III The First Period
Of the seventeenth century not much need be said, and, indeed, not much that is new can be said. The labours of the New Shakspere Society have added several valuable volumes to the literature relating to Shakespeare’s reputation during that period. Of these the Centurie of Prayse (of which the second and much enlarged edition was produced under the direction of Miss L. Toulmin Smith in 1879) brought together a very large number of allusions to Shakespeare both in print and manuscript, and these were supplemented by Some 300 Fresh Allusions, a work which was edited by Dr. Furnivall in 1886. These volumes display an amazing amount of diligent research, and few additions can be made to their contents. Seven hitherto unnoticed allusions to Shakespeare were discovered by Dr. Edward J. L. Scott in the Sloane Manuscripts at the British Museum, and communicated by him to the Athenæum on 5th March 1898.[5:1] This evidence of Shakespeare’s reputation during the period under discussion has been ably supplemented by an article entitled Shakespeare in Oral Tradition, which Mr. Sidney Lee contributed to the Nineteenth Century in January 1902. This traces the actual recollection of Shakespeare by his friends and their descendants, from his personal acquaintance among the actors and the townsfolk of Stratford-on-Avon, to the reminiscences transmitted by word of mouth from Betterton to Nicholas Rowe, the poet’s first biographer. Mr. Lee’s paper is of the utmost importance. As he points out, “It was obviously the free circulation of the fame of Shakespeare’s work which stimulated the activity of interest in his private fortunes, and led to the chronicling of the oral tradition regarding them. It could easily be shown that outside the circle of professional poets, dramatists, actors, and fellow-townsmen, Shakespeare’s name was, from his first coming into public notice, constantly on the lips of scholars, statesmen, and men of fashion who had any glimmer of literary taste.”
The ground, therefore, may be said to be covered in so far as positive evidence of Shakespeare’s fame in the seventeenth century is concerned. But at least three popular fallacies have come into being, and it will be perhaps worth while to state them and definitely refute them. Their existence is due partly to lack of acquaintance with documentary evidence, and partly to misconception.
One of these popular fallacies is that Shakespeare practically vanished from the minds of his countrymen when he retired from the stage; and that what reputation he had in his lifetime was due to his prominence as an actor, rather than to his genius as a poet.
The preface of the First Folio (1623) is enough to prove that this was not the case. The tone of the address “to the great variety of readers” is not that of publishers trying to awaken interest in a forgotten personage, by calling attention to works that used to be popular. The language is that of affectionate friends, the references to Shakespeare those of intimate associates whose memories have not healed of the wound inflicted by his death. It was addressed to the public, not with the diffidence that is born of anxiety lest the subject of eulogy should meet with an indifferent welcome, but with the confidence that is inspired by friendship with a great man who is recognised as a great man.
The second impression of the Folio appeared in 1632, and the spirit of enthusiasm that breathes through the preliminary matter—the publisher’s preface and the various sets of verses—has become in no way weakened. The volume contains, indeed, two of the finest poems of direct personal eulogy that have ever been written—that signed I. M. S., and attributed by Coleridge somewhat fancifully to no less a person than John Milton, and the noble Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare, actually written by Milton in 1630. No sign of decayed reputation here. Nor elsewhere. King Charles I., it is well known, read Shakespeare. Copies of his plays and poems are mentioned in Prince Rupert’s library catalogue. His works were given on the stage, and formed topics of everyday discussion. One might multiply examples of his popularity, but it is striking at shadows.
Another popular error has tinged the traditional notion of Milton’s attitude to Shakespeare. It is supposed that his opinion of Shakespeare underwent a complete change from that exhibited in the lines mentioned above. The error that attributes to Milton this surprising revulsion of feeling is due to a misconception of a certain passage in his Eikonoklastes. Milton wrote thus:
“Andronicus Comnenus, the Byzantine emperor, though a most cruel tyrant, is reported by Nicetas to have been a most constant reader of Saint Paul’s Epistles; and by continual study had so incorporated the phrase and style of that transcendent apostle into all his familiar letters, that the imitation seemed to vie with the original. Yet this availed not to deceive the people of that empire, who, notwithstanding his saint’s vizard, tore him to pieces for his tyranny. From stories of this nature, both ancient and modern, which abound, the poets also, and some English, have been in this point so mindful of decorum as to put never more pious words in the mouth of any person than of a tyrant. I shall not instance an abstruse author, wherein the king might be less conversant, but one whom we well know was the closet companion of these his solitudes, William Shakespeare, who introduces the person of Richard the Third, speaking in as high a strain of piety and mortification as is uttered in any passage of this book [i.e. the Eikon Basilike], and sometimes to the same sense and purpose with some words in this place: ‘I intended,’ saith he, ‘not only to oblige to my friends, but my enemies.’ The like saith Richard, Act II. Scene i.:
“‘I do not know that Englishman alive
With whom my soul is any jot at odds,
More than the infant that is born to-night:
I thank my God for my humility.’
Other stuff of this sort may be read throughout the whole tragedy, wherein the poet used not much licence in departing from the truth of history, which delivers him a deep dissembler, not of his affections only, but of religion.”
The blundering interpretation of this passage, which Warton accepted and transmitted to his successors, including De Quincey, is that Charles I. was reproved by Milton for having made Shakespeare his closet companion. “The Prince of Wales (afterwards Charles I.),” says De Quincey in his Life of Shakespeare, “had learned to appreciate Shakespeare, not originally from reading him, but from witnessing the Court representations of his plays at Whitehall. Afterwards we know that he made Shakespeare his closet companion, for he was reproached with doing so by Milton.” A careful perusal of the passage will show that nothing was farther from Milton’s intention. Such a deduction is logically impossible. Three things, however, undoubtedly may be deduced from it; and they not only bear a significance directly opposed to the erroneous interpretation, but they are of the highest importance as positive evidence of Milton’s appreciation of Shakespeare, and of Shakespeare’s literary fame. One may deduce, firstly, that Shakespeare was known, at any rate by name, to the Puritans, who chiefly composed the public for which Milton was writing. Secondly (since Charles was not, we may believe, the man to read in private books that he did not like), that the king’s knowledge of Shakespeare was intimate and his appreciation sincere. And, thirdly, that Shakespeare was, in Milton’s opinion, one who depicts human nature with accuracy. For, consider the force of the parallel. Milton wrote to show that the deeds of monarchs are not always the substantiation of their words. The Byzantine tyrant, with his mouth full of piety, is cited as one instance; Shakespeare’s Richard III. as being, by familiarity, likely to bring the matter home to Charles, is cited as another. Which is, in effect, that Shakespeare’s portrayal of a king of such character is, in Milton’s opinion, proof that such a king may exist. There is nothing slighting about that. It is high praise.
Milton wrote his Eikonoklastes in 1649, when he was forty-one. In 1645 he had written his L’Allegro, with the lines:
“Then to the well-trod stage anon
If Jonson’s learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare fancy’s child,
Warble his native woodnotes wild.”
The lines attributed to him in the Second Folio had appeared in 1632, and his fully authenticated Epitaph in 1630. Further, his influence has been traced in the notice of Shakespeare which appeared in the Theatrum Poetarum, published in 1675 by Edward Phillips, Milton’s nephew. Here, surely, is sufficient evidence that throughout his life Milton’s early enthusiasm for Shakespeare did not diminish.
A third popular fallacy is that which maintains Shakespeare’s reputation to have been at its lowest ebb after the Restoration. This belief is well expressed in Victor Hugo’s Shakespeare.
“Shakespeare,” says Victor Hugo, “once dead entered into oblivion. Under the Restoration he ‘completed his eclipse.’ He was so thoroughly dead that Davenant, possibly his son, recomposed his pieces. There was no longer any Macbeth but the Macbeth of Davenant. Dryden speaks of Shakespeare on one occasion in order to say that he is ‘out of date.’ Lord Shaftesbury calls him ‘a wit out of fashion’...
“These two men having condemned Shakespeare, the oracle had spoken. England, a country more obedient to conventional opinion than is generally believed, forgot Shakespeare. Some purchaser pulled down his house, New Place. A Rev. Dr. Gastrell cut down and burnt his mulberry-tree.[10:1] At the commencement of the eighteenth century the eclipse was total. In 1707 one called Nahum Tate published a King Lear, warning his readers ‘that he had borrowed the idea of it from a play which he had read by chance, the work of some nameless author.’ This ‘nameless author’ was Shakespeare.”
Now the numerous adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays which appeared after the Restoration have been taken somewhat paradoxically as indicative of his decline in the public estimation. Such a deduction is by no means accurate. If we take into consideration the comparatively low level to which imaginative literature had fallen under the influence of Charles II.’s Court, the wonder is perhaps that the theatre-going public should have received Shakespeare in any form. Such neglect of Shakespeare as is seen at this time is attributable merely to change of fashion in popular literature, and that was then, and still is, as mutable as the sea. Popular literature does not live, and the adaptations of the later Stuart reigns are now known only to curious students. But Shakespeare lived through it all, known and appreciated by all who had souls above the vulgar; and in this very period he passed triumphantly his first examination at the hands of a skilled critic, John Dryden. Dryden was in every respect typical of the cultivated class of his period. His early judgment of Shakespeare was formed in the somewhat flickering light of Restoration taste. His final estimate was that of a matured thinker. Certainly, adaptations prepared to suit the fickle taste of the playgoer of the period cannot be said to reflect the true character of Shakespeare’s reputation. We see the same thing at the present day. The altruism of theatrical managers is compelled to make concessions to popular demands. The public are still rather shy of going to see Shakespeare simply as Shakespeare. They appear to feel that going to see a play of Shakespeare is like sacrificing themselves for their own good. So the managers who gild the pill for them are successful, and those who do not merely fail, or at best earn a precarious livelihood. One might as well say that Shakespeare’s reputation is at a very low ebb to-day, as make the deduction from the fact of the Restoration adaptations. The playgoers of that period wanted something piquant. One may suppose—to put the matter in modern terms—that Heine and De Maupassant collaborating might have produced a popular success. Wycherley and Congreve met the demand as nearly as possible. But Shakespeare was not the thing.