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SHAKSPERE AND 
 MONTAIGNE. 
 
SHAKSPERE AND 
 MONTAIGNE: 
 
 AN ENDEAVOUR TO EXPLAIN 
 
 THE TENDENCY OF 'HAMLET^ FROM ALLUSIONS 
 
 IN CONTEMPORARY WORKS, 
 
 BV 
 
 JACOB FEIS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., i PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 
 1884. 
 

 ( TJu rights of tyanslation and of reproduction are reserved.) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction . . . . . . . i 
 
 II. 
 
 The Beginnings of the English Drama 
 
 The Stage a Medium for Political and Religious Con 
 troversies ...... 
 
 Shakspere's PolitiTiIT rrriFiD — • 
 
 Florio's Translation of Montaigne's Essays 
 
 III. 
 
 Montaigne 
 
 19 
 37 
 
 45 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hamlet , . . . . 65 
 
 V. 
 
 The Controversy between Ben Jonson and Dekker . 131 
 
 Mention of a Dispute between Ben Jonson and Shak- 
 
 spere in 'The Return from Parnassus' . . 135 
 
viil CONTENTS. 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 Characteristic; of Ben Jonson . . . . . 138 
 
 Ben Jonson's Hostile Attitude towards Shakspere . 149 
 
 Dramatic Skirmish between Ben Jonson and Shakspere. 151 
 
 Ben Jonson's 'Poetaster' . . , . -153 
 
 Dekker's * Satiromastix ' . - . . . - 163 
 
 VI. 
 
 'VoLPONE,' BY Ben Jonson . . . . .169 
 
 * Eastward Hoe,' by Chapman, Ben Jonson, and Marston . 196 
 
 ♦ The Malcontent,' by John Marston . . . . 199 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It has always been a daring venture to attempt find-*, 
 ing out Shakspere's individuality, and the range of his 
 philosophical and political ideas, from his poetical produc- 
 tions. We come nearest to his feelings in his * Sonnets ; ' 
 but only a few heavy sighs, as it were, from a time of 
 anguish in his life can be heard therefrom. All the 
 rest of those lyrical effusions, in spite of the zealous 
 exertions of commentators full of delicate sentiment 
 and of deep thought, remain an unsolved secret. 
 
 In his historical dramas, a political creed has been 
 pointed out, which, with some degree of certainty, may 
 be held to have been his. From his other dramas, the 
 most varied evidence has been drawn. A perfect maze 
 of contradictions has been read out of them ; so much 
 so that, on this ground, we might almost despair of 
 trustworthy results from further inquiry. 
 
 The wildest and most incongruous theories have 
 been founded upon *• Hamlet ' — the drama richest in 
 philosophical contents. Over and over again men have 
 hoped to be able to ascertain, from this tragedy, the great 
 master's ideas about religion. It is well-nigh impossible 
 to say how often such attempts have been made, but 
 
^ --' '/ , 'SHAiCSI^ERE'AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the reward of the exertions has always remained 
 unsatisfactory. On the feelings which this master- 
 work of dramatic art still excites to-day — nearly three 
 hundred years after its conception — thousands have 
 based the most different conclusions ; every one being 
 convinced of the correctness of his own impressions. 
 There is a special literature, composed of such rendering 
 of personal impressions which that most enigmatical of 
 all dramas has made upon men of various disposition. 
 Every hypothesis finds its adherents among a small 
 group, whilst those who feel differently smile at the 
 infatuation of their antagonists. Nothing that could 
 give true and final satisfaction has yet been reached in 
 this direction. 
 
 It is our intention to regard * Hamlet ' from a new 
 point of view, which seems to promise more success than 
 the critical endeavours hitherto made. We propose 
 to enter upon a close investigation of a series of circum- 
 stances, events, and personal relations of the poet, as 
 well as of certain indications contained in other dramatic 
 works — all of the period in which * Hamlet ' was written 
 and brought into publicity. This valuable material, 
 properly arranged and put in its true connection, will, 
 we believe, furnish us with such firm and solid stepping- 
 stones as to allow us, on a perfectly trustworthy path, 
 to approach the real intentions of this philosophical 
 tragedy. It has long ago been felt that, in it, Shakspere 
 has laid down his religious views. By the means alluded 
 to we will now explain that credo. 
 
 We believe we can successfully show that the ten- 
 
, INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 dency of ' Hamlet ' is of a controversial nature. In 
 closely examining the innovations by which the aug- 
 mented second quarto edition^ (1604) distinguishes 
 itself from the first quarto, published the year before 
 (1603), we find that almost every one of these innova-j 
 tions is directed against the principles of a new philo- 
 sophical work — T/ie Essays of Michel Montaigne — which 
 had appeared at that time in England, and which was 
 brought out under the high auspices of the foremost 
 noblemen and protectors of literature in this country. 
 
 From many hints in contemporary dramas, and from 
 some clear passages in ' Hamlet ' itself, it follows at the 
 same time that the polemics carried on by Shakspere 
 in * Hamlet ' are in most intimate connection with a 
 controversy in which the public took a great interest, 
 and which, in the first years of the seventeenth century, 
 was fought out with much bitterness on the stage. The 
 remarkable controversy is known, in the literature of 
 that age, under the designation of the dispute between 
 Ben Jonson and Dekker. A thorough examination of 
 the dramas referring to it shows that Shakspere was 
 even more implicated in this theatrical warfare than 
 Dekker himself 
 
 The latter wrote a satire entitled ' Satiromastix,' in 
 which he replies to Ben Jonson's coarse personal invec- 
 tives with yet coarser abuse. * Hamlet ' was Shakspere's 
 answer to the nagging hostilities of the quarrelsome 
 adversary, Ben Jonson, who belonged to the party which 
 
 ^ ' Enlarged to almost as much-againe as it was.' 
 
6 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. , 
 
 had brought the philosophical work in question into 
 publicity. And the evident tendency of the innovations 
 in the second quarto of * Hamlet,' we make bold to say, 
 convinces us that it must have been far more Shakspere's 
 object to oppose, in that masterly production of his, the 
 pernicious influence which the philosophy of the work 
 alluded to threatened to exercise on the better minds of 
 his nation, than to defend himself against the personal 
 attacks of Ben Jonson. 
 
 The controversy itself is mentioned in * Hamlet' It 
 is a disclosure of the poet, which sheds a little ray of 
 light into the darkness in which his earthly walk is 
 enveloped. The master, who otherwise is so sparing 
 with allusions as to his sphere of action, speaks ^ bitter 
 words against an * aery of children ' who were then * in 
 fashion,' and were ' most tyrannically clapped for it.' 
 We are further told that these little eyases cry out on 
 the top of the question and so berattle the common 
 stages (so they call them), that many, wearing rapiers, 
 are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither.' 
 The * goose-quills ' are, of course, the writers of the 
 dramas played by the Mittle eyases.' We then learn 
 ' that there was for a while no money bid for argument ' 
 (Shakspere, we see, was not ashamed of honest gain) 
 * unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the 
 question,' Lastly, the reproach is made to the nation 
 that it * holds it no sin to tarre them (the children) to 
 controversy.' This satire is undoubtedly — all commen- 
 
 ^ Act ii. sc. 2." 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 tators agree upon this point— directed against the per- 
 formances of the children who at that time flourished. 
 The most popular of these juvenile actors were the 
 Children of Paul's, the Children of the Revels, the 
 Children of the Chapel Royal. 
 
 Shakspere's remarks, directed against these forward 
 youngsters, may appear to us to-day as of very secon- 
 dary importance in the great drama. To the poet, no 
 doubt, it was not so. The words by which he alludes 
 to this episode in his life come from his very heart, and 
 were written for the purpose of reproving the conduct 
 of the public in regard to himself. 
 
 * Hamlet ' was composed in the atmosphere of this 
 literary feud, from which we draw confirmatory proof 
 that our theory stands on the solid ground of historical 
 fact. 
 
 Even should our endeavour to finally solve the great 
 problem of * Hamlet ' be made in vain, we believe we 
 shall at least have pointed out a way on which others 
 might be more successful. In contradistinction to the 
 manner hitherto in use of drawing conclusions from 
 impressions only, our own matter-of-fact attempt will 
 have this advantage, that the time spent in it will not be 
 wholly wasted ; for, in looking round on the scene of 
 that eventful century, we shall become more intimate 
 with its literature and the characters of Shakspere's 
 contemporaries. 
 
 Before entering upon the theme itself, it is necessary 
 to cast a rapid glance at the condition of the dramatic 
 art of that period. 
 
II. 
 
 THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. 
 
 THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR POLITICAL AND RELI- 
 GIOUS CONTROVERSIES. 
 
 SHAKSPERE'S POLITICAL CREED. 
 
 FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS. 
 
II. 
 
 THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH 
 DRAMA. 
 
 Long before Shakspere, perhaps with fardel on his 
 back, travelled to London, the stage, not only in the 
 capital, but in the whole country, had begun to exercise 
 its attractive power upon the people's imagination. 
 
 In the year 1586, a Protestant zealot, a soldier,* 
 writes: — * When the belles tole to the Lectorer, the trum- 
 petts sound to the Stages, whareat the wicked faction of 
 Rome lawgeth for joy, while the godly weepe for sorrowe. 
 Woe is me ! the play houses are pestered when the 
 churches are naked. At the one it is not possible to 
 gett a place ; at the other voyde seates are plentie. . . . 
 Yt is a wofull sight to see two hundred proude players 
 jett in their silks where five hundred pore people sterve 
 in the streets.' 
 
 Already in the reign of Henry VIII. a 'Master of 
 the Revels ' was required, whose task it was to control 
 the public representations and amusements. Queen 
 Elizabeth had to issue several special ordinances to 
 define more closely the functions, and provide with 
 
 ^ Collier's Drama^ i. 265. 
 
12 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 fresh power this office, which had been created by her 
 father. 
 
 Like all other great achievements of the English 
 nation, the drama, too, developed itself in this country- 
 unhampered by foreign influence. Its rapid growth was 
 owing to the free and energetic spirit of Englishmen, to 
 their love for public life. Every event which in some 
 way attracted public attention, furnished the material 
 for a new ballad, or a new drama. 
 
 Among the dramatists of that time, there was a 
 specially active group of malcontents — men of culture, 
 who had been at the colleges and universities ; such as 
 Peel> Greene, Marlowe, Chapman, Marston, Ben Jonson, 
 and others. If we ask ourselves how it came about that 
 these disciples of erudition turned over to a calling so 
 despised in their days (for the dramatist, with few excep- 
 tions, was then mostly held in as low a repute as the 
 player), the cause will be found in the peculiar circum- 
 stances of that epoch. 
 
 The revival of classical studies, and the art of print- 
 ing, were, in the hands of the peace-loving citizen, fresh 
 means for strengthening his position in the State. The 
 handicraftsman or the merchant, who had gained a small 
 fortune, was no longer satisfied with the modest pro- 
 spects which he could offer to his talented son in an 
 ordinary workshop, or in his narrow store-rooms. Since 
 Rome no longer exercised her once all-powerful influ- 
 ence in every walk of life, university men, owing to their 
 superior education, saw before them a brighter, a more 
 hopeful, future. 
 
THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. 1 3 
 
 In the sixteenth century the number of students in 
 colleges and at the universities increased in an astonish- 
 ing degree, especially from the middle classes. The 
 sons of simple burghers entered upon the contests of 
 free, intellectual aspirations with a zeal mostly absent in 
 those whose position is already secured by birth. At 
 Court, no doubt, the feudal aristocracy were yet power- 
 ful indeed. They could approach their sovereign ac- 
 cording to their pleasure ; influence him ; and procure, 
 by artful intrigue, positions of dignity and useful prefer- 
 ments for themselves and their favourites. Against 
 these abuses the written word, multiplied a thousandfold, 
 was a new weapon. Whoever could handle it properly, 
 gained the esteem of his fellow-men ; and a means 
 was at his disposal for earning a livelihood, however 
 scanty. 
 
 Towards the middle and the end of the sixteenth 
 century there were many students and scholars possess- 
 ing a great deal of erudition, but very little means of 
 subsistence. Nor were their prospects very encouraging. 
 They first went through that bitter experience, which, 
 since then, so many have made after them — that 
 whoever seeks a home in the realm of intellect runs the 
 risk of losing the solid ground on which the fruits for 
 maintaining human life grow. The eye directed towards 
 the Parnassus is not the most apt to spy out the small 
 tortuous paths of daily gain. To get quick returns of 
 interest, even though it be small, from the capital of 
 knowledge and learning, has always been, and still is, a 
 question of difficult solution. 
 
14 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 These young scholars, grown to manhood in the 
 Halls of Wisdom, were unable, and even unwilling, to 
 return to simple industrial pursuits, or to the crafty 
 tactics of commerce. Alienated from practical activity, 
 and too shy to take part in the harder struggles of life, 
 many of them rather contented themselves with a crust 
 of bread, in order to continue enjoying the * dainties of 
 a book.' The manlier and bolder among them, dis- 
 satisfied with the prospect of such poor fare, looked 
 round and saw, in the hands of incapables, fat livings 
 and lucrative emoluments to which they, on account 
 of their superior culture, believed they had a better 
 claim. 
 
 There were yet many State institutions which by no 
 means corresponded to the ideal gathered from Platonf, 
 Cicero, and other writers of antiquity. Men began ex- 
 pressing these feelings of dissatisfaction in ballads and 
 pamphlets. Even as the many home and foreign pro- 
 ducts of industry were distributed by commerce, so it 
 was also the case with these new products of the intel- 
 lectual workshop, which were carried to the most dis- 
 tant parts of the land. At the side of his other wares, 
 the pedlar, eager for profit, offered the new and much- 
 desired achievements of the Muse to the dwellers in the 
 smallest village, in the loneliest farm. 
 
 Moreover, the cunning stationers had their own men, 
 to whom they lent * a dossen groates worth of ballads.' 
 If these hucksters — as Henry Chettle relates — proved 
 thrifty, they were advanced to the position of ' prety 
 (petty) chapman,' 'able to spred more pamphlets by 
 
THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. 1 5 
 
 the State forbidden, then all the bookesellers in London ; 
 for only in this Citie is straight search, abroad smale 
 suspition, especially of such petty pedlars.'^ Chettle 
 speaks strongly against these 'intruders in the print- 
 ings misserie, by whome that excelent Art is not 
 smally slandered, the government of the State not 
 a little blemished, nor Religion in the least measure 
 hindred.' 
 
 Besides the profit to be derived from the Press by 
 the malcontent travelling scholars, there was yet another 
 way of acquiring the means of sustenance and of making 
 use of mental culture ; and in it there existed the 
 further advantage of independence from grumbling pub- 
 lishers. This was the Stage. For it no great prepara- 
 tions were necessary, nor was any capital required. A 
 few chairs, some boards ; in every barn there was room. 
 Wherever one man was found who could read, there 
 were ten eager to listen. 
 
 A most characteristic drama, 'The Return from 
 Parnassus,' depicts some poor scholars who turn away 
 from pitiless Cambridge, of which one of them says — 
 
 For had not Cambridge been to me unkind, 
 I had not turn'd to gall a milky mind.^ 
 
 After having long since completed their studies, they 
 go to London to seek for the most modest livelihood. 
 Bitter experience had taught these disciples of learning 
 that the employment for which they waited could only 
 
 ■ — t — — — . , 
 
 ^ Kind-hartes Dreame, 1592, 2 p^^^ ^ g^ ^^ 
 
1 6 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 be gained by bribery ; and bribe they certainly could not, 
 owing to their want of means. Some of them already 
 show a true Werther-like yearning for solitude : — 
 
 We will be gone unto the downs of Kent. . . . 
 
 STUDIOSO. 
 
 So shall we shun the company of men, 
 That grows more hateful as the world grows old. 
 We'll teach the murm'ring brooks in tears to flow. 
 And sleepy rocks to wail our passed woe.^ 
 
 Another utters sentiments of grief, coming near the 
 words of despair of Faust. There is a tone in them of 
 what the Germans call Weltschmerz : — 
 
 Curs'd be our thoughts, whene'er they dream of hope, 
 Bann'd be those haps that henceforth flatter us. 
 When mischief dogs us still and still for aye. 
 From our first birth until our burying day.^ 
 
 In the difficult choice of a calling which is to save 
 them from need and misery, these beggar-students also 
 think of the stage : — 
 
 And must the basest trade yield us relief? 
 
 So Philomusus, in a woebegone tone, asks his com- 
 rade Studioso ; and the latter looks with the following 
 envious words upon the players whose prospects must 
 have been brighter and more enticing than those of the 
 learned poor scholars : — 
 
 England affords those glorious vagabonds, 
 That carried erst their fardles on their backs, 
 
 ^ Act V. sc. 4. * Act iii. sc. 5. 
 
I 
 
 THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. 1 7 
 
 Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets. 
 
 Sweeping it in their glaring satin suits, 
 
 And pages to attend their masterships : 
 
 With mouthing words that better wits have framed. 
 
 They purchase lands, and now esquires are made.^ 
 
 Shakspere, as well as Alleyn, bought land with the 
 money earned by their art. For many, the stage was 
 the port of refuge to which they fled from the lonely 
 habitations of erudition, where they — 
 
 ... sit now immur'd within their private cells,. 
 Drinking a long lank watching candle's smoke. 
 Spending the marrow of their flow'ring age 
 In fruitless poring on some worm-eat leaf ^ 
 
 Many of these beggar students sought a livelihood 
 by joining the players. That which the poor scholar 
 had read and learnt in books old and new ; all that he had 
 heard from bold, adventurous warriors and seamen return- 
 ing from foreign lands or recently discovered islands ; 
 in short, everything calculated to awaken interest and 
 applause among the great mass, was with feverish haste 
 put on the stage, and, in order to render it more palatable, 
 mixed with a goodly dose of broad humour. 
 
 The same irreconcilable spirit of the Reformation, 
 which would not tolerate any saint's image in the places 
 of worship, also destroyed the liking for Miracle Plays. 
 The tendency of the time was to turn away from 
 mysteries and abstract notions, and to draw in art and 
 poetry nearer to real life. Where formerly 'Miracles 
 and Moralities ' were the delight of men, and Biblical 
 
 ^ The Return from Parnassus^ act v. sc. l*. ^ Ibid, act iv. sc. 3.. 
 
 C 
 
1 8 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Utterances, put in the mouth of prophets and saints, 
 served to edify the audience, there the wordy warfare 
 and the fisticuffs exchanged between the Mendicant 
 Friar and the Seller of Indulgences,^ or Pardoner, whose 
 profane doings were satirised on the stage, became now 
 the subject of popular enjoyment and laughter. Every 
 question of the day was boldly handled, and put in 
 strong language, easily understood by the many, before 
 a grateful public of simple taste. 
 
 The drama, thus created anew, soon became the most 
 popular amusement in the whole country. Every other 
 sport was forgotten over it. In every market town, in 
 every barn, a crowd of actors met. In those days no 
 philosophical hair-splitting was in vogue on the boards. 
 Everything was drawn from real life ; a breath of freedom 
 pervaded all this exuberant geniality. That which a man 
 felt to-day, to-morrow he was able to communicate to 
 his public. The spoken word was freer than the printed 
 one. The latter had to pass a kind of censorship ; the 
 author and the publisher could be ascertained, and be 
 made responsible. But who would be so severe against 
 an extemporised satirical hit, uttered perhaps by a clown } 
 Who would, for that sake, be the denouncing traitor ? 
 
 Yet it must not be thought that poets and players 
 could do exactly as they listed. They, too, had their 
 enemies. More especially, the austere Puritans were 
 their bitter foes ; they never ceased bringing their in- 
 fluence to bear upon highly-placed persons, in order to 
 
 ^ The Pardoner mid the Friar \ 1533. 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 1 9 
 
 check the daring and forward doings of the stage, whose 
 liberty they on every occasion wished to see curtailed, 
 and its excesses visited by punishment. The ordinary 
 players, if they did not possess licences from at least two 
 justices of the peace, might be prosecuted, in accordance 
 with an old law, as ' rogues and vagabonds,' and subjected 
 to very hard sentences. It was not so easy to proceed 
 against the better class of actors, who, with a view of 
 escaping from the chicanery which their calling rendered 
 them liable to, had placed themselves under the protection 
 of the first noblemen, calling themselves their ' servants.' 
 An ordinance of the Privy Council was required in order 
 to bring actors who were thus protected, before a court of 
 justice. 
 
 Nevertheless, these restless people got into incessant 
 conflicts with the authorities. Actors would not allow 
 themselves to be deprived of the right of saying a 
 word on matters of the State and the Church ; and what 
 did occupy men's minds more than the victory of the 
 Reformation ? 
 
 Already, in the year IS/^Q, Cardinal Wolsey felt 
 bound to cast an author, Roo,^ and ' a fellow-player, a 
 young gentleman,' into prison, because they had put a 
 piece on the stage, the aim of which was to show that 
 * Lord Governaunce (Government) was ruled by Dissipa- 
 tion and Negligence, by whose misgovernment and evil 
 order Lady Public-Weal was put from Governaunce ; 
 which caused Rumor-populi, Inward Grudge, and 
 Disdain of Wanton Sovereigntie to rise with a great 
 * Collier's Drama, i. 104. 
 
20 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 multitude to expel Negligence and Dissipation, and to 
 restore Publike-weal again to her estate — which was so 
 done.' 
 
 The reproaches made to the bishops about the year 
 1 544 prove, that the stage had already long ago boldly 
 ventured upon the territory of religion, in order to imbue 
 the masses with anti-ecclesiastical tendencies. In this 
 connection the following words of an actor, addressed to 
 the clerics, are most significant. * None,' he says, * leave 
 ye unvexed and untroubled ; no, not so much as the poor 
 minstrels and players of interludes. So long as they 
 played lies and sang bawdy songs, blaspheming God, 
 and corrupting men's consciences, ye never blamed them, 
 but were very well contented ; but since they persuaded 
 the people to worship the Lord aright, according to His 
 holy laws and not yours, ye never were pleased with 
 them.' 1 
 
 The first Act of Parliament for 'the controul and 
 regulation of stages and dramatic representations ' was 
 passed in the reign of Henry VHI. (1543)- Its title is, 
 ' An Act for the Advancement of True Religion and the 
 Punishment of the Contrary.' 
 
 In 1552 Edward VI. issued a further proclamation 
 both in regard to the stage and the sellers of prints and 
 books ; this time mainly from political reasons. 
 
 Whilst poets and players under Henry VIII. and his 
 youthful successor could bring out, without hindrance, 
 
 1 The Political Use of the Stage in Shaksperes Time. New 
 Shakspere Society : 1874, ii. p. 371. 
 
 Henry Stalbrydge, Epistle Exhortatory^ &c. : 1544. 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 21 
 
 that which promoted their ideas of ' true religion/ they 
 . ran great risk, in the reign of Queen Mary, with any 
 ^ Protestant tendencies ; for, scarcely had this severe 
 queen been a month on the throne than she issued an 
 ordinance (August i6, 1553) forbidding such dramas 
 and interludes as were calculated to spread the principles 
 and doctrines of the Reformation. 
 
 Under this sovereign, spectacles furthering the Roman 
 Catholic cause were of course favoured. On the other 
 hand, it may be assumed thaf, during the long and 
 popular reign of Queen Elizabeth, Protestant tendencies 
 on the stage often passed the censorship, although from 
 the first years of her government there is an Act pro- 
 hibiting any drama in which State and Church affairs were 
 treated, ' being no meete matters to be written or treated 
 upon but by men of authoritie, nor to be handled before 
 any audience, but of grave and discreete persons.' 
 
 However, like all previous ordinances, proclamations, 
 and Acts of Parliament, this one also remained without 
 effect. The dramatists and the disciples of the mimic art 
 continued busying themselves, in their customary bold 
 manner, with that which awakened the greatest interest 
 among the public at large ; and one would think that at a 
 certain time they had become a little power in the State, 
 against which it was no longer possible to proceed in 
 arbitrary fashion, but which, on the contrary, had to be 
 reckoned with. 
 P Only such measures, it appears, were afterwards 
 passed which were calculated to harmonise the religi- 
 ous views uttered on the stage with the tenets of the 
 
22 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Established Church. This follows from a letter of Lord 
 Burleigh, addressed, in 1589, to the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, in which he requests him to appoint ' some 
 fytt person well learned in divinitie.' The latter, to- 
 gether with the Master of the Revels and a person 
 chosen by the Lord Mayor of the City of London, were 
 to form a kind of Commission, which had to examine all 
 pieces that were to be publicly acted, and to give their 
 approval. 
 
 It would be an error to believe that this threefold 
 censorship had any greater success than the former 
 measures. The contrary was the case ; matters rather 
 became worse. Actors were imprisoned ; whereupon 
 they drew up beautiful petitions to their august pro- 
 tectors who brought about their deliverance — that is, 
 until they were once more clapped into prison. Then 
 they were threatened with having their ears and noses 
 cut off ; ^ but still they would not hold their tongues. We 
 know from a letter of the French ambassador (1606) — who 
 himself had several times to ask at the Court of James L 
 for the prohibition of pieces in which the Queen of France 
 and Mademoiselle Verneuil, as well as the Duke of Biron, 
 were severely handled — that the bold expounders of the 
 dramatic art dared to bring their own king on the stage. 
 Upon this there came an ordinance forbidding all further 
 theatrical representations in London. 
 
 In the words of the French ambassador : — ' I caused 
 certain players to be forbid from acting the history of 
 
 ^ This threat was uttered against Chapman, Ben Jonson, and 
 Marston on account of Eastward Hoe. 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 23 
 
 the Duke of Biron. When, however, they saw that the 
 whole Court had left the town, they persisted in acting 
 it ; nay, they brought upon the stage the Queen of France 
 and Mademoiselle de Verneuil. ... He (the King) has 
 upon this made order that no play shall henceforth be 
 acted in London ; for the repeal of which order they (the 
 players) have offered 100,000 livres. Perhaps the per- 
 mission will be again granted, but upon condition that 
 they represent no recent history, nor speak of the present 
 time.' ' 
 
 From this sum — a very large one at that time — the 
 importance of the theatre of those days may be gathered. 
 
 The Corporation of the City of London was among 
 those most hostile to all theatrical representations. It 
 exerted itself to the utmost in order to render them 
 impossible in the centre of the capital ; issuing, with that 
 object, the most whimsical decrees. Trying, on their 
 part, to escape from the despotic restrictions, the various 
 players' companies settled down beyond the boundary 
 of the Lord Mayor's jurisdiction. The citizens of Lon- 
 don, wishing to have their share of an amusement which 
 had become a national one, eagerly flocked to Bankside, 
 to Blackfriars, to Shoreditch, or across green fields to 
 the more distant Newington Butts. 
 
 Comparatively speaking, very little has come down 
 to us from the hey-day of the English drama. That 
 which we possess is but an exceedingly small portion 
 of the productions of that epoch. Henslowe's ' Diary ' 
 
 1 Von Raumer, ii. p. 219. 
 
24 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 tells US that a single theatre (Newington Butts) in about 
 two years (June 3, 1594, to July 18, 1596) brought out 
 not less than forty new pieces ; and London, at that 
 time, had already more than a dozen play-houses. The 
 dramas handed down to us are mostly purged of those 
 passages which threatened to give offence in print. 
 The dramatists did not mean to write books. When 
 they went to the press at all, they often excused them- 
 selves that * scenes invented merely to be spoken, should 
 be inforcibly published to be read.' They were well 
 aware that this could not afford to the reader the same 
 pleasure he felt ' when it was presented with the soule 
 of living action,' ^ 
 
 The stage was the forum of the people, on which 
 everything was expressed that created interest amidst 
 a great nation rising to new life. The path towards 
 political freedom of speech was not yet opened in Parlia- 
 ment ; and of our important safety-valve of to-day, the 
 public press, there was yet only the first vestige, in the 
 shape of pamphlets secretly hawked about. The stage 
 as rapidly decayed as it had grown, when the chief 
 interest on which it had thriven for a while — namely, 
 the representation of affairs of public interest — obtained 
 more practical expression in other spheres. In the 
 meantime, however, it remained the platform on which 
 everything could be subjected to the criticism and 
 jurisdiction of public opinion. 
 
 In Chettle's * Kind-Harte's Dreame ' (1592) the pro- 
 
 ^ Marston's Malcontent : Dedication. 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 25 
 
 prietor of a house of evil fame concludes his speech with 
 reproaches against actors on account of their spoiling 
 his trade ; ' for no sooner have we a tricke of deceipt, 
 but they make it common, singing jigs, and making 
 jeasts of us, that everie boy can point out our houses as 
 they passe by.' Again, in Ben Jonson's ' Poetaster,' we 
 read that ' your courtier cannot kiss his mistress's slippers 
 in quiet for them ; nor your white innocent gallant pawn 
 his revelling suit to make his punk a supper ; ' or that 
 
 * an honest, decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, 
 nor be seen in a bawdy house, but he shall be straight 
 in one of their wormwood comedies.' ^ 
 
 Not less boldly than social affairs were political 
 matters treated ; but in order to avoid a prosecution, 
 these questions had to be cautiously approached in 
 parable fashion. Never was greater cleverness shown 
 in this respect than at Shakspere's time. Every poet, 
 every statesman, or otherwise highly-placed person, was 
 
 * heckled ' under an allegorical name — a circumstance 
 which at present makes it rather difficult for us to fully 
 fathom the meaning of certain dramatic productions. 
 
 In order to attract the crowd, the stage-poets had to 
 present their dishes with the condiments of actual life ; 
 thus studying more the taste of the guests than show- 
 ing that of the cook. Prologues and Epilogues always 
 appealed more to the public at large as the highest judge ; 
 its verdict alone was held to be the decisive one. Manu- 
 scripts — the property of companies whose interest it was 
 
 ^ Act i. sc. I. 
 
26 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 not to make them generally known in print — were con- 
 tinually altered according to circumstances. Guided by 
 the impressions of the public, authors struck out what 
 had been badly received ; whilst passages that had 
 earned applause, remained as the encouraging and de- 
 ciding factor for the future. 
 
 At one time dramas were written almost with the 
 same rapidity as leading articles are to-day. Even as 
 our journalists do in the press, so the dramatists of that 
 period carried on their debates about certain questions 
 of the day on the stage. In language the most passion- 
 ate, authors fell upon each other — a practice for which 
 we have to thank them, in so far as we thereby gain 
 matter-of-fact points for a correct understanding of 
 * Hamlet.' 
 
 In the last but one decennium of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, the first dramatists arose who pursued fixed literary 
 tendencies. Often their compositions are mere exercises 
 of style after Greek or Roman models which never be- 
 came popular on the Thames. The taste of the English 
 people does not bear with strange exotic manners for any 
 length of time. It is lost labour to plant palm-trees 
 where oaks only can thrive. Liiy and others endeavoured 
 to gain the applause of the mass by words of finely- 
 distilled fragrance, to which no coarse grain, no breath oi 
 the native atmosphere clung. A fruitless beginning, as 
 little destined to succeed as the exertions of those who 
 tried to shine by pedantic learning and hollow glittering 
 words. 
 
 Marlowe's powerful imagination attempts marshalling 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 2/ 
 
 the whole world, in his booth of theatrical boards, after 
 the rhythm of drumming decasyllabon and bragging 
 blank-verse. In his dramas, great conquerors pass the 
 frontiers of kingdoms with the same ease with which 
 one steps over the border of a carpet. The people's 
 fancy willingly follows the bold poet. In the short space 
 of three hours he makes his * Faust ' ^ live through four- 
 and-twenty years, in order ' to conquer, with sweet plea- 
 sure, despair.' The earth becomes too small for this 
 dramatist. Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, have 
 to respond to his inquiries. Like some of his colleagues, 
 Marlowe is a sceptic : he calls Moses a ' conjurer and 
 seducer of the people,' and boasts that, if he were to 
 try, he would succeed in establishing a better religion 
 than the one he sees around himself. The apostle of 
 these high thoughts, not yet thirty years old, breathed 
 his last, in consequence of a duel in a house of evil 
 repute. 
 
 Another hopeful disciple of lyric and dramatic poetry 
 and prose-writer, Robert Greene, once full of similar 
 free-thinking ideas, lay on his deathbed at the age of 
 thirty-two, after a life of dissipation. Thence he writes 
 to his forsaken wife : — 
 
 ' All my wrongs muster themselves about me ; every 
 evill at once plagues me. For my contempt of God, I 
 am contemned of men ; for my swearing and forswearing, 
 
 ^ It is very characteristic that, in this serious piece also, low 
 humour was still largely employed. In printing — the publisher 
 remarks — the passages in question were left out, as derogatory ' to so 
 honourable and stately a history.' 
 
28 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 no man will believe me ; for my gluttony, I suffer 
 hunger ; for my drunkenesse, thirst ; for my adulterie, 
 ulcerous sores. Thus God has cast me downe, that I 
 might be humbled ; and punished me, for examples of 
 others' sinne.' 
 
 Greene offers his own wretched end to his colleagues 
 as a warning example ; admonishing them to employ 
 their ' rare wits in more profitable courses ; ' to look 
 repentingly on the past ; to leave off profane practices^ 
 and not * to spend their wits in making plaies.' He 
 especially warns them against actors — because these, it 
 seems, had given him up. His rancorous spite against 
 them he expresses in the well-known words : — * Yes, 
 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 blank 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.' 
 
 This satirical point, directed, without doubtj^^against 
 Shakspere, is the only thing reliable which, down to the 
 year 1 592, we know of his dramatic activity. He had 
 then been only about four years in London.^ Yet he 
 must already have wielded considerable authority, see- 
 ing that he is publicly, though with sneering arrogance, 
 called a complete Johannes Factotum — a man who has 
 laid himself out in every direction. 
 
 It is the divine mission of a genius to bring order 
 out of chaos, to regulate matters with the directing force 
 of his superior glance. Certainly, Shakspere, from the 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 29 
 
 very beginning of his activity, sought, with all the energy 
 of his power, to rule out all ignoble, anarchical elements 
 from the stage, and thus to obtain for it the sympathies 
 of the best of his time. Fate so willed it, that one of 
 the greatest minds which Heaven ever gave to mankind, 
 entered, on this occasion, the modest door of a playhouse, 
 as if Providence had intended showing that a generous 
 activity can effect noble results everywhere, and that the 
 most despised calling (such, still, was that of the actors 
 then) can produce most excellent fruits. 
 
 Shakspere's life is a beneficial harmony between will 
 and deed ; no attempt to draw down Heaven to Earth, 
 or to raise up Earth to Heaven. His are rather the 
 ways and manners peculiar to a people which likes to 
 adapt itself to given circumstances, to make use of the 
 existing practical good, in order to produce from it that 
 which is better. 
 
 It is an ascertained fact that Shakspere, who had 
 received some training at school — but no University edu- 
 cation — began, at the age of twenty-four, to arrange the 
 pieces of other writers, to make modest additions to 
 them ; in short, to render them fit and proper for stage 
 purposes. This may have been one of the causes why 
 Greene dubbed him a ' Johannes Fac-totum.' Others, 
 too, have accused him, during his lifetime, of ' applica- 
 tion ' (plagiarism), because he took his subjects mostly 
 from other authors. Among those who so charged him, 
 were, as we shall show, more especially Ben Jonson and 
 Marston. 
 
 Shakspere never allowed himself to be induced by 
 
30 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 these reproaches to change his mode of working. Down 
 to his death it remained the same. Is his merit, on that 
 account, a lesser one } Certainly not : in the Poetical 
 Art, in the Realm of Feeling and Thought, there are no 
 regular boundary-stones. No author has the right to 
 say : ' Thou must not step into the circle drawn by me ; 
 thou hast to do thy work wholly outside of it ! ' 
 
 An author who so expresses an idea, or so describes 
 a situation as to fix it most powerfully in men's imagi- 
 nation, is to be looked upon as the true owner or creator 
 of the image : to Mm belongs the crown. The Greeks 
 reckoned it to be the highest merit of the masters of 
 their plastic art when they retained the great traits with 
 which their predecessors had invested a conception ; 
 only endeavouring to better those parts in which a lesser 
 success had been achieved — until that section of the 
 work, too, had attained the highest degree of perfection. 
 Thus arose the Jupiter of Pheidias, a Venus of Milo, an 
 Apollo of Belvedere. Thus the noblest ideal of beauty 
 was created, and in this wise the Greek national epic 
 became the model of all kindred poetry. 
 
 There is a most characteristic fact which shows how 
 greatly the drama had risen in universal esteem after 
 Shakspere had devoted to it twelve years of his life. It 
 is this. The Corporation of the City of London, once 
 so hostile to all theatrical representations, and which had 
 used every possible chicanery against the stage, had 
 become so friendly to it towards the year 1600, that, 
 when it was asked from governmental quarters to enforce 
 a certain decree which had been launched against the 
 
THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR CONTROVERSIES. 3 1 
 
 theatre, it refused to comply with the request. On the 
 contrary, the Lord Mayor, as well as the other magis- 
 trates, held it to be an injustice towards the actors that 
 the Privy Council gave a hearing to the charges brought 
 forward by the Puritans. Truly, the feelings of this con- 
 servative Corporation, as well of a large number of those 
 who once looked down upon the stage with the greatest 
 contempt, must, in the meanwhile, have undergone a 
 great change. 
 
 Unquestionably the Company of the Lord Chamber- 
 lain — which in summer gave its masterly representations 
 in the Globe Theatre, beyond the Thames, and in winter 
 in Black- Friars — had been the chief agency in working 
 that change. The first noblemen, the Queen herself, 
 greatly enjoyed the pieces which Shakspere, in fact, 
 wrote for that society ; but the public at large were not 
 less delighted with them. 
 
 When, the day after such a representation, conversa- 
 tion arose in the family circle as to the three happy 
 hours passed in the theatre, an opportunity was given 
 for discussing the most important events of the past and 
 the present. The people's history had not yet been 
 written then. Solitary events only had been loosely 
 marked down in dry folios. The stage now brought 
 telling historical facts in vivid colours before the eye. 
 The powerful speeches of high and mighty lords, of 
 learned bishops, and of kings were heard — of exalted 
 persons, all different in character, but all moved, like 
 other mortals, by various passions, and driven by a series 
 of circumstances to definite actions. It was felt that 
 
32 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 they, too, were subject to a certain spirit of the time, 
 the tendency of which, if the poet was attentively Hstened 
 to, could be plainly gathered. In this way conclusions 
 might be drawn which shed light even upon the events 
 of the present. 
 
 True, it was forbidden to bring questions of the 
 State and of religion upon the stage. But has Shak- 
 spere really avoided treating upon them ? 
 
 Richard Simpson has successfully shown that Shak- 
 spere, in his historical plays, carried on a political dis- 
 cussion easily understood by his contemporaries.^ The 
 maxims thus enunciated by the poet have been ascer- 
 tained by that penetrating critic in such a manner that 
 the results obtained can scarcely be subjected to doubt 
 any more. 
 
 On comparing the older plays and chronicles of 
 which the poet made use for his historical dramas, with 
 the creations that arose on this basis under his powerful 
 hand, one sees that he suppresses certain tendencies of 
 the subject-matter before him, placing others in their 
 stead. Taking fully into account all the artistic techni- 
 calities calculated to produce a strong dramatic effect, 
 we still find that he has evidently made a number of 
 changes with the clear and most persistent intention of 
 touching upon political questions of his time. 
 
 If, for instance, Shakspere's 'King John' is com- 
 pared with the old play, ' The Troublesome Raigne,' 
 and with the chronicles from which (but more especially 
 
 ^ The Politics of Shaksperis Historical Plays. New Shak- 
 spere Society, ii. 1874. 
 
shakspere's political creed. 33 
 
 from the former piece) the poet has drawn the plan of 
 his dramatic action, it will be seen that very definite 
 political tendencies of what he had before him were 
 suppressed. New ones are put in their place. Shak- 
 sperc makes his ' King John ' go through two different, 
 wholly unhistorical struggles : one against a foe at home, 
 wJto contests the King's legitimate right ; the other against 
 Romanists who think it a sacred duty to overthrow the 
 heretic. These were not the feuds with which the King 
 John of history had to contend. 
 
 But the daughter from the unhappy marriage of 
 Henry VIII. and the faithless Anne Boleyn — Queen 
 Elizabeth— had, during her whole lifetime, to contend 
 against rebels who held Mary Stuart to be the legitimate 
 successor ; and it was Queen Elizabeth who had always 
 to remain armed against a confederacy of enemies who, 
 encouraged by the Pope, made war upon the * heretic ' 
 on the throne of England. 
 
 Thus, in the Globe Theatre, questions of the State 
 were discussed ; and politics had their distinct place 
 there. Yet who would enforce the rules of censorship 
 upon such language as this : — 
 
 This England never did, and never shall, 
 Lie at the proud feet of a Conqueror 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 . . . Nought shall make us rue 
 If England to herself do rest but true .? 
 
 Such thoughts were not taken from any old chronicle, 
 but came from the very soul of the age that had gained 
 the great victory over the Armada. They emphasized 
 
34 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a newly-acquired independent position, which could only 
 be maintained by united strength against a foreign foe. 
 
 Even as 'King John,' so all the other historical 
 plays contain a clearly provable political tendency. Not 
 everything done by the great queen met with applause 
 among the people. Dissatisfaction was felt at the pro- 
 minence of personal favourites, who made much abuse 
 of commercial monopolies granted to them. The bur- 
 dens of taxation had become heavier than in former 
 times. In ' Richard the Second ' a king is produced, 
 who by his misgovernment and by his maintenance of 
 selfish favourites loses his crown. 
 
 Shakspere's sympathies are with a prince whom 
 Nature has formed into a strong ruler ; and such an 
 aristocrat of the intellect is depicted in his * Henry the 
 Fifth.' In this ideal of a king, all the good national 
 qualities attain their apotheosis. This hero combines 
 strength of character with justice and bravery. With 
 great severity he examines his own conscience before 
 proceeding to any action, however small. War he makes 
 with all possible humanity, and only for the furtherance 
 of civilisation. Nothing is more hated by Shakspere 
 than a government of weak hands. From such an un- 
 fortunate cause came the Wars of the Two Roses. It 
 seems that, in order to bring this fact home to the un- 
 derstanding of the people, Shakspere put the sanguinary 
 struggles between the Houses of York and Lancaster on 
 the stage. (See Epilogue of ' King Henry the Fifth.') 
 
 More strongly even than in his plays referring to 
 English history, the deep aversion he felt to divided 
 
shakspere's political creed. 35 
 
 dominion pierces through his Roman tragedies ; for in 
 Shakspere the aristocratic vein was not less developed 
 than in Goethe. To him, too, the multitude — 
 
 . . . This common body. 
 Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
 Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide 
 To rot itself with motion.^ 
 
 As in politics, so also in the domain of religion (of 
 all things the most important to his contemporaries), 
 Shakspere has made his profession of faith. For its 
 elucidation we believe we possess a means not less sure 
 than that which Richard Simpson has made use of for 
 fixing the political maxims of the great master. 
 
 ' Hamlet ' first appeared in a quarto edition of the 
 year 1603. The little book thus announces itself: — 
 
 * The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet Prince of Den- 
 marke, By William Shakespeare. As it hath been diverse 
 times acted by his Highnesse servants in the Cittie of 
 London : as also in the two Vniversities of Cambridge 
 & Oxford, and elsewhere.' 
 
 This drama is different, in most essential traits, from 
 the piece we now possess, which came out a year later 
 (1604), also in quarto edition. The title of the latter 
 is: — 
 
 * The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Den- 
 mark. By William Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and 
 enlarged to almost as much-againe as it was, according 
 to the true & perfect coppie.' 
 
 ^ Antonius and Cleopatra^ act i. sc. 4. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 The most diverse hypotheses have been started as to 
 the relation between the older ' Hamlet ' and the later 
 one.^ We share the view of those who maintain that 
 the first quarto edition was a rough-draught, advanced 
 to a certain degree, and for which the poet, as is the case 
 with so many of his other plays, had used an older play 
 as a kind of model. A ' rough-draught advanced to a 
 certain degree ' may be explained as a piece already 
 produced on the stage. The public, always eager to 
 see novelties, allowed the dramatists little time for fully 
 working out their conceptions. The plays matured, 
 as it were, on the stage itself; there they received 
 their final shape and completion. As mentioned be- 
 fore, that which had displeased was struck out, whilst 
 the passages that had obtained applause were often 
 augmented, in order to confer upon the play the attrac- 
 tion of novelty. ' Enlarged to almost as much-againe as 
 it was ' is an expression which shows that ' Hamlet ' had 
 drawn from the very beginning. The poet, thereby en- 
 couraged, then worked out this drama into the powerful, 
 comprehensive tragedy which we now possess. 
 
 Now, in closely examining the changes and additions 
 made in the second ' Hamlet,' we find that most of the 
 freshly added philosophical thoughts, and many charac- 
 teristic peculiarities, have clear reference to the philo- 
 sophy of a certain book and the character of its author — 
 namely, to Michel Montaigne and his * Essais.' This 
 
 ^ We mean the usually received text, seeing that the folio edition 
 of 1623 contains some passages which are wanting in the quarto 
 edition, and vice versa. 
 
FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE. 37 
 
 work first appeared in an English translation in 1603, 
 after it had already been entered at Stationers' Hall for 
 pubHcation in 1599. The cause which may have induced 
 Shakspere to confer upon his ' Hamlet ' the thoughts 
 and the peculiarities of Montaigne, and to give that play 
 the shape in which we now have it, will become apparent 
 when we have to explain the controversy between Jonson 
 and Dekker. We have thus the advantage over Simp- 
 son's method, that our theory will be confirmed from 
 other sources. 
 
 Montaigne's ' Essais ' were a work which made a 
 strong mark, and created a deep sensation, in his own 
 country. There, it had already gone through twelve 
 editions before it was introduced in England — eleven 
 years after the death of its author — by means of a trans- 
 lation. Here it found its first admirers among the highest 
 aristocracy and the patrons of literature and art. Under 
 such august auspices it penetrated into the English public 
 at large. The translator was a well-known teacher of 
 the Italian language, John Florio. 
 
 From the preface of the first book of the ' Essais ' we 
 learn that, at the request of Sir Edward Wotton, Florio 
 had first Englished one chapter, doing it in the house 
 of Lady Bedford, a great lover of art. In that preface, 
 Florio, in most extravagant and euphuistic style, de- 
 scribes how this noblewoman, after having 'dayned to 
 read it (the first chapter) without pitty of my fasting, my 
 fainting, my laboring, my langishing, my gasping for 
 some breath . . . yet commaunded me on ' — namely, to 
 turn the whole work into English. It was a heavy task 
 
38 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 for the poor schoolmaster. He says : — * I sweat, I wept, 
 and I went on sea-tosst, weather-beaten . . . shippe- 
 wrackt — almost drowned.' ' I say not,' the polite maestro 
 adds, * you took pleasure at shore ' (as those in this author, 
 iii. i). No ; my lady was * unmercifuU, but not so cruell ; ' 
 she ever and anon upheld his courage, bringing * to my 
 succour the forces of two deare friends.' One of them 
 was Theodore Diodati, tutor of I^ady Bedford's brother, 
 the eldest son of Lady Harrington whose husband also 
 was a poet. 
 
 The grateful Florio calls this worthy colleague, 
 ' Diodati as in name, so indeed God's gift to me/ and 
 a * guide-fish ' who in this ' rockie-rough ocean ' helped 
 him to capture the * Whale ' — that is, Montaigne. He also 
 compares him to a * donus genius sent to me, as the good 
 angel to Raimond in " Tasso," for my assistant to combat 
 this great Argante.' 
 
 The other welcome fellow-worker was ' Maister 
 Doctor Guinne ; ' according to Florio, ' in this perilous, 
 crook't passage a monster-quelling Theseus or Herkules ;' 
 aye, in his eyes the best orator, poet, philosopher, and 
 medical man {non so se meglior oratore e poeta^ o philo- 
 sopho e medico\ and well versed in Greek, Latin, Italian, 
 and French poetry. It was he who succeeded in tracing 
 the many passages from classic and modern writers 
 which are strewn all over Montaigne's Essays to the 
 divers authors, and the several places where they occur, 
 so as to properly classify them. 
 
 Samuel Daniel, a well-known and much respected 
 poet of that time, and a brother-in-law of Florio, also 
 
FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE. 39 
 
 made his contribution. He opens this powerful, highly 
 important work with a eulogistic poem. Florio, in his 
 bombastic style, says: — ' I, in this, serve but as Vulcan 
 to hatchet this Minerva from that Jupiter's bigge 
 braine.' He calls himself ' a fondling foster-father, 
 having transported it from France to England, put it in 
 English clothes, taught it to talke our tongue, though 
 many times with a jerke of French jargon.' 
 
 The ' Essais ' consist of three different books. Each 
 of them is dedicated to two noblewomen, the foremost 
 of this country. The first book is dedicated to Lucy, 
 Countess of Bedford, and her mother. Lady Anne 
 Harrington. The second to Elizabeth, Countess of 
 Rutland, daughter of the famous poet Sir Philip Sidney, 
 therefore a near relation of Shakspere's youthful friend, 
 William Herbert, the later Earl of Pembroke (' the only 
 begetter ' of the * Sonnets '), whose mother also was a 
 daughter of that much-admired poet. 
 
 The second book is dedicated to the renowned as 
 well as evilly notorious Lady Penelope Rich, sister of the 
 unfortunate Earl of Essex. She shone by her extra- 
 ordinary beauty as well as by her intellectual gifts. Of 
 her Sir Philip Sidney was madly enamoured, but she 
 married a Croesus, Lord Rich. This union was a most 
 unhappy one. Her husband, a man far below her in 
 strength of mind, did not know how to value the jewel 
 that had come into his possession. A crowd of admirers 
 flocked around her, among whom was William Herbert, 
 much younger in years than herself. It is suspected 
 that Shakspere's last sonnets (127-152) touch upon this 
 
40 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 connection, with the object of warning the friend against 
 the true character of that sinful woman. 
 
 The last book is dedicated to Lady Elizabeth Grey, 
 the wife of Henry Grey, daughter of the Earl of Shrews- 
 bury, and to Lady Mary Nevill, the latter being the 
 daughter of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and wife 
 of Sir Henry Nevill of Abergavenny. 
 
 Each of the noblewomen mentioned is praised in a 
 sonnet. No book of that period had such a number of 
 aristocratic sponsors. Yet it was of foreign origin, and 
 for the first time a French philosopher had appeared in 
 an English version on this side of the Channel. His 
 easy, chatty tone must have created no small sensation. 
 The welcome given to him by a great number of men is 
 proved by the fact of the ' Essais ' soon reaching their 
 third edition, a rare occurrence with a book so expensive 
 as this.^ 
 
 We will endeavour to sketch the character of Michel 
 Montaigne and his writings. His individuality, owing 
 to the minute descriptions he gives of his own self in the 
 Essays, comes out with rare distinctness from the dark 
 environs of his time — more clearly so than the personality 
 of any other author, even of that seventeenth century 
 which is so much nearer to us. 
 
 This French nobleman devoted the last thirty years 
 of his life to philosophical speculations, if that expression 
 is allowable ; for fanciful inclination and changing senti- 
 
 ^ Montaigne's Essays^ which were published in folio, may have 
 had the same price as Shakspere's folio of 1623. The latter was 
 only re-issued in 1632 and 1664, whilst the former came out in new 
 editions in 161 3 and 1632. 
 
FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE. 4I 
 
 ment, far more than strict logic and sound common 
 sense, decided the direction of his thoughts. The book 
 in which he tries to render his ideas is meant to be the 
 flesh and blood of his own self The work and the 
 author — so he says — are to be one. * He who touches 
 one of them, attacks both.' In the words of Florio's 
 translation, he observes : — ' Authors communicate them- 
 selves unto the world by some speciall and strange 
 marke, I the first by my generall disposition as Michael 
 Montaigne ; not as a Grammarian, or a Poet, or a Lawyer.' 
 
 Few writers have been considered from such different 
 points of view as Montaigne. The most passionate con- 
 troversies have arisen about him. Theologians have 
 endeavoured to make him one of their own ; but the 
 more far seeing ones soon perceived that there was too 
 much scepticism in his work. Some sceptics would fain 
 attach him to their own ranks ; but the more consistent 
 among them declined the companionship of one who 
 was too bigoted for them. The great mass of men, as 
 usual, plucked, according to each one's taste and fancy, 
 some blossom or leaf from his 'nosegay of strange flowers,' ^ 
 and then classified him from that casual selection. 
 
 Montaigne, a friend of truth, admonishes posterity, 
 if it would judge him, to do so truthfully and justly. 
 With gladsome heart, he says, he would come back from 
 the other world in order to give the lie to those who 
 describe him different from what he is, * even if it were 
 done to his honour.' 
 
 ^ ' Icy un amas de fleur estrangieres, n'y ay ant fourny du mien 
 que le filet k les lier' (iii. 12). 
 
42 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 We shall strive to comply with his wish by drawing 
 the picture of this most interesting, and in his intellectual 
 features thoroughly modern, man, from the contours fur- 
 nished by his own hand. We shall exert ourselves to 
 lay stress on those characteristics by which he must have 
 created most surprise among his logically more consistent 
 contemporaries on the other side of the Channel. 
 
 In taking up Montaigne's ' Essais ' for perusal we 
 are presently under the spell of a feeling as though we 
 were listening to the words of a most versatile man of 
 the world, in whom we become more and more interested. 
 We find in him not only an amiable representative of 
 the upper classes, but also a man who has deeply en- 
 tered into the spirit of classic antiquity. Soon he con- 
 vinces us that he is honestly searching after truth ; that 
 he pursues the noble aim of placing himself in harmony 
 with God and the world. Does he succeed in this ? 
 Does he arrive at a clear conclusion ? What are the 
 fruits of his thoughts .? what his teachings ? In what 
 relation did he stand to his century ? 
 
 As in no other epoch, men had, especially those who 
 came out into the fierce light of publicity, to take sides 
 in party warfare during the much-agitated time of the 
 Reformation. To which party did Montaigne belong ? 
 Was he one of the Humanists, who, averse to all anti- 
 quated dogmas, preached a new doctrine, which was to 
 bring mankind once more into unison with the long 
 despised laws of Nature ? 
 
 We hope to show successfully that Shakspere wrote 
 his ' Hamlet ' for the great and noble object of warning 
 
FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE. 43 
 
 his contemporaries against the disturbing inconsistencies 
 of the philosophy of Montaigne who preached the rights 
 of Nature, whilst yet clinging to dogmatic tenets which 
 cannot be reconciled with those rights. 
 
 We hope to prove that Shakspere who made it his 
 task ' to hold the mirror up to Nature,' and who, like 
 none before him, caught up her innermost secrets, ren- 
 dering them with the chastest expression ; that Shak- 
 spere, who denied in few but impressive words the vitality 
 of any art or culture which uses means not consistent 
 with the intentions of Nature : 
 
 Yet Nature is made better by no mean, 
 But Nature makes that mean ; so o'er that art 
 Which, you say, adds to Nature, is an art 
 That Nature makes ; * — 
 
 we hope to prove successfully that Shakspere, this true 
 apostle of Nature, held it to be sufficient, ay, most 
 godly, to be a champion of * natural things ; ' that he 
 advocated a true and simple obedience to her laws, and 
 a renunciation of all transcendental dogmas, miscalled 
 ' holy and reverent,' which domineer over human nature, 
 and hinder the free development of its nobler faculties. 
 
 Let us then impartially examine the character and 
 the work of Montaigne. If we discover contradictions 
 in both, we shall not endeavour to argue them away, 
 but present them with matter-of-fact fidelity ; for it is 
 on those very contradictions that the enigmatic, as yet 
 unexplained, character of Hamlet reposes. 
 
 ^ Witttefs Tale^ act iv. sc. 3. 
 
III. 
 MONTAIGNE. 
 
III. 
 
 MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Michel Montaigne was favoured by birth as few 
 writers have been. He was the son of a worthy noble- 
 man who gave him, from early childhood, a most care- 
 fully conducted education. He never tires in praising 
 the good qualities of his father, who had followed 
 Francis I. to his Italian campaigns, and, like that 
 monarch, had conceived a preference for those classical 
 studies which were then again reviving. Even as his 
 king, he, too, wished to promote the new knowledge, 
 and was bent upon so initiating young Michel into it as 
 to make him in the fullest manner conversant with the 
 conquests of Greece and Rome in the realm of intellect. 
 In this, as a practical man who felt the greatest re- 
 spect for erudition without personally possessing a proper 
 share of it, he allowed himself to be thoroug;-hly g-niHed 
 by 'men of learning and judgment ' He had been told 
 that the only reason why we do not * attain to the great- 
 ness of soul and intellect of the ancient Greeks and 
 Romans was the length of time we give to learning these 
 languages which cost them nothing.' In bringing up the 
 boy, to whom the best masters were given, the pro- 
 cedures chosen were therefore such that young Michel, 
 
48 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 in his sixth year, spoke Latin thoroughly before he w as 
 able to converse in his own mother-tongue. 
 
 Montaigne relates ^ that he was much more at home 
 on the banks of the Tiber than on the Seine. Before he 
 knew the Louvre, his mind's eye rested on the Forum 
 and the Capitol. He boasts of having always been more 
 occupied with the life and the qualities of Lucullus, of 
 Metellus, and Scipio, than with the fate of any of his 
 own countrymen. Of the hey-day of classic Rome he, 
 who otherwise uses such measured terms, speaks with a 
 glowing enthusiasm. He often avers that he belongs 
 to no special school of thought ; that he advocates no 
 theory ; that he is not the adherent of any party or sect. 
 To him — so he asserts — an unprejudiced examination of 
 all knowledge is sufficient. His endeavour was, to prove 
 the devise of his escutcheon : ' Que s^ais-je ? ' 
 
 Have the humanistic studies not given to him, as 
 to so many of his contemporaries, a distinctive mental 
 bent ? Have Greek and Roman philosophy and poetry 
 remained without any influence upon him .? Has his 
 character not been formed by them ? Does he not once 
 reckon himself among ' nous autres naturalistes .'' ' ^ 
 
 Once only, it is true, he does this ; but even if b e-, 
 who would not belong to any special school of thought, 
 and who would rather be 'a good equerry than a 
 logician,' ^ had not ascribed to himself this designation, 
 a hundred passages of his work would bear witness 
 
 to the fact of his having been one of the Humanists, on 
 
 *- 
 
 ^ Essay III. 9. * Essay III. 12, 235. * /did. 9. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 49 
 
 whose ba nner ' Nature ' was written as the p arole. Ever 
 and anon he says (I here direct attention more specially 
 to his last Essays) that we ought willingly to follow her 
 prescriptions ; and incessantly he asserts that, in doing 
 so, we cannot err. He designates her as a guide as mild 
 as she is just, whose footprints, blurred over as they are 
 by artificial ones, we ought everywhere to trace anew. 
 * Is it not folly,' he asks with Seneca,^ ' to bend the body 
 this way, and the mind that way, and thus to stand dis- 
 torted between two movements utterly at variance with 
 each other ? ' 
 
 To bring up and to guide man in accordance with 
 his capacities, is with him a supreme law. ' Le glo- 
 rieux chef-d'oeuvre de I'homme, c'est de vivre a propos.' 
 He, the sage, is already so much in advance of his cen- 
 tury that he yearns for laws and religions which are not 
 arbitrarily founded, but drawn from the roots and the 
 buds of a universal Reason, contained in every person 
 not degenerate or divorced from nature {desnature^. A 
 mass of passages in the Essays strengthen the opinion 
 that Montaigne was an uprip-ht. noble-minded Human- 
 ist, a d isciple of free thought, who wished to fathom 
 human nature, a nd was anxious to help in delivering 
 mankind from the fetters of manifold superstitions. 
 Read his Essay on Education ; and the conviction will 
 force itself upon you that in many things he was far in 
 advance of ^ig "r'wnf- 
 
 ^ Essay III. 13 {Edition Variorufn^ par Charles Louandre, 
 Paris ; which we always refer to). 
 
50 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 But now to the reverse of the medal — to Montaigne 
 as the adherent of Romanist dogmas ! 
 
 *The bond,' he says — and here we quote Florio's 
 translation,^ only slightly changed into modern ortho- 
 graphy — 'which should bind our judgment, tie our will, 
 enforce and join our souls to our Creator, should be 
 a bond taking his doublings and forces, not from our 
 considerations, reasons, and passions, but from a divine 
 and supernatural compulsion, having but one form, one 
 countenance, and one grace ; which is the authority and 
 grace of God.' The latter, be it well understood, are to 
 Montaigne identical with the Church of Rome, to which 
 he thinks it best blindly to submit. 
 
 Men — he observes — who make bold to sit in judg- 
 ment upon their judp^es. are never f aithful and ohf;-- 
 dient to them . As a warning example he points to 
 England, which, since his birth, had already three or 
 four times changed its laws, not only in matters political, 
 in which constancy is not insisted upon, but in the most 
 important matter imaginable — namely, in religion. He 
 declares himself all the more ashamed of, and vexed by, 
 this, as his own family were allied by close private ties 
 with the English nation. 
 
 An attempt has been made to show ^ that in Mon- 
 taigne's ' Apologie de Raymond Sebond,' in which he 
 expounds his theological opinions in the most explicit 
 manner, a hidden attack is contained upon the Church. 
 
 ^ The Essayes, or Morally Politike^ and Millitarie Discourses 
 of Lo. Michaell de Montaigne, London, 1603, p. 256. 
 ^ Sainte-Beuve. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 5 1 
 
 But it bespeaks an utter misconception of the character 
 of this writer to hold him capable of such perfidious 
 craftiness ; for he calls it ' a cowardly and servile humour 
 if a man disguises and hides his thoughts under a 
 mask, not daring to let himself be seen under his true 
 aspect' ^ 
 
 W e know of not a few, especially Italian. Humanists^ 
 
 who puh y]r]y m^f^f- ^ Hf^^p Kr.w K^for^ J-hf^ pi tar, whilst 
 
 behind it they cynically laug-hed. in company with their, 
 friends ; making sport of the silly crowd that knelt down 
 in profound reverence. Montaigne was no such double- 
 dealer. We can fully believe him when he states that 
 it is to him no small satisfaction and pleasure to ' have 
 been preserved from the contagion of so corr upt an age ; 
 to have never brought affliction and ruin upon any per- 
 
 son ; not to have felt a desire for vengeance, or any 
 envy ; nor to have become a defaulter to his word.' ^ 
 
 His word, his honour , were to him the most sacred 
 treasure. He never would have descended so low as 
 
 to fling them to the winds. Let us, therefore, not 
 endeavour to deny any logical inconsistencies in his 
 writings — inconsistencies which many other men since 
 his time have equally shown. Let us rather institute a 
 strict and close inquiry into these two modes of thought 
 of his, which, contradictory as they are, yet make up his 
 very character and individuality. 
 
 We can fully believe in Montaigne's sincerity when 
 elsewhere he asserts that we must not travel away from 
 
 ^ Essay II. 17, p. 71. '^ III. 2,330. 
 
52 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 _the paths marked down by the Roman Catholic Church , 
 lest we should be driven about helplp'^'^ly anH a Jm l^ i 'i ^ ]} ^ 
 on the unbounded sea of human opinions . He tells us ' 
 that * he, too, had neglected the observance of certain 
 ceremonies of the Church, which seemed to him some- 
 what vain and strange ; but that, when he communicated 
 on that subject with learned men, he found that these 
 things had a very massive and solid foundation, and that 
 it is only silliness and ignorance which make us receive 
 them with less reverence than the other doctrines of re- 
 ligion.' Hence he concludes tha t we must put ourselves 
 wholly under the protection of ecclesiastical, authori ty. 
 or completely break with , i t. 
 
 He never made a single step to withdraw him- 
 self from that authority. He rather prides himself on 
 having never allowed himself, by any philosophy, to be 
 turned away from his first and natural {sic) opinions, and 
 from the condition in which God had placed him ; being 
 well aware of his own variability (volubilite). ' Thus I 
 have, by the grace of God, remained wholly attached, 
 without internal agitation and troubles of conscience, to 
 the ancient beliefs of our religion, during the conflict of 
 so many sects and party divisions which bur century has 
 produced.' ^ 
 
 Receiving the holy Host, he breathed his last. 
 
 In the * Apologie de Raymond Sebond,' Montaigne de- 
 fends the ' Theologia Naturalis ' of the latter — a book in 
 which the author, who was a medical man, a philosopher, 
 
 ^ Essay I. 26, 257. » II. 12, 487-8. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 53 
 
 and a theologian, endeavours to prove that the Roman 
 Catholic dogmas are in harmony with the laws of nature. 
 That which is to be received in full faith, Sebond exerts 
 himself to make comprehensible by arguments of the 
 reason. This book — so Montaigne relates — had been 
 given to his father, at the time when Luther's new doc- 
 trines began to be popular, by a man of great reputation 
 for learning, Pierre Bunel, who *well foresaw, by his 
 pe^etration,^ that this budding disease would easily 
 degenerate into an execrable atheism.' Old Pierre 
 Montaigne, a very pious man, esteemed this work very 
 highly ; and a few days before his death, having fortu- 
 nately found it among a lot of neglected papers, com- 
 manded his son to translate it from * that kind of Spanish 
 jargon with Latin endings,' in which it was written. 
 , Michel, with filial- piety, fulfilled his task. He trans- 
 lated the work, and in the above-mentioned Essay — the 
 largest of the series— he advocates its philosophy. The 
 essence of this panegyric of the Church (for logic would 
 in vain be sought for in that Essay) is : that know- 
 ledge and curiosity are simply plagues of mankind, and 
 that the Roman Catholic religion, therefore, with great 
 wisdom, recommends ignorance. Man would be most 
 likely to attain happiness if, like the animal, he were to 
 allow himself to be guided by his simple instinct. All 
 philosophising is declared to be of ho use. Faith only 
 is said to afford security to the weakest of all beings, to 
 man, who more than any other creature is exposed to the 
 
 ^ Montaigne, Dtscours de Raison (Discourse of Reason). Florio, 
 
 252. ' 
 
54 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 most manifold dangers. No elephant, no whale, or 
 crocodile, was required to overcome him who proudly 
 calls himself the ' lord of creation.' ' Little lice are suffi- 
 cient to make Sylla give up his dictatorship. The heart 
 and the life of a mighty and triumphant emperor form 
 but the breakfast of a little worm.' ^ (Compare * Hamlet,' 
 
 iv. 3). 
 
 Montaigne, who, in his thirty-eighth year. * long^^ 
 weary of the bondage of Court and of public employ - 
 ment, while yet in the vigour of life, hath w ithdrawr^_ 
 himself into the bosom of the Learne d Virgins (Dor,- 
 tarum Virginum\' ^ so as to be able to spend the rest of 
 his days in h is ancestral home, in peaceful, undisturbed 
 devotion to ennobling studies, and to present the worl d 
 with a new book, in which he means to give expressi on 
 to his innermost thoup-hts — JVTnni-aignp^ in hi^ Kssay 'pn 
 Prayers,' calls his w ritings 'rhapsodies,' wh ich he subm its 
 to the judgme nt of the Church, so that it may deal w ith 
 anythin g he, * either ig norantly or unadvisedly, may hay e 
 set d own contrary to the s acred decrees, and repugnant 
 to the holy prescriptions of the Catholic, Appstolic. and 
 Roman Church, wherein I die, and in which I was born .' 
 
 Let us not dwell too long on the contradictions of a 
 man who professes to think independently, and who yet 
 is content with having a mind-cramping dogmatic creed 
 imposed upon him. Let us look at a few other, not less 
 irreconcilable, inconsistencies ol nis logic. 
 
 Montaigne, the Humanist, a( jvocates toleration . 
 
 1 Essay 11. 12, 297. Florio, 266. 
 
 - Part of an inscription still legible in Montaigne's castle. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 55 
 
 Justice, he says, is to be done to every party, to every 
 opinion. * Men are different in feeling and in strength ; 
 they must be directed to their good, according to them- 
 selves, and by diverse ways.' ^ He bears no grudge 
 to anyone of heterodox faith ; he feels no indignation 
 against those who differ from him in ideas. The ties 
 of universal humanity he values more than those of 
 national connection. He has some good words for the 
 Mexicans, so cruelly persecuted by the Spaniards. ' I 
 hold all men to be my compatriots : I fe^^l the qamf^ Invf^ 
 for a Pole as for a Frenchman.' ^ 
 
 But when we read what the Roman Catholic Mon- 
 taigne writes, there is a different tone : — 
 
 ' Now that which, methinks, brings so much disorder 
 into our consciences — namely, in these troubles of religion 
 in which we are — is the easy way with which Catholics 
 treat their faith. They suppose they show themselves 
 properly moderate and skilful when they yield to their 
 adversaries some of the articles that are under debate. 
 But — besides that they do not see what an advantage it is 
 to your antagonist if you once begin making a conces- 
 sion, thus encouraging him to follow up his point — it may 
 further be said that the articles which they choose as 
 apparently the lightest, are sometimes most important 
 indeed.'^ 
 
 Again, the humane nobleman who looks with pity and 
 kindliness upon *the poor, toiling with heads bent, in 
 their hard work ; ' he who calls the application of the 
 
 1 Essay II. 12. ^ nj ^ 3 j^ 26. 
 
56 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 torture ' a trial of patience rather than of truth '—he main- 
 tains that ' the public weal requires that one should com- 
 mit treachery, use falsehoods, and perform massacres.' ' 
 Personally, he shrinks from such a mission. His softer 
 heart is not strong enough for these deeds. He relates ^ 
 that he ^r iever cmild see without displeasure an i nnocent 
 and defenceless beast pursued and killed, from which we 
 have received no offence at all.' He is moved by the aspect 
 of ' the hart when it is embossed and out of breath, and, 
 finding its strength gone, has no other resource left but to 
 yield itself up to us who pursue it, asking for mercy from 
 us by its tears. He calls this * a deplorable spectacle.' 
 
 Yet, this se ntimental nobleman advocates the com- 
 mission of treachery and cruelty, in the interest of th e 
 State, by certai n more energetic, less timorous men. 
 Nor does he define their functions so as to raise a bar 
 against a second St. Bartholomew massacre. A deed of 
 this kind he would submissively take to be an act of 
 Heaven, shirking all responsibility for, or discussion 
 of, anything that ' begins to molest him.' He merely 
 says : — ' Like those ancients who sacrificed their lives for 
 the welfare of their country, so they (the guardians of 
 the State) must be ready to sacrifice their honour and 
 their conscience. We who are weaker, take easier, less 
 risky parts.' ^ 
 
 In Montaigne, the Humanist , we read that beautiful 
 passage (in his last Essay'*) where he says that ^ those 
 who would go beyond human nature, trying to transform 
 
 1 Essay III. I. MI. ii. » III. i. Mil. 13. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 57 
 
 themselves into an ^ g^els. only make b p^^^^^s ^^ thrninHvp^ '^ 
 Yet, elsewhere'^ ^^ ^yn'f^g th^t ht^ gViall h(- pvaltpH, wVin, 
 renouncing^ his own natural means, allows himself to be 
 guided by means purely (;f]p^i-ia1^by which he clearly 
 understands the dogmas of Roman Catholicism. 
 
 As a humanistic thinker, Montaigne fears nothing 
 more than any strivings after transcendentalism. Such 
 yearnings terrify him like inaccessible heights. In the 
 life of Sokrates, of that sage for whom he felt a special 
 preference, the 'ecstasies and daimons' greatly repel him. 
 Nevertheless, Montaigne, the mystic, attributes a great 
 magic power to such daimons ; for he says : ' I, too, have 
 sometimes felt within myself an image of such internal 
 agitations, as weak in the light of reason as they were 
 violent in instinctive persuasion or dissuasion (a state of 
 mind more ordinary to Sokrates), by which I have so 
 profitably, and so happily, suffered myself to be drawn 
 on, that these mental agitations might perhaps be thought 
 to contain something of divine inspiration.' ^ 
 
 Mont aigne, the admirer of classic antiquity, says 
 that serving the Commonwealth is the most honourable 
 calling._l Acts without some splendour of freedom have, 
 in his eyes, neither grace, nor do they merit being 
 honoured.-^ But elsewhere^ we come upon his other 
 view, less imbued with the spirit of antiquity — namely, 
 tha t ' man alone, without other help, armed only with 
 . his own weapons, and unprovided with the grace and 
 knowledge of God, in which all his honour, his strength, 
 
 ' Essay III. 13. 2 jj j^. ^ I. 11. 
 
 * III. 9. ' I^^^' ' 11. 12 
 
58 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a nd the whole ^ro nnd of hig Kf^t'ng arp rnnf-nineH/ iq a^ 
 
 sorry specimen of fr^rrr; \pr\(-f-^r\ His own reason gives 
 him no advantage over other creatures ; the Church 
 alone confers this privilege upon him ! 
 
 During several years, Montaigne was Mayor of 
 Bordeaux. With great modesty, he relates ^ that in his 
 mere passive conduct lay whatever little merit he may 
 have had in serving his town. This fully harmonises 
 with the view expressed in his last but one Essay, in 
 which he declares that we are to be blamed for not suffi- 
 ciently trusting in Heaven ; expecting from ourselves 
 more than behoves us : * Therefore do our designs so 
 often miscarry. Heaven is envious of the large extent 
 which we attribute to the rights of human wisdom, to 
 the prejudice of its own rights ; and it curtails ours all 
 the more that we endeavour to enlarge them.' ^ 
 
 Montaigne by no means ignores the troublous cha - 
 racter of the times in which he lived. He often alludes 
 
 to it. He thinks astrologers cannot have any great 
 difficulty in presaging changes and revolutions near at 
 hand : — ' Their prophetic indications are practically in 
 our very midst, and most palpable ; one need not search 
 the Heavens for that' 
 
 ' Cast we our eyes about us ' (here again we follow 
 Florio's translation). ^ and in a generall survay consid er 
 all the world : all is tottring ; a// is out of frame . Take 
 a perfect view of all great states, both in Christendome 
 and where ever else we have knowledge of, and in all 
 
 ^ Essay III. lo, ^ Ibid. 12. 
 
MONTAIGNE, 59 
 
 places you shall finde a most evident threatning of 
 change and ruine. . . . Astrologers may spout them- 
 selves, with warning us, as they doe of iminent altera- 
 tions and succeeding revolutions : their divinations are 
 present and palpable, we need not prie into the heavens 
 to find them out.' ^ 
 
 But Montaigne, always resigned to the will of God, 
 inactively stands by. Not even a manly counsel comes 
 from his lips. He believes he has fulfilled his Christian 
 duty by trusting in Heaven for the conduct of human 
 affairs, and trying to comfort his fellow-men by the 
 hollow words that he * sees no cause for despair. Per- 
 chance we have not yet arrived at the last stage. The 
 maintenance of states is most probably something that 
 goes beyond our powers of understanding.' ^ 
 
 Montaigne, the Humanist, says that ' it is an absolute 
 perfection, and, as it were, a divine accomplishment for 
 a man to know how to loyally enjoy his existence.' The 
 most commendable life for him is ' that which adapts 
 itself, in an orderly way, to a common human model, 
 without miracle, and without extravagance.' ^ 
 
 But Montaigne, the Christian, relates that he has 
 ' never occupied himself with a nything more than with_ 
 ideas of de ath, even at the most licentious time of his 
 youth.' With touching ingenuousness he confesses his 
 weaknesses and his vanities, of which he scarcely dares to 
 think any longer. The descriptions he often gives of him- 
 self — such as, ' a dreamer ' {songe-creux), ' soft ' {molle)^ 
 
 1 Florio, 575. "- Essay III. 9. ^ m^ ^^ 
 
60 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 * heavy' {j)oisante\ * pensive,' and so forth ^ — prove that he 
 cannot have arrived at a pure enjoyment of life. He 
 questions the happiness of being a husband and father. 
 We shall t ouch upon h is views as regards woman. and_ 
 many other peculiarities of his, in the passaf^es of 
 
 * Hamlet ' referring to them . 
 
 / In nothing does Montaigne arrive at any clear concl u- 
 sion within himself. T houp^h he knows how to speak 
 much and well about everything, it is all mere bel esprit^ a 
 display of glittering words, hollow verbiage, which only 
 lands us in a labyrinth of contradictions, from which we 
 seek an issue as vainly as the author himself. Striving, 
 through all his life, to arrive at a knowledge of himself, 
 he at last lays down his arms, considering the attempt 
 a fruitless and impossible task, and, in his last Essay,^ he 
 makes this avowal : — 
 
 * That which in Perseus, the King of Macedon, was 
 remarked as a rare thing — viz. that his mind, not sett- 
 ling down into any kind of condition, went wandering 
 through every manner of life, thus showing such flighty 
 and erratic conduct that neither he nor others knew 
 what sort of man he was : this seems to me to apply 
 nearly to the whole world, and more especially to one of 
 that ilk whom this description would eminently fit This, 
 indeed, is what I believe of him (he speaks of himself) : — 
 " No average attitude ; bei ng always driven from one ex- 
 treme to the other by indivinable chances ; no manner of 
 
 course without cross-runnings and marvellous controver- 
 
 «■ — — " I ■ 
 
 » Essay II. 12. ^ III. 13. 
 
MONTAIGNE. 6 1 
 
 sies ; no clear and plain faculty, so that the likeliest idea 
 
 that could one day be put forth about him will be this : 
 
 that he affected and jf^hnnrpH tn maVe himself kno wn bv 
 
 the impossibility of really knowing - hirp ^/qi^'il afferfnit 
 
 et estudioit de se r pndre cognpn par pstre mprngnniq- 
 
 sable ')." ' This is Montaip-ne all over. 
 
 In the British Museum there is a copy of the Essays 
 of Montt^igTip, in Florin's translation, with Shakspere's 
 name, it is alleged, written in it by his own hand, and 
 wi th notes which possibly may in part have been jotted 
 down by him. Sir Frederick Madden, one of the 
 greatest authorities in autographs, has recognised Shak- 
 spere's autograph as genuine.^ Whatever disputes may 
 be carried on on this particular point, we think we shall 
 be able to prove that Shakspere about the year 1600 must 
 have been well acquainted with Montaig-r^e. We shall show 
 that in the first text of ' Hamlet,' which, it is aggnnripH, 
 was represented on the stage between 1601 and 1602, 
 there are already to be found some allusions to Mon- 
 taigne, especially as far as the middle of the second and 
 towards the end of the fifth act. In all likelihood, Shak- 
 spere knew the ' Essais ' even in the original French 
 text, or perhaps from the manuscript of the translation 
 which, as above stated, had been begun towards the 
 year 1599; for Shakspere, it is to be supposed, had 
 access to the houses of, at least, two of the noble ladies 
 to whom the Italian teacher dedicated his translation. 
 
 In the ' Tempest,' assumed to be of later date than 
 
 ^ Observations on an Autograph of Shakspere. London, 1838. 
 
62 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 ' Hamlet/ there is a passage unmista kably taken from 
 Florio's version of Mon taigne.^ 
 
 Ben Jonson, the most quarrelsome and the chief 
 adversary of Shakspere, was an intimate friend of 
 Florio. When Montaigne, in * Hamlet ' — as Jonson says 
 — became the target of ' railing rhetoric/ the latter took 
 sides with Florio and his colleagues ; launching out 
 against Shakspere in his comedy, ' Volpone/ This play, 
 as well as an Introduction in which it is dedicated to the 
 two Universities, gives us a clue to a great many things 
 otherwise difficult to understand. 
 
 A new book, especially a philosophical work like that 
 of Michel Montaigne, was then still a remarkable event.^ 
 
 ^ This is the passage, which occurs in the Tempest^ act ii. sc. i : 
 
 * Gonzalo. — I' the commonweakh I would by contraries 
 
 Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate : 
 
 Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
 
 And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
 
 Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; 
 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ; 
 
 No occupation: all men idle, all ; 
 
 And women too.' 
 
 This passage is almost literally taken from Essay I. 30, ' On 
 Cannibals.' We shall later on show Shakspere's reason for giving 
 us this fanciful description of such an Utopian commonwealth. 
 
 2 Florio, after enumerating the difficulties he encountered in the 
 translation of the Essays^ concludes his preface to the courteous 
 reader with the following words : — 
 
 ' In summe, if any think he could do better, let him trie, then 
 will he better think of what is done. Seven or eight of great wit 
 and worth have assayed, but found those Essais no attempt for 
 French apprentises or Littletonians. If thus done it may please 
 you, as I wish jt may and I hope it shall, and I with you shall be 
 pleased : though not, yet still I am.' 
 
 We learn, from this remark, of what great importance the Essais 
 must have been considered m literary circles, and it is not impro- 
 bable that a few attempts ' of the seven or eight of great wit and 
 
MONTAIGNE. 63 
 
 To counteract the pernicious influence which the frivo- 
 lous, foreign talker threatened to exercise, in large circles, 
 through an English translation — this, in our opinion, 
 was the object which Shakspere had when touching upon 
 ground interdicted^ as a rule, to the stage — namely^ upon 
 questions of religion. W e shall find th at it was not 
 through any preference for ghost and murder scenes that. 
 a year after the second quarto, in 160c;. 'Hamlet' was 
 reprinted — a circu mstance occurring with but one other 
 drama of Shaksp ere ; which testifies that this particular 
 'play attained gre at popularity from its first appearance.^ 
 A very instructive insight into the intellectual move- 
 ment of the great Reformation epoch here opens itself 
 to us. In this case, also, we shall gain the conviction 
 that a true genius takes the liveliest interest in thp fatp , 
 of his own nation, a n d does not occupy himself with 
 dist ant, abstruse problems (such as fussy metaphysicians 
 would fain philosophise into ' Hamlet'), whilst the times 
 are going out of joint. The greatest Englishman re- 
 mained, in the most powerful drama of his, within the 
 sphere of the questions that agitated his time. _ In 
 /Hamlet' he identifies Montaigne's philcsophy with 
 madness ; branding it as a pernicious one, as contrary 
 
 worth ' may have appeared in print long before Florio's translation. 
 We may well ask : Is it likely that the greatest literary genius of his 
 age should have been unaware of the existence of a work which was 
 considered of such importance that ' seven or eight of great wit and 
 worth ' thought it worth while to attempt to translate it ? Shak- 
 spere, who in King Henry the Fifth (1599) wrote some scenes in 
 French, must surely have had sufficient knowledge of this language 
 to read it. 
 
 ^ Besides the quartos of 1603 and 1604, there were reprints of 
 the latter in 1605 and 161 1 ; also another edition without date. 
 
64 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to the intellectual conquests his own English nation has 
 made, when breaking with the Romanist dogmas . 
 
 What sense of duty do Montaigne's Essays promote ? 
 What noble deed can ripen in the light of the disordered 
 and discordant ideas they contain ? All they can do is, 
 to disturb the mind, not to clear it ; to give rise to 
 doubts, not to solve them ; to nip the buds from which 
 great actions may spring, not to develop them. Instead 
 of furthering the love for mankind, they can only pro- 
 duce despair as to all higher aims and ideals. 
 
 In * Hamlet,' Shakspere personified many qualitie s 
 
 of the C O mplf'^ rV>nrqr1-pr nf MnnJ-ninrriQ Before all, he 
 
 meant to draw this conclusion : that whoever approaches 
 a high task of life with such wavering thoughts and 
 such logical inconsistencies, must needs suffer shipwreck. 
 Hamlet's character has only remained an enigma to us 
 for so long a time because he is flesh of our flesh, blood 
 of our blood ; * but, to know a man well, were to know 
 himself.' 
 
IV. 
 HAMLET. 
 
IV. 
 HAMLET. 
 
 In the foregoing^ sketch of Montaigne our espec ial object 
 was to point out the inconsistency of the French writer 
 in advising us to follow Nature as our guide, yet at the 
 same time maintaining a strict adherence to tenets and 
 dog mas which qualify the impulses and inclinations of 
 nature as sinful, and which even declare war against them. 
 .et us see how Shakspere incarnates these contrasts 
 in the character of Hamlet 
 
 He makes the Danish Prince come b^ck from the^ 
 University of Wittenber g. There, we certainly may 
 assume, h e has become imbn ^H with thf> nf>w <ipWh fh^t 
 thf^ri ghr>nV fV.f^ iiroJri We refrain from mentioning it 
 by name, because the designation we now confer upon it 
 has become a lifeless word, comprising no longer those 
 free thoughts of the Humanist, for which Shakspere, in 
 this powerful tragedy, boldly enters the lists. 
 
 Hamlet longs to be back to Wittenberg . This 
 desire represents his inclination towards free, humanistic 
 studies. On the other hand, his adherence to old dog- 
 matic views can be deduced from the fact of his being 
 so terribly impressed by the circumstance of his father ^ 
 having had to die 
 
 Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneled ; 
 
 F 2 
 
6S SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a fact recorded with a threefold outcry : — 
 
 Oh, horrible ! Oh, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 
 Again, we must direct the reader's attention to this 
 very noteworthy point, that the first quarto edition of 
 ' Hamlet ' was already worked out tolerably well as far 
 as the middle of the second act. For the completion of 
 this part, only a few details were necessary. From them, 
 we must all the more be enabled to gather Shakspere's 
 intention. 
 
 In the speech of the Ghost in the second quarto — 
 otherwise of well-nigh identical contents with the one in 
 the first edition — there is only one new line, but one 
 which deserves the closest consideration. It is that 
 which we have quoted — 
 
 Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanelexl. 
 
 The effect this statement has on the course of the 
 dramatic action we shall explain later on. In act iii. 
 sc. 3, where Hamlet's energy is paralysed by this dis- 
 closure of the Ghost, we afterwards again come upon a 
 short innovation, and a most characteristic one, though 
 but consisting of fwo lines. 
 
 In the first quarto we see Hamlet, in the beginning 
 
 of the play, seized with an unmanly grie f which makes 
 
 him wish that heaven and earth would cha nge back into 
 
 chaos. But a new addition to this wearines5^of life is th e 
 
 contempt of all earthly aspirations : the aversion to 
 
 Nature as the begetter of sin . The following passages 
 
 are not to be found in the first quarto : — 
 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! God ! 
 
HAMLET. 69 
 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 
 Fie on 't ! Ah fie ! 't is an unweeded garden, 
 
 That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature 
 
 Possess it merely. 
 
 The scene between Hamlet and Horatio (act i. sc. 4), 
 which in both texts is about the same, contains an inno- 
 vation in which the Prince's mistrust of nature is even 
 more sharply express ed. These lines are new : — 
 
 This heavy-headed revel east and west 
 Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations — 
 
 as far as — 
 
 . . . The dram of eale (evil) 
 Doth (drawth) all the substance of a doubt 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 The contents of this interpolated speech may con- 
 cisely be thus given: that the virtues of man, however 
 pure and numerous they may be. are often infected bv 
 J some vicious mole of Nature.' wherein he himself is 
 guiltless ; and that from such a fault in the chance of 
 birth a stamp of defect is impressed upon his character, 
 and thus contaminates the whole. 
 
 These innovations are evidently introduced for the 
 purpose of making us understand why Hamlet does not 
 trust to the excitements of his own reason and his own 
 blood, in order to find out by natural means whether it 
 be true what his ' prophetic soul ' anticipates — namely, 
 that his uncle may * smile and smile, and yet be a villain.' 
 
 Man, says Montaigne, has no hold-fast, no firm and 
 fixed point, within himselt, m spite of his apparently splen- " 
 did outfit.^ Man can do nothing with his own weapons 
 
 ' Essay II. 12. 
 
JO SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 alone without help from outside. In the Essay * On the 
 Folly of Referring the True and the False to the Trust- 
 worthiness of our Judgment/ ^ he maintains that * it is a 
 silly presumption to go about despising and condemning 
 as false that which does not seem probable to us ; which is 
 a common fault of those who think they have more self- 
 sufficiency than the vulgar. So was I formerly minded ; 
 and if I heard anybody speak either of ghosts coming 
 back, or of the prophecy of coming things, of spells, of 
 witchcraft, or of any other tale I could not digest — 
 
 Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, 
 Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala — 
 
 I felt a kind of compassion for the poor people who 
 were made the victims of such follies. And now I find 
 that I was, at least, to be as much pitied myself. . . . 
 Reason has taught me that, so resolutely to condemn a 
 thing as false and impossible, is to boldly assume that 
 we have in our head the bounds and limits of the will 
 of God and of our common mother. Nature ; and I now 
 see that there is no more notable folly in the world than 
 to reduce them to the measure of our capacity and of our 
 self-sufficient judgment.' ^ 
 
 ^ Not less weak than Montaigne's trust in human 
 reason is that of Hamlet when he fears * the oales an d 
 forts of reason ' may be broken down — 
 
 by the o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
 
 2fC0 
 
 ^ Essay I. 26. 
 
 2 The whole contents of this chapter may be said to be [con- 
 densed into two lines of Shakspere : — 
 
 ' There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' 
 
HAMLET. 71 
 
 With siich a mode of thought it is not to be won- 
 dered at that he should welcome the first occasion when 
 the task of his life may be revealed to him by a heavenly 
 messenger. Hoping that * the questionable shape ' would 
 not let him 'burst in ignorance/ but tell him why 
 *we fools of Nature so horridly shake our disposition 
 with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls/ he fol- 
 lows the spectral apparition. Good Horatio does his 
 best to restrain his friend, who has waxed 'desperate 
 with imagination/ from approaching the ' removed ground/ 
 that might deprive him of the ' sovereignity of reason/ 
 and whither the Ghost beckons him. 
 
 Here there are several new lines : — 
 
 I Ox to the dreadful summit of the cliff. . . . 
 / The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 I Without more motive, into every brain 
 y That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 * And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Here we have one of those incipient ecstasies of which 
 Montaigne says that 'such transcending humours affright 
 me as much as steep, hi^h, and inaccessible places! ^ 
 
 In the following scene between Hamlet and the Ghost 
 the introduction is new : — 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come. 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Hamlet. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Hamlet. Speak ; I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 
 
 ^ Essay III. 13. 
 
72 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 This picturing of the torments of hell— how very 
 characteristic ! It is forbidden to the Ghost to com- 
 municate to ' ears of flesh and blood ' the secrets of its 
 fiery prison-house. Yet it knows how to tell enough 
 of the horrors of that gruesome place to make the hair 
 of a stronger mortal than Hamlet is, stand on end, * like 
 quills upon the fretful porcupine.' 
 
 With masterly hand, the poet depicts the distance 
 which henceforth separates Hamlet's course of thought 
 from that of his friends who have remained on the firm 
 ground of human reason. Hamlet cannot say more 
 than — 
 
 that there's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark 
 But he 's an arrant knave. 
 
 When Horatio answers that ' there needs no ghost, my 
 
 lord, come from the grave to tell us this,' ^ Hamlet asks 
 
 his friends to shake hands with him and part, giving 
 
 them to understand that every man has his own business 
 
 and desire, and that — 
 
 for my own poor part, 
 Look you, I'll go pray. 
 
 Horatio calls this * wild and whirling words.' The Prince 
 who at this moment, no doubt, expresses his own 
 true inclination, says : — * I am sorry they offend you — 
 heartily ; yes, 'faith, heartily.' It is difificult for him to 
 justify his own procedure. He feels unable to explain 
 
 1 Where Montaigne says of the tottering state of the world 
 —that ' all is out of frame ' (p. 58), he also remarks, in order to 
 perceive these threatening dangers : ' II ne faut pas aller au del 
 pour cela.' 
 
HAMLET "Ji^ 
 
 his thoughts and sentiments to the clear, un warped 
 reason of a Horatio, to whom the Ghost did not reply, 
 and to whom no ghost would. 
 
 Hamlet assures his friend, for whose sympathy he 
 greatly cares, that the apparition is a true one, an honest 
 ghost. He advises Horatio to give the ' wondrous 
 strange ' a welcome even as to 'a stranger ; ' and, lest 
 he might endeavour to test the apparition by human 
 reason, he speaks the beautiful words : — 
 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy 
 
 Hamlet tells his friends that in future he will put on 'an 
 antic disposition.' Towards them he has, in fact, already 
 done so. His desire for a threefold oath ; his repeated 
 shifting of ground ; his swearing by the sword on which 
 the hands are laid (a custom referable to the time of the 
 Crusades, and considered tantamount to swearing by the 
 cross, but which, at the same time, is an older Germanic, 
 and hence Danish, custom) ; his use of a Latin formula. 
 Hie et ubique — all these procedures have the evident 
 object of throwing his comrades into a mystic frame of 
 mind, and to make them keep silence ('so help you 
 mercy ! ') as to what they have seen. These are the 
 mysterious means which those have to use that would 
 make themselves the medium of a message supernatu- 
 rally revealed.^ 
 
 ^ See Bacon's Essay ' Of Simulation and Dissimulation,' where 
 he says that ' dissimulation followeth many times upon secrecy by 
 a necessity : so that he that will be secret must be a dissembler in 
 some degree,' &c. 
 
74 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 A perusal of the fiftV-sixf-h rhapl-p r nf tVip firgf- F,c^qaj^7 
 of Montaigne will show with W^at g reat rf^vprpnrp ]^ 
 
 treated ceremonial customs and hollow formulas ; for 
 
 instance, the sign of the cross, of which he ' continually- 
 made use, even if he be but yawning' (sic). It is not a 
 
 mere coincidence, but a well- calculated trait in the ch a- 
 
 •■I " - 
 
 racter of Hamlet, that in his speech he goes through a 
 scale of exclamations and asseverations such as Shak- 
 spere employs in no other of his po etical creations. 
 Hamlet incessantly mentions God, Heaven, Hell, and the_ 
 Devil, the Heavenly Hosts, and the Saints . He claims 
 protection from the latter at the appearance of the 
 Ghost. He swears 'by St. Patrick,' by his faith, by 
 God's wounds, by His blood, by His body, by the Cross, 
 and so forth. ^ 
 
 Stubbs, in his 'Anatomy of Abuses ' (1583),^ lays 
 stress, among other characteristics of the Papists, upon 
 their terrible inclination to swearing : ' in so muche, as 
 if they speake but three or fower words, yet must thei 
 needes be interlaced with a bloudie othe or two, to the 
 great dishonour of God and offence of the hearers.' 
 
 An overwhelming grief and mistrust in his own 
 nature filled Hamlet's bold imagination with the desire 
 
 ^ The following are Hamlet's modes of asseveration : — 
 'Angels and ministers of grace,' 'All you host of Heaven,' 
 ' God's love,' ' God and mercy,' ' God's willing,' ' Help and mercy,' 
 ' God's love,' ' By St. Patrick,' ' God-a-mercy,' ' By my fay (ma 
 fozy 'S' blood (God's blood),' 'S wounds,' 'God's bodykins,' 
 * By'r Lady,' ' Perdy (^Pardieu)^ ' By the rood (Cross),' ' Heavenly 
 guards,' ' For love and grace,' ' By the Lord,' ' Pray God,' &c. 
 
 ^ New Shakspere Society (Stubbs, Abuses in England)^ 1879, 
 p. 131. 
 
HAMLET. 75 
 
 of receiving a complete mandate for his mission from 
 the hands of superior powers. So he enters the realm 
 of mysticism, where mind wields no authority, and where, 
 no sound fruit of human reason can ripen. 
 
 Between the first and the second act there is an in- 
 terval of a few months. The poet gives us no other clue 
 to the condition and the doings of his hero than that, in 
 the words of Polonius,' he ' fell into sadness ; then into 
 a fast ; thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness,' and 
 so forth. We may therefore assume that he has fol- 
 lowed his inclination to go to pray ; that he tries by 
 fasting, watching, and chastising, as so many before 
 him, to find his way in the dreamland which he has 
 entered following the Ghost ; sincerely striving to remain 
 true to his resolution to 'wipe from the table of his 
 memory all pressures past.' 
 
 A new passage in the monologue of Hamlet, after 
 the Ghost has left him, is this : — 
 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmix'd with baser matter ; yes, by Heaven ! 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 We next hear about the Prince from Ophelia after the 
 interval which, as mentioned above, lies between the first 
 and the second act.^ In the old play she relates that, 
 when ' walking in the gallery all alone,' he, the lover, 
 came towards her, altogether * bereft of his wits.' In the 
 scene of the later play he comes to her closet with a pur- 
 pose, appearing before her in a state of mental struggle. 
 
 * Act ii. sc. 2. * Act ii, sc. i. 
 
'^^ SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 No doubt, he then approaches her with the intention, 
 which afterwards he carries out, of renouncing woman, 
 the begetter of all evil in the world, which makes such 
 monsters of wise men. The sight of his true love has 
 shaken him. He stands before her : ' — 
 
 . . . with a look so piteous in purport 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell 
 To speak of horrors. ... 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down, 
 He raised a sigh so piteous and profound 
 As it did seem to shatter all his bulk 
 And end his being. 
 
 Thus he leaves her, not daring to speak the word 
 which is to separate him from her. 
 
 In the following scene between Hamlet and Polonius 
 (act ii. sc. 2 ^) there is again a new passage which 
 equally proves that Hamlet's thoughts only dwell upon 
 one theme ; that is, the sinfulness of our human natu re : — 
 
 Hamlet. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a 
 god, kissing carrion — Have you a daughter 1 
 
 Polonius. I have, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception is a bless- 
 ing ; but not as your daughter may conceive : — friend, look to 't. 
 
 Hamlet said before, that ' To be honest, is to be one 
 man picked out of ten thousand.' There is method in 
 Hamlet's madness. With correct logic he draws from 
 dogmas which pronounce Nature to be sinful, the con- 
 
 ^ This description is wanting in the first quarto. The passages 
 there are essentially different ; there is no allusion to Hamlet's 
 mental struggle. 
 
 '^ About various allusions and satirical hints in this scene later 
 on (pp. 1 18, 119). 
 
HAMLET. 7; 
 
 elusion that we need not wonder at the abounding of 
 evil in this world, spe^ng that a God himself assists in 
 
 creating it. He, therefore, warns Polonius against his 
 daughter, too, becoming ' a breeder of sinners.' 
 
 Before we follow Hamlet now to the scene with 
 Ophelia, where, 'in an ecstasy of divine inspiration, 
 equally weak in reason, and violent in persuasion and 
 dissuasion,' ^ he c?l l'=: MpO" ^^*' ^^ go to a nunnery, we 
 must direct attention to the concluding part of an Essay ^ 
 of Montaigne. ^ It is only surprising that nobody should 
 as yet have pointed out how unmistakeably, in that 
 famous scene, the inconsistencies of the whimsical French 
 writer are scourged. In that Essay the following thought 
 occurs, which one would gladly accept as a correct one : 
 /* Falsely do we judge the honesty and the beauty of an 
 / action from its usefulness. Equally wrong it is to con- 
 l elude that everyone is bound to do the same, and that it 
 ys an honest action for everybody, if it be a useful one.* 
 \ Now, Montaigne endeavours t o apply t his thought to 
 the institution of marriage ; a nd he descends , in doing 
 so, to the followin g irrational argumej it : — * Let us select 
 the most necessar y and most useful institution of 
 human society : it is marriage. Yet the counsel of the 
 saints dee ms the contrary side to be more honest ; thus 
 excluding the most venerable vocat ion of men' . 
 
 The satire of that famous scene in * Hamlet ' is here 
 apparent. It will now be understood why the Danish 
 Prince comes with a warning to his beloved, 'not to 
 
 * Florio, 21 ; Montaigne, I. 11. ^ Essay III. i. 
 
78 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 admit honesty in discourse with beauty^ and why his 
 resolution is that 'we will have no more marriage! 
 Those words of Hamlet, too, * this was sometime a para- 
 dox^ but now the time gives it proof! are easy of ex- 
 planation. It was not yet so long ago that celibacy 
 had been abolish f-H ir^ "p.nprlanri The ' time ' now con - 
 firms celibacy once more in this French book . 
 
 Most characteristic is the following passage : in this 
 scene the only new one. It goes far to show the inten- 
 tion with which the poet partly re-wrought the play. I 
 mean the words in which Hamlet confesses to Ophelia 
 that he has deceived her. The repentant sinner says : 
 * You should not have believed me : for virtue cannot so 
 inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it! 
 
 Can a poet who will not convert the stage into a 
 theological Hall of Controversy, make the soul-struggle 
 of his hero more comprehensible 1 Hamlet has honestly 
 tried (we have seen with what means) to inoculate and 
 improve the sinful * old stock.' But how far away he 
 still feels himself from his aim ! He calls himself ' proud, 
 revengeful, ambitious.' These are the three sins of which 
 he must accuse himself, when listening to the voice of 
 Nature which admonishes him to fulfil the duty of his 
 life —the deed of blood — that inner voice of his nobler 
 nature which impels him to seize the crown in order to 
 guide the destinies of his country ; given over, as the 
 latter is, to the mischievous whims of a villain. 
 
 Yet he cries out against Ophelia, * We are arrant 
 knaves all ; believe none of us ! ' He reproaches this 
 daughter of Eve with her own weaknesses and the great 
 
HAMLET. 79 
 
 number of her sins in words reminding us of Isaiah/ 
 where the wantonness of the daughters of Zion is re- 
 proved. He, the ascetic, calls out to his mistress : * Go 
 thy ways to a nunnery ! . . . Why wouldst thou be a 
 breeder of sinners ? ' 
 
 Let us hear what his mistress says about him. This 
 passage also, explaining Hamlet's madness, is new : — 
 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason. 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 That unmatched form and feature of blown youth, 
 Blasted with ecstasy.^ 
 
 With what other word can Hamlet's passionate utter- 
 ances be designated than that of reJigious ecstasy ? 
 
 From the first moment when he sees Ophelia, and 
 prays her to remember his sins in her ' orisons,' down to 
 the last moment when he leaves her, bidding her to go to 
 a nunnery, there is method in his madness — the method 
 of those dogmas which brand nature and humanity 
 as sinful, whose impulses they do not endeavour to 
 lead to higher aims, but which, by certain mysteries 
 and formulas, they pretend to be able to overcome. The 
 soul-struggle of Hamlet arises from his divided mind ; 
 an inner voice of Nature calling, on the one hand : — 
 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest ; 
 
 whilst another voice calls out that, howsoever he pursues 
 his act, he should not ' taint his mind.' 
 
 ^ Isaiah, ch. iii. v. i6, 
 
 2 The word ' ecstasy,' which is often used in the new quarto, is 
 wanting in the first edition where only madness, lunacy, frenzy — 
 the highest degrees of madness — are spoken of. 
 
So SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 In the English translation of the ' Hystorie of 
 Hamblet,' from which Shakspere took his subject, the 
 art of dissembling is extolled, in most na'ive language, 
 as one specially useful towards great personages not 
 easily accessible to revenge. He who would exercise the 
 arts of dissembling (it is said there) must be able to 
 ' kisse his hand whome in hearte hee could wishe an 
 hundredfoot depth under the earth, so hee mighte never 
 see him more, if it were not a thing wholly to bee disliked 
 in a Christian^ who by no meanes ought to have a bitter 
 gall^ or desires infected with revenged 
 
 We shall find later on that Hamlet's gall also claims 
 its rights ; all the more so as he endeavours, by an un- 
 natural and superstitious use of dogmatism, to suppress 
 and to drive away the ' excitements of the reason and of 
 the blood.' We have heard from Polonius that the 
 Prince, after his ' sadness,' fell into a ' fast.' And every- 
 thing he says to his schoolfellows Rosencrantz and 
 Guild enstern ^ about his frame of mind, confirms us in 
 the belief that he has remained faithful to the intention 
 declared in the first act — ' Look you, I will go pray ' — 
 so as to prepare himself, like many others, to contemplate 
 passively a world sinful from its very nature, and there- 
 fore not to be changed and bettered. 
 
 1 In the old play their names are ' Rosencroft ' and ' Guilder- 
 stone.' Reynaldo^ in the first quarto, is called ' Mo?itano^ This 
 change of name in a dramatis persona of minor importance indi- 
 cates, in however a trifling manner, that the interest excited by the 
 name of Montaigne (to which ' Montano ' comes remarkably near 
 in English pronunciation) was now to be concentrated on another 
 point. 
 
HAMLET. 8 1 
 
 This scene is, in the first quarto, a mere hasty sketch, 
 but faintly indicated. In the second quarto it is, so to 
 say, a new one ; and a comparison between the two 
 need, therefore, not be instituted. 
 
 Before his friends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, 
 Hamlet, for a few moments, gives up his brain-racking 
 thoughts of penitence ; he even endeavours to philo- 
 sophise, as he may have done at the University of 
 Wittenberg before he allowed himself to be lured into 
 dreamland. He utters a thought — ^ There is nothing 
 either good or bad, but thinking makes it so ' — which 
 occurs in an Essay of Montaigne, and is thus given by 
 Florio (127) : — 
 
 'If that what we rail p^n! ^nA fnrmpnt Kp neithpr 
 
 torment n or evi l, but that our fancy only gives it that 
 quality, is it in us to change i t ? ' ^ 
 
 Hamlet then pictures his mental condition in words 
 of deepest sincerity. In order to fully understand this 
 description, w e have once more to refer to an Essay of 
 M ontaigne,^ in which he asserts that man is not furthered 
 by his reason, his speculatio ns, his passions ; that they 
 give him n o advantage ove r other creatures. A divinely 
 appointed authority — the Church — rnnfer<; npnn him 
 ' tho se great advantages and odds he supposes to have 
 over other creatures.' It is she that seals to him the 
 
 — r 
 
 patent and privilege which authorises him to ' keep ac- 
 count both of the receipts and layings-out of the world.' 
 Ay, it is she who convinces him that ' this admirable 
 
 ^ Essay I. 40. '^ II. 12. 
 
Sz SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 swinging-round of the heavenly vaults, the eternal light 
 of those constellations rolling so nobly over our heads, 
 the terrible commotions of this infinite ocean, were 
 established, and have continued for so many ages, for 
 his advantage and his service.' To her authority h e 
 must wholly surrender himself ; by her he must allow 
 himself to be guided^ And in doing so, it is * better for 
 us to have a weak judgment than a strong one ; better 
 to be smitten with blindness than to have one's eyes 
 open and clear-sighted.' 
 
 Striving to l ive up to similar views, Hamlet Most all ^ 
 his mirth.' This is the cause of his heavy disposition ; 
 of his having * foregone all custom of exercise ' — so ' that 
 this goodly frame, the earth,' seems to him ' a sterile 
 promontory,' a mere place of preparation for gaining the 
 next world through penance and prayer. Verily, * this 
 brave d er hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted 
 with golden fire,' appears to him no better ' than a foul 
 and pestilent congregation of vapours.' Quite in accord- 
 ance with such tenets which we need not qualify by 
 name, Man, to him, is but a * quintessence of dust* 
 
 Both man, and still more sinful woman, displease 
 Hamlet Yet he has not succeeded in so wholly sub- 
 jugating Nature within himself as to be fully secured 
 against her importunate claims. Now we would point 
 out here that Montaigne ^ mentions a tyrant of antic^uity 
 who ' could not bear seeing tragedie s act ed in the 
 theatre, from fear that his subjects should see him sob 
 
 1 Essay II. 27, p. 142. 
 
HAMLET. 83 
 
 at the misfortunes of Hecuba and Andromache — him 
 who, without pity, caused daily so many people to be 
 cruelly killed.' A gain, Montaigne ^ speaks of a ctors, 
 mentioned by Quinctilian, who were ' so deeply engaged 
 _in a sorrowful p art that they wept even after having 
 returned to their lodgings j ' whilst Quinctilian reports of 
 himself that, * having undertaken to move a certain 
 passion in others, he had entered so far into his part as 
 to find himself surprised, not only with the shedding of 
 tears, but also with a paleness of countenance and the 
 behaviour of a man truly weighed down with grief.' 
 
 Hamlet has listened to the player. In the conclud- 
 ing monologue of the second act — which is twice as long 
 in the new quarto — we are told of the effect produced 
 upon his mind when seeing that an actor, who merely 
 holds a mirror up to Nature — 
 
 . . . but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd. . . . 
 . . . And all for nothing ! — For Hecuba? 
 
 whilst he (Hamlet), * a dull and muddy-mettled rascal,' ^ 
 like John-a-dreams, in spite of his strong ' motive and 
 the cue for passion,' mistrusts them and is afraid of being 
 guided by them. 
 
 All at once, Hamlet feels the weight and pressure 
 of a mode of thought which declares war against the 
 impulses of Nature, calling man a born sinner. 
 
 ^ Essay III. 4, p. 384. 
 
 ^ Rather sharp translations of songe-creux^ as Montaigne calls 
 himself (Florio, i. 19, p. 34). ' I am given rather to dreaming and 
 sluggishness. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Who calls me villain ? . , . 
 . . . Gives me the lie i' the throat, 
 As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? 
 Ha! 
 
 'S wounds,^ I should take it : for it cannot be. 
 • But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter ; or ere this 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal. 
 
 The feelings of Hamlet, until then forcibly kept down. 
 now get the mastery over him. He gives vent to them 
 in oaths of which he is himself at last ashamed, when he 
 compares himself to * a very drab, a scullion,' who ' must 
 fall a-cursing.' 
 
 He now will set to work ?^pH p r^^f mnrp nati]f p| 
 
 evidence of th e King's ^uilt. He begins to entertain 
 doubts as to those mystic views by which he meant to 
 be guided. He mistrusts the apparition which he had 
 called an honest ghost (' true-penny ') : — 
 
 The spirit that I have seen 
 May be the Devil : and the Devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape. Yea, perhaps 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 As he is very potent with such spirits. 
 Abuses me to damn me : I'll have grounds 
 More relative than this.^ 
 
 Over weakness the Devil is potent ; all flesh is 
 weak. What mode of thought is this ? What philosophy 
 
 ^ "S wounds' (God's wounds) — a most characteristic expres- 
 sion ; used by Shakspere only in Hamlet^ in this scene, and again 
 in act V. sc. 2. 
 
 "^ As yet, Hamlet has but one ground of action — namely, the one 
 which, after the apparition of the Ghost, he set down in his tablets : 
 ' that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; at least, I am 
 sure, it may be so in Denmark.' 
 
HAMLET. 85 
 
 taught this doctrine? Hamlet's weakness, if we may 
 believe Polonius,* has been brought on by fasting and 
 watching. 
 
 Over melancholy, too, the Devil is powerful. Are we 
 not here in the sombre atmosphere of those who turn 
 away their reason from ideal aspirations ; who denounce 
 the impulses of nature as sinful excitements ; who would 
 fain look upon the earth as ' a sterile promontory ' — 
 having dark death more before their mind's eye than 
 beautiful life ? Are such thoughts not the forerunners 
 of melancholy? 
 
 Hamlet's incessant thoughts of death are the same 
 as those o f his model, Montatprnp In an Essay,^ entitled 
 ' T hat to Philosophise is to Learn how to Di^ .' the latter 
 explains that the Christian religion has no surer basis ^ 
 than the cont empt for the pres ent life, and th at "^^ ^^^ 
 in this world only to prepare ourselves for deaths His 
 imagination, he says, has occupied itself with these 
 thoughts of death more than with anything else. Re- 
 ferring to a saying of Lykurgos, he approves of grave- 
 yards being laid out close to churches and in the most 
 frequented places of a city, so as to accustom the com- 
 mon people, women, and children not to be scared at 
 the sight of a dead person, and to forewarn everyone, 
 by this continual spectacle of bones, tombs, and funerals, 
 as to our real condition. ^ 
 
 Montaigne also, like Hamlet, ponders over suicide. 
 He devotes a whole Essay ^ to it. I^ife. he observes, would 
 
 ^ Act ii. sc. 2. ^ Essay I. 19. ^ jj^ 
 
86 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 be a tyranny if the liberty to die were wanting. For 
 this Hberty, he thinks, we have to thank Nature, as for 
 the most favourable gift which, indeed, deprives us of 
 all right to complain of our condition. If — as Boiocal, 
 the German chieftain,' said — earth is wanting to us 
 whereon to live, earth is never wanting to us for death.^ 
 
 That is the wisdom of Montaigne, t he admirer of 
 antiquity. But Montaigne, the modern man, introduces 
 the Essay in which he dares to utter such bold thoughts 
 with the following restriction :^- 
 
 ' If, as it is said, to philosophise be to doubt, with 
 much more reason to play pranks (niaiser) and to rave, 
 as I do, must be to doubt. For, to inquire and to discuss, 
 behoves the disciples. The decision belongs to the 
 chairman (cathedrant). My chairman is the authority of 
 the divine will which regulates us without contradiction, 
 and which occupies its rank above those human and 
 vain disputes.' This chairman, as often observed, by 
 which Montaigne's thoughts are to be guided, is an 
 ecclesiastic authority. 
 
 Jn * Ham let,' also, it is a * canon ' ^ fixed against 
 self-slaughter, wh ich restrains him from leavin g, out o f 
 his own impulse, this whilom paradise, t his ^ unweeded 
 ga rden ' of life. ~ 
 
 Montaigne, whose philosophy ai ms at making us ^ 
 conversant with death as with a friend, is yet terrified by 
 it. ^ Altogether, he says, he would fain pass his life at his 
 ease ; and if he could escape from b lows, even by taking 
 
 ^ Tacitus, Anna!, xiii. 56. ^ Essay I. 19. ^ Act. i. sc. 2. 
 
HAMLET. 87 
 
 refuge under a calf's skin,' he would not be the man who 
 "woufd shrink from it. 
 
 ^^~— — — m 
 
 cow ardly clinging to life. In the scene where Hamlet 
 
 * ■ ; T 
 
 gives to Polonius nothing more willingly than his leave, 
 the new quarto (in every other respect the conclusion of 
 this scene is identical in both editions) contains these 
 additional words : — ' Except my life, except my life, 
 except my life.' Of the ' calf's skin ' we hear in the 
 first scene of act v., where those are called sheep and 
 calves, who seek out assurance in parchments which are 
 made of sheep-skins and of calves-skins too. 
 
 M ontaigne, who does not cease pondering over the 
 pale fellow. Death, looks for consolation from the ancients. 
 He takes Sokrates as the model of all ^reat qualities^ ; 
 and he repr oduces, in his own manner, the speech this 
 sage, who was fearless of death, made before his iud^e^ . 
 First of all, he makes him say that the qualities of death 
 are unknown to him, as he has never seen anybody who 
 could instruct him in them. 'Those who fear death, 
 presuppose that they know it. . . . Perhaps death may 
 
 * Shakspere already uses this expression in King John (1595) 
 for purposes of mirthful mockery. He makes the Bastard say 
 to the Archduke of Austria (act iii. sc. i) : — ' Hang a calf's skin on 
 those recreant limbs ! — a circumstance which convinces us that 
 Shakspere knew the Essays of Montaigne from the original at an 
 early time.. We think it a fact important enough to point out that 
 Florio translates ^<?az/ d'un veau by ' oxe-hide' (fo. 34). We cannot 
 think of any other explanation than that the phrase in question had 
 become so popular through King John as to render it advisable for 
 Florio to steer clear of this rock. Jonson, in his Volpone (act. i. 
 sc. i), makes Mosca the parasite say in regard to his master: 
 ' Covered with hide, instead of skin.' 
 
88 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 be an indifferent thing ; perhaps a desirable one. How- 
 ever, one may believe that, if it be a transmigration from 
 one place to another, it will be an amelioration . . . and 
 free us from having any more to do with wicked and 
 corrupt judges. If it be a consummation (aneantissement) ^ 
 of our being, it is also an amelioration to enter into a long 
 and quiet night. We find nothing so sweet in life as a 
 quiet rest — a tranquil and profound sleep without dreams.' 
 Now compare the monologue, * To be or not to be,' 
 of t he first quarto with the one contain ed in the second. 
 
 It will then be seen that those Sokratic ideas, rendered 
 
 ~ - 
 
 by Montaigne in his own manner, have been worked 
 i nto the first quarto^ In the latter we hear nothing at 
 all about the end of our being (a complete destruction or 
 consummation) producing an amelioration.^ Shakspere 
 
 ^ Florio's translation : ' If it be a consummation of one's being' 
 (p. 627). Shakspere : ' a consummation devoutly to be wished.' 
 This word is only once used by Shakspere in such a sense. It 
 occurs in another sense in King Lear (iv. 6) and Cyjnbeline (iv. 2), 
 but nowhere else in his works. 
 
 ^ Monologue of the first quarto : — 
 
 ' To be, or not to be, I there's the point, 
 To Die, to sleepe, is that all ? I all : 
 No, to sleepe, to dreame, I, mary there it goes, 
 For in that dreame of death, when wee awake, 
 And borne before an everlasting judge, 
 From whence no passenger ever returned. 
 The undiscovered country, at whose sight 
 The happy smile, and the accursed damned. 
 But for this, the joyful hope of this, 
 Whol'd beare the scornes of flattery of the world, 
 Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore .-* 
 The widow being oppress'd, the orphan wronged, 
 The taste of hunger, or a tyrants raigne. 
 And thousand more calamities besides, 
 To grunte and sweate under the weary life. 
 When that he may his full quietus make. 
 With a bare bodkin, who would this indure, 
 
HAMLET. 89 
 
 expresses this thought by the words that if we could say 
 that, by a sleep, we * end the heartache and the thousand 
 natural shocks that flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation 
 devoutly to be wished.' * 
 
 Keen commentators have pointed out the contradic- 
 tion in Hamlet's monologue, where he speaks of — 
 
 The undiscovered country from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, 
 
 whilst he saw such a traveller in his father's ghost. Cer- 
 tainly there were then, even as there are now, besides 
 the logical thinkers, also a considerable number of in- 
 consistent persons who believed in supernaturally re- 
 vealed messages, and who, nevertheless, now and then, 
 felt contradictory thoughts rising within themselves. Why 
 
 But for a hope of something after death ? 
 Which pushes the brain and doth connfound the sence, 
 Which makes us rather beare those evilles we have, 
 Than flie to others that we know not of 
 I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of us all. 
 Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembered. 
 ^ On closely examining the copy of Montaigne's Essays in the 
 British Museum, which bears Shakspere's autograph on the title- 
 page, we found — long after our treatise had been completed — that 
 on the fly-leaf at the end of the volume is written : Mors incrta* 
 626, 627. These two numbers, apparently, refer to the correspond- 
 ing pages of Montaigne's work, which contain nothing but thoughts 
 about the uncertainty of the hour of death and the hereafter. On 
 p. 627 there is the speech of Sokrates, which in Florio's translation, 
 as shown above, bears such striking resemblance to Hamlet's 
 monologue. There are other Latin sentences on the same fly-leaf, 
 pronounced by Sir Frederic Madden to be written by a later pen 
 than Shakspere's. To us, at any rate, the above words and num- 
 bers appear to proceed from a different hand than the other sen- 
 tences. Judgments thereon from persons well versed in the writings 
 of that time would be of great interest. 
 
 * Written somewhat indistinctly, meaning probably incerta. It might also be an 
 abbreviation of ' incertam horam ' {incr. ho.\ as contained in the Latin verse on p, 626 :— 
 Incertam frustra, mortales, funeris horam 
 Quaeritis, et qua sit mors aditura via. 
 
90 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 should the great master, who exhausted in his dramatic 
 personages almost all types of human nature, not have 
 put such a character also on the stage ? 
 
 To the poet, whose object it was to show * to the 
 very age and body of time his form and pressure ' (this 
 passage is wanting in the first quarto), the presentation 
 of such a psychological problem of contradictory thoughts 
 must have been of far greater attraction than an antici- 
 patory description of a metaphysician aching under the 
 heavy burden of his philosophic speculations. The latter 
 is the character attributed, by some, to Hamlet. But we 
 think that such an utterly strange modern creature would 
 have been altogether incomprehensible to the energetic 
 English mind of this period. 
 
 In the course of the drama, Shakspere makes it suffi- 
 ciently clear that the thoughts by which Hamlet's * native 
 hue of resolution is sicklied o'er,' have come from the 
 narrow cells of a superstitious Christianity, not from the 
 free use of his reason. According to Montaigne, how- 
 ever, we ought to ' use our reason only for strengthenipg 
 our belief 
 
 Hamlet, with Purgatory and Hell, into which he has 
 cast a gl ance, before his eyes, would fain fly, like Mon- 
 taigne, from them . In his Essay I. 19 ^ the latter says that 
 y^ our soul must be steeled against the powers of death ; 
 ' for, as long as Death frightens us, how is it possible t o 
 make a single step without feverish ag itation ? ' 
 
 Hamlet as little attains this condition of qu iet 
 equanimity as the pensive and pond ering Montaigne. 
 
 ^ P. 103. 
 
HAMLET. 91 
 
 The latter, however, speaks of souls that know no fear. 
 It is true, he has to go to the ancients in order to meet 
 with this frame of mind. Quoting Horace ^ — 
 Non vultus instantis tyranni 
 
 Mente quatit solida, neque Auster, 
 Dux inquieti turbidus Adrise, 
 Nee fulminantis magna Jovis manus — 
 
 he describes such a soul as being made * mistress over her 
 passions and concupiscence ; having become proof against 
 poverty and disgrace^ arid all the other injuries of fortune. 
 Let those who can, gain this advantage. Herein lies 
 true and sovereign freedom that allows us to scorn force 
 and injustice, and to deride prisons and fetters.' 
 
 To a friend with such a soul, to a living Horace or 
 Horatio, Hamlet addresses himself. Horatio also is his 
 fellow-student and friend from the University days at 
 Wittenberg, and he has made the views of the new 
 philosophical school quite his own. He does not tremble 
 before the fire of Purgatory and Hell. Despising death, 
 he wishes, in the last scene, to empty the cup of poison 
 from which his friend Hamlet has drunk, in order to 
 follow him. When the latter keeps him back, Horatio 
 makes answer — 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. 
 
 Hamlet, trusting more to this firmer and truly antique 
 character than to his own, requests Horatio to aid him 
 during the play-scene in watching the King, so as to 
 procure more natural evidence of his guilt. This school- 
 friend — how often may he have philosophised with him ! 
 — is to him 
 
 1 I. 19. 
 
92 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation coped withal. 
 
 The following passage,' in which Horatio's character 
 
 is described by Hamlet, is wanting in the first quarto : — 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 
 And could of men distinguish, her election 
 
 Hath seal'd thee for herself ; for thou hast been 
 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
 
 A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 
 Hath ta'en with equal thanks : and blest are those 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled 
 
 That they are not a pipe for Fortune's linger 
 
 To sound what stop she please. Give me that man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
 
 As I do thee. 
 
 How near these words of Shakspere come to those with 
 
 which Montaigne describes an intrepid man after the 
 
 poem of Horace ! 
 
 But, in spite of subtle reasoning, the French p hilo- 
 sopher cannot fathom the cause why he himself does 
 not attain any mind's ease, and why he has no plain 
 and straightforward faculty {nulle faculte simple) within 
 himself He once ^ uses the expression, ' We trouble 
 death with the care of life, and life with the care of 
 death ; ' but he does not succeed in firmly attaching 
 himself to life with all the fibres of his nature, and 
 gathering strength from the mother-earth, like Antaeus. 
 He oscillates between two antagonistic views^ a nd feels 
 unable to decide for either the one or the other. 
 
 We have explained the elements of which Hamlet's 
 complex character is made up. He is an adherent of 
 ^ Act iii. sc. 2. 2 jii 12 (Florio, 626). 
 
HAMLET. g^ 
 
 (^ 
 
 old superstitions and dogmas ; he believes in Purgatory^ 
 a Hell, and a DeviL and in the miraculous powers of con- 
 fession, holy communion, and the extreme unction. Yet, 
 to some degree, he is a Humanist, and would fain grant 
 to Nat ure certain rights.^ Scarcely has he yielded to 
 the impulses of his blood, than doubts begin to rise in 
 him, and he begins to fear the Devil, who might lure him 
 into perdition. This inner discord, creating, as it does, 
 a mistrust in his own self, induces him, in the most 
 important task of his life, to appeal to Horatio. To 
 him he says that, if the King's occulted guilt does not 
 come out ('unkennel itself '), he (Hamlet) will look upon 
 the apparition as a damned ghost, and (this is new) will 
 think that his ' imaginations are as foul as Vulcan's 
 stithy.' 1 
 
 By the interlude, Hamlet — and in this he is confirmed 
 by Horatio — becomes convinced of the King's guilt. 
 All that he thereupon does is — to recite a little ditty ! 
 
 We have alr eady maHp \\\e acquaintance of Mon- 
 taigne the soft-hearted, who, a s above mentioned, always 
 was touched when seei ng innocent animals hunted to 
 death, and who felt much emotion at the tears of 
 
 the hart asking us for mercy} At the same time we 
 tiave direct ed the reader's attention to the fact of his 
 having sa id that the 'common weal requires some to 
 betray, some to lie, and some to massacre,' ^ and that 
 
 ^ We do not doubt that this is a sly thrust at Florio, who, in 
 the preface to his translation, calls himself ' Montaigne's Vulcan,' 
 who hatches out Minerva from that ' Jupiter's bigge brain ' (p. 39). 
 
 ■^ Page 56. ^ Florio, 476. 
 
94 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 this task mus t be left to those who are ready to sacrific e 
 their honour and their conscience, and that men wh odo 
 not feel up to such deed s must leave their commission to 
 the stronger ones. This French nobleman naively avows 
 that he has resolved upon withdrawing into private life, 
 not because he is averse to public life — for the latter, 
 he says, would * perhaps equally suit him ' — but because, 
 by doing so, he hopes to serve his Prince all the more 
 joyfully and all the more sincerely, thus following the 
 free choice of his own judgment and reason, and not sub- 
 mitting to any restraint {obligation particuliere)^ which 
 he hates in every shape. And he adds the following 
 curious moral doctrine : — * This is the way of the world. 
 We let the laws and precepts follow their way, but we 
 keep another course.' ^ 
 
 Who could mistake Shakspere's satire against this 
 sentimental nobleman, who fights shy of action, in 
 making Hamlet recite a little ditty at a moment when 
 he has become convinced of the King's guilt : — 
 
 Why, let the stricken deer go weep, 
 
 The hart ungalled play ; 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep : 
 
 Thus runs the world away. 
 
 This gifted Frenchman, Montaig|-ne^ w? ,<? n r>pw, a 
 strange, phenomenon in the eyes of Shakspere and his 
 active and energetic countryme n. A man, a nobleman 
 too, who lives for no higher aim : who allows himself to 
 be driv en about, rudderless, by his feeling;-s and inclina- 
 tions : wlio e ven boasts of this mental disposition of 
 
 ^ Florio, 592 : ' Thus goe the world, and so goe men.' 
 
HAMLET. 95 
 
 his, and sends a vain book about it into the world ! 
 What is it to teach ? What good is it to do ? It gives 
 mere words, behind which there is no manly character. 
 Are there yet more beaux esprits to arise who, in 
 Epicurean fashion, enjoy the beautiful thoughts of others, 
 whilst they themselves remain incapable for action, letting 
 the time go out of joint ? 
 
 Let us further study the character of Hamlet, and 
 we shall find that the satire against Montaign e becomes 
 more and more striking — a veritable hit. 
 
 The Queen asks for her son. Before he fulfils her 
 wish and comes to her, he utters a lullaby of superstition 
 (these lines are new), wherewith to tide over the excite- 
 ment of his nature : — 
 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 
 When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot blood, 
 
 And do such bitter business as the day 
 
 Would quake to look on. 
 
 Hamlet, always shrinking back from the impulses of 
 his blood, fears that the Devil might once more gain 
 power over him : — 
 
 Soft ! now to my mother ! 
 O heart, lose not thy nature ! 
 
 This nature of his, inclining to mildness and gentle- 
 ness, he wishes to preserve, and he resolves upon being 
 ' cruel, not unnatural.' In vain one seeks here for logic, 
 and for the boundary between two words which to ordi- 
 nary common sense appear synonymous. In Montaigne, 
 however, we discover the clue of such a senseless argu- 
 
96 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 mentation. In one of his Essays/ which contains a con- 
 fusion of ideas that might well make the humane Shak- 
 spere shudder, he writes : — 
 
 ' Our condition, both public and private, is full of 
 
 imperfections ; yet there is nothing useless in Nature, not 
 
 even uselessness itself. . . . Our being is cemented with 
 
 sickly qualities : ambition, jealousy, envy, vengeance, 
 
 J superstition, despair dwell in us, and hold there so 
 
 \ natural a possession that their counterfeit is also recog- 
 
 1 nised in beasts ; for instance, cruelty — so unnatural a vice. 
 
 I Yet he who would root out the seed of these qualities 
 
 I from the human breast would destroy the fundamental 
 
 \onditions of our life.' 
 
 ^Now, Hamlet's resolution to be ' cruel, but not un - 
 natural/ is but a fresh satire against Montaig-ne's t^ain^ 
 of thoughts, w ho would fain be a Humanist, but who 
 does not break with the reasoning of Loyola and of the 
 Church, by which he permits himself to be guided as by 
 the competent authority, and which tolerates cruelty — 
 nay, orders its being employed for the furtherance of 
 what it calls the ' good aim.' 
 
 The idea that cruelty is a ne re,^<^ary Kni- ngpfnl pyj]^ 
 no doubt induced Montaigne '^ to declare that to kil} a 
 man from a feeling of revenge is tantamount to our p ro- 
 tecting him, for we t hus *withdrawhim frnm r>nr ai-farVg,' 
 Furthermore, this Humanist argues that revenge is to be 
 regretted if its '^bjf r^ ^^'"'^ "^^ ^^^^ ^'^'^ Inte ntion • for, even 
 as he who takes revenge intends to derive pleasu re from 
 
 ^ III. I. ''■ II. 27. 
 
HAMLET. 97 
 
 it, SO he upon whom revenge is taken must perceive that 
 intenti on, in order to be harrowed with feelings of pain 
 and rep entance. * To kill him, is to render further attacks 
 against him impossible ; not to revenge what he has done.' 
 Shakspere already gives Hamlet an opportunity in 
 the following scene to prove to us that there is no 
 boundary between cruel and unnatural conduct ; and 
 that one cannot be cruel and yet remain natural. In 
 the most telling words, the cause of Hamlet's want of 
 energy is substantiated. Fate gives the criminal, the 
 King, into the hands of Hamlet. It is the most impor- 
 tant moment of the drama. A stroke of the sword 
 would be enough to do the deed of revenge. The cause 
 which makes Hamlet hesitate is, that the criminal is 
 engaged in prayer, and that — 
 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread, 
 
 With all his crimes broad-blown, as flush as May ; 
 
 And how his audit stands, who knows save Heaven ? 
 
 Does Hamlet, then, not act with refined cruelty ? 
 
 Here, a new thought is inserted, which we mentioned 
 already in the beginning (p. 68), and which turns the 
 balance at the decisive moment : — 
 
 But in our circumstance and course of thought 
 It is heavy with him.^ 
 
 A Shaksperean hero, with drawn sword, allows him- 
 self to be restrained fro m action by the thought that, 
 because ' it is heavy ' with his own murdered father, who 
 
 ^ Clarendon: ' Circumstance of thought' means here the details 
 over which thought ranges, and from which its conclusions are 
 formed. 
 
 H 
 
98 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 is suffering in Purgatory, he (Hamlet) ought n ot to kill 
 the criminal now, but later on, when the latter is dee'ply 
 wading in sin— 
 
 When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, . . . 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd and black 
 As Hell, whereto it goes. 
 
 Hamlet has been called a philosopher whose energy 
 has been paralysed by too great a range of thought. 
 For the sovereignty of human reason this is a most 
 dangerous premiss. Do we not owe to the full and free 
 use of that reason everything great which mankind has 
 created ? History speaks of a thousand heroes (only 
 think of Alexander, of Julius Csesar, of Frederick the 
 Great !) whose doings convince us that a strong power of 
 thought and action can go hand in hand, nay, that the 
 latter cannot be successful without the former. 
 
 But, on the other hand, there is a way of thinking 
 with preconceived supernatural conclusions — or rather, 
 we must call it an absence of thinking— when men allow 
 themselves to be moved by the circumstances of a 
 traditional course of thought. Against such intellectual 
 slavery the great century of the Reformation rose. And 
 the greatest Humanist, Shakspere, scourges that slavery 
 in the catharsis of his powerful drama. 
 
 Questions of religion were not permitted to be treated 
 on the stage. But not merely the one deeply intelligent 
 person for whom Shakspere asks the players to act, and 
 for whom the great master certainly endeavoured to write 
 — no, the public at large, too, will have understood that 
 the ' course of thought ' which induced Hamlet to forego 
 
HAMLET. 99 
 
 action from a subtle refinement of cruelty, was not the 
 course of thought prevalent on this side of the Channel, 
 and held up, in this important scene, as that of a hero to 
 be admired. 
 
 Hamlet resolved upon keeping out the soul of Nero 
 from his ' firm bosom.' (What a satire there is in this 
 adjective ' firm ' !) He means to be cruel, but not un- 
 natural ; he will ' speak daggers, but use none.' A man 
 who lets himself be moved by extraneous circumstances 
 is not his own master. In cruel, unnatural manner, for 
 no object whatever, he murders poor Polonius. Then he 
 begins to speak daggers in such a manner as to get into 
 a perfect ecstasy. Nor need any priest have been 
 ashamed of the sermon he preaches to his own mother. 
 
 In the first edition of ' Hamlet,' the scene between 
 mother and son is rather like a sketch in which most 
 things are- merely indicated, not worked out. Only the 
 part of the Ghost, with the exception of the line : — 
 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works, 
 which is wanting in the first edition, and Hamlet's 
 address to the Ghost, are in both quartos the same. 
 Even as in the first act, so this time also, Hamlet, on 
 seeing the Ghost, calls upon the saints : — 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 
 You heavenly guards ! 
 
 This was the usual course on the occasion of such doubt- 
 ful apparitions, of which one did not know whether they 
 were ' airs of heaven ' or * blasts from hell' 
 
 A new intercalation is (in the first quarto there is no 
 vestige of it), that Hamlet reproaches his mother with 
 
100 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 having degraded ' sweet religion ' to ' a rhapsody of 
 words ; ' that he says ' the Devil hath conquered her at 
 hoodman blind ; ' that she should confess herself to 
 Heaven, and * assume a virtue if she have it not ; ' that 
 ' virtue itself of vice must pardon beg in the fatness of 
 these pursy times, yea, curb and woo, for leave to do 
 him good.' So also is the Queen's question new : — 
 
 Ay me, what act, 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index } ^ 
 
 There is no trace, in the first quarto, of the following 
 most characteristic thoughts : — 
 
 For, use almost can change the stamp of Nature - 
 
 And either curb (?) the Devil, or throw him out 
 
 With wondrous potency. . . . 
 
 And when you are desirous to be blest, 
 
 I'll blessing beg of you. 
 
 Let us figure to ourselves before what public Hamlet 
 first saw the wanderer from Purgatory ; before what 
 youth he bade Ophelia go to a nunnery ; before what 
 men he remained inactive at the critical moment simply 
 because the criminal is engaged in his prayers, whilst his 
 own murdered father died without Holy Communion, 
 without having confessed and received the Extreme 
 Unction. Let us remember before what audience he 
 purposely made the thunders of the Index roar so loud ; 
 
 1 ' Index^ in our opinion, does not signify here either the title, 
 or prologue, or the indication of the contents of a book, but is an 
 allusion to the Index of the Holy See and its thunders. 
 
 2 Montaigne, III. lo ; Florio, 604 : ' Custome is a second nature, 
 and no less powerfull. ... To conclude, 1 am ready to finish this 
 man, not to make another. By longe custome this forme is changed 
 into substance, Fortune into Nature.' 
 
 I 
 
HAMI.ET;', 0.. ' ' ''' '''^' '' ' ' Ibl 
 
 at what place he gets into ecstasy ; and where he first 
 preaches to his mother that the Devil may be mastered 
 and thrown out. 
 
 Here, certainly, we have questions of religion ! 
 
 Shakspere's genius has known how to transport these 
 most important questions of his time, away from the 
 shrill contact with contemporary disputes, into the har- 
 monious domain of the Muses. He, and his friends and 
 patrons, did not look upon the subjects discussed in 
 this tragedy with the passionless, indifferent eyes of our 
 century. Many men, no doubt, were filled with the 
 thought, to which Bacon soon gave a scientific form, 
 that the human mind can only make true progress if it 
 turns towards the inquiry into Nature, keeping far away 
 from the hampering influence of transcendental dogmas. 
 The liberal, intellectual tendencies of the Reformation 
 were not yet fettered in England with the new dogmatic 
 strait waistcoat of a narrow-minded, melancholy sect. 
 And Shakspere's views, which he has embodied in 
 ' Hamlet,' were not in divinatory advance of his age ; 
 they were easily comprehensible to the best of his 
 time. 
 
 Our chief argument will be contained in the chapter 
 in which we shall hear Shakspere's adversaries launch 
 out furiously against the tendency of this drama. Mean- 
 while, we will exhaust the course of its action. 
 
 Hamlet has already come very near to that point of 
 view where Reason at last ceases to guide his conduct, 
 and where he becomes convinced that indiscretion often 
 is of better service than deep planning. 
 
% 
 
 102 SHAlt^PERE ^^AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Now in Montaigne's Essay ^ already mentioned we 
 
 read : — ' When an urgent circumstance, or any violent or 
 
 ( unexpected accident of State necessity, induces a Prince 
 
 ) to break his word and faith, or otherwise forces him out 
 
 I of his ordinary duty, he is to ascribe that compulsion to 
 
 a lash of God's rod.' 
 
 V. The passage in which Hamlet consoles himself in 
 
 regard to the murder committed against Polonius is 
 
 new : — 
 
 I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, 
 To punish me with this, and this with me. 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 
 Hamlet, beholding the victim of his indiscretion, 
 excuses himself thus : — 
 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind. 
 
 The cruel deed he has done, he palliates with the remark 
 that lovingkindness has forced him to it. Love of her 
 God also forced Catherine of Medicis to the massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew. 
 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 
 
 Yes ; worse is coming ! Hamlet knows that he is to 
 be sent to England ; that the letters are sealed ; that his 
 two schoolfellows whom he trusts as he will adders, bear 
 the mandate. What does he do to prevent further mis- 
 fortune ? He rejoices that — 
 
 they must sweep my way, 
 And marshall me to knavery.^ 
 
 1 III. I. 
 
 '^ This is wanting in the first quarto, like the whole conclusion 
 of this scene. 
 
HAMLET. 103 
 
 He enjoys, in advance, the sweet presentiment of revenge 
 
 which he intends taking upon them. He lets things go 
 
 without hindrance : — 
 
 Let it work ! 
 For 'tis sport to have the engineer 
 Hoist with his own petard. 
 
 He enjoys his own crafty poHcy which shall blow his 
 school-friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (who yet, 
 so far as he knows, have not been guilty in any way 
 towards him !) ' at the moon : ' — 
 
 O, 'tis most sweet 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. 
 
 Because Hamlet gives utterance to high-sounding 
 thoughts, to sentimental dreams, and melancholy subtle- 
 ties, it has been assumed that his character is one 
 nourished with the poet's own heart's blood. A thou- 
 sand times the noble sentiment of duty has been dwelt 
 upon, which it is alleged he is inspired with ; and on 
 account of his fine words he has been more taken a fancy 
 to than any other Shaksperian figure. But that was not 
 the poet's object. Great deeds were more to him than 
 the finest words. His contemporaries understood him ; 
 for Montaigne— as we shall prove — was given over to the 
 lowest scorn of the age through ' Hamlet,' because the 
 whole reasoning of Hamlet not only was a fruitless, but 
 a pernicious one . 
 
 In the fourth scene of the fourth act, the poet de- 
 scribes the frame of mind of the hero before he steps on 
 board ship. ' Excitements of his reason and his blood ' 
 once more call him to revenge. This monologue, in 
 
104 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 which Hamlet gives expression to his feelings and 
 thoughts, is only in the quarto of 1604. The folio of 
 1623 does not contain it. Shakspere, in later years, may 
 have thought that the soul-struggle of his hero had been 
 ended ; and so he may have regarded the passage as a 
 superfluous one, in which Hamlet's better self once more 
 asks him to seize the reins of destiny with his own 
 hands. 
 
 He sees how young Fortinbras, the delicate and ten- 
 der prince, ' puff'd with divine ambition, mouthes the 
 invisible event for a piece of land not large enough to 
 hide the slain.' Hamlet philosophises that the man who 
 uses not his god-like reason is but a beast ; for — 
 
 — He that made us with such large discourse 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason, 
 To fust in us unused. 
 
 We further hear how Hamlet reasons about the 
 question as to how * to be rightly great.' All the 
 thoughts he produces, seem to flow from the pen of the 
 French philosopher. I n Essay HI. (13) of Montaigne we^ 
 rea d the beautiful words that ^ the noblest master-wor k 
 of man is t o live for a purpose (vivre d proposV, and :-^ 
 ' The greatness of the soul does not consis t i*^^ rnnrVi ^'n 
 drawing upwards, and haling forwards, than in know- 
 
 ing how to range and to circumscribe itself. It holds 
 every thing to be great, which is sufficien t in itself. It 
 shows its superiority in more loving humble things than 
 eminent ones.' 
 
 To the majesty of the human reason also, Montaigne, 
 
HAMLET, 105 
 
 in spite of his so often condemning it, knows how to 
 render justice. In Essay I. (40) he remarks : ' Shall we 
 then dare t o say that this advantage of reason at which 
 we rejoice so very much, and out of res pect for which 
 ^ we hold ourselves to be lords and emperors of all other 
 creatures, has been put in to us for our torment ? Why 
 strive for the knowledge of things if we become more 
 cowardly thereby ? if we lose, through it, the rest and the 
 tranquillity in which we should be without it ? . . . Shall 
 we use the intellect that has been given to us for our 
 greatest good, to effect our ruin ; combating the designs 
 of Nature and the general order of things which implies 
 that everyone should use his tools and means for his 
 own convenience ? ' 
 
 Noble thoughts ! But it is not enough to play an 
 aesthetic game with them. The energetic English genius 
 wishes that they should regulate our life ; that we should 
 act in accordance with them, so that no tragic complica- 
 tion should form itself, which could only be solved by 
 the ruin and death of the innocent together with the 
 guilty. The monologue concludes thus : — 
 
 O, from this time forth, 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! 
 
 Nevertheless, Hamlet continues his voyage. 
 
 The reader will remember that Montaigne spoke o f 
 an instinctive impulse of the will — a daimon — by which 
 he often, and to his final advantage, had allowed himself 
 to be guided, so much so that such strong impulses 
 might be attributed to divine inspiration. 
 
 this kind, under whose influence Hamlet acts, is described 
 
I06 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 in the seco nd scene of the fifth act. The passage is 
 wanting in the first quarto.^ Hamlet tells Horatio how 
 he lay in the ship, and how in his heart there was a kind 
 of fighting which would not let him sleep. This harass- 
 ing condition, the result of his unmanly indecision, he 
 depicts in these words : — 
 
 Methought I lay 
 Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. 
 
 Then all at once (how could an impulsive manner of 
 action be better described ?), before he could ' make a 
 prologue to his brains,' Hamlet lets himself be overcome 
 by such a daimonic influence. He breaks open the 
 grand commission of others, forges a seal with a signet 
 in his possession, becomes a murderer of two innocent 
 men, and draws the evil conclusion therefrom : — 
 
 Let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall ; and that should learn us, 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 This view we have already quoted from Essay 
 HI. (12). In Florio's translation (632): — 'Therefore 
 do our dessigns so often miscarry. . . . The heavens 
 
 ^ This whole scene between Horatio and Hamlet consists of 
 the following four lines in the old quarto : — 
 
 Hamlet. Beleeuve me, it greeuves me much, Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myselfe : 
 For by myselfe methinkes I feel his greefe. 
 Though there's a difference in each other's way. 
 
 Does this not look like a draught destined to be the kernel of a 
 scene ? The end of the scene where Osrick comes in, is also much 
 shorter in the older play. 
 
HAMLET. 107 
 
 are angry, and I may say envious of the extension 
 and large privilege we ascribe to human wisdome, 
 to the prejudice of theirs : and abridge them so more 
 unto us, by so much more we endeavour to amplifie 
 them.' 
 
 Hamlet takes the twofold murder committed against 
 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as little to heart as the 
 * indiscreet ' deed by which Polonius was killed. Then 
 the consolation was sufficient for him that lovingkind- 
 ness had forced him to be cruel. This time, his con- 
 science is not touched, because — 
 
 't is dangerous when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 With such argumentation every tyranny may be 
 palliated, especially by those who, like Hamlet, think 
 
 that— 
 
 A man's life 's no more than to say ' One.' 
 
 Yet another peculiarity of Montaigne's complex be- 
 
 ing is depicted by Shakspere in the graveyard scene. 
 He sho ws us every side of this whimsical char^^ter who 
 says of himself that he has no staying power for any 
 standpoint, but that he is driven about by incalculable 
 emergencies. 
 
 Let us read a passage in Essay H. (12), and compare 
 it with Hamlet's enigmatic conduct towards Laertes. 
 Montaigne describes him.qp lf in Hipgf^ QF>r|f-f^nrpc^; — '"R eing 
 of a soft and somewhat heavy temperament, I have no 
 _great experience of those violent agitations which mostly 
 
I08 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 come like a surprise upon our mind without allowing it 
 leisure to collect itself/ In spite of the resistance — h e 
 further says — which he endeavoured to off er, even he , 
 however, was occasionally thus seized. He felt these 
 agitations rising and growing in, and becoming master 
 over, himself. As in drunkenn ess, things then appeared 
 to him otherwise than he usually saw thern . ^_I mani- 
 festly saw the advantages of the object which I soughl 
 after, augmenting and growing ; and I felt them becom- 
 ing greater and swelling by the wind of my imagination. 
 I felt the difficulties of my enterprise becoming easje r 
 and simpler, my reasoning and my conscie nce drawing 
 back. But, that fire being gone, all of a sudden, as wit^ 
 the flash of lightning, my mind resumed another view, 
 
 m 
 
 another condition, another judgment' 
 
 Jn this manner Hamlet conducts himself tow ards 
 Laertes. A great grief takes possession of him w hen he 
 hears of the death of Ophelia : b^ leaps, likp T.Pip rfpc;^ _ 
 into her grave : he grapples with him ; he. warns him 
 jhat, though ' not spl enetive and rash,' he r Ham let ) yet ^ 
 has ' something dangerous' in him. (He means the 
 daimon which so fatally impelled him against Rosen- 
 crantz and Guildenstern.) Hamlet and Laertes wrestle, 
 but they are parted by the attendants. Hamlet begins 
 boasting, in high-flown language, of what great things he 
 would be able to do. 
 
 The Queen describes Hamlet's rage in these 
 words : — 
 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 
HAMLET. 109 
 
 When that her golden couplets are disclosed, 
 His silence will sit drooping.^ 
 
 In the meantime, the fire with which Hamlet's soul 
 had been seized, is gone, like a flash of lightning. He 
 changes to another point of view — probably that one 
 according to which everything goes its way in compliance 
 with a heavenly decree. The little verse he recites in 
 parting : — 
 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 
 The cat will mew and dog will have his day, 
 
 quite corresponds to such a passive philosophy which 
 has gained the mastery over him, and to which he soon 
 falls a victim. 
 
 We are approaching the conclusion of the great 
 drama. Here, again, in order to explain Hamlet's 
 action, or rather his yielding to influences around him, 
 we have to direct the attention of the reader to Essay 
 (HI. 10), in which Montaigne tells how easily he protec ts 
 himself against the dangers of inward agitation by drop - 
 ping the subject which threatens to become troublesome 
 to him before he is drawn on and carried along by it. 
 The doughty nobleman says that he has escaped from 
 many difficulties by not staking frivolously^ like others, 
 happiness an d honour, l ife and everything, on his * rapier 
 and his dagger.' ^^ 
 
 There may be some truth in Montaigne's charge that 
 the cause of not a few struggles he has seen, was often of 
 
 ^ Florio, 330 : ' We amend ourselves by privation of reason and 
 by her drooping.' Hamlet's conduct is only to be explained by his 
 quietly sitting down until his reason' should droop. — II. 12. 
 
 * Florio, 608. 
 
no SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 trul y pitiful origin , and that such struggles were only 
 carried on from a mistaken feeling of self-respect. It 
 may be true also that it is a bad habit — as he maintains — 
 to proceed still further in affairs of this kind simply be- 
 cause one is implicated. But how strange a confession 
 of a nobleman from whom we at all times expect bravery : 
 * For want of judgement our hearte fails us.' ^ 
 
 Hamlet is engaged in such a struggle with Laertes 
 through the graveyard scene. The King, who has had 
 good cause to study Hamlet's character more deeply 
 than anyone else, reckons upon his vanity in order to 
 decide him to the fencing-match. ' Rapier and dagger ' 
 are forced upon weak-willed Hamlet by Qsric.^ How 
 subtle is this satire ! For appearance' sake, in order 
 to outshine Laertes, the Prince accepts the challenge.^ 
 Happiness and life, which he ought long ago to have 
 risked for the purpose of avenging his father and his 
 honour, are now staked from sheer vanity. The ' want 
 of prudence ' Hamlet displays in accepting a challenge 
 which he must * carry out from a (mistaken) feeling of self- 
 respect,' has the ' intolerable ' consequence that, shortly 
 
 ^ Florio, 609. 
 
 2 This whole scene is nearly new (in the first quarto it is a mere 
 sketch). There are in it several direct allusions to Montaigne's 
 book, on which we shall touch later on. 
 
 ^ Here the dramatist, in order to paint a trait of vanity in 
 Hamlet's character, uses a device. He makes the latter say that, 
 since Laertes went into France, he (Hamlet) has been in continual 
 practice. Yet we know (act ii. sc. 2) that he had given up his 
 accustomed exercise. In that scene the poet wishes tp describe 
 Hamlet's melancholy ; in the other, his vanity. He chooses the 
 colours which are apt to produce quickest impressions among the 
 audience. 
 
HAMLET. 1 1 1 
 
 before he crosses swords with Laertes, he confesses to 
 Horatio : — * But thou would'st not think how ill all's here 
 about my heart.' 
 
 Again, Shakspere, very briefly, but not less pointedly, 
 depicts the way in which Hamlet allows himself to be 
 influenced and driven to a decision. This time the poet 
 does so by bringing in a clearly expressed dogmatic 
 tenet whereby Hamlet's fate is sealed. It is 'ill all 
 about his heart' He would prefer not going to meet 
 Laertes.^ 
 
 Horatio. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will fore- 
 stal their repair hither, and say you are not fit. 
 
 The fatalist Hamlet, whom we have seen coming ever 
 closer to the doctrine of Predestination, answers as 
 follows : — 
 
 ' Not a whit ; we defy augury ; there is special providence in 
 the fall of a sparrow.^ If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to 
 come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come ; the readi- 
 ness is all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to 
 leave betimes } Let be.' 
 
 This time it is a ' Let be ! ' — even as it was a ' Let it 
 go ' when he was sent to England. 
 
 Now let us read Montaigne's Essay ,^ ' To Philoso- 
 phise i s to Learn how to Die : ' — 
 
 ' Our religion has had no surer human foundation 
 than the contempt of life. Not only does the course of 
 our reason lead us that way ; for, why should we fear to 
 lose a thing which, when lost, cannot be regretted } — but 
 
 ^ Act V. sc. 2. 2 See St. Matthew x. 29. ^ I, 19. 
 
112 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 also, seeing that we are threatened by so many kinds of 
 death, Is It not a greater Inconvenience to fear them all 
 than to endure one ? What does It matter when Death 
 comes, since It Is Inevitable ? . . . Moreover, nobody dies 
 before his hour. The time you leave behind was no 
 more yours than that which was before your birth, and 
 concerns you no more.' 
 
 No further comment Is needed to prove that Ham- 
 let's and Montalo-ne's thoughts are In so close a connec- 
 tion that It cannot be a mere accident. And the nearer 
 we come to the conclusion of the drama, the m ore 
 strikin g become Shakspere's satirical hits. 
 
 Hamlet allows his hand to be put into that of 
 Laertes by the King. He does not think of the wrong 
 he has done to Laertes — of the murder of the latter's 
 father, or the unhappiness he has criminally brought 
 upon Laertes' sister. In most cowardly manner, hoping 
 that Laertes would desist from the combat, Hamlet en- 
 deavours to excuse his conduct at the grave of Ophelia, 
 by pleading his own madness. Laertes insists on the 
 combat ; adding that he would stand aloof ' till by some 
 elder masters of known honour ' the decision were given. 
 
 Hamlet avenges the death of his father ; he kills the 
 criminal, the enemy, when his wrath is up and aflame, 
 and every muscle of his is swelled with indignation — but 
 it is ^00 late. Together with himself, he has dragged 
 
 them all into the grave. It is blind passion, unbridled 
 
 — 
 
 by reason, which does the deed : a sublime satire upo n 
 the words of Montaigne in Essay II. (12), ' that the most 
 beautiful actions of the soul proceed from, and have need 
 
HAMLET 1 1 J 
 
 of, this impulse of passion ; valour, they say, c^^pnoi- hp- 
 
 come perfect without the help of wrath ; and that no- 
 body pursues the wicked and the enemies with sufficient 
 energy, except he be thoroughly in an ger.' 
 -^ Even the kind rii" cie^th hy whirh ■ShaVqp ere makes 
 
 Hamlet lose his li fp^ looks like a satire aga^inst Mon- 
 taigne. The latter, always a coward in regard to death, 
 and continually pondering over it, says : ' — ' I would 
 rather have chosen to drink the potion of Sokrates than 
 wound myself as Cato did.' Their * virtuous deeds ' he 
 calls 2 * vain and fruitless ones, because they were done 
 from no love of, or obedience to, the true Creator of all 
 things.' 
 
 Hamlet dies wounded and poisoned, as if Shakspere 
 had intended expressing his abhorrence of so vacillating 
 and weak-willed a character, who p 1a<;',<^^ the trparViprnng 
 excesses of passion above the power of that human_^ 
 reason in whose free service alone Greeks and Romans 
 did their most exalted deeds of virtue ^ 
 
 The subtlety of the best psychologists has endea- 
 voured to fix the limits of Hamlet's madness, and to find 
 the proper name for it. No agreement has been arrived 
 at. We think we have solved the problem as to the 
 
 1 III. 9. 2 II 12. 
 
 ^ The Queen describes Hamlet as 'fat, and scant of breath.' 
 
 Here is Montaigne's description of himself (Essai II. 27) : 'J'ay, 
 
 au demourant, la taille forte et ramassee ; le visage non pas gras, 
 mais plein, la complexion entre le jovial et le melancholique, 
 
 moyennement sanguine et chaude.' Florio's translation, p. 372 : 
 
 ' As for me, I am of a strong and well compact stature, my face 
 is not fat, but full, my complexion betweene joviall and melancholy, 
 indifferently sanguine and hote ' — ( ' not splenetive and rash ' ). 
 
 I 
 
114 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 nature of Hamlet's madness, and to have shown why 
 thought and action, in him, cannot be brought into 
 a satisfactory harmony. Every fibre in Shakspere's 
 artistic mind would have rebelled against the idea of 
 making a lunatic the chief figure of his greatest drama. 
 He wished to warn his contemporaries that the attempt 
 of reconciling two opposite circles of ideas — namely, on 
 the one hand, the doctrine that we are to be guided by 
 the laws of Nature ; and on the other, the yielding our- 
 selves up to superstitious dogmas which declare human 
 nature to be sinful — must inevitably produce deeds of 
 madness. 
 
 The main traits of M ontaigne's character Shaksp ere 
 confers upon the Danish Prince, and places him befor e a 
 difficult tas k of life. He is to avenge b ig fathf^'^ H<^pfVi 
 (Montaigne was attached to his father with all his soul, 
 and speaks of him almost in the same words as Hamle t 
 does of his own .) He is to preserve the State whose 
 legitimate sovereign he is. The materials for a satire 
 are complete. And it is written in such a manner as to 
 remain the noblest, the most sublime poetical produc- 
 tion as long as men shall live. 
 
 The two circles of ideas which in the century of the 
 Reformation began a struggle that is not yet brought to 
 an end, are, in that drama, represented on the stage. 
 The poet shows, by making the gifted Prince perish, on 
 which side every serious thinker ought to place himself 
 That these intentions of Shakspere were understood by 
 his more intelligent contemporaries and friends, we shall 
 prove when we come to the camp of his adversaries, at 
 
HAMLET. 1 1 5 
 
 whose head a Roman Catholic stood, who launches out 
 in very marked language against the derision of Mon- 
 taigne as contained in the character of Hamlet. 
 
 The noblemen who went to the theatre for the sake 
 of the intellectual attractions (the fairer sex being still 
 excluded from acting on the stage and therefore not 
 forming a point of attraction) were initiated ihto the 
 innermost secret of what authors meant by their pro- 
 ductions. Dekker, in his ' Gulls Horn Book ' (c. 6), 
 reports that 'after the play was over, poets adjourned 
 to supper with knights, where they, in private, unfolded 
 the secret parts of their drama to them.' 
 
 As in no other of his plays, there is in Shakspere's 
 ' Hamlet ' — the drama richest in philosophy — a perfect 
 wealth of life. iVrgument is pitted against argument ; 
 every turn of a phrase is a missile, sharp, and hitting 
 the mark. In not a few cases, the aim and object is 
 no longer recognisable. Here and there we believe we 
 shall be able to shed the light of day upon some dark 
 passages of the past. 
 
 To the doughty friends of Shakspere, this French 
 Knight of the Order of St. Michael, who says ^ that, if his 
 freedom were in the least encroached upon, or * if the 
 laws under which he lives threatened merely the tip of 
 his finger, he would at once betake himself to any other 
 place to find better ones ; ' but who yet lets everything 
 around him go out of joint without offering a helping 
 hand for repair, because ' the maintenance of States is 
 
 ' III. 13. 
 
 I 2 
 
Il6 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 probably something beyond our powers of understand- 
 ing ' ^ — verily, to Shakspere's doughty friends, such a 
 specimen of humanity as Montaigne must have been 
 quite a new and strange phenomenon. They were" 
 children of an age which achieved great things because 
 its nobler natures willingly suffered death when the 
 ideals of their life were to be realised. In them, the 
 fire of enthusiasm of the first Reformation, of the glorious 
 time of Elizabeth, was still glowing. They energetically 
 championed the cause of Humanism. The sublime 
 conceptions of their epoch were not yet marred by that 
 dark and gloomy set of men whose mischievous mem- 
 bers were just beginning to hatch their hidden plans in 
 the most remote manors of England. 
 
 The friends of Shakspere well understood the true 
 meaning of Hamlet's words : ^ — * What should such fellows 
 as I do crawling between earth and heaven ? ' ^ They 
 easily seized the gist and point of the answer given to 
 the King's question : "^ — ' How fares our cousin Hamlet ? ' 
 when Hamlet replies : — 
 
 Excellent, i' faith ; of the chameleon's dish ! 
 Surely, some of them had read the Essay ' On the Inconsis- 
 tency of our Actions,' and had smiled at the passage :— 
 
 ' Our ordinary manner is, to follow the inclination of 
 
 ^ III. 9. ^ Act iii. sc. I. 
 
 ^ We shall now oftener touch upon satirical passages uttered by 
 the character himself against whom they are directed. The true 
 dramatist gives the public no time to think over an incident in full 
 leisure. Every means — as we have already shown before (p. 
 1 10) — is welcome to him, which aids in rapidly bringing out the 
 telling traits of his figures. No surprise need therefore be felt that 
 Hamlet, though representing Montaigne, sneers at, and morally 
 flagellates, himself '* Act iii. sc. 2. 
 
HAMLET. 117 
 
 our appetite — this way, that way ; upwards, downwards ; 
 even as the wind of the occasion drives us. We never 
 think of what we would have, but at the moment we 
 would have it ; and we change like that animal (the 
 chameleon) of which it is said that it takes the colour 
 of the place where it is laid down.' ^ 
 
 Shakspere's teaching is, that if the nobler-gifted man 
 who stands at the head of the commonwealth, allows 
 himself to be driven about by every wind of the occasion, 
 instead of furthering his better aims with all his strength 
 and energy of will, the wicked, on their part, will all the 
 more easily carry out 'their own ends. He therefore 
 makes the King say : ^ — 
 
 That we would do, 
 We should do when we would ; for this ' would ' changes . . . 
 
 Shakspere's friends understood the allusi on rnnfainf^H 
 in the first act, after the apparition of the Ghost, when 
 Hamlet calls for his ^ tablet s.' They knew that the much- 
 scribbling Montaigne was meant, who, as he avows, had 
 so bad a memory that he could not receive any com- 
 miss ion without writin g it down in his ^tablets ' (tablettes). 
 This defect of his. Montaigne mentions over and over 
 again, and may have been t he cause of his many most 
 ludicrous contradictions.^ 
 
 ^ II. I. 2 Act iv. sc. 7. 
 
 ^ I. 9, 25 ; II. 10, &c. If an attentive reader will take the 
 trouble to closely examine that part of the scene in Shakspere's 
 Tempest (act ii. sc. i) wherein the passage occurs, which he 
 borrowed from Essay I. 30 — ' On Cannibals ' — and compare it with 
 this most ' strange Essay,' he will clearly convince himself that 
 Shakspere can only have made use of it as a satire on Montaigne's 
 defective memory, which entangles this author in the most ludicrous 
 
Il8 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 After Hamlet has written down the important fact 
 that ' one may smile, and smile, and be a villain — at 
 least, I am sure it may be so in Denmark,' he exclaims : — 
 ' Now to my word ! ' That ' word ' undoubtedly consists 
 of the admonition addressed to him by the Ghost, that 
 Hamlet, after having heard his duty, also should fulfil 
 it — that is :- - 
 
 ' So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.' 
 
 But he only recollects the last words of the Ghost ; and 
 Hamlet's parole, therefore, is only this : — 
 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu ! Remember me ! 
 The value of Montaigne's book is harshly treated in_ 
 the second scene of the second act. To the question of 
 Polonius as to what he is reading, Hamlet replies :— 
 ' Words, w ordq, wnrrlt; t \ Indeed, Shakspere did not 
 think it fair that ' the satirical rogue ' should fill the paper 
 
 contradictions. Gonzala declares that, if he were king of the isle 
 on which he and his companion were wrecked, he would found a 
 commonwealth as described in the above passage ('p. 62). He 
 concludes this description, saying he would have ' no sovereignty.' 
 
 Sebastian justly remarks : ' Yet he would be king on't ; ' and 
 Antonio continues by saying : ' The latter end of his commonwealth 
 forgets the beginning.' 
 
 Even such is the contradiction in Montaigne's fanciful Essay ' On 
 Cannibals,' where, towards the end, he speaks of a captain who 
 holds authority over these savages, not only in war, but also in 
 peace, ' that when he went to visit the village of his dependence, 
 they cut him paths through the thick of their woods, through which 
 he might pass at ease.' The beginning of this Essay described the 
 commonwealth of these cannibals as tolerating no politic superi- 
 ority, no use of service, no occupation, &c. ' What short memory ! 
 much wanting tablets ! ' 
 
 In the above-mentioned scene of the Tempest Sebastian makes 
 the remark : 'No marrying 'mong his subjects,' which evidently is 
 also meant as a hit against Montaigne's anti-matrimonial ideas, 
 which we dwelt upon in the scene between Hamlet and Ophelia. 
 
HAMLET. 119 
 
 with such remarks ( whole Essays of Montaigne consist 
 of similar useless prattle) as ' that old men have grey 
 beards ; that their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes purging 
 
 Ihick amber and plum-tree gum ; and that they have a 
 plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams/ ^ 
 
 The ideas of Shakspere as to the duties of a writer 
 were different, indeed, from the contents of the book 
 which Hamlet characterises by his exclamation. 
 
 As to Polonius' answer : ' Though this be madness, 
 yet there's method in it,' the public had no difficulty in 
 finding out what was meant by that ' madness,' and to 
 whom it applied. 
 
 What may the great master have thought of an 
 
 author who, as Montaigne does, jots down everything in 
 
 ^k aleidoscopic manner, just as changefu l accident brings 
 
 i t into his head ? In Essay III. (2) we read : — 
 
 ^ * I cannot get a fixed hold of my object. It moves 
 
 [and reels as if with a natural drunkenness. I just seize 
 
 / it at some point, such as I find it at the moment, when I 
 
 •^ X amuse myself with it. I do not describe its essence, but 
 
 1 its volatile passage . . . from one minute to the other.' 
 
 / Elsewhere he prides himself on his method of being 
 
 I able to write as long as there is paper and ink. 
 
 N. Hamlet says to the players : ' We'll e'en to it like 
 
 French falconers : fly at anything we see.' Montaigne's 
 
 manner of spying out and pouncing upon things cannot 
 
 * Jonson, long afterwards, had not forgotten this hit against 
 Montaigne. In Epicoene (1609) he makes Cleremont say : — ' When 
 we come to have grey heads and weak hams, moist eyes and 
 shrunk members . . . then we'll pray and fast.' 
 
120 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 be better depicterl thrin b y rnmparina- if w jth a ^ renrh 
 falconer's manner. In the first act already, Hamlet, 
 after the ghost-scene, answers the friends who approach, 
 with the holla- call of a falconer : — 
 
 Hillo, ho, ho, boy ; come, bird, come ! 
 
 Furthermore, Hamlet says in act ii. sc. 2 : — 'I am but 
 m ad north-north-west . When the wind is southerly, 
 I know a hawk from a handshaw (heronshaw !).' Now , 
 the rjpr^^-^'^^'"^^ wind \ yould drive Montaigne back int o 
 his native province, Perigord, where, very likely accord - 
 ing to Shakspere's view, he ought to have remained wit h 
 his sham logic. The south wind, on the contrary, brings 
 the able falconer to England. The latter possesses such 
 a penetrating glance for the nature of things as to be 
 able to distinguish the bird (the heronshaw) that is to be 
 pursued from the hawk that has been unhooded and cast. 
 In the second scene of the fifth act, between Hamlet 
 and Horatio (to the wea k-minded Osrick the words spoken 
 th ere are incomprehensible), the e vrpll^pt qiiidilii 'i iif 
 Laertes are apparently judged.^ This whole His r"gg^'^TV 
 is meant agamst Montaigne ; and in the first quarto th e 
 c hief points are wanting. Fl orio calls Montaigne's Essays 
 'Moral, Political, and Military Discourses.' ^ Osrick 
 
 ^ This whole passage of act v. sc. 2 (106-138) is again only to 
 be found in the quarto of 1604, not in the folio edition of 1623. In 
 later years the poet may have struck it out, as being only compre- 
 hensible to a smaller circle of his friends. In the same way that 
 passage of act iv. sc. 4 (p. 104), which only contains thoughts of 
 Montaigne, was not received into the folio of 1623. 
 
 ^ This is their title in Florio's translation : Morally PoUtike^ 
 Millitarie Discourses of Lo. Michaell de Montaigne^ Knight of the 
 
HAMLET. 121 
 
 praises the qualities of the cavalier who has returned 
 from France ; and Hamlet replies that ' to divide him 
 inventorily would dizzy the arithmetic of memory.' 
 
 The further, hitherto utterly unexplained, words 
 (' and yet but yaw neither in respect of his quick sail ') 
 seem to have reference to the sonnet ^ by which the third 
 book of the Essays is dedicated by Florio to Lady Grey. 
 Montaigne is praised therein under the guise of Tal- 
 bot's name, who, * in peace or war, at sea or land, for 
 princes' service, countries' good, sweetly sails before the 
 wind.' In act ii. sc. 2, the north-north-west and the 
 
 nodle order of Saint Michaell, and one of the Gentleinen in ordinary 
 of the French King Henry III. his Chamber. 
 ^ The sonnet runs thus : — 
 
 To the Right Honourable Ladie Elizabeth Grey. (She was a 
 daughter of Count Shrewsbury, a Talbot.) 
 Of honorable Talbot honored farre, 
 
 The forecast and the fortune, by his Word 
 
 Montaigne here descrives ; what by his Sword, 
 What by his wit ; this, as the guiding starre ; 
 That, as th' Aetolian blast, in peace or warre. 
 
 At sea, or land, as cause did use afforde, 
 
 Avant le vent^ to tacke his sails aboarde. 
 So as his course no orethwart crosse might barre, 
 But he would sweetly sail before the wind; 
 
 For Princes service, Countries good, his fame. 
 Heire-Daughter of that prudent, constant kinde, 
 
 Joyning thereto of Grey as great a name, 
 Of both chief glories shrining in your minde, 
 
 Honour him that your Honor doth proclaime.' 
 
 We have already learned from the preface of the first book of 
 the Essais how Florio (p. 38) was ' sea-tosst, weather-beaten,' ' ship- 
 wrackt,' ' almost drowned,' when exerting himself to capture the 
 whale — Montaigne— and drag him through ' the rocke-rough Ocean ' 
 with the assistance of his colleague Diodati, whom he compares to 
 * a guide-fish.' Hamlet calls Polonius a fish-monger. The latter 
 fools Hamlet by pretending that yonder cloud is in the shape of a 
 whale, which just before appeared to him like the back of a weasel. 
 Every word almost in this wonderful drama is a well-directed hit. 
 
122 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 south wind were already alluded to, which are said to 
 influence Hamlet's madness. 
 
 The translators and admirers of Montaigne a re meant 
 when Hamlet says that ' to make true diction of him, 
 his semblable ' must be • his mlffor ; and, Who else wo uid^ 
 trace him, his umbrage-T-nothmg more.' That is, on e 
 must be Montaigne, or become his absolut e admirer, 
 ' his umbrage,' ' his semblable,' in order to do justice to 
 him. T he whole scene is full of allusions, easily explain- 
 able from the point of view we have indicated. So also, 
 the reference to self-knowledge ('to know himself) 
 — an art which Montaigne never learnt- and the *two 
 weapons ' with which he fights, are full of deep meaning. 
 
 It was probably no small number of men that took 
 delight in the French essayist. No doubt, the jest of 
 the gravedigger is directed against them, when he says 
 that if the mad Hamlet does not recover his wits in 
 England, it is no great matter there, because there the 
 men are as mad as he. 
 
 Montaigne, especially in Essay HI. (2) and HI. (5), 
 brmgs forward indecencies ot the most shameless kind . 
 We quite bear in mind what period it was when he wrote. 
 Our manners and ideas are totally different from those 
 of the sixteenth century. But what indignation must 
 Shakspere have felt — he who had already created his 
 noblest female characters, Helena and Olivia ; and who 
 had sung his paean of love, * Romeo and Juliet ' — when he 
 read the ideas of the French nobleman about ^ ^yr ^"'^ 
 women ! Nowhere, and on no occasion, does Shakspere 
 in his dramas, in spite of phrases which to-day we qualify 
 
HAMLET. 123 
 
 as obscene ones, lower the ideal of the womanly character 
 — of the ewig Weibliche. 
 
 But let us rea d Montaigne's v i>w - ^ — , 
 
 * I find that love is nothing else than a thirst o f en- 
 joy ing_adesired__subjectj^^ 
 
 else but t he pleasure of emptying one's seminary vessel s, 
 similar to the pleasure which Nature has given us in 
 discharging other parts/ 
 
 Now, this significant quality also, of saying inde- 
 cencies without shame, Hamlet has in common with 
 Montaigne. No character in Shakspere's dramas uses 
 such language as Hamlet ; and in this case, let it be 
 observed, it is not used between men, but towards the 
 beloved one ! We shall remark upon his relations with 
 Ophelia later on. 
 
 Th e frivolous Montaigne speaks of love as one might 
 do of a good dish to be enjoyed at every degree of age, 
 according to taste and inclination . In Essay HI. (4) we 
 learn how, in his youth, ' standing in need of a vehement 
 diversion for the sake of distraction, he made himself 
 amorous by art and study.' Elsewher e he tells what 
 ^reat thin gs he. was able, ^c; a voung man^ to achieve m 
 this line.^ He, therefore, does not agree with the sage 
 who praises age because it frees us from voluptuoiisne.ss.^ . 
 He, on the contrary, says : — * I shall never take kindly 
 to impotence, w hatever go od it may do me.' 
 
 JVTon taigne, t he old and young lover, is lashed in act 
 V. sc. I, in disfigured verses of a song sung by the gravg - 
 
 1 Essay III. 5. 2 /^^-^^ j^ 3 /^^-^ 3. 
 
124 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 digger, which dates about from the year 1557, and at 
 Shakspere's time probably was very popular. In the 
 original, where the image of death is meant to be re- 
 presented, an old man looks back in repentance, and 
 with great aversion, upon his youthf ul days when he 
 found pleasure in love. The original verse stood thus : — 
 
 In youth that I thought swete, 
 ^As time requires for my behove, 
 Methinks they are not mete. 
 
 Until now, no sense could be made of the first vers6 
 which the gravedigger sings. It runs thus : — 
 
 4 In youth, when I did love, did love, 
 I Methought it was very sweet, 
 \ To contract, Oh ! the time, for. Ah ! my behove, 
 N. O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
 
 Let it be observed what stress is laid on the ' Oh ! ' — 
 
 the proper time, and the ^ Ah I ' — t he delight felt at th e 
 moment of enjoyment . The meaning of the old verse 
 is changed in such a manner as to show that old Mon - 
 taigne looks back wit h pleasure upon the t ime of his 
 dissolute youth, whilst the author of the original text 
 shrinks back from it. 
 
 The s econd verse ^ is a further persiflage of the old 
 song. Its reading, too, is changed. It is said there 
 that age, with his stealing steps, has clawed the lover in 
 his clutch 2 and shipped him into the land as if he * never 
 had been such.' 
 
 ^ The quarto of 1623 has only the third verse. 
 ^ The old song has the word ' crouch.' 
 
HAMLET. 125 
 
 By none has the relation between Ophelia and 
 Hamlet been better felt and described than by Goethe. 
 He calls her ' the good child in whose soul, secretly, a 
 voice of voluptuousness resounds.' Hamlet who — driven 
 rudderless by his impulse, his passion, his daimon, from 
 one extreme to the other — drags everything that sur- 
 rounds him into the abyss, also destroys the future of 
 the woman that might truly make him happy. He dis- 
 owns and rejects her whom Nature has formed for love. 
 At a moment when fanatical thoughts have mastered 
 his reason, he bids her go to a nunnery. 
 
 Once more we must point to the Essay in which 
 Montaigne lays down his idea s about woman and love. 
 French ladies, he says, stu dy Boccaccio and such-like _ 
 writers, in order to become skilful (kabiles X ' But there 
 
 is no WOr H, no pv^^mplp nn sincrlp ^fep in fj ^at mnftpr 
 
 wh ich they do not know better than our books do. That 
 is a k nowledge bred in their very veins. , . . Had not this 
 natural violence of their desires been somewhat bridled 
 by the fear and a feeling of honour wherewith they have 
 been provided, we would be dishonoured {diffamez)' 
 Montaigne says he k nows ladies who would rather lend 
 their honour than their ' coach! ^ 
 
 ' At last, when Ophelia has no longer any power over 
 her own mind,' says Goethe, ' her heart being on her 
 tongue, that tongue becomes a traitor against her.' ^ 
 
 In the scene of Ophelia's madness, we hear songs. 
 
 1 Essay III. 5, p. 460. Florio, p. 529. 
 
 - We think it is worth while to quote the following verse Mon- 
 taigne (III. 5) mentions when speaking of that nature of woman, 
 
126 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 thoughts, and phrases probably caught up by her from 
 Hamlet. The ideal which man forms of woman, is 
 the moral altitude on which she stands. Now, let the 
 language be called to mind, which Hamlet, before the 
 players' scene, uses towards his beloved ! 
 
 Ophelia's words : ' Com e, my coack ! ' ^ will be u nder- 
 stood from the passage in Montaigne above quoted^ 
 The meaning of : ' Oh, how the w/iee/ becomes it ! ' has 
 
 " reference to a thought developed by Montaigne in Essay 
 ni. (i I V which we cannot render here, as it is opposer^ 
 to ev ery feeling of decency. 
 
 All commentators agree in thinking that ^e. charar^- 
 ter o f Laertes is in direct contrast to that of Hamlet. 
 In the first quarto, the figure of Laertes is but rapidly 
 indicated. Only that scene is worked out where he cries 
 out against the priest who will not follow his sister to 
 the grave : — 
 
 which he thinks suggests to her every possible act of libidinous- 
 ness : — 
 
 Nee tantum niveo gavisa est ulla columbo 
 
 Compar, vel si quid dicitur improbius, 
 Oscula mordenti semper decerpere rostro, 
 Quantum praecipue multivola est muher. 
 
 Florio translates (514) : — 
 
 No Pigeons hen, or paire, or what worse name 
 You list, makes with hir Snow-white cock such game, 
 With biting bill to catch when she is kist, 
 As many-minded women when they list. 
 
 Is not this the character of Ophelia, as described by Shakspere — 
 the virgin inclining to voluptuousness in Goethe's view ? 
 
 ^ Hamlet, act iv. sc. 5. In Eastward Hoe^ Marston, Chapman, 
 and Jonson make capital out of this word, and use it as a sneer 
 against Hamlet and Ophelia. We shall return to this point later on. 
 
 ''■ Page 198. Florio, 617. 
 
HAMLET. 127 
 
 A ministering angel shall my sister be 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 In the second quarto only, we meet with the most 
 characteristic speeches in which the strong-willed Laertes,^ 
 unmindful of any future world, calls for revenge with 
 every drop of his indignant blood : — 
 
 To Hell, allegiance ! Vows, to the blackest devils ! 
 Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 I dare damnation. . . . 
 
 . . . Both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come what comes . . . 
 
 ... to cut his throat i' the church. 
 
 That passage, too, is new, in which Ophelia's mad- 
 ness is explained as the consequence of blighted 
 love : — 
 
 Nature is fine in love, and where 't is fine, 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Her own reason, which succumbs to her love, is the 
 precious token. 
 
 In the same way, those words are not in the first 
 quarto, in which Laertes gives vent to the oppressed 
 feelings of his heart, on hearing of the death of his 
 sister : — 
 
 Nature her custom holds. 
 
 Let shame say what it will. When these (the tears) are gone, 
 
 The woman will be out. 
 
 All those beautiful precepts, also, which Laertes 
 ' Act iv. sc. 5. 
 
128 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 gives to his sister, are wanting in the quarto of 
 1603.^ 
 
 Hamlet is the most powerful philosophical produc- 
 tion, in the domain of poetry, written at the most critical 
 epoch of mankind — the time of the Reformation. The 
 greatest English genius recognised that it was everyone's 
 duty to set a time out of joint to right. Shakspere showed 
 to his noble friends a gifted and noble man whose life 
 becomes a scourge for him and his surroundings, because 
 he is not guided by manly courage and conscience, but 
 by superstitious notions and formulas. 
 
 This colossal drama ranges from the thorny, far- 
 stretching fields which man, only trusting in himself, has 
 to work with the sweat of his brow, to that wonder-land 
 of mystery — 
 
 Where these good tidings of great joy are heard.'^ 
 
 If the principles that are fought out in this drama, 
 in tragic conflict, were to be described by catchwords, 
 we might say : Reason stands against Dogma ; Nature 
 against Tradition ; Self-Reliance against Submission. 
 The great elementary forces are here at issue, which the 
 
 ^ Laertes, act i. sc. 3 : — 
 
 For nature crescent does not grow alone 
 In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. 
 
 Montaigne, II. 12 ; Florio, 319 : 
 
 The mind is with the body bred we do behold, 
 
 It jointly growes with it, it waxeth old. — Lucr. xliii. 450. 
 
 2 Goethe's Faust. 
 
HAMLET. 129 
 
 Reformation had unchained, and with which we all have 
 to reckon. 
 
 Shakspere's loving, noble heart beautifully does 
 justice to the defeated Hamlet by making him be borne 
 to his grave ' like a soldier,' with all the honouring ' rites 
 of war.' The poet who knew the human heart so well, 
 no doubt had seen many brave and gifted men who, 
 after having been to Wittenberg's Halls of Intellectual 
 Freedom, and become disciples of Humanism, once more 
 were turned into slaves of dogmas which, under a new 
 guise, not less restricted the free use of reason than the 
 tenets of the old faith had done : — 
 
 Sure, he that made us with such large discourse. 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 The capability and god-like reason 
 To fust in us unused. 
 
 The life of the most gifted remains fruitless if, 
 through fear of what may befall us in a future world, 
 we cravenly shrink back from following the dictates of 
 our reason and our conscience. From them we must 
 take the mandate and commission for the task of our 
 life ; not from any mysterious messenger, nor from 
 any ghost out of Purgatory. On the way to action, 
 no ' goblin damned ' must be allowed to cross our 
 path with his assumed terrors. That which we feel to 
 be right we must do, even if * it be the very witching 
 time of night, and hell breathes contagion into the 
 world.' 
 
 Shakspere broke with all antiquated doctrines. He 
 
 K 
 
130 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 was one of the foremost Humanists in the fullest and 
 noblest meaning of the word.^ 
 
 ^ We must mention that John SterHng, in an essay on Mon- 
 taigne [Westminster Review^ 1838), makes the following introduc- 
 tory remarks : — ' On the whole, the celebrated soliloquy in Hamlet 
 presents a more characteristic and expressive resemblance to much 
 of Montaigne's writings than any other portion of the plays of the 
 great dramatist which we at present remember, though it would 
 doubtless be easy to trace many apparent transferences from the 
 Frenchman into the Englishman's works, as both were keen and 
 many-sided observers in the same age and neighbouring countries. 
 But Hamlet was in those days no popular type of character ; nor 
 were Montaigne's views and tone familiar to men till he himself 
 had made them so. Now, the Prince of Denmark is very nearly a 
 Montaigne, lifted to a higher eminence, and agitated by more 
 striking circumstances and severer destiny, and altogether a some- 
 what more passionate structure of man. It is not, however, very 
 wonderful that Hamlet, who was but a part of Shakspere, should 
 exhibit to us more than the whole of Montaigne, and the external 
 facts appear to contradict any notion of a French ancestry for the 
 Dane, as the play is said to have been produced in 1600, and the 
 translation of the English not for three years later.' 
 
 During our long search through the Commentaries written on 
 Hamlet^ we also met with the following treatise : ' Hamlet ; ein 
 Tendenzdrama Sheakspearis (sic ! !) gegen die skeptische und kos- 
 mopolitische Welta7ischauung des Michael de Montaigne^ von G. 
 F. Stedefeld^ Kreisgerichtsrath. Berlin, 1871.' 
 
 The author of the latter-mentioned Httle book holds it to be pro- 
 bable that Shakspere wrote his Hamlet for the object of freeing 
 himself from the impressions of the famous French sceptic. He 
 regards this masterwork as ' the Drama of the Doubter ; ' as ' the 
 apotheosis of a practical Christianity.' Hamlet, he says, is wanting 
 in Christian piety. He has no faith, no love, no hope. His last 
 words, ' The rest is silence,' show that he has no expectation of a 
 future life. He must perish because he has given up the belief in 
 a divine government of the world and in a moral order of things. 
 
 We believe we have read the Essays of Michel Montaigne with 
 great attention. We not only do not regard him as a ' sceptic ' in 
 the sense meant by Mr. Stedefeld, but we hold hifti, as well as 
 Hamlet, to be an adherent of the so-called 'practical Christianity' 
 — at least, of what both Montaigne and Hamlet reckon to be such. 
 This ' practical Christianity,' however, is a notion somewhat diffi- 
 cult to define. 
 
V. 
 
 THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND 
 DEKKER. 
 
 MENTION OF A DISPUTE BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND 
 SHAKSPERE IN 'THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS.' 
 
 CHARACTERISTIC OF BEN JONSON. 
 
 BEN JONSON'S HOSTILE ATTITUDE TOWARDS 
 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 DRAMATIC SKIRMISH BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND 
 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 BEN JONSON'S 'POETASTER.' 
 
 DEKKER'S ' SATIROMASTIX.' 
 
V. 
 
 THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN BEN JONSON 
 AND DEKKER. 
 
 We now proceed to an inquiry into the ' controversy 
 between Jonson and Dekker/ which has been repeatedly 
 mentioned before. 
 
 Shakspere, we shall find, was implicated in it in a 
 very large degree. Instead of indicating, however, that 
 controversy by the designation under which it is known 
 in literature, it would be more correct to put Shakspere's 
 name in the place of that of Dekker. Many a reader 
 who perhaps does not fully trust yet our bold assertion 
 that Hamlet is a counterfeit of Montaigne's individuality, 
 will now, we hope, be convinced by vouchers drawn 
 from dramas published in 1604 and 1605, and which are 
 in the closest connection with that controversy. We 
 intend partly making a thorough examination of, partly 
 consulting in a cursory manner, the following pieces : — 
 
 1. ' Poetaster' (i 601), by Ben Jonson. 
 
 2. ' Satiromastix ' (1602), by Thomas Dekker. 
 
 3. 'Malcontent' (1604), by John Marston. 
 
 4. *Volpone' (1605), by Ben Jonson. 
 
 5. * Eastward Hoe ' (1605), by Ben Jonson, Chapman, 
 
 and Marston. 
 In ' The Poetaster ' Ben Jonson makes his chief 
 attack upon Dekker and Shakspere. In ' Satiromastix,' 
 
134 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Dekker defends himself against that attack. In doing 
 so, he sides with Shakspere ; and we thereby gain an 
 insight into the noble conduct of the latter. Between 
 Jonson and Shakspere there had already been dramatic 
 skirmishes during several years before the appearance of 
 ' The Poetaster.' We shall only be able to touch rapidly 
 upon their meaning, considering that we confine our- 
 selves, in the main, to a statement of that which concerns 
 
 * Hamlet' 
 
 After Jonson, in his 'Poetaster,' had exceeded all 
 bounds of decent behaviour with most intolerable arro- 
 gance, Shakspere seems to have become weary of these 
 malicious personal onslaughts ; all the more so because 
 they were apparently put into the mouth of innocent 
 children. So he wrote his ' Hamlet,' showing up, therein, 
 the loose and perplexing ideas of his chief antagonist, 
 who belonged to the party of Florio-Montaigne. 
 
 Hamlet, as we shall prove beyond the possibility 
 of cavil, is the hitherto unexplained ' purge ' in * The 
 Return from Parnassus,' which ' our fellow Shakspere * 
 administered to Ben Jonson in return for the ' pill ' 
 destined for himself in ' The Poetaster.' After the 
 publication of ' Hamlet,' Jonson wrote his ' Volpone ' as 
 a counterblast to this drama. Now ' Volpone,' and the 
 Preface in which the author dedicates it to the two 
 Universities, furnish us with the evidence that our theory 
 must be a fact ; for Jonson therein defended both the 
 party of Florio-Montaigne and himself. 
 
 Moreover, we shall adduce a series of proofs from 
 
 * The Malcontent ' and from ' Eastward Hoe.' 
 
'THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS.' 1 35 
 
 A drama, written by an unknown author, and printed 
 in 1606, offers us a valuable material wherewith to make 
 it clear that, at that time, a very bitter feud must have 
 raged between Jonson and Shakspere ; for it is scarcely 
 to be believed that it would have been brought on the 
 stage had a larger public not been deeply interested in 
 the controversy. ' The Return from Parnassus, or the 
 Scourge of Simony,' ^ is the title of the play, mentioned 
 
 ^ Arber's English Schola?^s Library, 1879, shows that this highly 
 interesting drama was for the first time given at Cambridge in 1602. 
 If so, the manuscript has unquestionably received additions during 
 the four years before its appearance in print. The fact is, we find 
 in the play certain evident allusions which could not possibly have 
 been added before the years 1603-4 ; for instance, references to 
 the translators of Montaigne — John Florio, and the friends who 
 aided him ; — references which must have been made after the Essais 
 were published. 
 
 In act i. sc. 2, Judicio speaks of the English ' Flores Poetarum, 
 against whom can-quaffing hucksters shoot their pellets.' These 
 ' Flores Poetarum ' are Florio and his fellow-workers, among whom 
 Ben Jonson is also to be reckoned ; and we shall see farther on 
 (p. 177) that the latter abuses these offensive hucksters as ' vernacu- 
 lous orators,' because they make Montaigne the target of their 
 sneers. Again, in act iv. sc. 2, Furor Poeticus, Ingenioso, and 
 Phantasma indulge in expressions which can only apply to the 
 Dedications and the Sonnets of Florio's translation (see p. 121). 
 Phantasma, for instance, addresses an Ode of Horace to himself : — 
 
 * Maecenas, atavis edite regibus, 
 O et praesidium et dulce decus meum 
 Dii faciant votis vela secunda tuis.' 
 
 The latter line ought to run : — 
 
 Sunt, quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum, 
 
 and if we take into consideration that Juror says in the same 
 
 scene : — 
 
 And when thy swelling vents amain, 
 Then Pisces be thy sporting chamberlain, 
 
 it is not asserting too much that these are manifest hits at Florio, 
 who, to please his Maecenas, tries with Dr. Diodati, his * guide- 
 
136 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 several times before, in which this controversy is referred 
 to in clear words. Philomusus and Studioso, two poor 
 scholars who in vain had sought to pursue their calling 
 as medical men, resolve upon going to the more profit- 
 able stage. They are to be prepared for it by two of 
 the most famous actors from the Globe Theatre (Shak- 
 
 fish,' to capture the ' whale ' (Montaigne, see p. 38) in the ' rocke 
 rough ocean.' 
 
 Florio's way of translating the Latin classic writers into in- 
 different English rhymes is also repeatedly ridiculed. The latter* 
 once gives a passage from Plautus {The Captives^ Prologue, v. 22) 
 correctly enough : ' The Gods, perdye {pardieu)^ doe reckon and 
 racket us men as their tennis balls.' Furor Poeticus, in one of his 
 fits of fine frenzy, accuses Phoebus : — 
 
 The heavens' promoter that doth peep and prey 
 Into the acts of mortal tennis balls. 
 
 This he says after having, in the same highly comic speech, 
 travestied Florio's Dedication of the third book, in which that 
 gallant compares himself to ' Mercury between the radiant orbs of 
 Venus and the Moon ' — that is, the two ladies to whom he dedicates 
 the book in question, and before whom he alleges he 'leads a 
 dance,' A further sneer is directed by Furor Poeticus against the 
 lazy manner with which Florio's Muse rises from her nest. 
 
 Additional allusions to dramatic publications from the years 
 1603-4 will be found on pp. 201, 202. Another proof that the play 
 {The Return from Parnassus) cannot be of a uniform cast, is this : 
 In act i. sc. 2 a list of the poets is given, that are to be criticised. 
 The list is kept up in proper succession as far as 'John, Davis.' 
 Then there are variations, and names not contained in that list. 
 These additions mostly refer to dramatic authors, whilst the pre- 
 vious names, as far as 'John Davis,' only refer to lyric poets. 
 
 We believe the intention of the first writer of The Return from 
 Parnassus was only to criticise lyric poets. Moreover, Monius 
 says in the Prologue : — ' What is presented here, is an old musty 
 show, that has lain this twelvemonth in the bottom of a coal-house 
 amongst brooms and old shoes.' Our opinion is that The Return 
 from Parnassus^ after having been acted before a learned public at 
 Cambridge, came into the hands of players who applied the manner 
 in which lyric poets had been criticised in it, to dramatic writers. 
 The authors of the additions must have been friends of Shakspere ; 
 for, as we shall find, the enemies of the latter are also theirs, 
 
 * Florio, p. 574. 
 
'THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS.' 1 37 
 
 spere's company), Burbage and Kemp. Whilst these 
 are waiting for their new pupils/ they converse about the 
 capabilities of the students for the histrionic art. Kemp, 
 in words which show that the author must have had 
 great knowledge of the stage, condemns their ways and 
 manners, mocking the silly kind of acting which he had 
 once seen in a performance of the students at Cambridge. 
 Burbage thinks they might amend their faults in course 
 of time, and that, at least, advantage could be taken cf 
 them in so far as to make them write a part now and 
 then ; which certainly they could do. To this Kemp 
 replies : — 
 
 * Few of the University pen plaies well ; they smell 
 too much of that writer Ovid and that writer Meta- 
 morphosis, and talk too much of Proserpina and Jupiter. 
 Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them all down — 
 I, and Ben Jonson too. O that Ben Jonson is a pesti- 
 lent fellow ; he brought up Horace giving the poets a 
 pill ; ^ but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him 3.picrge 
 that made him bewray his credit.' 
 
 Burbage answers : — * It's a shrewd fellow indeed.' 
 
 For the better understanding of this most interesting 
 controversy, the centre of which Hamlet forms, it is 
 necessary that we should give a characteristic of Shak- 
 spere's adversary, Ben Jonson, whose individuality and 
 mode of action are too little known among the general 
 reading public. 
 
 Ben Jonson, born in 1573, in the neighbourhood of 
 
 ^ Act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 * In The Poetaster^ of which we shall speak farther on. 
 
138 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Westminster, was the posthumous child of a Scot who 
 had occupied a modest position at the Court of Henry 
 VIII., but who, under Queen Mary, had to suffer long 
 imprisonment, probably on account of his religious 
 opinions. His estates were confiscated by the Crown. 
 After having obtained his liberation, he became a priest 
 of the Reformed Church of England. Two years after 
 his death, his widow, the mother of Ben, again married : 
 this time her husband was a master bricklayer. The 
 education of the boy from the first marriage, who at an 
 early age showed talent for learning, was not neglected. 
 It is assumed that friends of his father, seeing Ben's 
 ability, rendered it possible for him to enter Westminster 
 School, and afterwards to study at the University of 
 Cambridge. In his seventeenth or eighteenth year, 
 probably from a want of means, he had to give up the 
 career of learning, in order to follow the simple calling 
 of his stepfather. It may be easily understood that Ben 
 was little pleased with the use of the trowel ; he fled to 
 the Netherlands, became a soldier, and took part in a 
 campaign. After a year, the youthful adventurer, then 
 only nineteen years old, came back to London. He 
 talks of a heroic deed ; but the truthfulness of his 
 account may well be doubted. He pretends having 
 killed an enemy, in the face of both camps, and come 
 back to the ranks, laden with his spoils. 
 
 After his return to London, Jonson first tried to earn 
 his livelihood as an actor. His figure ' and his scorbutic 
 
 ^ According to certain indications in Satiromastix^ he had an 
 'ambling' walk, or dancing kind of step (see note on p. 161). 
 
BEN JONSON. 139 
 
 face were, however, sad hindrances to his success. Soon 
 he gave up the histrionic attempts and began to write 
 additions to existing plays, at the order of a theatrical 
 speculator, of the name of Philip Henslowe. The only- 
 further detail we have of Jonson's doings, down to 1 598,' 
 is, that he fell out with one of his colleagues, an actor 
 (Jonson's quarrelsome disposition as regards his com- 
 rades commenced very early), and that finally he killed 
 his antagonist. We then find him in prison where a 
 Catholic priest induced, him to become a convert to the 
 Roman Church which, after the lapse of about twelve 
 years, he again left, returning to the Established Pro- 
 testant Church of England. Jonson himself afterwards 
 said once that ' he was for any religion, as being versed 
 in both.' ^ It is, therefore, not to be assumed that he 
 once more changed from conviction. His reconversion 
 appears rather to have been a prudential act on his part, 
 in order to conform to the religious views of the pedantic 
 James I., and thus to obtain access at Court, which aim 
 he indeed afterwards reached ; whereas he had not been 
 able to obtain that favour under Elizabeth.^ 
 
 It is not known by what, or by whom, Ben Jonson 
 was saved from the near prospect of the gallows. In 
 1 598 his name is mentioned as one of the better-known 
 writers of comedies, by Francis Meres, in his ' Palladis 
 Tamia.' His first successful comedy was, ' Every Man 
 in his Humour.' Fama says that the manuscript which 
 
 ^ Collier's Memoirs of Alley n, pp. 50 and 51. 
 ^ Conversations with Drummond. 
 ^ SatiromastiXj 1602. See p. 166. 
 
140 SHAKSPERE aND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the author h;.J sent in to the Lord Chamberlain's Com- 
 pany, was on the point of being rejected when Shakspere 
 requested to have the play given to him, read it, and 
 caused its being acted on the stage. This anecdote be- 
 longs, however, to the class of traditional tales of that 
 age, whose value for fixing facts is a most doubtful one. 
 It is more certain that Ben, at the age of twenty, took a 
 wife ; which contributed very little to the lessening of 
 his chronic poverty with which he constantly had to 
 struggle. It does not appear that the union was a very 
 happy one ; for he relates that he once left his wife for 
 five years. 
 
 A diary written by an unknown barrister informs us, 
 February 12, 1602: * Ben Jonson, the poet, nowe lives 
 upon one Townesend and scornes the world.' ^ In the 
 society of gallants and lords, the young poet felt himself 
 most at home. All kinds of mendicant epistles, sonnets, • 
 dedications, petitions, and so forth, which he addressed 
 to high personages, and which have been preserved, con- 
 vince us that Jonson neglected nothing that could give 
 an opportunity to the generosity of liberal noblemen to 
 prove themselves patrons of art in regard to him. He 
 boasts on the stage of being more in the enjoyment of 
 the favour of the great ones than any of his literary con- 
 temporaries.^ Modesty was certainly not a mitigating 
 trait in the character of hot-tempered Jonson, whose 
 wrath was easily roused. 
 
 Convinced of the power of his own genius, he most 
 
 ^ Collier's Drama, i. 334. "^ Poetaster. 
 
BEN JONSON. 141 
 
 eagerly wanted to see the value of his work acknowledged. 
 Not satisfied with the slow judgment his contemporaries 
 might come to, or the niggardly reward they might confer ; 
 nor content with the prospects of a laurel wreath which 
 grateful Posterity lays on the marble heads of departed 
 eminent men, this pretentious disciple of the Muse 
 importunately claimed his full recompense during his 
 own life. For the applause of the great mass, the 
 dramatist, after all, has to contend. Jonson strove hard 
 for it ; but in vain. A more towering genius was the 
 favourite of the age. Ben, however, laid the flattering 
 unction to his soul that he was above Shakspere,^ even 
 as above all other contemporary authors ; and he left 
 nothing unattempted to gain the favour of the great 
 public. All his endeavours remained fruitless. On every 
 occasion he freely displays the rancour he felt at his ill- 
 success ; for he certainly was not master of his temper. 
 In poems, epistles, and epigrams, as well as in his dramas, 
 and in the dedications, prologues, and epilogues attached 
 thereto, he shows his anger against the ' so-called stage 
 poets.' We shall prove that his fullest indignation is 
 mainly directed against one — the very greatest : need 
 we name him ? 
 
 Jonson, resolved upon making the most of his Muse 
 in a remunerative sense, well knew how to obtain the 
 patronage of the highest persons of the country ; and 
 his ambition seems to have found satisfaction when, 
 afterwards, a call was made upon him, on the part of the 
 
 ^ Compare his Dedication in Volpone^ of which we shall have 
 more to say. 
 
142 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Court, to compose ' Masques ' for Twelfth-Night and 
 similar extraordinary occasions. He produced a theatri- 
 cal piece in consonance with the barbaric taste prevailing 
 in Whitehall, which gave plenty to do to the machinists, 
 the decorators, and the play-dresser of the stage. With 
 such a division of labour in the domain of art, it is not 
 easy, to-day, to decide to whom the greater merit be- 
 longs, among those concerned, of having afforded enter- 
 tainment to the courtiers. Dramatic or poetical value 
 is wanting in those productions of Jonson. 
 
 From his poems, as well as from the ' Conversations 
 with Drummond,' we know that among the patronesses 
 of Jonson there were Lucie Countess of Bedford and 
 Elizabeth Countess of Rutland — two ladies to whom 
 Florio dedicated a translation of Montaigne. Lady 
 Rutland's marriage was a most unhappy one. In the 
 literary intercourse with prominent men of her time she 
 appears to have sought consolation and distraction. 
 
 Jonson's relations with this lady must have been 
 rather friendly ones, for ' Ben one day being at table 
 with my Lady Rutland, her husband coming in, accused 
 her that she keept table to poets, of which she wrott a 
 letter to him (Jonson), which he answered. My lord 
 intercepted the letter, but never chalenged him.' ^ 
 
 From the same source which makes this statement 
 we take the following trait in Jonson's character, which 
 is as little calculated as his passionate quarrelsomeness 
 to endear him to us. Sir Thomas Overbury had become 
 
 ^ Driimmonds Conversations. 
 
BEN JONSON. 143 
 
 enamoured of unhappy Lady Rutland. Jonson was 
 asked by this nobleman, who at the same time was a 
 poet, to read to the adored one a lyrical effusion of his ; 
 evidently for the purpose of fomenting her inclinations 
 towards the friend who was languishing for her. Ben 
 Jonson relates that he fulfilled Overbury's wish * with 
 excellent grace,' at the same time praising the author. 
 Next morning he fell out with Overbury, who would have 
 him to make an unlawful proposal to Lady Rutland. 
 
 But how, we may ask, was it possible that Jonson's 
 noble friend could at all think of trying to use him as a 
 go-between in this shameful manner ? Are we not re- 
 minded here of the position of thirsty Toby Belch towards 
 the simple Aguecheek, if not even of honest ^ lago in his 
 dealings with the liberal Rodrigo ? Neither in Olivia's 
 uncle, nor in Othello's Ancient is it reckoned a merit to 
 have omitted doing pimp service to friends. Their policy 
 of taking advantage of amorous inclinations, although 
 they did not even try to promote them by the reading 
 of poetical productions, remains not the less con- 
 temptible. 
 
 As to Jonson's passion for the cup that does more 
 than cheer, neither he himself conceals it, nor is evidence 
 to the same effect wanting on the part of his contem- 
 poraries. Drayton says that he was in the habit of 
 'wearing a loose coachman's coat, frequenting the 
 Mermaid Tavern, where he drank seas of Canary ; then 
 
 ^ Of all styles, Jonson liked best to be named ' Honest ; ' and he 
 ' hath ane hundred letters so naming him.' — Conversations with 
 Drummond. 
 
144 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 reeling home to bed, and, after a profuse perspiration, 
 arising to his dramatic studies.' ^ 
 
 At a certain time, Jonson accompanied a son of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh as tutor during a voyage to France. 
 The young hopeful pupil, 'being knavishly inclined,' and 
 not less quick in the execution of practical jokes than 
 in spying out human weaknesses, had no difficulty in 
 understanding his tutor's bent, and succeeded in making 
 Jonson ' dead drunk.' He then ' laid him on a carr, 
 which he made to be drawen by pioners through the 
 streets, at every corner showing his governour stretched 
 out, and telling them, that was a more lively image of 
 the Crucifix than any they had.' The mother of young 
 Raleigh greatly relished this sport. It reminded her of 
 similar tricks her husband had been addicted to in his 
 boyish days, ' though the father abhorred it.' 
 
 With habits of the kind described, Jonson had a hard 
 but fruitless struggle against oppressing poverty and 
 downright misery during his whole life. When age was 
 approaching, he addressed himself to his highborn 
 patrons with petitions in well-set style. His needy con- 
 dition was, however, little bettered, even when Charles 
 I., in 1630, conferred upon him, seven years before his 
 death, an annual pension of 100/., with a terse of 
 Spanish wine yearly out of his Majesty's store at 
 Whitehall. 
 
 A letter of Sir Thomas Hawkins describes one of the 
 last circumstances of Jonson's life. At ' a solemn supper 
 
 ^ Life of Dryden^ p. 265. 
 
BEN JONSON. 145 
 
 given by the poet, when good company, excellent cheer, 
 choice wine, and jovial welcome had opened his heart 
 and loosened his tongue, he began to raise himself at the 
 expense of others.' 
 
 Wine, joviality, good company, and bitter satire — 
 these were the elements of Ben Jonson's happiness. 
 
 ' O rare Ben Jonson ! ' Sir John Young,^ who, walk- 
 ing through Westminster Abbey, saw the bare stone on 
 the poet's grave, gave one of the workmen eighteenpence 
 to cut the words in question, and posterity is still in 
 doubt whether the word 'rare' was meant for the 
 valuable qualities of the poet or for those of the boon- 
 companion. 
 
 We will give a short abstract of Jonson's character 
 from the notes of a contemporary whose guest he had 
 been during fully a month in 1619. One might doubt 
 the sincerity of this judgment if Sir William Drummond, 
 his liberal host, had made it public for the purpose of 
 harming Jonson. There was, however, no such intention, 
 for it remained in manuscript for fully two hundred 
 years. 
 
 Only then, a copy of this incisive characteristic came 
 before the world at large. The Scottish nobleman and 
 poet had written it down, together with many utterances 
 of Jonson, after his guest who most freely and severely 
 criticised his contemporaries had left. The perspicacity 
 of Drummond, and the truthful rendering of his impres- 
 sions, are fully confirmed by Jonson's manner of life and 
 
 ^ By Aubrey called ' Jack Young.^ 
 
146 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the contents of his literary productions.^ Drummond 
 concludes his notes thus : — 
 
 * He ' (Jonson) ' is a great lover and praiser of him- 
 self ; a contemner and scorner of others ; given rather to 
 loose a friend than a jest ; jealous of every word and 
 action of those about him (especially after drink, which is 
 one of the elements in which he liveth) : a dissembler of ill 
 parts which reigne in him ; a bragger of some good that 
 he wanteth ; thinking nothing well but what either himself 
 or some of his friends and countrymen have said or done. 
 He is passionately kind and angry ; careless either to 
 gain or keep ; vindicative, but, if he be well answered, 
 at himself For any religion, as being versed in both ; 
 interpreteth best sayings and deeds often to the worst. 
 Oppressed with fantasie, which has ever mastered his 
 reason : a general disease in many poets.' 
 
 It will easily be understood that between two natures 
 of so opposite a bent as that of the quarrelsome Jonson 
 and * gentle Shakspere,' friendship for any length of time 
 could scarcely be possible.^ 
 
 ^ As if the whole world had made it a point to conspire against 
 Jonson, Gifford laboriously exerts himself to defend him against the 
 numberless attacks of all the previous commentators, critics, and 
 biographers. The endeavour of Gifford to whitewash him seems to 
 me as fruitless a beginning as that of the little innocent represented 
 in a picture as trying to change, with sponge and soap, the African 
 colour of her nurse's face. 
 
 ^ ]ox\son^s Eulogy of Shakspere \^2iS composed seven years after 
 the death of the latter. Having most probably been requested by 
 Heminge and Condell not to withhold his tribute from the departed, 
 to whom both his contemporaries as well as posterity had done 
 homage, Jonson may readily have seized the occasion to do amends 
 for the wrong he had inflicted upon the great poet during his life- 
 
BEN JONSON. 147 
 
 The creations of the dramatist obtain their real value 
 by the poet's own character. He who breathes a soul 
 into so many figures destined for action must himself be 
 gifted with a greatness of soul that encompasses a world. 
 In the dramatic art, such actions only charm which are 
 evolved out of clearly defined passions ; and such cha- 
 racters only awake interest which bear human features 
 strongly marked. If, however, we cast a glance at the 
 dramatic productions of Ben Jonson, we in vain look 
 among the many figures that crowd his stage for one 
 which could inspire us with sympathy. Time has pro- 
 nounced its verdict against his creations : they are lying 
 in the archive of mere curiosities. Even the inquirer feels 
 ill at ease when going for them to their hiding-place, 
 Jonson's characters do not speak with the ever unmis- 
 takeable and touching voice of human passions. In his 
 comedies he produces the strangest whims, caprices, 
 and crotchets, by which he probably points to definite 
 persons. The clue to these often malignant dialectics 
 is very difficult to find. 
 
 The action of his plays— if incidental quarrels, full of 
 sneering allusions, are left aside — is generally of such 
 diminutive proportions that one may well ask, after the 
 perusal of some of his dramas, whether they contain any 
 action at all. No doubt the satirist, too, has his legiti- 
 mate place in the dramatic art ; but he must know how 
 
 time. A later opinion of Jonson in regard to Shakspere {Timber; 
 or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter^ 1630-37) is of a more 
 moderate tone, and on some points in contradiction to the words 
 of praise contained in the published poem. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to hit the weaknesses of human nature in certain striking 
 types. Jonson, however, is far from being able to lay a 
 claim to such dramaturgic merit. At haphazard he took 
 certain individualities from the idly gossiping crowd that 
 congregated in the central nave of St. Paul's Church, 
 and put them on the stage. Whoever had been strutting 
 about there to-day in his silken stockings, proudly dis- 
 playing the nodding feathers in his hat, his rich waist- 
 coat and mantle, and boasting a little too loud before 
 some other gallant of his love adventures, ran great 
 danger — like all those whose demeanour in St. Paul's 
 gave rise to backbiting gossip — of being pourtrayed 
 in the ' Rose,' in the ' Curtain,' or in the theatres of the 
 ' little eyases,' in such a manner that people were able, 
 in the streets, to point them out with their fingers. 
 
 Like so many other novelties, this kind of comedy, 
 too, may for a while have found its admirers. Soon, 
 however, this degradation of the Muse brought up such a 
 storm that Jonson had to take refuge in another domain 
 of the dramatic art (1601). He himself confesses : — 
 
 And since the Comic Muse 
 
 Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try 
 
 If Tragedy have a more kind aspect.^ 
 
 But he is nothing if not satirical. The persons that 
 are to enliven his tragedies are not filled with the true 
 breath of life. They are mere phantoms or puppets of 
 Schoolcraft, laboriously put together by a learning drawn 
 from old folios. In his tragedies, ' Sejanus ' and ' Cata- 
 line,' he seeks to describe Romans whose whole bearing 
 
 ^ Poetaster^ Apol. Dialogue. 
 
BEN JONSON'S hostile ATTITUDE. 1 49 
 
 was to be in pedantically close harmony with the time 
 in which the dramatic action occurs. Only a citizen 
 from a certain period of ancient Rome would be able to 
 decide whether this difficult but thankless problem had 
 been solved. These cold academic treatises — for such 
 we must, practically, take them to be — were not relished 
 by the public. There is no vestige of human passion in 
 the bookish heroes thus put on the stage. For their 
 sorrows the audience has no feeling of fear or anguish 
 and no tear of compassion. 
 
 Jonson, indignant at the small estimate in which his 
 arduously composed works were received, ill-humoured 
 by their want of success, looked enviously upon Shak- 
 spere, who had not been academically schooled ; who 
 audaciously overthrew the customs of the antique drama ; 
 who made his own rules, or rather, who made himself 
 a rule to others ; who created metrics that were pecu- 
 liarly his ; who chose themes hitherto considered non- 
 permissible, and unusual with Greeks and Romans ; who 
 flung the ' three unities ' to the winds ; and who, never- 
 theless, had an unheard-of success ! 
 
 This favourite of the public, Jonson seems to have 
 looked upon as the main obstacle barring the way to his 
 own genius. Against this towering rival, Jonson directed 
 a hail of satirical arrows. Only take, for instance, the 
 prologue to ' Every Man in his Humour.' ^ There, 
 
 ^ This Prologue is not contained in the first edition (1598), but 
 only in the second (1616). It may, therefore, have been written in 
 the meantime. It is supposed that it was so in 1606. (See Shak- 
 sper^s Century of Praise^ 1879, pp. 118, 119.) 
 
ISO SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Jonson, with the most arrogant conceit, tries to make 
 short work of various dramas of Shakspere's — for in- 
 stance, of his historical plays, in which he dared — 
 
 . . . with three rusty swords, 
 And help of some few foot and half-foot words, 
 Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars, 
 And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars. 
 
 In ' The Poetaster,' which in 1601 was acted by the 
 children of the Queen's Chapel, Jonson made an attack 
 upon three poets. We hope to be able to prove that the 
 one most bitterly abused, and who is bidden to swallow 
 the ' pill,' is no other than Shakspere, whilst the two re- 
 maining ones are John Marston and Thomas Dekker. 
 From the ' Apologetical Dialogue ' which Jonson wrote 
 after ' The Poetaster ' had already passed over the stage, 
 we see that this satire had excited the greatest indigna- 
 tion and sensation in the dramatic world. It was a new 
 manner of falling out with a colleague before the public. 
 The conceited presumption of the author, who in the 
 play itself assumes the part of Horace, seriously pro- 
 claiming himself as the poet of poets, as the worthiest of 
 the worthy, is not less enormous and repulsive than the 
 way in which he proceeds against his rivals. 
 
 Quite innocently, Jonson asks in that dialogue (which 
 was spoken on the stage after * The Poetaster ' had given 
 rise to a general squabble), how it came about that such 
 a hubbub was made of that play, seeing that it was free 
 from insults, only containing ' some salt,' but * neither 
 tooth, nor gall,' whilst his antagonists, after all, had been 
 the cause of whatever remarks he himself had made : — 
 
DRAMATIC SKIRMISH. I51 
 
 . . . But sure I am, three years 
 They did provoke me with their petulant styles, 
 On every stage. And I at last, unwilling, 
 But weary, I confess, of so much trouble. 
 Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em. 
 
 In some comedies of Shakspere, which appeared be- 
 tween the years 1598 and 1601, there are characters 
 markedly stamped with Jonsonian peculiarities. We 
 may be convinced that * gentle Shakspere ' had received 
 many a provocation ^ before he took notice of the obscure 
 dramatist who was younger by ten years than himself, 
 and publicly gave him a strong lesson. ' All's Well that 
 Ends Well ' contains a figure, Parolles, whose peculiari- 
 ties are too closely akin to those of Ben Jonson to be 
 regarded as a mere fortuitous accident ; especially when 
 we find that Jonson, in * The Poetaster,' again tries to 
 ridicule this hit by a characteristic expression.^ 
 
 Parolles is a follower of Count Rousillon. His 
 position is not further defined than that he follows Ber- 
 tram ; he is a cross between a gentleman and a servant. 
 We hear the old Lord Lafeu reproaching him in act ii. 
 sc. 3 :— 
 
 ^ Only a few of the earliest productions of Jonson have come 
 down to us. Some of them are : Every Man in His Humour 
 ( 1 598) ; Every Man out of His Humour ( 1 599) : and CynthicCs Revels 
 (1600), all of them full of personal allusions. Many of these are 
 meant against Shakspere. We cannot, however, enter more fully 
 upon that, as we have to confine ourselves to the chief controversy 
 out of which Hamlet arose. Neither on Jonson's nor on Shak- 
 spere's part did the controversy cease after the appearance of 
 Hamlet. It was still carried on through several dramas, which, 
 however, we leave untouched, as not belonging to our theme. 
 
 2 See note^ p. 1 59. 
 
152 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 * Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? 
 dost make hose of thy sleeves ? Do other servants 
 do so ? ' 
 
 Again he calls him — ' a vagabond, no true traveller : 
 you are more saucy with lords and honourable person- 
 ages than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you 
 commission.' ^ 
 
 Parolles boasts of being born under the sign of Mars, 
 and up to every heroic deed ; and it is certainly an allu- 
 sion to Jonson's bravado of having in the Low Countries, 
 in the face of both camps, killed an enemy and taken 
 opima spolia from him, that Shakspere lets this character 
 make the attempt to retake, single-handed, from the 
 enemy, a drum that had been lost in the battle. Of 
 course, Parolles finally comes out a coward and a traitor. 
 Parolles also mentions that he understands ' Low Dutch.' 
 
 In the character of Malvolio (' Twelfth Night ; or 
 What You Will,' 1 600-1601), the quarrelsome Ben has 
 long ago been suspected, who, puffed up with braggart 
 pride, contemptuously looks down upon his colleagues, 
 and impudently exerts himself to gain access to high 
 social circles ; thus assuming, like Parolles, a position 
 that does not properly belong to him^ Even as Lord 
 Lafeu takes Parolles a peg lower, so Sir Toby (act. ii. 
 sc. 3) reminds the haughty Malvolio that he is nothing 
 more than a steward. The religion of Malvolio also is 
 several times discussed. Merry Maria relates that he is 
 
 ^ In Satiromastix this reproach is made to Ben Jonson : — 
 ' Horace did not screw and wriggle himselfe into great Mens famy- 
 liarity, impudentlie as thou doost.' 
 
BEN jonson's 'poetaster.' 153 
 
 a ' Puritan or anything constantly but a time-pleaser.' 
 Nor is the priest wanting who is to drive out the hyper- 
 bolical fiend from the captive Malvolio : an unmistake- 
 able allusion to Ben Jonson's conversion in prison. 
 The Fool who represents the Priest, puts a question 
 referring to Pythagoras to Malvolio who is groaning * in 
 darkness' and yearning for freedom. He receives an 
 evasive answer from the prisoner. In * Volpone/ as we 
 shall see, Jonson answers it very fully. ^ 
 
 Altogether, there are allusions in 'The Poetaster,' 
 and in * Volpone,' to * All's Well that Ends Well,' and to 
 * What You Will,' which we shall have to touch upon in 
 speaking of those plays. 
 
 The scene of ' The Poetaster ' is laid at the court of 
 Augustus Caesar. Jonson therein describes himself under 
 the character of Plorace. The whole drift of the play is, 
 to take the many enemies of the latter to task for their 
 calumnies and libels against him. Rome is the place of 
 action, and the persons of the drama bear classic names. 
 There are, besides Augustus and Horace, Mecaenas {sic), 
 Virgil, Propertius, Trebatius, Ovid, Demetrius Fannius, 
 Rufus Laberius Crispiniis, and so forth. The characters 
 whom they are to represent are mostly authors of the 
 dramatic world around Ben Jonson. They are depicted 
 with traits so easily recognisable that — as Dekker says in 
 his ' Satiromastix ' — of five hundred people four hundred 
 could ' all point with their fingers in one instant at one 
 and the same man.' 
 
 1 See p. 185. 
 
154 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 More especially against two disciples of the Muse is 
 Jonson's 'gaily ink' directed. Let us give a few in- 
 stances of the lampoons and calumnious squibs by which 
 Horace pretends having been insulted on the part of 
 envious colleagues who, he maintains, look askance at 
 him because * he keeps more worthy gallants' company ' 
 than they can get into. In act iv. sc. i, Demetrius tells 
 Tucca : — 
 
 ' Alas, Sir, Horace ! he is a mere sponge ; nothing 
 but humours and observation ; he goes up and down, 
 sucking from every society, and when he comes home, 
 squeezes himself dry again.' 
 
 Tucca adds : — ' He will sooner lose his best friend 
 than his least jest.' 
 
 Crispinus is found guilty of having composed a libel 
 against Horace, of which the following may serve as a 
 specimen : — 
 
 Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde ; 
 But boldly nominate a spade a spade. 
 What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse. 
 Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews ? 
 Alas ! that were no modern consequence, 
 To have cothurnal buskins frighted hence. 
 No, teach thy Incubus to poetize ; 
 And throw abroad thy spurious snotteries. . . . 
 O poets all and some ! for now we list 
 Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist. 
 
 Such was the language the contemporaries of Shak- 
 spere used. Are we to wonder, then, if here and there 
 we find in his works an offensive expression } 
 
 The two persons who are specially taken to task, and 
 
BEN JONSON'S 'POETASTER.' 155 
 
 most harshly treated, are Demetrius Fannius, 'play- 
 dresser and plagiarius/ and Rufus Laberius Crispinus, 
 ^poetaster and plagiarius! In ' Satiromastix,' Demetrius 
 clearly comes out as Dekker. Crispinus is the chief 
 character of the play: — 'the poetaster.' Against him 
 the satire is mainly directed, and for his sake it seems 
 to have been written, for the title runs thus : ' The 
 Poetaster, or His Arraignment.' From all the charac- 
 teristic qualities of Crispinus we draw the conclusion that 
 this figure represented Shakspere.^ 
 
 From the above-mentioned passage in ' The Return 
 from Parnassus ' it would seem as if a '//'//' had been 
 administered in the play to several poets. That is, 
 
 ^ Gififord, in his nervous anxiety to parry every reproach against 
 his much-admired, and, in his eyes, blameless Jonson whose quar- 
 relsomeness had from so many parts been properly charged, and 
 particularly desirous of shielding him against the accusation of 
 having taken up an attitude hostile to Shakspere, declares, in con- 
 tradiction to the opinion of all previous commentators, that Cris- 
 pinus is to represent John Marston, Since then, Gifford's assertion 
 has been taken for granted, without deeper inquiry. The authority 
 of this fond editor of Jonson has, however, proved an untrustworthy 
 one in many things, especially in matters relating to Shakspere. 
 Thanks to the exertions of more recent inquirers, not a few things 
 are now seen in a better perspective than Gififord was able to ofifer. 
 We admit the difificulty of reconstructing facts from productions like 
 The Poetaster^ which had been dictated by the overwrought feelings 
 of the moment. But in a satire which bred so much 'tumult,' 
 which ' could so deeply ofifend,' and ' stir so many hornets ' (four 
 hundred persons out of five hundred being able to point with their 
 fingers, in one instant, at one and the same man), the characters 
 must have been very broadly drawn for general recognition. By 
 such broad traits we must still be guided in our judgment to-day. 
 All the characteristic qualities of Crispinus, which we shall explain 
 farther on, prove that Gifford's idea about Crispinus being John 
 Marston is not tenable. 
 
 This latter poet was very well versed in Greek and Latin, and 
 had a complete classic education. The admonition of Horace (see 
 p. 1 58) to perfect himself in both languages, is therefore not appli- 
 
156 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 however, not so. Then, as now, the plural form was a 
 favourite one with writers afraid to attack openly. Horace 
 
 cable to him. Furthermore, Marston, at the time The Poetastervf2iS 
 composed (this may have been towards the end of the year 1600, or 
 the beginning of 1601), had scarcely yet written anything for the 
 stage. Only his Metamorphosis of Pigmalion^s Image and Certaine 
 Satyres (1598), and his Scourge of Villanie (1599) had been pub- 
 lished. His first tragedy came out in print in 1602; it may just 
 have been in course of becoming known on the stage. We have 
 no means of ascertaining whether it had already been acted when 
 The Poetaster appeared. This much is however certain, that when 
 this latter satire obtained publicity, Marston's relations to the drama 
 and the stage must yet have been of the most insignificant kind ; 
 for Philip Henslowe, in his Diary (pp. 156, 157), expressly speaks 
 of him, even in 1 599, as a ' new ' poet to whom he had lent, through 
 an intermediary, the sum of forty shillings ' in earneste of a Boocke,' 
 the title of which is not mentioned. Is it, then, conceivable that 
 such a dramatist who in 1601 certainly was yet very insignificant, 
 should have been made the subject, in 1 601, in Jonson's Poetaster^ 
 of the following very characteristic remark — assuming Crispinus to 
 have been intended for Marston t 
 
 Tucca says, in regard to the former, to a poor player (act 
 iii. sc. i) : — ' If he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel 
 with thy pumps full of gravel any more, after a blind jade and a 
 hamper, and stalk upon boards and barrel-heads to an old cracked 
 trumpet.' 
 
 Does this not quite fit Shakspere's popularity and dramatic 
 success ? 
 
 Jonson, it is true, tells Drummond that he had written his 
 Poetaster against Marston. (According to his declaration in the 
 ' Apologetical Dialogue,' there is nothing personal in the whole 
 Poetaster ! ' I can profess I never writt that piece more innocent 
 or empty of offence.') However, we form our judgment in this 
 matter from the clear, well-marked, and indubitably characteristic 
 traits of the play, as well as from the results of modern criticism, 
 which are fully in harmony with those traits. Everything points 
 to the figure of Ovid being a mask for Marston. Jonson perhaps 
 chose the name of Ovid for him because he, too, had written Meta- 
 morphoses. Besides the before-mentioned Metamorphosis of Pig- 
 malion^s Image, it is not improbable that Marston is the author of 
 the manuscript preserved in the British Museum : — The New Meta- 
 morphosis; or, A Feaste or Fancie of Poeticall Legendes. The first 
 parte divided into twelve books. Written by I. M., gent., 1600. 
 Ovid — Marston — in the Poetaster, is described as the younger son 
 of a gentleman of considerable position. He is dependent on a 
 stipend allowed to him by his father. After having absolved his 
 
BEN jonson's 'poetaster.' 1 57 
 
 administers a pill only to one poet — to Crispinus. And 
 as Kemp says that Shakspere, thereupon, gave a spurge,' 
 
 studies, he is to become an advocate, but secretly he devotes his 
 time to poetry. The father warns him that poverty will be his lot 
 if he does not renounce poetry. Ovid senior makes the following 
 reproach to his son (which probably has reference to Marston's 
 first tragedy, Antonio and Mellidd) : — ' I hear of a tragedy of yours 
 coming forth for the common players there, called Medea. By my 
 household gods, if I come to the acting of it, I'll add one tragic 
 part more than is yet expected to it. . . . What "i shall I have my 
 son a stager now ? an enghle for players ? . . . Publius, I will set 
 thee on the funeral pile first ! ' 
 
 All this harmonises with the few facts we know of Marston's 
 career, who is said to have been the son of a counsellor of the 
 Middle Temple, who was at Corpus Christi College at Oxford, 
 and who was made a baccalaureus there on February 23, 1592. In 
 comparison with Crispinus and Demetrius, Ovid is but mildly 
 chaffed ; and this, again, is in accord with the relations which soon 
 after arose, in avery friendly manner, between Jonson and Marston. 
 It is scarcely to be thought that, if Marston had been derided as 
 Crispinus, he would already have composed, as early as 1603, his 
 eulogistic poem on Jonson's Sejanus, and dedicated to him in 1604, 
 in such hearty words, his own Malcontent. 
 
 From some pointed words in the libel composed by Crispinus 
 against Horace, Gifford concludes that the former must be Marston, 
 because we meet with these pointed words in some satires and 
 dramas of Marston. We, on our part, go, in these controversial 
 plays, by the main and most prominent characteristics ; and these 
 show that Crispinus is Shakspere, and Ovid Marston. 
 
 The latter even once says {Scourge of Villanie^ sat. vi.) that 
 many a one, in reading his Piginalion., has compared him to Ovid. 
 In order to make out Crispinus to be guilty before Augustus, strong 
 language is required. For this purpose, Jonson may have used the 
 ways and manners of Marston, and applied some of his newly 
 coined graphic words. But this proves nothing for the identity of 
 characters. The libel also contains a pointed word of Shakspere 
 — ' retrograde ' — an expression little employed by the latter, and 
 which is hurled as a reproach against Parolles, the figure which in 
 all likelihood is to represent Jonson ; Helena (act i. sc. 2) says to 
 him, that he was born under Mars, ' when he was retrograde.' 
 
 The remark in The Return from Parnassus that few of the 
 University can pen plays well, smelling too much of that writer 
 Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis., has, in our opinion, also 
 reference to John Marston whose first dramatic attempts -although 
 he, like Jonson, may be called a ' University man ' — do not admit of 
 any comparison with those of Shakspere. 
 
158 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the conclusion is obvious that he who took revenge 
 by administering the purge, must have been the one 
 to whom the pill had been given. 'Volpone/ a play 
 directed against the 'purge' — that is, 'Hamlet' — will 
 convince us that the chief controversy lay between 
 Jonson and Shakspere, and not between Jonson and 
 Dekker. 
 
 The following points will, we think, make it still 
 clearer that we are warranted in believing that the figure 
 of Crispinus was intended by Jonson for Shakspere. 
 
 When, in presence of Augustus, as well as of the 
 high jurors Maecenas, Tibullus, and Virgil, the two 
 poetasters have been heard ; when Horace has forgiven 
 Demetrius,^ and Grispinus, under the sharp effects of 
 the pill, has thrown up, amidst great pain,^ the disgrace- 
 ful words which he had used against Horace, he is dis- 
 missed by the latter with the admonition to observe, in 
 future, a strict and wholesome diet ; to take each morn- 
 ing something of Cato's principles ; then taste a piece 
 of Terence and suck his phrase ; to shun Plautus and 
 Ennius as meats too harsh for his weak stomach, and to 
 read the best Greeks, ' but not without a tutor.' 
 
 This fits in with Shakspere's ' small Latin and less 
 
 ^ Demetrius repentingly admits that it was from envy he had 
 ill-treated Horace, because ' he kept better company for the most 
 part than I, better men loved him than loved me ; and his writings 
 thrived better than mine, and were better liked and graced.' 
 
 2 The little word ' clutcht ' for a long time ' sticks strangely ' in 
 Crispinus' throat; it is only thrown up with the greatest difficulty. 
 In Hamlet (act v. sc. i, in the second verse of the grave- digger's 
 song) we hear, ' Hath claw'd me in his clutch. In the original 
 song, which is here travestied, the words are, * Hath claw'd me with 
 his crouch ' (p. 1 24). 
 
BEN JONSON'S 'POETASTER.* 1 59 
 
 Greek ' — a circumstance of which Jonson himself, in his 
 poem in memory of Shakspere (1623), thought he should 
 remind the coming generations. 
 
 It is, no doubt, a little revenge for the ' dark cham- 
 ber' in which Malvolio' is imprisoned, that, after Horace 
 has concluded his speech in which the study of Latin 
 and Greek is recommended to Crispinus as something 
 very necessary for him, Virgil should add the further 
 advice : — 
 
 ^ The following allusion in The Poetaster (act iv. sc. 3) also 
 has reference to Twelfth Night : — ' I have read in a book that to 
 play the fool wisely is high wisdom.' For Viola (act iii. sc. i) 
 says : — 
 
 This fellow 's wise enough to play the fool ; 
 And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit . . . 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art. 
 
 There are several indications in 7'>%^P<?^/^.r/^r pointing to Shak- 
 spere's Julius Ccesar which had appeared in the same year (1601). 
 Not only does Horace say to Trebatius that ' great Cassar's wars 
 cannot be fought with words,' but he also corrects Shakspere, who 
 makes Antony (act iii. sc. 2) speak of Caesar's gardens on this side 
 of the Tiber, by putting into the mouth of Horace (act iii. sc. i) the 
 words : — ' On the far side of all Tyber yonder.' In this scene, where 
 the two Pyrgi are examined, there are some more allusions to 
 Julius CcBsar. Even the boy, whose instrument Brutus takes away 
 when he is asleep, is not wanting. In The Poetaster it is a drum, 
 instead of a lyre (the drum in AlVs Well that Ends Welt). And 
 are the following words of the came scene no satire upon act i. sc. 3 
 of Julius CcBsar, where Casca and Cicero meet amidst thunder 
 and lightning ? 
 
 2 Pyrgi. Where art thou, boy ? where is Calipolis ? 
 Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth, 
 And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades ; 
 Some foul contagion of the infected heavens 
 Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops 
 The dismal night-raven and tragic owl 
 Breed and become forerunners of my fall ! 
 
 Casca dwells especially on the ' bird of night.' 
 
l6o SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 And for a week or two see him locked up 
 In some dark place, removed from company ; 
 He will talk idly else after his physic. 
 
 The full name given by Jonson to Crispinus is — 
 Rufus Laberius Crispinus. John Marston already, in 
 1598, designates Shakspere with the nickname ' Rti/us.' 
 Everyone can convince himself of this by first reading 
 Shakspere's * Venus and Adonis,' and immediately after- 
 wards John Marston's ' Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's 
 Image.' ^ We do not know whether it has struck any- 
 one as yet that this poem of Marston is a most evident 
 satire, written even in the same metre as Shakspere's 
 first, and at that time most popular, poem.^ In his sixth 
 satire of ' The Scourge of Villanie,' Marston explains 
 why he had composed his ' Pigmalion's Image : ' — 
 
 Yet deem'st that in sad seriousnesse I write 
 Such nasty stuff as in Pigmalion ? 
 Such maggot-tainted, lewd corruption ! . . . 
 Hence, thou misjudging censor : know I wrot 
 Those idle rimes to note the odious spot 
 And blemish that deformes the lineaments 
 Of modern poesies habiliments. 
 
 At the end of his satire (* Pigmalion's Image '), Mar- 
 ston self-complacently tacks on a concluding piece : 
 ' The Author in Praise of his Precedent Poem.' Whom 
 else does he address there than him whose poetical 
 manner he wished to mock — namely, Shakspere's — when 
 he begins with these words : — 
 
 ^ The _y, in Pygmalion, seems to us not without cause to be 
 changed by Marston into an /. 
 
 "^ The number of metaphors used by Shakspere in ' Venus and 
 Adonis,' which Marston travesties, is strikingly large. 
 
BEN JONSON'S 'poetaster.' i6i 
 
 Now, Rufus ! by old Glebron's fearfull mace, 
 Hath not my Muse deserv'd a worthy place ? . . . 
 Is not my pen compleate ? Are not my lines 
 Right in the swaggering humour of these times ? 
 
 The name of ' Rufus ' has two peculiarities which may 
 have induced Marston to confer it upon Shakspere. 
 First of all, like the English king of that name, Shak- 
 ■spere's pre-name was William. Secondly, the best- 
 preserved portrait of Shakspere shows him with hair 
 verging upon a reddish hue. 
 
 But not only the colour of the hair, but also its thin- 
 ness (according to all pictures and busts we have of 
 Shakspere, he was bald-headed), seems to have been 
 satirised by Jonson in his * Poetaster.' In act ii. sc. i, 
 Chloe asks Crispinus, who, excited by her love and her 
 beauty, pretends becoming a poet, whether, as a poet, he 
 would also change his hair .? To which Crispinus replies, 
 * Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his 
 hair.' 
 
 Now Dekker, in his * Satiromastix, in which all 
 personal insults are to be avenged ^ (for which reason the 
 
 1 A few instances may here be given of the coarseness with 
 which Dekker pays back Jonson for his personal allusions. In 
 The Poetaster^ Crispinus is told that his ' satin-sleeve begins to fret 
 at the rug that is underneath it.' In Satiromastix^ Tucca cries out 
 against Horace (Jonson) : — ' Thou never yet fel'st into the hands of 
 sattin.' And again : — ' Thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius the 
 stager, and sentest it home lousie.' Crispinus, in The Poetaster^ is 
 derided on account of his short legs. In Satiromastix^ Horace is 
 laughed at for his ' ambling ' walk ; wherefore he had so badly 
 played mad Jeronimo's part. Jonson is reproached with all his 
 sins : that he had killed a player ; that he had not thought it neces- 
 sary to keep his word to those whom he held to be heretics and 
 infidels^ and so forth. His face, which, as above mentioned, had 
 
 M 
 
1 62 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 chief personages of * The Poetaster ' are introduced un- 
 der the same name), makes Horace give forth a long 
 song in praise of ' heades thicke of hair/ whilst Crispinus 
 gives another in honour of ' balde heads ; ' from which 
 we conclude that Chloe's remark on Crispinus' hair has 
 reference to a bald pate, but the name of ' Rufus ' to the 
 colour of whatever hair there is. 
 
 ' Rufus Laberius Crispinus ' might truly be thus 
 rendered : * The red-haired Shak-erius, with the crisp- 
 head, who cribs like St. Crispin.' The word Rufus, as 
 already explained, reminds us both of Shakspere's red 
 hair and his pre-name 'William.' Laberius (from labare^ 
 to shake ; hence Shak-erius, a similar nickname as 
 Greene's ^2kQ-scene) is clearly an indication of the 
 poet's family name. The Roman custom of placing the 
 name of the gens, or family, in the middle of a person's 
 name, leaves no doubt as to Jonson's intention. Laberius 
 was a dramatic poet, even as Shakspere. Laberius was 
 an actor (Suet. c. i. 39). So was Shakspere. Laberius 
 played in his own dramas. Shakspere did the same. 
 Laberius' name corresponds etymologically, as regards 
 meaning, to the root-syllable in Shakspere's name. 
 Could Jonson, who was so well versed in classics, have 
 
 scorbutic marks, is stated to be ' like a rotten russet apple when it 
 is bruiz'd ' ; or, like the cover of a warming-pan, ' full of oylet-holes.' 
 He is called an ' uglie Pope Bonifacius ; ' also a ' bricklayer ; ' and 
 he is asked why, instead of building chimneys and laying down 
 bricks, he makes ' nothing but railes ' — ' filthy rotten railes ' — upon 
 which alone his Muse leans. (' Railes ' has a double meaning here : 
 rails for fencing in a house ; and gibes.) He is told that his feet 
 stamp as if he had mortar under them — an allusion to his metrics, 
 as well as to his ambling walk. 
 
jjekker's ' satiromastix.' 163 
 
 made his satirical allusion plainer or more poignant? 
 In Crispinus, both Shakspere's curly hair and the offence 
 of application, plagiarism, or literary theft, with which 
 he is charged by his antagonist, are manifestly marked ; 
 St. Crispin being noted among the saints for his filching 
 .habits. He made shoes for the poor from materials 
 stolen from the rich. 
 
 Crispinus approaches Horace quite as a ' Johannes 
 Factotum,' as Greene had designated Shakspere in 1592. 
 Jonson makes him assert that he, too, is a scholar, a 
 writer conversant with every kind of poetry, and a Stoic. 
 He also declares that he is studying architecture, and 
 t hat, if he builds a house,^ it must be similar to one be- 
 fore which they are standing. 
 
 In Dekker's ' Satiromastix,' Crispinus is described as 
 being of a most gentle nature. This is in harmony with 
 the well-known quality generally attributed to. Shak- 
 spere. In the beginning of ' Satiromastix,' Crispinus 
 approaches Horace for the object of peace and recon- 
 ciliation. The latter excuses himself, in words similar 
 to those of the * Apologetical Dialogue,' that even if he 
 should ' dip his pen in distilde Roses,' or strove to drain 
 out of his ink all gall, ^ yet his enemies would look at 
 his writings * with sharpe and searching eyes.' Nay — 
 
 ^ Shakspere was already then the proprietor of a house — New 
 Place, in Stratford. In this scene Horace also asks Crispinus : — 
 * You have much of the mother in you, sir ? Your father is dead ?' 
 John Shakspere, the father, died in the year when Tke Poetaster 
 was first performed — in September, 1601, 
 
 "^ Twelfth Nighty act iii. sc. 2. Sir Toby : — * Let there be gall 
 in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen.' 
 
1 64 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 When my lines are measur'd out as straight 
 As even parallels, 't is strange that still, 
 Still some imagine they are drawne awry. 
 The error is not mine, but in their eye ; 
 That cannot take proportions. 
 
 Crispinus. Horrace, Horrace ! 
 
 To stand within the shot of galling tongues, 
 Proves not your gilt, for could we write on paper, 
 Made of these turning leaves of heaven, the cloudes, 
 Or speak with Angels tongues : yet wise men know. 
 That some would shake the head, tho' saints should sing, 
 Some snakes must hisse, because they're borne with stings. 
 
 Horace. 'T is true, 
 
 Crispinus. Doe we not see fooles laugh at heaven ? and mocke 
 The Makers workmanship ? 
 
 Crispinus goes on telling Horace that none are safe 
 from such calumnies ; but that, if his ' dastard wit ' will 
 * strike at men in corners,' if he will ' in riddles folde the 
 vices ' of his best friends, then he must expect also that 
 they will ' take off all gilding from their pilles/ and offer 
 him ' the bitter coare ' (core).^ With great emphasis, 
 Crispinus admonishes Horace not to swear that he did 
 not intend whipping the private vices of his friends while 
 his ^ lashing jestes make all men bleeds Crispinus con- 
 cludes his mild, conciliatory speech with the words : — 
 
 We come like your phisitions (physicians) to purge 
 Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease. 
 
 ^ Here Crispinus threatens Horace with the * purge ' (a word 
 that may be used as a noun or a verb), which, in The Return from 
 Parnassus (see p. 137), is mentioned as having been administered 
 by Shakspere to Jonson. It is highly probable that the reconcilia- 
 tion between Crispinus and Horace, which is described in the be- 
 ginning of Satiro7nastix, had taken place between Shakspere and 
 Ben Jonson, and that, during this period of peace, the performance 
 of Sejanus occurred, in which Shakspere actively co-operated. After 
 
dekker's ' satiromastix.' 165 
 
 A peace is then concluded, which Horace (Jonson) 
 
 again breaks, for which he receives his punishment 
 
 towards the end of ' Satiromastix.' Dekker, who brings 
 
 in the chief personages of ' The Poetaster ' under the 
 
 same name, makes, in this counter-piece, two parts of 
 
 the figure of Rufus Laberius Crispinus — namely, that of 
 
 William Rufus, the king, at whose court he lays the 
 
 scene (Jonson's drama has the court of Augustus), and 
 
 that of Crispinus, the poet. The part of the king is 
 
 a very unimportant one ; and it may be assumed that 
 
 Dekker intended the king and the poet to be looked 
 
 upon as the same person. The object of the play-dresser 
 
 Demetrius (Dekker) was, no doubt, to do homage in this 
 
 way to his chief Crispinus — that is, Shakspere. When 
 
 the accused Horace is to be judged, the King says to 
 
 Crispinus : — 
 
 Not under us, but next us take thy seate ; 
 
 Artes nourished by Kings make Kings more great. 
 
 Crispinus declares Horace guilty of having ' rebelled 
 against the sacred laws of divine Poesie,' not out of love 
 of virtue, but — 
 
 Thy pride and scorn made her tume saterist. 
 
 Horace, on account of his crimes against the sacred 
 laws of divine poesy, is not * lawrefyed,' but *nettlefyed : ' 
 not crowned with laurels, but with a wreath of nettles, 
 
 that, traces of hostility only are to be discovered between the two 
 poets. 
 
 Even when Horace, in the ' Satiromastix,' has again broken the 
 peace, the gentle Crispinus says to him : — 
 
 Were thy warpt soule put in a new molde, 
 I'd weare thee as a Jewell set in golde. 
 
1 66 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 and afterwards, in Sancho Panza manner, tossed in a 
 blanket. He then is told : — ' You shall not sit in a 
 Gallery when your Comedies and Enterludes have 
 entred their Actions, and there make vile faces at everie 
 lyne, to make Gentlemen have an eye to you, and to 
 make Players afraide to take your part.' Furthermore, 
 he ' must forsweare to venter on the stage when your 
 Play is ended, and to exchange courtezies and comple- 
 ments with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all 
 the house rise up in Armes, and to cry that's Horace, 
 that's he, that's he, that's he, that pennes and purges 
 Humours and diseases.' He must promise ' not to brag 
 in Bookebinders shops that your Vize-royes or Tribu- 
 torie Kings have done homage to you, or paide Quarter- 
 age.' And — ' when your Playes are misse-likt at Court, 
 you shall not Crye Mew like a Pusse-Cat, and say you 
 are glad you write out of the Courtiers Elements.' ^ 
 
 In his Preface to ' Satiromastix ' (' To the World '), 
 Dekker says that in this play he did ^ only whip his 
 (HoYSice's) fortunes and condition of life^ where the more 
 noble Reprehension had bin of his mindes Defonnitie.' ^ 
 
 This nobler reprehension, as we have sufficiently 
 shown, was undertaken by Shakspere in his ' Hamlet.' ^ 
 
 ^ The Satiromastix was performed in 1602, probably in the 
 beginning of the year, as the Epilogue speaks of cold weather, and 
 Dekker scarcely would have waited a year with his answer to The 
 Poetaster. Queen Elizabeth died in 1603. Another decennium 
 had to pass (Shakspere had long since withdrawn to his Stratford) 
 before the taste of Whitehall had been so much lowered that Jonson 
 could become a favourite of the courtly element. 
 
 * In such type it is printed in the original. 
 
 ^ In Satiromastix^ Captain Tucca once bawls out against 
 
dekker's * satiromastix.' 167 
 
 Dekker, in his Epilogue to * Satiromastix ' (he there 
 speaks of the ' Heretical Libertine Horace '), asks the 
 public for its applause ; for Horace would thereby be 
 induced to write a counter-play : which, if they hissed 
 his own ' Satiromastix/ would not be the case. By 
 applauding, they would thus, in fact, get more sport ; 
 for we * will untrusse him agen, and agen, and agen.' 
 
 Shakspere may have been tired of this fruitless 
 pastime, of those pitiful squabbles, as appears also from 
 the reproach he makes in ' Hamlet ' to his people. By the 
 * more noble Reprehension ' which he administered to Jon - 
 son and his party, he became absorbed in the profounder 
 problems concerning mankind. The time of the lighter 
 comedies is now past for him. There follow now his 
 grandest master-works. Henceforth the poet stands in 
 
 Horace, ' My name's Hamlet Revenge ! ' as if it had become known 
 already then in the dramatic world that Shakspere was preparing 
 his reply to The Poetaster. In the latter play (act iii. sc. i, which 
 was probably added after The Poetaster had already been acted, 
 and Jonson had heard that Dekker was writing his Satiromastix), 
 Jonson makes a player from the other side of the Tiber say : — ' We 
 have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play, with 
 all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecaenas, Cornelius Gallus, and the 
 rest. ... O, it will get us a huge deal of money, Captain, and we 
 have need on 't ; for this winter has made us all poorer than so 
 many starved snakes. Nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor 
 
 a ' 
 
 In the same scene Tucca utters curses, before that player, 
 against the theatres on the other side of the Tiber. The actor 
 he addresses belongs to one of them. Tucca mentions two theatres 
 by name — 'your Globes, and your Triumphs.' He says to the 
 actor : — ' Commend me to seven shares and a half.' Shakespere 
 and his colleagues had certain fixed shares in the ' Globe ; ' and 
 the words of the actor, as regards the poor winter they had, confirm 
 that which Shakspere gives to understand in Hamlet, that * there 
 was, for a while, no money bid for argument, unless the poet and 
 the player went to cuffs in the question.' 
 
1 68 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a relation created by himself to his God and to the 
 world. 
 
 We proceed to an examination of ' Volpone,' of that 
 play which Jonson sent as a counter-thrust after ' Ham- 
 let/ and from which, as regards our Hamlet-Montaigne 
 theory, we hope to convince our readers in the clearest 
 manner possible. 
 
VI. 
 
 * VOLPONE,' by Ben Jonson. 
 
 EASTWARD HOE,' by Chapman, Ben Jonson, and Marston. 
 
 * THE MALCONTENT,' by John Marston. 
 
VI. 
 'VOLPONE.' 
 
 Ben Jonson's * Volpone' was first acted in 1605 ; and 
 on February ii, 1607, it appeared in print^ It is pre- 
 ceded by a Dedication, in which the author dedicates 
 ' both it and himself ' to * the most noble and most equal 
 sisters, the two famous Universities,' in grateful acknow- 
 ledgment * for their love and acceptance shown to this 
 Poem in the presentation.' 
 
 In this Dedication the most passionate language is 
 used against all contemporary poets — especially against 
 those who now, he says, practise * in dramatic, as they 
 term it : stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation,' 
 and ' all licence of offence to God and man.' Their 
 petulancy, he continues, ' hath not only rapt me to pre- 
 sent indignation, but made me studious heretofore ; ' for 
 
 1 Volpone is stated to have been first acted in the Globe Theatre 
 in 1605. It is simply impossible that this drama, in its present 
 shape, should have been given in that theatre as long as Shakspere 
 was actively connected with it. We therefore must assume that 
 Shakspere — as Delius holds it to be probable— had at that time 
 already withdrawn to Stratford, or that the biting allusions which 
 are contained in Volpone against the great Master, had been added 
 between 1605 (the year of its first performance) and 1607 (the year 
 of its appearance in print). We consider the latter opinion the 
 likelier one, as we suspect, from allusions in Epicoene (see p. 183), 
 that Shakspere, when this play was published, still resided in 
 London. However, it is also probable that in 1605 he may for a 
 while have withdrawn from the stage. 
 
172 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 by them ' the filth of the time is uttered, and with such 
 impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such 
 dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, 
 with brothelry able to violate the ear of a pagan, and 
 blasphemy to turn the blood of a Christian to water.' 
 
 Jonson expresses his purpose of standing off from 
 them (the stage-poets) ' by all his actions.' Solemnly 
 he utters this vow : — ' I shall raise the despised head of 
 poetry again, and, stripping her out of those rotten 
 and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated 
 her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, 
 and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced 
 and kist of all the great and master-spirits of our 
 world.' This object of his — he adds — ' may most appear 
 in this my latest work (' Volpone '), which you, most 
 learned Arbitresses, have seen, judged, and, to my crown, 
 approved ; wherein I have laboured for their instruction 
 and amendment, to reduce, not only the ancient forms, 
 but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, 
 the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the prin- 
 cipal end of poesie, to inform men in the best reason of 
 living.' 
 
 All contemporary dramatists are most pitilessly con- 
 demned by Ben Jonson, and the cause of his present in- 
 dignation is clearly stated : ^ A name so full of authority y 
 antiquity^ and all great mark^ is, through their insolence^ 
 . become the lowest scorn of the age ; ' moreover, ' my 
 (Jonson's) fame^ and the reputation of divers honest and 
 learned^ are the question ' — that is to say, have been 
 injured. 
 
'VOLPONE.' 173 
 
 As in 'Volpone,' wherein Jonson, as he states, 
 * laboured for their (the contemporary poets') instruction 
 and amendment,' we shall find most numerous allusions 
 to Shakspere and ' Hamlet,' we feel justified in asserting 
 that Jonson's whole fury is, in his ' present indignation,' 
 roused against this particular author and against this 
 special drama. Therein, as we have shown, a name of 
 authority, antiquity, and all great mark — Montaigne — 
 has been tampered with, and, through this satire, divers 
 honest and learned (John Florio and his coadjutors in 
 the translation — all friends of Jonson) have been in- 
 jured, as well as the latter's own fame. In ' Hamlet,' 
 Shakspere brought his own ideal of friendship in the 
 figure of Horatio on the stage, in contrast to the Horace 
 of * The Poetaster.' Jonson was not the man to be edified 
 by the beautiful examples and the nobler words of his 
 gentle adversary, Shakspere, or to alter his sentiments 
 in accordance with them. He rather welcomed every 
 opportunity for a quarrel. That was the element in 
 which he lived ; for thus he got the materials and the 
 spicy condiments for his dramas. Now in ' Hamlet ' there 
 were motives enough for lighting up a fire of hatred 
 against Shakspere, and to entertain the public therewith. 
 
 Jonson, always ready for battle, willingly takes up 
 the pen in their defence. In doing so, the favour of a 
 nobleman and of some high-born ladies could be earned, 
 at whose wish and request Montaigne had been Eng- 
 lished. Besides, every occasion was relished for op- 
 posing Shakspere, who had attacked Montaigne whose 
 religious creed was the same as that of Jonson. 
 
174 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 The British Museum possesses a copy of * Volpone,' 
 on which Jonson has, with his own hand, written the 
 words : — * To his loving father and loving freind^ Mr. 
 John Florio^ the ayde of his Muses : Ben Jonson seals 
 this testemony of freindship and love.' Not the gift of 
 this Httle book, however, but its contents — namely, the 
 attack which Jonson made, both for the sake of his 
 friend and for himself, against the great antagonist 
 (Shakspere) — must be held to be the token or * testemony 
 of freindship and love.' 
 
 In the very beginning of the Dedication, Jonson says 
 that every author ought to be heedful of his fame : — 
 * Never, most equal sisters, had any man a wit so pre- 
 sently excellent as that it could raise itself, but there 
 must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and 
 favourers to it. If this be true, and that the fortune of 
 all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to 
 provide well towards these accidents ; and, having ac- 
 quired them, to preserve that part of reputation most 
 tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended.' 
 He then asserts that this is an age in which poetry, and 
 the professors of it, are so ill-spoken of on all sides 
 because, in their petulancy, they have yet to learn that 
 one cannot be a good poet without first being a good man. 
 
 In the following passage, curiously enough, a certain 
 person is extolled as the model of a good man, against 
 whom the stage dramatists, who themselves, according 
 to Jonson, are not good men (' nothing remaining with 
 them of the dignity of the poet '), have, as he thinks, 
 grievously sinned : — * He that is said to be able to inform 
 
*VOLPONE/ 175 
 
 young men to all good disciplines^ inflame grown men to 
 all great virtues^ keep old men in their best and supreme 
 state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them, to their 
 first strength ; ^ that comes forth the interpreter and 
 arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than 
 human^ a master in manners ; and can alone, or with a 
 few, effect the business of mankind : ^ this, I take him, is 
 no subject for pride and ignorance to exercise their railing 
 rhetoric upon^ 
 
 In this description we again see Montaigne, against 
 whom ' railing rhetoric ' has been used. 
 
 Ben Jonson proudly points to himself as having 
 never done such mischief : ' For my particular, I can, and 
 from a most clear conscience, affirm that I have ever 
 trembled to think toward the least profaneness.' Though 
 — he says — he cannot wholly escape ' from some the im- 
 putation of sharpness,' he does not feel guilty of having 
 offered insult to anyone, 'except to a mimic, cheater, 
 bawd, or buffoon.' But — * I would ask of these super- 
 cilious politics, what nation, society, or general order of 
 state I have provoked? . . . What public person? Whether 
 I have not, in all these, preserved their dignity, as mine 
 own person, safe } . . . Where have I been particular ? 
 where personal ? ' 
 
 ^ In this enumeration, Jonson seems to have the various 
 Quahties of the Essays in view which Florio calls 'Morall, Politike, 
 and Millitarie.' 
 
 ^ Against Montaigne, ' the teacher of things divine no less 
 than human^ Shakspere's whole argumentation in ' Hamlet ' is 
 directed. 
 
 ^ Here we have the noble Knight of the Order of St. Michael, 
 as well as the courtier and Mayor of Bordeaux. 
 
176 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Who does not see in the following words a reproach 
 launched against Shakspere, that he has taken his 
 materials from other writers ? Who does not feel that 
 the warning addressed to ' wise and noble persons ' has 
 reference to the highly placed protectors of the great 
 rival whose favour Ben Jonson, in spite of his Latin and 
 Greek, was not able to obtain ? He says : — 
 
 * Application ' (that is, plagiarism) ' is now grown a 
 trade with many ; and there are that profess to have a 
 key for the decyphering of everything : but let wise and 
 noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or 
 give leave to these invading interpreters to be over- 
 familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter 
 their own virulent malice under other men's simplest 
 meanings.' 
 
 Jonson then approves of those * severe and wise 
 patriots ' who, in order to provide against * the hurts 
 these licentious spirits may do in a State,' rather desire 
 to see plays full of ' fools and devils,' and * those antique 
 relics of barbarism ' (he means ' Masques,' which he wrote 
 with great virtuosoship) acted on the stage, than * behold 
 the wounds of private men, of princes and nations.' 
 
 And now we come to the passage, partly already 
 quoted, which more than anything else shows that the 
 ' purge ^ which * our fellow Shakspere gave him' — 
 ' Hamlet ' — must have greatly damaged, in the eyes of 
 the public, both the reputation of Jonson and of his 
 friends. He confesses it in these remarkable words : — 
 
 'I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, 
 wherein my fame^ and the reputation of divers honest 
 
'VOLPONE.' 177 
 
 # 
 
 and learned are the question ; when a name so full of 
 authority, antiquity , and all great mark, is, through their 
 insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age ; and those 
 men subject to the petulancy of every vernaculous orator, 
 that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest 
 fnonarchs! ^ 
 
 Is there a character, we may ask, not only in Shak- 
 spere's dramas, but in any play of that period, to which 
 the description given by Jonson could apply ? — of course, 
 Hamlet always excepted, who is but a mask for Mon- 
 taigne. And who else but Montaigne is designated by 
 the expressions : * a name so full of authority, antiquity, 
 and all great mark ; ' * the care of kings and happiest 
 monarchs ? ' 
 
 That the * railing rhetoric ' in which such a character 
 was derided, could not be contained in a satirical poem, 
 but had reference to a drama, is proved, as already 
 explained, by the fact of Jonson's wrath being directed 
 against the stage-poets. He says expressly, that hence- 
 forth, by all his actions, he will ' stand off from them.' 
 To the most learned authorities, the two Universities, he 
 announces that, by his own regular art, he intends giving 
 these wayward disciples of Dramatic Poesy proper in- 
 struction and amendment. Had his object not been to 
 strike the most popular of the stage-poets — Shakspere — 
 
 * Montaigne was Knight of the Order of St. Michael, and 
 Chamberlain of Henry III. He was on terms of friendship with 
 Henry IV. Both Kings he had as guests in his own house. In his 
 Essai de Vanitie, Montaigne also relates with great pride and satis- 
 faction, that during his sojourn at Rome he was made a burgess 
 of that city, ' the most noble that ever was, or ever shall be.' 
 
 N 
 
1 7^ SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 he would have been bound to make an exception for that 
 name of which everyone must have thought first when 
 stage-poets were subjected to reproof We repeat : 
 Jonson only intended measuring himself against him 
 who was the greatest of his time. This was fully in 
 accordance with his disputatious inclination.^ 
 
 The person once ' wont to be the care of kings and 
 happiest monarchs ' ^ must have been a foreigner, for we 
 do not know of any favourite ^ full of authority and an- 
 tiquity ' who enjoyed such high privilege from English 
 kings. However, if a dramatist had been bold enough 
 to put such a favourite on the stage, he would have met 
 with the most severe punishment long before Jonson 
 had pointed out his reprehensible audacity. By the 
 * happiest monarchs^ Henry HI. and Henry IV. of 
 France are meant. The latter, at that time, yet stood 
 in the zenith of his good fortune. Again, the expression : 
 'of every vernaculous orator^ points to the circumstance 
 of the mockery being directed against a foreigner ; and 
 the same may be said of Jonson's question, addressed 
 to supercilious politicians, as to what nation, society, or 
 general order of State he had provoked ? Clearly, an- 
 other nation, a society of different modes of thought 
 than the English one, and foreign institutions, are here 
 indicated. 
 
 We now come to some hints contained in * Volpone,' 
 
 ^ In spite of Gifford's protest we do not hesitate to maintain 
 that Jonson's Epigram LVI. {On Poet-Ape) is directed against 
 Shakspere, and that the poet whom Jonson — in the Epistle XII. 
 {^Forest) to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland— abuses, is also none 
 else than Shakspere. * Montaigne died in 1 592. 
 
'VOLPONE.' 179 
 
 which partly consist of an endeavour to expose Shak- 
 spere on account of plagiarisms committed against other 
 writers, partly of references to irreligious tendencies, 
 against which Jonson warns, and which he strives to 
 ridicule. 
 
 Under the existing strict laws which forbade reli- 
 gious questions being discussed on the stage, the latter 
 references had to be made in parable manner, but still 
 not too covertly, so that they might be understood by a 
 certain audience — namely, the members of the Univer- 
 sities of Oxford and Cambridge.^ 
 
 Already, in the Prologue of his * Volpone,' Jonson 
 
 says of himself that — • 
 
 In all his poems still hath been this measure, 
 To mix profit with your pleasure. 
 
 He also despises certain deceptive tricks of composi- 
 tion : — 
 
 Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, 
 
 To stop gaps in his loose writing ; 
 With such a deal of monstrous and forced action. 
 
 As might make Bethlem a faction : 
 Nor made he his play for jests stolen from qach table, 
 
 But makes jests to fit his fable. . . . 
 The laws of time, place, persons he observeth, 
 
 From no needful rule he swerveth. 
 
 In the observance of the technical rules of the classic 
 drama — this much Jonson could certainly prove to the 
 world — he was superior to Shakspere. The severe words : 
 * monstrous and forced action,' can only refer to a drama 
 
 ' We can only quote the most striking points, and must leave it 
 to the reader who takes a deeper interest in the subject, to give his 
 own closer attention to the dramas concerning the controversy. 
 
 N -J. 
 
l8o SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 written not long before ; for, in * Volpone/ Jonson wishes 
 to give to the stage-poets of his time his own ideal of a 
 drama. ' Bethlem ' (Bedlam) indicates madness round 
 which all kinds of lunatics might gather as factionaries 
 or adherents of the kind of drama which Jonson wishes 
 to stigmatise. 
 
 Do we go too far in thinking that ' Hamlet ' is the 
 play which is made the target of allusions in this very 
 Prologue .? 
 
 However, we proceed at once to the Interlude which 
 
 follows after the first scene of the first act of ' Volpone.* 
 
 In it, Shakspere himself is practically put on the stage, 
 
 by being asked : 
 
 how of late thou hast suffered translation, 
 And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. 
 
 This Interlude is in no connection with the course of 
 the dramatic action. 
 
 Mosca, a parasite, brings in, for the entertainment of 
 his master (Volpone), three merry Jack Andrews. One 
 of them, Androgyno, must be held to be Shakspere. 
 
 Here we have to note that Francis Meres, a scholar 
 of great repute, and M.A. of both Universities, wrote in 
 1 598 a book, entitled ' Palladis Tamia,' which in English 
 he calls * Wit's Treasury.' It contains, so far as the six- 
 teenth century is concerned, the most valuable state- 
 ments as regards Shakspere : nay, the only trustworthy 
 ones dating from that century. In that work. Meres 
 classifies and criticises the poets of his time and country 
 by comparing each of them with some Greek or Roman 
 poet, kindred to the corresponding English one in the 
 
'VOLPONE.' l8l 
 
 line of production chosen and in quality. Ben Jonson is 
 only mentioned once, at a very modest place ; his name 
 stands last, after Chapman and Dekker. 
 
 Meres confers upon Shakspere most enthusiastic but 
 just praise : — 
 
 * As the soule of Euphorbus was thought to live in 
 Pythagoras : so the sweete, wittie soul of Ovid lives in 
 mellifluous and hony-tongued Shakespeare ; witness his 
 ' Venus and Adonis ; ' his ' Lucrece ; ' his sugred ' Sonnets ' 
 among his private friends. . . . As Plautus and Seneca 
 are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy amongst 
 the Latines : so Shakspere among the English is the 
 most excellent in both kinds for the stage.' 
 
 He then mentions twelve of his plays,* and thus con- 
 cludes his eulogy : — 
 
 ' As Epius Stolo said that the Muses would speake 
 with Plautus tongue, if they would speak Latin : so I 
 say that the Muses would speak with Shakespeare's fine 
 filed phrases if they would speake English.' 
 
 The envious Jonson who pledges himself, in the 
 Dedication to the two Universities, to give back to 
 Poesy its former majesty, may have considered it neces- 
 sary, before all, to deride, before a learned audience, the 
 enthusiastic praise conferred by Francis Meres upon 
 Shakspere, as well as Shakspere himself on account 
 of the free religious tendencies he had expressed in 
 
 ^ Gentlemen of Verona j Comedy of Errors; Lov^s Labour 
 Lost; Love's Labour JVon (probably A//' s Well that Ends Well)j 
 Midsummer Nighfs Dream; Merchant of Venice. Of Tragedies : 
 Richard the Second ; Richard the Third; Henry the Fourth; King 
 John; Titus Andronicus ; Romeo and Juliet. 
 
1 82 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 ' Hamlet' This is done, as we said, in the Interlude 
 prepared by Mosca for the entertainment of his master. 
 Volpone boasts of the clever manner with which he 
 gains riches : — 
 
 I use no trade, no venture ; 
 
 I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts 
 To feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron, 
 Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder : 
 
 expose no ships 
 
 To threatenings of the furrow-faced sea ; 
 I turn no monies in the public bank. 
 Nor usure private. 
 
 Mosca, in order to flatter his master, continues the 
 
 speech of the latter in the same strain : — 
 
 . . . No, sir, nor devour 
 Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow 
 A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch 
 Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it ; * 
 Tear forth the fathers of poor families 
 Out of their beds, and coffin them alive 
 In some kind clasping prison, where their bones 
 May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten : 
 But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses ; 
 You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears 
 Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries 
 Ring in the roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. 
 
 We have here an allusion to Hamlet,^ where he asks 
 the Ghost why the sepulchre has opened its * ponderous 
 and marble jaws ' to cast him up again ; also to the 
 Queen and whilom widow ; and, furthermore, to the 
 
 * As the words that follow seem to contain an allusion to Shak- 
 spere's Hamlet^ it is to be supposed that by the ' melting heir ' 
 Jonson points to some protector of the great poet. Whether this 
 be William Herbert, or the Earl of Southampton, we must leave 
 undecided. ^ Act i. sc. 4. 
 
*VOLPONE.' 183 
 
 orphans, Ophelia and Laertes, and to the tears shed by 
 the latter at his sister's death. The cry of vengeance 
 refers to the similar utterances of the Ghost, of Hamlet, 
 and of Laertes, who all seek revenge. 
 
 Mosca, with a view of preparing for his master a 
 pleasure more suitable to his taste than that which a 
 play like * Hamlet,' we suppose, could afford him, brings 
 in the three gamesters : — Nano, a dwarf ; Castrone, a 
 eunuch ; and Androgyno, a hermaphrodite.^ The latter 
 is meant to represent Shakspere ; for he is introduced 
 by Nano as a soul coming from Apollo, which migrated 
 through Euphorbus and Pythagoras (Meres uses these 
 two names in his eulogy of the soul of Shakspere).^ 
 After having recounted several other stages in the 
 migration of Androgyno's soul (we shall mention them 
 
 * Jonson probably calls Shakspere an hermaphrodite because, 
 having a wife, he cultivated an intimate friendship at the same time 
 with William Herbert, the later Earl of Pembroke. Jonson's Epi- 
 coene^ or The Silent Woman (1609) satirises this connection. We 
 are not the first in making this assertion. (See Sonnets of Shak- 
 spere Solved^ by Henry Brown : London, 1876, p. 16.) 
 
 In Epicoene a. College is described, which is stated to be com- 
 posed of women. Instead of women, we may boldly assume men 
 to be meant. Truewitt thus describes the new Society : — 
 
 ' A new foundation, Sir, here in the town, of ladies, that call 
 themselves the Collegiates : an order between courtiers and country 
 madams that live from their husbands, and give entertainment to 
 all the wits and braveries of the time, as they call them : cry down, 
 or up, what they like or dislike in a brain or a fashion, with most 
 masculine or rather hermaphroditical authority ; and every day 
 gain to their College some new probationer. 
 
 Clerimont. Who is the president } 
 
 Truewitt. The grave and youthful matron, the Lady Haughty.' 
 
 Shakspere at that time was in the ' matronly ' age of forty-five. 
 We have seen how a 'dislike in a brain' has been expressed in //^/«/^/. 
 
 ^ The name of Ovid, likewise used in that eulogy, Jonson as- 
 signed, in his Poetaster^ to Marston (see note p. 155). 
 
1 84 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 further on), the latter has to give an answer why- 
 he has * shifted his coat in these days of reformation,' 
 and why his * dogmatical silence ' has left him. He 
 replies that an obstreperous * Sir Lawyer ' had induced 
 him to do so. From this it may be concluded that 
 Bacon had some influence on Shakspere's * Hamlet.' 
 Are not, in poetical manner, the same principles advo- 
 cated in ' Hamlet,' which Bacon promoted in science ?^ 
 
 After the Hermaphrodite has admitted that he has 
 become * a good dull mule,' ^ he avows that he is now a 
 very strange beast, an ass, an actor, a hermaphrodite, 
 and a fool ; and that he more especially relishes this 
 latter condition of his, for in all other forms, as Jonson 
 makes him confess, he has * proved most distressed.' ^ 
 
 1 It woul4 have been most strange, indeed, if the two greatest 
 geniuses of their time had not exercised some influence on each 
 other ; if the greatest thinker of that age had not given some sug- 
 gestive thoughts to the poet ; and if the poet had not animated the 
 thinker to the cultivation of art, inducing him to offer his philoso- 
 phical thoughts in beautiful garment. Hence Mrs. Henry Poitt 
 may have found vestiges of a more perfected and nobler style in 
 Bacon's Diaries^ on which she founded her wild theory. Had not 
 Kant and Fichte great influence on their contemporary, Schiller ? 
 Does not Goethe praise the influence exercised by Spinoza upon 
 him ? Let us assume that the latter two had been contemporaries ; 
 that they had lived in the same town. Would it not have been 
 extraordinary if they had remained intellectual strangers to each 
 other, instead of drawing mutual advantage from their intercourse ? 
 Why should Bacon not have been one of the noblemen who, after 
 the performance of a play, were initiated, in the Mermaid Tavern, 
 into the more hidden meaning of a drama .? Is it not rather likely 
 that Bacon drew Shakspere's attention to the inconsistencies of 
 Montaigne ? 
 
 "^ The advocates, in festive processions, made use of mules. 
 Maybe that Jonson calls Shakspere a 'good dull mule' because in 
 Hamlet he champions the views of ' Sir Lawyer' Bacon. 
 
 ^ This notion, that Shakspere has mainly distinguished himself 
 in the comic line — in the representation of Foolery — harmonises 
 
'VOLPONE.' 185 
 
 Let us now quote from this Interlude some highly- 
 spiced satirical passages. 
 
 Nano, the dwarf, coming In with Androgyno and 
 Castrone, asks for room for the new gamesters or 
 players, and says to the public : — 
 
 They do bring you neither play, nor university show ; 
 
 And therefore do intreat you that whatsoever they rehearse, 
 
 May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.^ 
 
 If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, 
 
 For know, here'^ is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras,^ 
 
 That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow ; 
 
 Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo. 
 
 It is explained how that soul afterwards transmigrated 
 into 'the goldy-locked Euphorbus who was killed, in good 
 fashion, at the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta ;' 
 how it then passed into Hermotimus, ' where no sooner it 
 was missing, but with one Pyrrhus of Delos "^ it learned to 
 go a-fishing ; ' ^ how thence it did enter the Sophist of 
 
 with Jonson's opinion, as privately expressed in Timber ; or. Dis- 
 coveries made upon Men and Matter (1630-37), in a noteworthy 
 degree. There he says of Shakspere : — ' His wit was in his own 
 power. Would the rule of it had been so, too.' 
 
 ^ An allusion to Shakspere's unclassical metrics, and his great 
 success among the public, although in Jonson's opinion he brings 
 neither regular ' play nor university show.' 
 
 2 In Androgyno, whom he brings in. 
 
 3 This is Jonson's answer to the question raised in Twelfth 
 Night (act iv. sc. 2), when Malvolio is in prison, in regard to 
 Pythagoras (see p. 1 53). 
 
 ■* We can nowhere find any clue to such a personage of anti- 
 quity, and we take it to be a reference to Pyrrhon of Elis, the 
 founder of the sceptic school. 
 
 ^ Bacon was a friend of this sport. Mrs. Pott points out 
 some technical expressions which we find both in Bacon's works 
 and in Shakspere. Perhaps we might stretch our fancy so far as 
 to assume that Bacon is Pyrrhus of Delos, and that gentle Shak- 
 
1 86 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Greece, Pythagoras. After having been changed into 
 
 whom, 
 
 she became a philosopher, 
 Crates the cynick, as itself doth relate it : ^ 
 Since kings, knights and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools get it, 
 Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock,* 
 In all which it has spoke, as in the cobbler's cock.^ 
 
 spere sometimes went a-fishing with him on the banks of the 
 Thames. 
 
 ^ ' As itself doth relate it.' Yet the soul does not relate any- 
 thing, except that it is said to have spoken, in all the characters it 
 assumed, ' as in the cobbler's cock.' We must, therefore, probably 
 look in plays — in Shakspere's dramas — for that which the soul has 
 spoken in its various stages as a king, as a beggar, and so forth. 
 
 2 ' Brock' (badger) — a word which Shakspere only uses once ; 
 viz. in Twelfth Night (act ii. sc. 5). Sir Toby's whole indignation 
 against Malvolio culminates in the words : — ' Marry, hang thee, 
 brock ! ' We know of Jonson's unseemly bodily figure, his ' ambling' 
 gait, which rendered him unfit for the stage. The pace of a badger 
 would be a very graphic description of his manner of walking. 
 Now, Jonson sneers at the word ' brock ' in a way not unfrequent 
 with Shakspere himself, in regard to various words used by Jonson 
 against him. In The Poetaster^ Tucca falls out against the ' worm- 
 wood ' comedies, which drag everything on to the stage. We are 
 reminded here of Hamlet's exclamation : — ' Wormwood, worm- 
 wood ! ' when the Queen of the Interlude speaks the two lines he 
 had probably intercalated : — 
 
 In second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second but who kill'd the first. 
 
 ' ' Cobbler's cock ' refers most likely to a drama by Robert 
 Wilson, entitled : Cobbler's Prophecy. In Collier's History of the 
 English Drama (iii. pp. 247-8) it is thus described : — 
 
 'It is a mass of absurdity without any leadmg purpose, but 
 here and there exhibiting glimpses of something better. The 
 scene of the play is laid in Bceotia which is represented to be 
 ruled by a duke, but in a state of confusion and disorganisation. 
 .... One of the principal characters is a whimsical Cobbler who, 
 by intermediation of the heathen god Mercury, obtains prophetic 
 power, the chief object of which is to warn the Duke of the impend- 
 ing ruin of his state unless he consents to introduce various re- 
 forms, and especially to unite the discordant classes of his subjects.' 
 Jonson may have looked upon Hamlet in this manner from his 
 point of view. It is for us to admire the prophetical spirit of Shak- 
 
'VOLPONE.' 187 
 
 [ Nano's present intention, however, is not to refer to 
 
 such things : — 
 
 But I come not here to discourse of that matter, 
 
 Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath. By Quater,^ 
 
 His musics,'^ his trigon, his golden thigh,^ 
 
 Or his teUing how elements ^ shift : but I 
 
 Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered translation 
 
 And shifted thy coat in these days of Reformation. 
 
 Androgvno. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, 
 Counting all old doctrine heresie. 
 
 Nano. But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured. 
 [ Androgyno. On fish, when first a Carthusian I entered.^ 
 
 I Nano. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee .'' 
 
 Androgyno. Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me. 
 
 spere who in Montaigne perceived the germ of the helplessly divided 
 nature of modern man. 
 
 1 ' Or his great oath, by Quarter^ No doubt, this is an allusion 
 of Jonson to Shakspere's ' quarter share,' the fourth part of the 
 receipts of his company. The Blackfriars Theatre had sixteen 
 shareholders. It is proved that Shakspere at that time, when a 
 valuation of the theatre was made, had a claim to four parts, each 
 of ^233 6s. 8d. (Chr. Armitage Brown, SAak. Autobiographical 
 Poems., London, 1838, p. loi). In The Poetaster {a.ct iii. sc. i), 
 Tucca says to Crispinus the Poetaster :— ' Thou shalt have a quarter 
 share.' In Epistle xii. {Forest), which Jonson addresses to Eliza- 
 beth, Countess of Rutland, and which, in our opinion, also contains 
 an allusion to Shakspere, as well as to his protector, William 
 Herbert, Ben speaks of poets with ' their quarter fa(^e.' 
 
 2 Shakspere often introduced music in his dramas. Jonson 
 ridicules this ; so did Marston, as we shall see. {Twelfth Night, 
 for instance, opens with music.) 
 
 3 ' His golden thigh.' The shape of the legs, the ' yellow cross- 
 gartered stockings ' of poor Malvolio in Twelfth Night are here 
 ridiculed. 
 
 ^ Malvolio says to his friends : — ' I am not of your element.' In 
 the same play, great sport is made of this word, until the Fool him- 
 self at last gets weary of it, when he says (act iii. sc. i) : — ' You are 
 out of my welkin — I might say element, but the word is overworn.' 
 
 ^ Blackfriars, where Shakspere first acted, was a former cloister. 
 ' On fish, when first a Carthusian I entered,' no doubt means that 
 from the beginning he had preferred keeping mute as a fish, in re- 
 gard to forbidden matters of the Church. 
 
1 88 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Nano. O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee ! 
 For Pythagore's sake, what body then took thee ? 
 
 Androgyno. A good dull mule. 
 
 Nano. And how ! by that means 
 Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans 1 
 
 Androgyno, Yes. 
 
 Nano. But from the mule into whom didst thou pass 1 
 
 Androgyno. Into a very strange beast, by some writers called 
 an ass ; 
 By others, a precise, pure, illuminate brother., 
 Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another ; 
 And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, 
 Betwixt every spoonful of a Nativity ^ pie. 
 
 Nano then admonishes Androgyno to quit that pro- 
 fane nation. Androgyno answers that he gladly remains 
 in the shape of a fool and a hermaphrodite. To the 
 question of Nano, as to whether he likes remaining a 
 hermaphrodite in order to 'vary the delight of each sex,' 
 Androgyno replies : — 
 
 Alas, those pleasures be stale and fbrsakeri \ 
 No 't is your fool wherewith I am so taken, 
 The only one creature that I can called blessed ; 
 For all other forms I have proved most distressed. 
 
 Nano. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still. 
 This learned opinion we celebrate will, . . . 
 
 With a song, praising fools, the Interlude closes. 
 
 In act ii. sc. 2, after Mosca and Volpone have erected 
 a stage upon the stage, Volpone enters, disguised as a 
 mountebank, and abuses those 'ground ciarlatani ' (char- 
 
 ^ I.e., Christmas-ip\Q. In the Prologue of The Return from 
 Parnassus, this comedy is called a Christfnas Toy. Shakspere is 
 therein lavishly praised by his brother actors (see p. 137 and p. 202), 
 whereas Jonson is spoken of as ' a bold whoreson, as confident now 
 in making of a book, as he was in times past in laying of a brick.' A 
 veritable libel ! 
 
'VOLPONE.' 189 
 
 latans, impostors) *who come in lamely, with their 
 mouldy tales out of Boccaccio/ Then there is a most 
 clear allusion to Hamlet (act iv. sc. 6), where he informs 
 his friend Horatio, by letter, of his voyage to England 
 when he was made prisoner by pirates, who dealt with 
 him * like thieves of mercy.' A further remark of Vol- 
 pone on ' base pilferies,' and ' wholesome penance done 
 for it,' may be taken as a hit against Hamlet's ' finger- 
 ing ' the packet to ' unseal their grand commission ; * for 
 which, in Jonson's view, he would be forced by his father 
 confessor, in a well-regulated Roman Catholic State, to 
 do penance. 
 
 This is what Volpone says : — 
 
 * No, no, worthy gentlemen ; to tell you true, I can- 
 not endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlatani, 
 that . . . come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out 
 of Boccaccio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist ; some of 
 them discoursing their travels ; and of their tedious cap- 
 tivity * in the Turks' galleys, when, indeed, were the truth 
 known, they were the Christians' gallies, where very 
 temperately they eat bread and drunk water, as a whole- 
 some penance,^ enjoined them by their confessors, for 
 base pilferies.' 
 
 Shakspere, as we have already explained, got a * pill ' 
 in ' The Poetaster,' whereupon ' our fellow Shakespeare,* 
 as is maintained in the ' Return from Parnassus,' * has 
 
 * Hamlet (act v. sc. 2) : — 
 
 Methought, I lay 
 Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. 
 
 '^ Through Jonson's satire we always see the sanctimonious 
 Jesuit peering out. 
 
 \ 
 
190 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 given him' (Jonson) ' a purge that made him bewray his 
 credit' Now Ben, clearly enough, calls this answer of 
 the great adversary -a 'finely wrapt-up antimony,' where- 
 by minds * stopped with earthy oppilations,' are purged 
 into another world. 
 
 * Volpone says : — ' These turdy-facy, nasty-paty, lousy- 
 fartical rogues, with one poor groat's worth of unpre- 
 pared antimony, finely wrapt up in several scartoccios 
 (covers),^ are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, 
 and play ; yet these meagre, starved spirits, who have 
 stopt the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, 
 want not their favourers among your shrivelled sallad- 
 eating artizans,^ who are overjoyed that they may have 
 their half-pe'rth of physic ; though it purge them into 
 another world, it makes no matter.' 
 
 Jonson then continues his satire against ' Hamlet ' by 
 making Volpone, disguised as a mountebank, sell medi- 
 cine which is to render that ' purge ' (' Hamlet ') perfectly 
 innocuous. He calls his medicine * Oglio del Scoto : ' * 
 good for strengthening the nerves ; a sovereign remedy 
 against all kinds of illnesses ; and, ' it stops a dysenteria 
 immediately.' 
 
 Nano praises its miraculous effects in a song : — 
 
 Had old Hippocrates, or Galen, 
 
 That to their books put med'cines all in, 
 
 ^ These are the parables in which Hamlet speaks. Many a 
 reader will understand why Shakspere could not use more explicit 
 language. 
 
 '^ So the envious Jonson calls Shakspere's public who are satis- 
 fied with ' salad ; ' that is, with patchy compositions, pieced together 
 from all kinds of material. 
 
 ^ Jonson had Scottish ancestry. 
 
'VOLPONE.' 191 
 
 But known this secret, they had never 
 
 (Of which they will be guilty ever) 
 
 Been murderers of so much paper, 
 
 Or wasted many a hurtless taper ; 
 
 No Indian drug had e'er been famed, 
 
 Tobacco, sassafras not named ; 
 
 Ne yet of guacum one small stick, sir, 
 
 Nor Raymund Lully's great elixir. 
 
 Ne had been known the Danish Gonswart^ 
 
 Or Paracelsus, with his long sword. 
 
 Is not Hamlet here as good as indicated by name .-* 
 
 The Danish Prince appears on the stage in his 
 ' inky cloak.' No doubt, Jonson picked up the word 
 * Gonswart ' {gansch- swart, in Flemish) among his 
 Flemish, Dutch, and other Nether-German comrades of 
 war in the Low Countries. Surely, the Danish Prince 
 ' All-Black ' is none else but Hamlet clad in black. 
 
 In the same scene, the connection between Ham- 
 let and Ophelia also is satirically pulled to pieces. In 
 'Eastward Hoe' (1605), Jonson ^^nd his party do the 
 same in the most indecent and most despicable manner. 
 
 Nano, praising the sublime virtues of the * Oglio del 
 
 Scoto,' sings : — 
 
 Would you live free from all diseases } 
 Do the act your mistress pleases. 
 Yet fright all aches from your bones ? 
 Here's a medicine for the nones.^ 
 
 The scene of the action in 'Volpone' is laid in Venice. 
 During the whole scene above-mentioned. Sir Politick 
 
 ^ In a moment of fanaticism, Hamlet wishes Ophelia to go to 
 a nunnery. Jonson, in most cynical manner, means to say that 
 Hamlet had been impotent as regards his innamorata. Though 
 'for the nones ' may be taken as 'for the nonce,' it yet comes close 
 enough to a double-entendre — namely, ' for the nuns.'' 
 
 \ 
 
192 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Would- Be and a youthful gentleman-traveller are present 
 Others have already pointed out that, by the former, 
 Shakspere is meant.' The traveller. Peregrine, is a 
 youth whom the jealous Lady Politick once declares to 
 be *a female devil in a male outside,'— again an allusion 
 to Shakspere's ' two loves ' which he himself describes in 
 Sonnet 144. 
 
 The words, also, with which Hamlet (act iii. sc. 3) 
 praises his friend Horatio (the Shaksperian ideal of a 
 Horace) are ridiculed by Jonson in this scene. Sir 
 Politick Would-Be says to Peregrine : — 
 
 Well, if I could but find one man, one man, 
 
 To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would — 
 
 When the stage is raised on the theatre for Volpone, 
 who is disguised as a quacksalver, Sir Politick wishes to 
 enlighten Peregrine as to the fellows that * mount the 
 bank.' ^ We need not explain that this is directed against 
 the ' so-called stage-poets ' and players. It will easily 
 be perceived that the meaning of the subsequent con- 
 versation is the same as in the Preface of ' Volpone,' 
 where Jonson says that *. wise and noble persons ' ought 
 to * take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave 
 to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with 
 their fames.' 
 
 Sir Politick (describing the fellows, one of which is to 
 mount the bank) says :— 
 
 * Dramatic versus Wit Combats. London, 1864. Ed. John 
 Russell Smith. 
 
 * To mount a bank = mountebank. 
 
'VOLPONE.' 193 
 
 They are the only knowing men of Europe ! 
 Great general scholars, excellent physicians,^ 
 Most admired statesmen, profest favourites, 
 And Cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes ; 
 The only languaged men of all the world ! 
 
 Peregrine. And I have heard, they are most lewd ^ impostors 
 Made all of terms and shreds, no less beliers 
 Of great men's favours, than their own vile med'cines . . . 
 
 In act iv. sc. i, Sir Politick gives counsels to the 
 
 young Peregrine, which are a manifest satire upon 
 
 Polonius' fatherly farewell speech to Laertes ; and here 
 
 again, let it be observed, religious tendencies are made 
 
 the subject of persiflage. 
 
 Sir Politick. First, for your garb, it must be grave and seriou? 
 Very reserved and locked ; not tell a secret 
 On any terms, not to your father ; scarce 
 A fable, but with caution ; make sure choice 
 Both of your company and your discourse ; beware 
 
 You never speak a truth — 
 
 And then, for your religion, profess none. 
 
 But wonder at the diversity of all ; 
 
 And, for your part, protest, were there no other 
 
 But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content you. 
 
 Nic Machiavel and Monsieur Bodin, both 
 
 Were of this mind. 
 
 In act iii. sc. 2, it is openly said that English author? 
 namely, such as understand Italian, have stolen fron 
 Pastor Pldo 'almost as much as from Montaignie ' (Mon 
 taigne). In vain we have looked for traces of Mon 
 taigne's Essays in other dramas that have come down tc 
 us from that epoch. That Shakspere must have been 
 conversant with the Italian tongue, Charles Armitage 
 
 ^ From one of them poor Ben received a vile Jjiedici7te : 2, purge. 
 ^ ' Lewd ' ^ unlearned. 
 
194 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Brown has tried to prove, and according to our opinion 
 he has done so successfully.^ 
 
 The talkative Lady Politick wishes to offer some 
 distraction to the apparently sick Volpone. She recom- 
 mends him an Italian book in these words : — 
 
 All our English writers, 
 I mean such as are happy in the Italian, 
 Will deign to steal out of this author mainly ; 
 Almost as much as from Moiitag7iie\ ^ 
 He has so modern and facile a vein, 
 Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear ! ^ 
 
 When Sir Politick (act v. sc. 2) is to be arrested (he 
 
 is suspected of having got up a conspiracy, and betrayed 
 
 the Republic of Venice to the Turks), he asserts his 
 
 innocence ; and when his papers are to be examined, he 
 
 exclaims : — 
 
 Alas, Sir ! I have none but notes 
 Drawn out of play -books — 
 And some essays.'* 
 
 ^ Shakspere's Autobiographical Poems. 
 
 - Karl Elze {Essays oti Shakspei'e ; London 1874) thinks this 
 passage is intended against Shakspere's alleged theft committed in 
 the Tejiipest (p. 62), the composition of which he, therefore, places 
 in the year 1604-5, while most critics assign it to a much later 
 period. It must also be mentioned that Karl Elze draws attention 
 to the more than friendly words with which Jonson, in his own 
 handwriting, dedicates his Volpone to Florio (p. 174). 
 
 In the opinion of the German critic, it is not difficult to gather 
 from this Dedication the desire of the meanly quarrelsome scholar 
 Jonson to give his friend Florio to understand that, among other 
 things, he would read with considerable satisfaction how he (Jonson) 
 had made short work with this ' Shake-scene ' and this ' upstart 
 Crow.' 
 
 * See p. 166, where Dekker tells Horace that his — Jonson's — 
 plays are misliked at Court. According to the above-quoted • 
 words of Jonson, Hamlei seems to have pleased at Court on its 
 first appearance. 
 
 ^ The following passage in Jonson's Epicoe?te is also interesting, 
 though in the play itself it is not made to refer to Montaigne but 
 
 I 
 
'VOLPONE.' 195 
 
 Mosca (act iv. sc. 2), spurring on his counsel, says : — 
 
 Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue, 
 
 Or the French Hercules^ and make your language 
 
 As conquering as his club, to beat along. 
 
 As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries. 
 
 Hamlet, when asked by the King how he calls the 
 play, answers : — ' The Mouse-trap! Mosca calls his own 
 cunningness with which he thinks he can overreach his 
 master, the * Fox-trap .' 
 
 If our intention were not to restrict this treatise to 
 desirable limits, many more satirical passages might be 
 pointed out in ' Volpone,' which are manifestly directed 
 against ' Hamlet ' and Shakspere. Those who take a 
 deeper interest in the subject, will discover not a few 
 passages of this kind in * Volpone.' 
 
 In 1605 — we believe, a few months before ' Volpone ' '^ 
 
 apparently to Plutarch and Seneca : ' Grave asses ! mere essayists : 
 a few loose sentences, and that's all. A man could talk so his 
 whole age. I do utter as good things every hour if they were col- 
 lected and observed, as either of them.' May not such words have 
 fallen from Shakspere's lips, in regard to Montaigne, before an in- 
 timate circle in the Mermaid Tavern 1 
 
 ^ This may point either to Montaigne or to Dr. Guinne, the 
 fellow-worker of Florio in the translation of the Essays, whom the 
 latter calls ' a monster-quelling Theseus or Hercules.' 
 
 '^ The reasons which induce us to this opinion are the following : 
 The three authors of Eastward Hoe were arrested on account of a 
 satire contained in this play against the Scots ; James I., himself 
 a Scot, having become King of England a year before. The au- 
 dacious stage-poets were threatened with having their noses and 
 ears cut off. They were presently freed, however ; probably through 
 the intervention of some noblemen. Soon afterwards, Jonson was 
 again in prison ; and we suspect that this second imprisonment 
 took place in consequence of Volpone. We base this view on 
 several incidents. In a letter Jonson addressed in 1605, from his 
 place of confinement, to Lord Salisbury (^Ben Jonson^ edited by 
 Cunningham, vol. i. xlix.), he says that he regrets having once 
 
 02 
 
196 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 — ' Eastward Hoe ' came out, a comedy written by Ben 
 Jonson, Chapman, and Marston, in which, as already 
 
 more to apply to his kindness on account of a play, after having 
 scarcely repented ' his first error ' (most probably Eastzuard Hoe). 
 ' Before I can shew myself grateful in the least for former benefits, 
 I am enforced to provoke your bounties for more.' In this letter, 
 Jonson uses a tone similar to the one which pervades his Dedi- 
 cation of Volpone. We therefore believe that both letter and 
 Dedication have reference to one and the same matter. In the 
 letter, Jonson addresses Lord Salisbury in this way : — ' My noble 
 lord, they deal not charitably who are witty in another man's 
 work, and utter sometimes their own malicious meanings under 
 our words.' He then continues, protesting that since his first 
 error, which was punished more with his shame than with his 
 bondage, he has only touched at general vice, sparing particu- 
 lar persons. He goes on : — ' I beseech your most honourable 
 Lordship, suffer not other men's errors or faults past to be made 
 my crimes ; but let me be examined by all my works past and this 
 present ; and trust not to Rumour, but my books (for she is an un- 
 just deliverer, both of great and of small actions), whether I have 
 ever (many things I have written private and public) given offence 
 to a nation, to a public order or state, or any person of honour or 
 authority ; but have equally laboured to keep their dignity, as my 
 own person, safe.' 
 
 Now, let us compare the following verses from the second 
 Prologue oi Epicoene (the plural here becomes the singular) : — 
 
 If any yet will, with particular sleight 
 Of application,^ wrest what he doth write ; 
 And that he meant, or him, or her, will say : 
 They make a libel, which he made a play. 
 
 Nor will it be easy to find out who was the cause of Volpone 
 having been persecuted at one time— that is to say, forbidden 
 to be acted on the stage. (Perchance by the ' obstreperous Sir 
 Lawyer ' who is mentioned in it .^) 
 
 We direct the reader's attention to the eulogistic poems 
 composed by Jonson's friends on Volpone. {Ben yonson, by Cun- 
 ningham, vol. i. pp. civ.-cv.) First there are the extraordinary 
 praises written by those who sign their names in full :- J. DONNE, 
 E. Bolton, Francis Beaumont. Then follow verses, probably 
 composed somewhat later, which are cautiously signed by initials 
 only— D. D., J. C, G. C, E. S., J. F., T. R. This is not the case 
 with any other eulogistic poems referring to Jonson's dramas. The 
 verses before mentioned, v/hich are only signed by initials, all 
 speak of a ' persecuted fox, or of a fox killed by hounds.' 
 
 ' Occasioned by some person's impertinent Exceptions. 
 
'EASTWARD HOE.' 1 97 
 
 stated, the connection between Hamlet and Ophelia is 
 derided in a low, burlesque manner. 
 
 Shakspere, in order to flagellate Montaigne's mean 
 views about womankind, puts into the mouth of Ophelia, 
 when she has no longer the control of her tongue, the 
 hideous words : — * Come, my coach ! ' and * Oh, how the 
 wheel becomes it ! ' ^ This is a satirical hit, rapidly in- 
 dicated, but only understood by those who had care- 
 fully read Montaigne's book. Ben Jonson, Chapman, and 
 Marston try to make capital out of these expressions, 
 by deriding and denouncing them to the crowd, in order 
 to defame Shakspere. 
 
 Girtred (Gertrud, name of Hamlet's mother, the 
 Queen,) is the figure under which Ophelia is ridiculed in 
 ' Eastward Hoe.' ^ The first is a girl of loosest manners. 
 Her ambition torments her to marry a nobleman, in 
 order to obtain a ' coach.' To her mother (Mrs. Touch- 
 stone) she incessantly speaks words of most shameless 
 indecency, which cannot be repeated ; more especially as 
 regards her * coach,' for which she asks ever and anon. 
 A lackey, called Hamlet^ must procure it to her. We 
 will give some fragments of that scene. The remainder 
 cannot be offered to a modern circle of general readers. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, a Foote-man^ in haste. 
 
 Hamlet. What coachman — my ladye's coach ! for shame ! 
 Her ladiship's readie to come down. 
 
 ^ ' Come, my coach ! ' means : ' I value my honour less than my 
 coach.' The expression, ' O, how the wheel becomes it ! ' is of 
 such a character that we must refer the reader to Montaigne's 
 Essay III. ii (see p. 126). 
 
 ^ Eastward Hoe was acted in the Blackfriars Theatre by ' The 
 Children of Her Majestie's Revels/ 
 
198 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Enter Potkinne, a Tankard-bearer. 
 
 Potkinne. 'Sfoote ! Hamlet, are you madde ? Whither run 
 you nowe ? You should brushe up my olde mistresse ! 
 
 Thereupon neighbours come together, all impelled by 
 the greatest curiosity * to see her take coach,' and wishing 
 to congratulate her. 
 
 Gertrtcd. Thank you, good people ! My coach for the love of 
 Heaven, my coach ! In good truth, I shall swoune else. 
 
 Hamlet. Coach, coach, my ladye's coach ! {Exit Hamlet. 
 
 After a little conversation between mother and 
 daughter, which we must leave out, Hamlet enters again : 
 
 Hamlet. Your coach is coming, madam. 
 
 Gertrtcd. That's well said. Now Heaven ! methinks I am 
 eene up to the knees in preferment. . . . 
 
 But a little higher, but a little higher, but a little higher ! 
 
 There, there, there lyes Cupid's fire ! 
 
 Mrs. Touchstone. But must this young man (Hamlet), an't 
 please you, madam, run by your coach all the way a foote ? 
 
 Gertrud. I, by my faith, I warrant him j hee gives no other 
 milke, as I have another servant does. 
 
 Mrs. Touchstone. Ahlas ! 't is eene pittie meethinks ; for God's 
 sake, madam, buy him but a hobbie horse ; let the poore youth 
 have something betwixt his legges to ease 'hem. Alas ! we must 
 doe as we would be done too. 
 
 That is all we dare to quote from this comedy ; but 
 it quite suffices to characterise the meanness of the war- 
 fare which Jonson's clique carried on against Shakspere. 
 
 However, the lofty ideas contained in ' Hamlet ' 
 could not be lowered by such an attack ; they be- 
 came the common property of the best and noblest. 
 Those ideas were of too high a range, too abstract in 
 their nature, to be easily made a sport of before the 
 
* THE MALCONTENT.' 1 99 
 
 multitude. A few pleasantries, used by Shakspere 
 in a moment of easy-going style, were laid hold of 
 maliciously, and caricatured most indecently, by his an- 
 tagonists, in order to entertain the common crowd there- 
 with. Innocent children, moreover, were made to act 
 such satires : * little eyases, that cry out on the top of the 
 question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't : these 
 are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages.' 
 
 Not less than in *Volpone,' the tendency of 'Hamlet' 
 as regards religious questions is, in the most evident 
 manner, ridiculed in John Marston's ' Malcontent.' Al- 
 though this satire (so the play is called in the preface 
 * To the Reader ') appeared before * Volpone,' we yet 
 thought it more useful first to speak of Jonson's comedy 
 being the work of Shakspere's most formidable adver- 
 sary. 
 
 'The Malcontent' was printed in 1604; and soon 
 afterwards (in the same year) a second edition appeared, 
 augmented by the author, as well as enriched by a few- 
 additions from the pen of John Webster.^ The play is 
 
 ^ Until now it has been assumed that TAe Ma/conifen^ was 2LCted 
 by Shakspere's Company in the Globe Theatre. This conclusion 
 was based on the title-page of the drama, which runs thus : — 
 
 THE MALCONTENT 
 
 Augmented by Marston 
 
 With the Additions played by the Kings 
 
 Majesties Servants 
 
 Written 
 
 by John Webster. 
 
 It is, however, to be noted that in regard to all other plays of 
 Marston, whenever it is mentioned by whom they were acted (so, 
 
2C0 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 preceded by a Latin Dedication to Ben Jonson, which 
 sufficiently shows that a close friendship must have 
 
 for instance, in regard to The Parasttaster, the Dutch Courtezmie^ 
 and Eastward Hoe)^ the title is always indicated in this way (de- 
 signating both the Theatre and the Company) : — ' As it was plaid in 
 the Black Friars by the Children of her Maiesties Revels.' Again, 
 the mere perusal of the ' Induction ' of The Malcontent (not to speak 
 of the drama itself) shows that this play could not have been acted 
 ' by the Kings Maiesties servants ' during Shakspere's membership. 
 For, in this induction there appear four actors of Shakspere's com- 
 pany : Sly, Burbadge, Condell, and Lowin. They are brought in 
 to justify themselves why they act a certain play, 'another Com- 
 pany having interest in it.' One of the actors excuses their doing 
 so by saying that, as they themselves have been similarly robbed, 
 they have a clear right to Malevole, the chief character in The 
 Malcontent. ' Why not Malevole in folio with us, as Jeronimo in 
 dccimo sexto with them ? They taught us a name lor our play : we 
 call it : " One for Another^ ' (That is to say, we give them 'Tit 
 for Tat.') 
 
 Sly. What are your additions ? 
 
 Burbads;e. Sooth, not greatly needefull, only as your sallet 
 (salad) to your greate feast — to entertaine a little more time, and 
 to abridge the not received custome of musicke in our theater. I 
 must leave you, Sir. \Exit Burbadge. 
 
 Sinklow. Doth he play The Malcontent? 
 
 Condell. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Our explanation of the Induction is this : Marston has com- 
 mitted satirical trespass upon Hamlet. Shakspere, on his part, made 
 oise of the chief action and the chief characters of The Malcontent in 
 This Measure for Measure (' One for Another ') ; but he did so in 
 jhis own nobler manner. From the wildly confused material before 
 him he composed a magnificent drama. Once more, in the very 
 beginningofacti.se. i, Shakspere makes the Duke utter words, 
 each of which is directed against the inactive nature of Mon- 
 taigne : — 
 
 Thyself and thy belongings 
 
 Are not thine own so proper as to waste 
 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 
 . . . For if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike 
 As if we had them not. 
 
 wShakspere's contemporaries were not over careful as regards 
 style. ' With the additions played by the Kings Maiesties Ser 
 
*THE MALCONTENT.' 201 
 
 existed,-at that time, between the two. ^ The satire is 
 replete with phrases taken from ' Hamlet ' for the pur- 
 pose of mockery ; and they are introduced in the loosest, 
 most disconnected manner, thus doubly showing the in- 
 tention and purpose. Marston's style is pointedly de- 
 scribed in ' The Return from Parnassus ; ' and we do not 
 hesitate to say that the following criticism was written 
 in consequence of his ' Malcontent : ' — 
 
 Methinks he is a ruffian in his style, 
 
 Withouten bands or garters' ornament : 
 
 He quaffs a cup of Frenchman's ^ HeHcon, 
 
 Then roister doister in his oily terms, 
 
 Cuts, thrusts, and foins at whomsoever he meets . . . 
 
 Tut, what cares he for modest close-couch'd terms, 
 
 vants, written by John Webster,' means that the additions, in which 
 the servants of His Majesty, in the ' Induction,' are brought on the 
 stage, were written by John Webster. 
 
 Read the ' Extempore Prologue ' which Sly speaks at the con- 
 V elusion of the Induction— a shameless travesty of the Epilogue in 
 , As You Like It. Read the beginning of act iii. sc. 2 of The Mal- 
 content, v^here Malevole ('in some freeze gown ') burlesques the 
 splendid monologue in Kins;Hen7y the Fourth (Part II. act iv. sc. i). 
 Read act iii. sc. 3 of The Malcontent^ where Marston sneers at the 
 scene in act iv. of King Richard the Second when Richard says : — 
 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 That owes two buckets filling one another. 
 
 Is it imaginable that Shakspere could have allowed his own 
 most beautiful productions to be thus leered at, and mocked, in his 
 own theatre .? Our feeling rebels against the thought. 
 
 ' Beniamini Jonsonio 
 
 Poetae Elegantissimo Gravissimo 
 Amico Suo Candido et Cordato 
 Johannes Marston, Musarum Alumnus, 
 Asperam Hanc Suam Thaliam DD. 
 
 2 Who else can be meant by the ' Frenchman's Helicon ' than 
 Montaigne ? He is satirically called ' Helicon,' as he is taken down 
 from his height in ' Hamlet.' 
 
202 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Cleanly to gird our looser libertines ? . . . 
 Ay, there is one^ that backs a paper steed, 
 And manageth a penknife gallantly, 
 Strikes his poinardo at a button's breadth, 
 Brings the great battering-ram of terms to towns ; 
 And, at first volley of his cannon-shot, 
 Batters the walls of the old fusty world. 
 
 Who else can be indicated by the ' One ' but Shak- 
 spere 1 To Marston's hollow creations, which drag 
 the loftiest ideas through the mire to amuse the vulgar, 
 the sublime and serious discourses of Shakspere are 
 opposed, which are destined to afford profoundest in- 
 struction. Is not the whole tendency of ' Hamlet ' de- 
 scribed in the last two lines just quoted, in which it is 
 stated that under this poet's attack "the walls of the old 
 fusty world are battered down } ^ 
 
 The chief character in ' The Malcontent ' is a Duke 
 of Genoa. Marston, in his preface ' To the Reader,' lays 
 stress on the fact of this Duke being, not an historical 
 personage, but a creation of fiction, so ' that even stran- 
 gers, in whose State I laid my scene, should not from 
 thence draw any disgrace to any, dead or living.' After 
 having complained that, in spite of this endeavour of his, 
 there are some who have been * most unadvisedly over- 
 cunning in misinterpreting ' him, and, ' with subtletie, 
 have maliciously spread ill rumours,' he goes on declar- 
 ing that he desires ' to satisfie every firme spirit, who in 
 all his actions proposeth to himself no more ends then 
 God and vertue do, whose intentions are alwaies simple.' 
 Those only he means to combat ' whose unquiet studies 
 
 ^ In meaning alike to Jonson's : ' Counting all old doctrine 
 heresie' (p. 187). 
 
'THE MALCONTENT/ 203 
 
 labor innovation, contempt of holy policie, reverent 
 comely superioritie and establisht unity.' He fears not 
 for the rest of his * supposed tartnesse ; but unto every 
 worthy minde it will be approved so generall and honest 
 as may modestly passe with the freedome of a satyre.' 
 
 That this satire could only be directed against 
 ' Hamlet,' every one will be convinced who spends a 
 short hour in reading Marston's ' Malcontent.' Here, 
 too, we must confine ourselves to pointing out only the 
 most important allusions ; especially such as refer to 
 religion. Indeed, we would have to copy the whole 
 play, in order to make it fully clear how much Mar-- 
 ston, with his undoubted talent for travesty, has suc- 
 ceeded in grotesquely deriding the lofty, noble tone of 
 Shakspere's drama. 
 
 The chief character in *The Malcontent' is Malevole, 
 the Duke of Genoa before-mentioned, who has been 
 wrongfully deprived of the crown. With subtle dis- 
 simulation, disguised and unknown, he hangs about the 
 Court. Against the ladies especially, whom he all holds 
 to be adulteresses, he entertains the greatest mistrust. 
 He watches every one ; but most closely women. He 
 is the image of mental distemper ; and Pietro, the ruling 
 Duke, describes him in act i. sc. 2 by saying that ' the 
 elements struggle within him ; his own soule is at 
 variance within her selfe ; ' he is * more discontent than 
 Lucifer.' In short, he confers upon him all the qualities 
 of a ' Hamlet ' character. 
 
 Whenever religious questions are addressed to Male- 
 vole, we have to look upon him as the very type of 
 
204 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Shakspere himself, whom Marston takes to task for his 
 spirit of * innovation ' and his ' contempt of holy policie 
 and establisht unity.' Shakspere, it ought to be remem- 
 bered, had scourged Ben Jonson under the figure of 
 Malvolio. Marston, who dedicates ' The Malcontent ' to 
 Jonson, no doubt wished to please Jonson by calling the 
 chief character, which represents Shakspere, Malevole. 
 
 The play opens with an abominable charivari. (* The 
 vilest out-of-time musicke being heard.') This is partly 
 a hit against the Globe Theatre where — as we see from 
 Shakspere's dramas — music was often introduced in a 
 play ; partly it is to indicate the disharmony of Male- 
 vole's mind. 
 
 Only a few travesties may be mentioned here, before 
 we quote the treatment of religious questions. 
 
 In act i. sc. 7 (^here the scene is ridiculed in which 
 Hamlet, with drawn sword, stands behind the King), 
 Pietro enters, ' his sword drawne.' 
 
 Pietro. A mischiefe fill thy throate, thou fowle-jaw'd slave ! 
 Say thy praiers ! 
 
 Mendozo. I ha forgot um. 
 
 Pietro. Thou shalt die. 
 
 Mendozo. So shalt thou. I am heart-mad. 
 
 Pietro. I am horne-mad. 
 
 Mendozo. Extreme mad. 
 
 Pietro. Monstrously mad. 
 
 Mendozo. Why ? 
 
 Pietro. Why 1 thou, thou hast dishonoured my bed. 
 
 Hamlet's words : ^ — ' O, most wicked speed, to post 
 with such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! ' are so often 
 ridiculed because Shakspere, instead of the word ' bed,' 
 uses the more unusual ^ sheets.' 
 
 ^ Act i. sc. 2. 
 
' THE MALCONTENT.' . 20$ 
 
 Aurelia ^ speaks of ' chaste sheets.' Malevole^ prophe- 
 sies that 'the Dutches (Duke, Doge) sheets will smoke 
 for't ere it be long.' Mendozo ^ ' hates all women, waxe- 
 lightes, antique bed-postes,' &c. ; ' also sweete sheetes. 
 Aurelia, parodying the words Hamlet addresses to his 
 mother, asks herself: ' O, judgement, where have been 
 my eyes ? What bewitched election made me dote on 
 thee ? what sorcery made me love thee ? ' 
 
 The counsel which Hamlet gives to his mother * to 
 throw away the worser part of her cleft heart,' Pietro 
 ridicules in act i. sc. 7 : — 
 
 My bosome and my heart, 
 When nothing helps, cut off the rotten part. 
 
 The splendid speech of Hamlet : ' What a piece of 
 work is man ! 'sounds from Mendozo's'* lips thus : — 'In 
 body how delicate ; in soule how wittie ; in discourse how 
 pregnant ; in life how v/arie ; in favours how juditious ; in 
 day how sociable ; in night how ! — O pleasure unutter- 
 able ! ' 
 
 Hamlet's little monologue : ^ ' 'Tis now the very 
 witching time of night,' runs thus v/ith Mendozo : ^ — 
 
 'Tis now about the immodest waste of night ; 
 The mother of moist dew with pallide Hght 
 Spreads gloomie shades about the mummed earth, 
 Sleepe, sleepe, whilst we contrive our mischiefes birth. 
 
 Then, parodying Hamlet as he draws forth the dead 
 Polonius from behind the arras, Mendozo says : — 
 This man He (I'll) get inhumde. 
 
 1 Act iv, sc. 5. ^ Act i. sc. 4. 
 
 3 Act i. sc. 7. '^ Act i. sc. 6. 
 
 ^ Act iii. sc. 2. * Act ii. sc. q. 
 
206 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Thus, all kinds of Shaksperian incidents and locutions 
 are brought forward, wherever they are apt to produce 
 the most comic effect. Several times, from the begin- 
 ning, the * weasel ' is mentioned with which Hamlet 
 rallies Polonius. We also hear of the 'sponge which 
 sucks ' — a simile used by Hamlet (act iv. sc. 3) in regard 
 to Rosencrantz. Nor is the * true-penny ' forgotten — a 
 word used by Hamlet ^ to designate his father's ghost as a 
 true and genuine one ; nor the ' Hillo, ho, ho ' (see p. 120.) 
 
 In all these allusions, of which an attentive reader 
 might easily find scores, there is no systematic order 
 of thoughts. Only in the religious questions we meet 
 with a clear system : they are all addressed to Malevole, 
 who is represented as a kind of freethinker, similar to 
 the one whom Marston, in his preface, wishes to be 
 outlawed, and of whom he says that he fully merits 
 the ' tartness ' and freedom of his satire. In the very 
 beginning of ' The Malcontent,' Pietro asks Malevole : 
 
 I wonder what religion thou art of ? 
 
 Malevole. Of a souldiers religion.^ 
 
 Pietro. And what doost thinke makes most infidells now ? 
 
 Malevole. Sects. Sects ! I have seene seeming Pietie change 
 her roabe so oft, that sure none but some arch-divell can shape her 
 petticoate. 
 
 Pietro. O ! a religious polHcie. 
 
 Malevole. But damnation on a politique religion I 
 
 In act ii. sc. 5 we find the following : — 
 
 ^ Act i. sc. 5 in Hamlet ; Malconte7it, act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 "^ Perhaps an allusion to the conclusion of Ha7nlet, when the 
 State falls into the hands of a soldier (Fortinbras). — Soldaten- 
 Religion, keine Religion ('a soldier's religion, no religion'), as the 
 old German saying is. 
 
'THE MALCONTENT.' 20/ 
 
 Malevole. I meane turne pure Rochelchurchman.^ I 
 
 Mendozo. Thou Churchman ! Why ? Why ? 
 
 Malevole. Because He live lazily, raile upon authoritie, deny 
 Kings supremacy in things indifferent, and be a pope in mine owne 
 parish. 
 
 Me7idozo. Wherefore doost thou thinke churches were made ? 
 
 Malevole. To scowre plow-shares. I have seene oxen plow 
 uppe altares : Et nunc seges ubi Sionfuit. 
 
 Then there is again what appears to be an allusion 
 to Hamlet, act i. sc. 4, resembling that in 'Volpone,' 
 p. 182 : — 
 
 I have seen the stoned coffins of long-flead Christians burst up 
 and made hogs troughs. 
 
 In act iv. sc. 4, Mendozo says to Malevole, whom he 
 wishes to use for the murder of a hermit : — 
 
 Yea, provident. Beware an hypocrite ! 
 A Church-man once corrupted, Oh avoide ! 
 A fellow that makes religion his stawking horse. 
 He breeds a plague. Thou shalt poison him. 
 
 From the many hints in ' Volpone ' and in ' The 
 Malcontent,' it clearly follows that Shakspere was to be 
 represented, in those dramas, before the public at large, 
 as an Atheist.^ According to Jonson, he counted ' all 
 old doctrine heresie.' According to Marston, he had an 
 aversion for all sects, and ' contempt of holy policie, 
 reverent comely superioritie, and establisM unity.' 
 
 We hope we have convinced our readers that Shak- 
 spere spoke in matters of religion as clearly as his 
 
 ^ Rochelle-Churchman — that is, Huguenot. 
 
 2 See Bacon's Essay, Of Atheism : ' All that impugn a received 
 religion or superstition are by the adverse part branded with the 
 name of Atheists.' 
 
208 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 • tongue-tied muse ' ^ permitted him to do. Above all, 
 we think of having successfully proved that the contro- 
 versy of 'Hamlet' is directed against doctrines which 
 assert that there is nothing but evil in human nature. 
 
 Shakspere's prophetic glance saw the pernicious 
 character of Montaigne's inconsistent thoughts, which, 
 unable to place us in sound relation to the Universe, 
 only succeed in making men pass their lives in subtle 
 reflection and unmanly, sentimental inaction. Shak- 
 spere, intending to avert the blighting influence of such 
 a philosophy from the best and foremost of his coun- 
 try, wrote his ' Hamlet' As a truly heaven-born poet 
 he bound for ever, by Thought's enduring chain. 
 
 All that flows unfixed and undefined 
 
 In glimmering phantasy before the mind. 
 
 In spite of the powerful impression his master-work, 
 Hamlet,' has made upon all thinking minds, the deepest 
 and most serious meaning of Shakspere's warning words 
 could not have been fathomed by the many. The par- 
 ables through which a Prophet spoke were cast into the 
 form of a theatrical play, not easy to understand for the 
 mass of men ; for * tongue-tied ' was his Muse by earthly 
 powers. And Shakspere deeply felt the disgrace of 
 being compelled to give forth his utterances in so 
 dubious a manner. 
 
 His Sonnets^ express the feeling that weighed upon 
 him on this account Had he not 'gor'd his own 
 thoughts,' revealed his innermost soul ? Yet, now, his 
 
 ^ Sonnet Ixvi. Ixxxv. 
 ^ xc. xci. xcii. 
 
CONCLUSION. 209 
 
 narrow-minded fellow-dramatists — but no ! not fellow- 
 dramatists : mere contemporary playwrights, immeasur- 
 ably far behind him in rank — eaten up, as they were, with 
 envy and jealous malice, meanly derided everything 
 sacred to him ; holding up his ideals to ridicule before a 
 jeering crowd. It has long ago been surmised that 
 Sonnet Ixvi. belongs to the * Hamlet ' period. But now 
 it will be better understood why that sonnet speaks of 
 *a maiden virtue rudely strumpeted ; ' ^ of 'right per- 
 fection wrongfully disgrac'd, and strength by limping 
 sway disabled';' of * simple truth miscall'd simplicity.' 
 
 These are the full words of this mighty sigh of 
 despair : — 
 
 Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry — 
 
 As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
 And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd. 
 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd. 
 
 And strength by limping sway disabled. 
 And art made tongue-ty'd by authority, 
 
 And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
 
 And captive Good attending captain 111 : 
 Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone. 
 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 
 
 * Purest faith unhappily forsworn ' was Shakspere's 
 faith in God — without any ' holy policie ' and without 
 *old doctrines* — trusting above all in the majesty of 
 ennobled human nature. He was a veritable Humanist, 
 
 ^ In Eastward- Hoe^ his most delicate poetical production, 
 Ophelia, is most abominably parodied — ' rudely strumpeted.' 
 
210 SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the truest and greatest, who ever strove to raise the most 
 essential part of human nature, man's soul and mind, 
 yet by no mean supernatural, but by * mean that Nature 
 makes.' 
 
 Shakspere's * Hamlet ' appears to us like a solemn 
 admonition to his distinguished friends. He showed 
 them, under the guise of that Prince, a nobleman with- 
 out fixed ideal — ' virtues which do not go forth ' to 
 assert themselves, and to do good for the sake of others 
 — a noble life wasted, letting the world remain * out of 
 joint ' without determined will to set it right : this was 
 the poet's prophetic warning. 
 
 One aspiration of Shakspere clearly shines through 
 his career, in whatever darkness it may otherwise be 
 enveloped — namely, his longing to acquire land near 
 the town he was born in. When he had realised this 
 ambition, he cheerfully seems to have left the splen- 
 dour of town life, and to have readily renounced all 
 literary fame ; for he did not even care to collect his 
 own works. 
 
 He was contented to cultivate his native soil: a giant 
 Antaeus who, as the myth tells us, ever had to touch 
 Mother Earth to regain his strength. 
 
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