to you by hinging it upon an inquiry as to who was the person satirised — if we may use so harsh a term for such hilarious ridicule as this — in the figure of Bottom, the Ass, and in the thunderous lines of Pyramus and Thisbe. It so happens that since the last lecture in which we were comparing these plays, in recalling certain pas- sages from one of Gabriel Harvey's letters written in 1592, and from a work of Robert Greene's a little earlier, I was struck with the reemergence in my mind of several hints or thoughts from those passages as I read again this mock-play of Pyramus and Thisbe; and with my mind thus directed I eagerly took up a search which has quite satisfied me that in this figure of Bottom, the Ass, and of Snug, the joiner, and in these absurd speeches of Pyramus and Thisbe, Shakspere is laughing at the one man whom history has ever acquainted us with as his enemy — I mean at Robert Greene. The instant I started in this direction, every moment yielded a fresh evidence. In arraying some of these evidences before you, as I now proceed to do, we shall find at every step glimpse after glimpse upon Shakspere's ideas of the proper behaviour of man to his fellow-man — which is the final aim of our research to-day.
Permit me to recall to you two very famous liter- ary quarrels of Shakspere's time, which will, I think, put us at the very status of thought and frame of mind in which Shakspere wrote the Midsummer Night^s Dream. One of these quarrels shows us the figures of Robert Greene, Shakspere, and Henry Chettle in certain relations to each other ; the other shows us Robert Greene, Shak-
28o SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
spere, and Gabriel Harvey in certain relations to each other.
Sometime in the autumn of the year 1592, Henry Chettle, acting as literary executor of the then widely cele- brated and popular dramatist Robert Greene, who was just dead, published a work of the latter's called Greene s Groats- worth of Wit Bought with a Million of Repentance^ to which I have already called your attention. It is in this work, you remember, that the sentence occurs in which Greene makes his famous fling at Shakspere. Let me, however, read that sentence exactly as it occurs, and with it a word or two from its neighbouring sentences, which I think we will presently find quite clearly working in Shakspere's mind as he wrote the Pyramus and Thisbe of Midsummer Night's Dream. Greene is going on to abuse several con- temporary writers. " Yes," says he, " trust them not ; for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide^ supposes he is as well able to bumbast out a blanke verse as the best of you ; and being an absolute Johannes fac totum^ is in his owne conceit the onely Shake-scene in a countrie.** I need not recall to you, I am sure, the well-known circumstances which point to Shakspere as the person Greene is here abusing : the word Shake-scene, the evident parody in the line Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide of a line in the play of King Henry VI j third part, and so on. But now, remembering simply as catchwords for future use this line which I have here written, let us gather one or two more catchwords — whose use we will presently see, from the context. Greene goes on to say, presently : " In this I might insert two more, that both have writ against these buckram Gentlemen : but let their owne works serve to witnesse against their owne wickednesse, if they persever to maintaine any more suche peasants. For other new
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 281
commers I leave them to the mercy of these painted mon- sterSj who (I doubt not) will drive the best minded to despise them : for the rest, it skils not though they make a jeast at them." From this keep the catchwords " peasants," " painted monsters," and "jeast." Now, simply noticing on the way that we never hear a word from Shakspere in reply to this bitter invective of Greene's, let us pass on to the letter of Gabriel Harvey's which I just now mentioned. Before Greene — evidently a trucu- lent fellow — had thus attacked Shakspere, he had in- volved himself in a fierce quarrel with Gabriel Harvey. (Harvey, I may mention, was a less-known but very learned writer of this time, the intimate friend of Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney.) In a work called A Snip for an Upstart Courtier J Greene had very vulgarly libelled Har- vey's ancestry. But Harvey was not so controlled as Shakspere : he broke forth in a public reply to Greene's insult. Presently Thomas Nash became involved in the quarrel on Greene's side, and the result was a considerable body of pamphlets filled with the most wonderful abuse,* but, also, luckily for modern scholars, with many instruc- tive allusions which greatly add to our knowledge of con- temporary writers.
It was in the course of this quarrel between Greene, Nash, and Harvey, which lingered on even after Greene was dead, that Harvey published a series of four pamphlets which he called FOURS LETTERS ^ and certaine Sonnets ; especially touching ROBERT GREENE^ and other parties^ by him abused.
1 Harvey declares Greene ** a trivial no consideration but pure Nashery."
and triobular author for knaves and But it is impossible to get an idea of
fools"; and again he breaks forth : the extraordinary personal vilifica-
** No honesty, but pure Scogginism ; tion without reading the pamphlets
no religion^ but precise Marlowism ; themselves.
\ -
M
I
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 283
— mentioning almost every literary ass known to us except ** bully Bottom." Again, the idea of satirising living persons in comedy occurs in that one of Harvey's pamphlets in this quarrel called Piercers Supererogation^ where he cries, " Nay, if you shake the painted scabbard at me " (the painted scabbard being here a symbol of the satiric lam- poon in comedy) " I have done."
Finally, an expression in Harvey's third letter connects itself with a positive clue which lights up our whole path very clearly. He is describing the great popularity of Greene : Greene, he says, is " freshly current " ; and he adds very prettily : " Even Guicciardints silver history, and Aristos golden cantos, grow out of request: and the Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia is not green enough . . . but they must have Greene's Arcadia. . . . O straunge fancies ! O monstrous new-fanglednesse ! "
And now let us see what Greene's Arcadia will yield us. This work of Greene's — one of the most popular of that series of pastorals which every one remembers as par- ticularly represented by Sir Philip Sidney's youthful pro- duction, The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia^ and by Spen- ser's eclogues — was called Menaphon or Arcadia. It has the usual rout of shepherds and shepherdesses and green fields and love-talk, together with more than the usual complement — as it seemed to me after reading it some years ago — of the most absurd and silly plots and situa- tions and speeches and songs that ever made a sensible per- son laugh. But now, with this general idea of Greene's Arcadia^ let me call attention to one special passage of it which is certainly absurd enough, but is here purposely absurd ; at least, Greene is endeavouring to give a realistic picture of a very rude shepherd swain singing his senti- ments to a very rude shepherdess. This is called the Eclogue of Carmela and Doron : and we shall presently
284 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
see how even Shakspere's clown's travesty of it contrasts in delicacy and height with these wretched low-pitched, pal- pable-gross ideas. Doron speaks, in Greene's eclogue :
Carmela dear, even as the golden ball That Venus got, such are thy goodly eyes. When cherries' juice is jumbled therewithal ; Thy breath is like the steam of Apple-pies.
Thy lips resemble two cucumbers fair ; Thy teeth like to the tusks of fattest swine ; Thy speech is like the thunder in the air ; Would God thy toes, thy lips, and all were mine.
Now to apply this series of clue-ideas and catchwords.
Remembering the situation, — Shakspere abused by
Greene, but not replying ; Harvey abused by Greene, and
replying in pamphlets which Shakspere must have read,
and one of which, indeed, probably refers to Shakspere in
very charming terms, — fancy Shakspere, in this status of
things, setting to work at the Midsummer Night* s Dream.
Here, in the first place, we have a perfectly solid basis to
build on in the evidence this verse affords that Shakspere
had Greene in his mind, in some connection, as he was
writing Pyramus and Thisbe. For compare with Doron s
Eclogue^ here, Thisbe's piteous lament over Pyramus as
she comes and finds him slain by the lion. Thus she
moans :
These lily lips.
This cherry nose. These yellow cowslip cheeks.
Are gone, are gone :
Lovers, make moan : His eyes were green as leeks.
Here we have (i) not only the general similarity of lucB- crous comparisons of rude lovers, but (2) the special simi-
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 285
larity of making those comparisons take the particular direction of fruits and vegetables, and (3) the iden- tity of terms in the cherry which typifies the beautiful nose of Shakspere's Pyramus and stains the lovely eyes of Greene's Carmela. I think no reasonable doubt remains that here we have come clearly upon the idea of Greene in Shakspere's mind as he is writing Pyramus and Thisbe.
And now, if we take this hint and hold it like the point of a magnet among all these iron-filings of hints which I have scattered here, we find them instantly clus- tering about it into a very palpable lump of probabilities. For example, take this idea, here, of the Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide^ Greene's own contemptuous allu- sion to Shakspere as a plagiarist, and see how exquisitely and gaily Shakspere turns the idea upside down — as natural for a dream — and throws back this hide over Greene's head. For listen to Bottom and his captivating asses discussing, not a tiger's heart in a player's hide, but a player's heart in a lion's hide.
Bottom, Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : to bring in — God shield us ! — a lion among ladies is a most dread- ful thing ; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living ; and we ought to look to 't.
Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
Bottom, Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck : and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect, — 'Ladies,' — or * Fair ladies, — I would wish you,' — or 'I would request you,' — or 'I would entreat you, — not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : no, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other men are '; and there indeed let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
286 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
All we want, of course, here is a suggestion, not a precise allegory. Shakspere never makes a precise allegory: that is for the more creeping wits of time ; any man of average cleverness can take a given allegorical scheme or modus^ run it on through a lot of details, and work it out into stiff and wooden figures — the body, for instance, as a commonwealth with members, etc.; but Shakspere, while he always builds upon the real, while he always takes from this and that actual model, while he always keeps one foot on the earth, so that, as I radically believe, there is not a line nor a feature in his whole works for which he could not give a good substantial sanction and original in actual nature as hint or suggestion — while, I say, he always builds so, he never builds woodenly or angularly, he never tries to make a simile stand on four legs, he never carries out a suggestion to the small and cloying point of alle- gory or of exact opposition. Just glancing, here, at the exact manner in which this shows us the same artistic management with that of the oppositions of verse which I have heretofore presented to you, let us now return to say again that Shakspere's figure, here, of Snug, a player in a lion's hide, is quite as near to Greene's figure of a tiger's heart in a player's hide as we would ever expect Shakspere to come. And so let us go on to see how all these items begin now to come about the idea that Shak- spere is gently satirising Greene. Here we have the word " peasants "; and it occurs near this line of Greene's in such a way as naturally enough to make it possible that a mere vague untraced association has made Shakspere — whom Greene here calls a peasant — take the group of Athenian peasants and make them players and put one of those peasant players in a lion's hide.
Again, here is Greene's " painted monster " ; and that is not only what Bottom is, but we find Puck using the
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 287
word where he tells his master Oberon, in Act III, Scene II, " My mistress with a monster is in love."
Again, here is Greene's idea of making a jest at them, and Shakspere is taking the hint and making the jest at them.
Again, — and we must fancy all the time, here, that Shakspere has been reading these things of Greene's and these letters of Harvey's, and that just those detached words or ideas are now floating up to him out of them which remain, to every one, after the main connection or matter of anything read, perhaps carelessly and hastily, has vanished away, — again, here is Harvey calling Greene " that terrible Thundersmith of termes " ; and surely Bottom is one in " The raging rocks," etc. {Midsummer Night* s Dream J Act I, Scene II), or in
Approach, ye Furies fell !
O Fates, come, come,
Cut thread and thrum ; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! ^
Again, in Act V, Scene I, where Theseus is asking what sports are toward to beguile the evening, in the list we find a tableau or spectacle called
The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of Learnings late deceased in beggary.
And here we have Greene's letter, quoted by Harvey, alluding to his own beggary ; Harvey's expression in his letter, calling Greene " the Minion of the Muses " ; to
^ Cf. with the poetic bombast of of Harvey and Breton (in Brydges's
Pyramus and Tbisbe the prose ro- Archaicd) and of Laneham's Letters
domontade of Holofernes and Don from Kenikvortb, and of Master
Adriano de Armado; and compare Rhombus in Sidney's masque. The
with both the pedantic affectations Lady of the May,
288 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
which we may add Greene's well-known pride in his own learning — he was fond of calling himself Doctor Utriusqiie Academicity etc.
Again, when, in Act III, Scene I, Puck has done his wondrous work upon Bottom in the brake, and they have all run away at the apparition of Bottom translated, pres- ently reenters Snout and cries,
O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I see on thee ?
and Bottom replies. What do you see ? you see an ass-head of your own, do you ?
we are introduced to that heartbreaking and immortal ass whom Titania presently coys, and whom we cannot help associating with Greene when, in the light of all these suggestions, we find Harvey's curious suggestion of this, that, and the other ass, particularly of Balaam's Ass re- buking his master.
Again, we have the suggestion, in Harvey's letter, of lampooning a rival in the ^^ painted scabbard " passage I quoted. And, finally, the propriety of making Greene an ass who for a time wins the doting aflfecrion of the world, as the ass wins Titania's, and then suddenly goes out in neglect and scorn, as Bottom the Ass goes out of Titania's favour when her eyes regain their normal condi- tion : the propriety of this, I say, grows convincing when we find here, in the same letter of Harvey's, and in prox- imity to all these other hints which we have been tracing, this vivid picture of Greene's popularity given by Harvey, showing generally how everybody was reading him, and particularly — to clinch all our conclusions together — how everybody was reading that very Arcadia in which occurs this Dororis Eclogue which we found Shakspere cer-
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 289
tainly had in his mind, probably using it just to teach these people how they might be rude and grotesque, and still be decent and ideal.
I might multiply these hints with many resemblances, if there were time. But perhaps I have given quite enough to show that, in all probability, Shakspere, throughout his anti-masque of Py ramus and Thisbe as played by Bottom and Snout and Snug and the other clowns, was having his little retaliatory laugh at his rival Greene, who had abused him in the Groatsworth of Wit.
But now go on to this pitiful Hamlet Period and com- pare the sportive anti-masque of Pyramus and Thisbe with the grim Mouse-trap anti-masque of Hamlet to ensnare the King. The underlying motive, you see, of the Midsummer Night* s Dream anti-masque is revenge in its mildest form — the form of ridiculing an opponent. And please observe that it is not at all necessary to this com- parison which I am now making to accept my theory just advanced, that Robert Greene is the particular person ridi- culed; that somebody is being ridiculed in these thunderous terms of Pyramus and Thisbe^ and these ludicrous realisms of the plastered Wall holding up his fingers for a chink, and so on, — one cannot but believe that Shakspere would laugh at stage properties and other pitiful realistic devices, — that somebody is being ridiculed, I say, probably no one will deny. And all that my present line of comparison requires is the change from this light, sportive, good- natured, dreamy revenge — this ridicule — of the anti- masque here in Midsummer Night's Dream to the desperate horror of this Hamlet anti-masque.
But, not dwelling upon that, when we advance from the vengeful anti-masque of Hamlet to the anti-masque in The Tempest ^ we come out of the very smoke and brim- stone of the pit into a large blue heaven of moral width
290 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
and delight. Prospero has raised his Tempest; he and busy Ariel have brought this and that scattered strand of circumstance together; here is the grave and beautiful Ferdinand adoring his daughter Miranda ; the benefaction of his Tempest is about to appear : and in the warm glow and exaltation of his love he calls down the gods — mark you, this is the man Prospero calling down Juno and Ceres and Iris at his bidding to show their beneficent glories and to shower their benevolent offerings for the pleasure of his beloved. This anti-masque gives us man in the culmination of his glory as toward his fellow-man. He who calls down the gods to minister to his beloved, this Prospero, is he who, having his enemies in his power, — enemies far worse than the wordy Greene of this Dream Period, enemies even more malignant than the abominable King and Queen of the Hamlet Period, — having such enemies in his power, has greatened beyond ridicule, has enlarged beyond revenge, has learned the truth of true love, the dignity of man toward his fellow, the wonder and miracle of forgiveness — in fine, the true ideal behaviour and relation of man to his fellow-man.
In the next lecture, which will conclude this course, the relations of man to nature as shown in these plays will be traced, and a summary proof offered as to the final out- come of all this demonstration in these lectures, that the technical and moral advance of Shakspere, which we have followed up by so many clues from the Midsummer Night's Dream to The Tempest^ is simply one whole ad- vance, and that a less moral soul than Shakspere's would have been equally incapable of either the artistic verse- craft, the artistic drama-craft, or the artistic moral-craft which we find in these late plays.
Meantime, lest you should fear that I have selected these special plays because others would serve less well, let me conclude this lecture by reading you a scene fi-om
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 291
a less-known play of Shakspere's, in which an ideal of man's relations to man, of man's proper behaviour to man, is shown upon the same lofty plane as the Prospero ideal. I refer to Scene II in Act III of Pericles. It is just at this scene that the hand of Shakspere becomes apparent in this play. Here in the noble figure of Cerimon he shows us the man of science, the physician, moving about his home, attending to his medical practice, reviving the weak, — charitable, courteous, grave, energetic, at once the scien- tific physician and the artistic physician. It is pleasant to think that Shakspere got at least some features for this picture of the great physician I am about to read from an actual model. As I have already pointed out, in the year 1607 Dr. John Hall, who was a physician of great repute in Stratford, and one of whose books, HalTs Cures, still remains to us, married Shakspere's daughter Susannah; and it may well be that this son-in-law furnished Shak- spere with at least as much of a model as Shakspere ever wanted for the basis of any conception.
To my judgment, there is nothing lovelier than this scene in all Shakspere. The situation is this : Pericles^ Prince of Tyre, being in a foreign land in disguise on account of circumstances which I need not take time to relate, loves and marries the beautiful Thaisa, and they live happily for a time. Presently Pericles has news that his people call him home to be their governor, and sets sail with Thaisa for his own Tyre. On the way, a great storm arises oflf Ephesus, and, physically overcome with the ter- rors of the tempest, Thaisa seems to die. The sailors de- mand that she shall be thrown overboard immediately, their superstition being that a dead body on board ship provokes the storm to greater fury. So the sorrowing Pericles has up a coflfer, calked and bitumened, wraps the seeming corpse tenderly in spices and rich robes, lays along- side it a casket of jewels, and places upon all a paper stat-
292 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
ing that this is the wife of Pericles, and that if the coffer should be washed ashore, he who finds it shall give fair burial to it and take the casket of jewels for his fee.
The coffer with this rich fi-eight is cast into the sea, and the ship sails on.
The scene now changes to Ephesus, and shows us a room in the house of Cerimon, our doctor. And the rest let these wonderful words of Shakspere tell. I will only ask you to observe the grave and noble dignity of the phy- sician Cerimon, his devotion to his science, and the side- lights we get upon his grand charity and service to his fel- low-men through the praises of the two gentlemen who presently appear. Into the room
Enter Cerimon, a Servant^ and some Persons who have been
shipwrecked.
Cer. Philemon, ho !
Enter Philemon.
Phil, Does my lord call ?
Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men : It has been a turbulent and stormy night.
Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night as this. Till now, I ne'er endured.
Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return ;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature
That can recover him. {To Philemon) Give this to the Apothe- cary,
And tell me how it works. {Exeunt all hut Cerimon.)
Enter two Gentlemen.
First Gent. Good morrow.
Sec. Gent. Good morrow to your lordship.
Cer. Gentlemen,
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN 293
Why do you stir so early ?
First Gent. Sir, Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea Shook as the earth did quake ; The very principals did seem to rend And all to topple : pure surprise and fear Made me to quit the house. . . . But I much marvel that your lordship, having Rich tire about you, should at these early hours Shake ofF the golden slumber of repose. 'Tis most strange.
Nature should be so conversant with pain, Being thereto not compelled.
Cer, I hold it ever,
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend. But immortality attends the former ^ Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever Have studied physic, through which secret art, By turning o'er authorities, I have. Together with my practice, made familiar To me and to my aid the blest infusions That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; And I can speak of the disturbances That nature works, and of her cures ; which doth give me A more content in course of true delight Than to be thirsty after tottering honour. Or tie my treasure up in silken bags. To please the fool and death.
Sec. Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves Your creatures, who by you have been restored : And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon Such strong renown as never shall decay.
294 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
Enter two or three Servants^ with a Chest,
(Which is the cofFer Pericles cast into the sea a few hours before.)
Serv. So; lift there.
Cer. What is that ?
Serv. Sir, even now Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest : 'Tis of some wrack.
dr. Set it down, let's look upon 't.
Sec. Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir.
Cer. Whatever it be,
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight : . . • How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed ! Did the sea cast it up ?
Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As tossed it upon shore.
Cer. Come, wrench it open : Soft ! it smells most sweetly in my sense.
Sec. Gent. A delicate odour.
Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it. O you most potent gods ! what's here ? a corse !
First Gent. Most strange !
Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and entreasur'd With full bags of spices ! A passport too ! Apollo, perfect me i' the characters ! {Reads from a scroll)
Here I give to understand^
Ife*er this coffin drive a-land^
/, King Pericles^ have lost
This queen^ worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her J give her burying ;
She was the daughter of a king :
Besides this treasure for a fee^
The gods requite his charity !
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe ! This chanc'd to-night. Sec. Gent. Most likely, sir.
MAN'S RELATIONS TO MAN
295
Or. Nay, certainly to-night ;
For look how fresh she looks ! They were too rough That threw her in the sea.
And here all the man and all the physician rises in him : he is now the artist, alive with energy and intelligence.
Make fire within : Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. (^Exit a servant.)
Death may usurp on nature many hours, And yet the fire of life kindle again The o'erpressed spirits. I heard of an Egyptian That had nine hours lien dead, Who was by good appliances recovered.
Reenter Servant^ with boxes^ napkins^ and fire.
Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. The rough and woful music ^ that we have. Cause it to sound, beseech you. The vial once more : how thou stirr'st, thou block !
^ As to using music medicinally, cf. Hamlet III, II, 293 ; also Robert Herri ck's poem To Music, to Becalm bis Fever:
Cbarai roe aileep and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers, That, being ravish'd, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head And make my bed. Thou power that canst sever From me this ill ; And quickly still, Though thou not kill, My fever.
Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire Into a gentle-Lcking flame. And make it thus expire. Then nuke me weep My pains asleep^
And give me such reposes That I, poor I, May think thereby I live and die
'Mongst roses.
Fall on me like a nlent dew,
Or like those maiden showers Which, by the peep of day, do strew A baptism o*er the flowers. Melt, melt my pains With thy soft strains ; That, ha^ng ease me gjven. With fuU delight I leave this light, And take my flight For heaven.
296 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
The music there ! I pray you, give her air.
Gentlemen,
This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth
Breathes out of her : she hath not been entranced
Above five hours : see how she 'gins to blow
Into life's flower again !
First Gent. The heavens,
Through you, increase our wonder, and set up Your fame for ever.
Cer. She is alive ; behold.
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels Which Pericles hath lost. Begin to part their fringes of bright gold : The diamonds of a most praised water Do appear to make the world twice rich. Live, And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature. Rare as you seem to be.
Tbaisa. O dear Diana,
Where am I ? Where's my lord ? What world is this ? ^
Sec. Gent. Is not this strange ?
First Gent. Most rare !
Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours ! Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear her. Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to. For her relapse is mortal. Come, come ; And ^sculapius guide us !
{Exeuntj carrying Thaisa away.)
^Observe the order of these qiJies- ** Where's my lord?" as the next tionsy revealingy first, the return of thought always present; fourth, identity, *•!" ; second, space ; third, ** What worU is this ? '*