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 Page 1
 
A STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE.
 
 
 
I.
 
 
 
The greatest poet of our age has drawn a parallel of elaborate eloquence
 
between Shakespeare and the sea; and the likeness holds good in many
 
points of less significance than those which have been set down by the
 
master-hand.  For two hundred years at least have students of every kind
 
put forth in every sort of boat on a longer or a shorter voyage of
 
research across the waters of that unsounded sea.  From the paltriest
 
fishing-craft to such majestic galleys as were steered by Coleridge and
 
by Goethe, each division of the fleet has done or has essayed its turn of
 
work; some busied in dredging alongshore, some taking surveys of this or
 
that gulf or headland, some putting forth through shine and shadow into
 
the darkness of the great deep.  Nor does it seem as if there would
 
sooner be an end to men's labour on this than on the other sea.  But here
 
a difference is perceptible.  The material ocean has been so far mastered
 
by the wisdom and the heroism of man that we may look for a time to come
 
when the mystery shall be manifest of its furthest north and south, and
 
men resolve the secret of the uttermost parts of the sea: the poles also
 
may find their Columbus.  But the limits of that other ocean, the laws of
 
its tides, the motive of its forces, the mystery of its unity and the
 
secret of its change, no seafarer of us all may ever think thoroughly to
 
know.  No wind-gauge will help us to the science of its storms, no lead-
 
line sound for us the depth of its divine and terrible serenity.
 
 
As, however, each generation for some two centuries now or more has
 
witnessed fresh attempts at pilotage and fresh expeditions of discovery
 
undertaken in the seas of Shakespeare, it may be well to study a little
 
the laws of navigation in such waters as these, and look well to compass
 
and rudder before we accept the guidance of a strange helmsman or make
 
proffer for trial of our own.  There are shoals and quicksands on which
 
many a seafarer has run his craft aground in time past, and others of
 
more special peril to adventurers of the present day.  The chances of
 
shipwreck vary in a certain degree with each new change of vessel and
 
each fresh muster of hands.  At one time a main rock of offence on which
 
the stoutest ships of discovery were wont to split was the narrow and
 
slippery reef of verbal emendation; and upon this our native pilots were
 
too many of them prone to steer.  Others fell becalmed offshore in a
 
German fog of philosophic theories, and would not be persuaded that the
 
house of words they had built in honour of Shakespeare was "dark as
 
hell," seeing "it had bay-windows transparent as barricadoes, and the
 
clear-stories towards the south-north were as lustrous as ebony."  These
 
are not the most besetting dangers of more modern steersmen: what we have
 
to guard against now is neither a repetition of the pedantries of
 
Steevens nor a recrudescence of the moralities of Ulrici.  Fresh follies
 
spring up in new paths of criticism, and fresh labourers in a fruitless
 
field are at hand to gather them and to garner.  A discovery of some
 
importance has recently been proclaimed as with blare of vociferous
 
trumpets and flutter of triumphal flags; no less a discovery than
 
this--that a singer must be tested by his song.  Well, it is something
 
that criticism should at length be awake to that wholly indisputable
 
fact; that learned and laborious men who can hear only with their fingers
 
should open their eyes to admit such a novelty, their minds to accept
 
such a paradox, as that a painter should be studied in his pictures and a
 
poet in his verse.  To the common herd of students and lovers of either
 
art this may perhaps appear no great discovery; but that it should at
 
length have dawned even upon the race of commentators is a sign which in
 
itself might be taken as a presage of new light to come in an epoch of
 
miracle yet to be.  Unhappily it is as yet but a partial revelation that
 
has been vouchsafed to them.  To the recognition of the apocalyptic fact
 
that a workman can only be known by his work, and that without
 
examination of his method and material that work can hardly be studied to
 
much purpose, they have yet to add the knowledge of a further truth no
 
less recondite and abstruse than this; that as the technical work of a
 
painter appeals to the eye, so the technical work of a poet appeals to
 
the ear.  It follows that men who have none are as likely to arrive at
 
any profitable end by the application of metrical tests to the work of
 
Shakespeare as a blind man by the application of his theory of colours to
 
the work of Titian.
 
 
It is certainly no news to other than professional critics that no means
 
of study can be more precious or more necessary to a student of
 
Shakespeare than this of tracing the course of his work by the growth and
 
development, through various modes and changes, of his metre.  But the
 
faculty of using such means of study is not to be had for the asking; it
 
is not to be earned by the most assiduous toil, it is not to be secured
 
by the learning of years, it is not to be attained by the devotion of a
 
life.  No proficiency in grammar and arithmetic, no science of numeration
 
and no scheme of prosody, will be here of the least avail.  Though the
 
pedagogue were Briareus himself who would thus bring Shakespeare under
 
the rule of his rod or Shelley within the limit of his line, he would
 
lack fingers on which to count the syllables that make up their music,
 
the infinite varieties of measure that complete the changes and the
 
chimes of perfect verse.  It is but lost labour that they rise up so
 
early, and so late take rest; not a Scaliger or Salmasius of them all
 
will sooner solve the riddle of the simplest than of the subtlest melody.
 
Least of all will the method of a scholiast be likely to serve him as a
 
clue to the hidden things of Shakespeare.  For all the counting up of
 
numbers and casting up of figures that a whole university--nay, a whole
 
universe of pedants could accomplish, no teacher and no learner will ever
 
be a whit the nearer to the haven where they would be.  In spite of all
 
tabulated statements and regulated summaries of research, the music which
 
will not be dissected or defined, the "spirit of sense" which is one and
 
indivisible from the body or the raiment of speech that clothes it, keeps
 
safe the secret of its sound.  Yet it is no less a task than this that
 
the scholiasts have girt themselves to achieve: they will pluck out the
 
heart not of Hamlet's but of Shakespeare's mystery by the means of a
 
metrical test; and this test is to be applied by a purely arithmetical
 
process.  It is useless to pretend or to protest that they work by any
 
rule but the rule of thumb and finger: that they have no ear to work by,
 
whatever outward show they may make of unmistakable ears, the very nature
 
of their project gives full and damning proof.  Properly understood, this
 
that they call the metrical test is doubtless, as they say, the surest or
 
the sole sure key to one side of the secret of Shakespeare; but they will
 
never understand it properly who propose to secure it by the ingenious
 
device of numbering the syllables and tabulating the results of a
 
computation which shall attest in exact sequence the quantity, order, and
 
proportion of single and double endings, of rhyme and blank verse, of
 
regular lines and irregular, to be traced in each play by the horny eye
 
and the callous finger of a pedant.  "I am ill at these numbers"; those
 
in which I have sought to become an expert are numbers of another sort;
 
but having, from wellnigh the first years I can remember, made of the
 
study of Shakespeare the chief intellectual business and found in it the
 
chief spiritual delight of my whole life, I can hardly think myself less
 
qualified than another to offer an opinion on the metrical points at
 
issue.
 
 
         
        
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