But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes There is perhaps more of the purely romantic spirit in the woodland scenes of As You Like It than in the pastoral ones of The Winter's Tale, and in the former Jaques and Touchstone have the fascinating uniqueness of Shakespeare's best-loved figures. But the charm of these scenes in The Winter's Tale is that here we feel the presence of the author, more even than in the greatest comedies of his second period. All that Shakespeare has learned of the wisdom of time and eternity presses for utterance through these conversations. Irony and satire are all fordone; nothing is left even of the gentle cynicism of Jaques. The man who has lived through the problems of Hamlet, the destroying ambition of Macbeth, and the shattering terrors of Lear, has emerged into a calm and bright land, where, understanding all, he can forgive all and find joy in all. The story is rooted in folly which begets its own fate; but the end is peace: not the quietness of death, but the quietness of life. 66 CHAPTER IX 'THE TEMPEST": SHAKESPEARE'S SWAN-SONG and produc HERE is fairly clear testimony that The Date of Tempest was the last completed play that composition came from Shakespeare's hand. Its scene, the tion." enchanted island, is suggested by some accounts of the Bermudas that were not issued till the end of the year 1610. The character of Caliban embodies many traits ascribed to the natives of various parts of America, in whom the British public was at that time strongly interested; and it is barely possible that Trinculo's satirical remarks about the gaping II i 25 ff. curiosity of the English over "monsters" monsters" may have been prompted by the exhibition of a North American Indian called Epenew, who, as we learn from Captain John Smith's Historie of New England, was taken to the Old Country in 1611, and, "being a man of so great a stature," was 'showed up and down London for money as a monster." 66 It is known from official records that The Tempest was produced at Court for the opening of the winter season of 1611-12, and that it achieved conspicuous success both there and at the public theatre. Ben Jonson's allusion to it (quoted above, p. 210) was written at some date between 1611 and 1614, in which latter year his Bartholomew Fair was produced. To be sure, tradition ascribes to Shakespeare at least a share in three plays that did not see the light till a later date: Cardenio, The Two Noble Kinsmen and King Henry VIII. The first of these is lost. The share of Shakespeare in the second, if he had any, can only have been slight; many, indeed, of the ablest critics maintain that he had no hand in it at all. The fact that his name appears with Fletcher's as joint author in the first printed edition (1634), eighteen years after his death and nine after Fletcher's, is of little significance. Contemporary publishers were extremely unscrupulous or inaccurate about such ascriptions, which can never be accepted unless supported by independent evidence. The omission of these two plays from the Folio, coupled with the internal evidence in the case of The Two Noble Kinsmen, justifies us in denying to them the honour of anything more than a slight revision by the master. With King Henry VIII the case stands differently. It is included in the Folio, and of its seventeen scenes there are at least six which all agree can only have been created by the genius of Shakespeare. The rest are in Fletcher's best manner, and include a number of passages which, while they have the earmarks of his style, rise so far above any of his other work as to compel the conclusion that they have been enriched by the magician of language. Yet the play as a whole is poorly constructed; its great moments come early, and are followed by scenes of flagging interest. Though it was not produced until 1613, we cannot be certain that Shakespeare's share in it was his latest work: he may have had it lying by him for several years. The much-discussed character of the father of Queen Elizabeth could not well have been put upon the stage during her lifetime, but might have been at any date after her death in 1603; and was, in fact, in one very poor play in 1605. Shakespeare, then, would have felt free to treat the theme, if it commended itself to his judgment, at any time during the ensuing eight years. Theatre fire. It was the firing of ordnance during the perform- The Globe ance of this drama on June 29th, 1613, that caused the destruction of the Globe Theatre. Some ignited paper from one of the cannons fell upon the thatch over the stage, and, being unnoticed, produced a conflagration that consumed the entire building. No lives were lost, but considerable property of the company, which probably included Shakespeare's original MSS., was destroyed. his art. Sir Sidney Lee, whose knowledge of all the facts Prospero's connected with Shakespeare's life and work, and farewell to with the life and work of his professional contemporaries, is so bewilderingly complete, is intolerant of anything that seems to him like a fanciful construction being placed on the personages, speeches or incidents of any of the plays. He will not have it that Shakespeare was thinking of himself in describing any one character or episode, more than in dealing with any other. The analogy between Prospero, wielder of a wondrous art which at the close of the play he voluntarily resigns, and the more gifted magician whose last completed effort was expended in creating Prospero and his fairy realm, suggests itself very naturally. Many have hazarded the guess, accordingly, that it was intentional on Shakespeare's part. It has been assumed that he consciously, or half-consciously, symbolized, by the noble speech in which Prospero takes leave of his Life, ed. 1916, chap. xix, p. 434. Possibility that Shakespeare con nounced his own vale diction. supernormal powers, the imminent renunciation of his own poetic labours. Such very pardonable speculations incur Sir Sidney's rebuke: In Prospero, the guiding providence of the romance, who resigns his magic power in the closing scene, traces have been sought of the lineaments of the dramatist himself, who was approaching in this play the date of his farewell to the enchanted work of his life, although he was not yet to abandon it altogether. Prospero is in the story a scholar-prince of rare intellectual attainments, whose engrossing study of the mysteries of science has given him magical command of the forces of Nature. His magnanimous renunciation of his magical faculty as soon as by its exercise he has restored his shattered fortunes is in accord with the general conception of a just and philosophical temperament. Any other justification of his final act is superfluous. With the deepest deference to the encyclopaedic biographer, whose fruitful labours in every field of sciously pro- Shakespearean research have laid us all under an inexhaustible debt of gratitude, I would venture to suggest that his reasoning here is somewhat less convincing than usual. He has scarcely accounted for Prospero's renunciation of his magical faculty. One is tempted to suspect that Sir Sidney Lee here forgets the poet, or confuses him for the moment with the logician. But, even so, it is not quite strictly "in accord with the general conception of a just and philosophical temperament" that a man should part with tremendous powers the moment he has attained the particular end for the sake of which he has been employing them. Such a man usually proceeds to seek fresh worlds to conquernew fields for the exercise of powers, the use of which has become a joy in itself. Nor is the view |