SHAKESPEARE STUDIED IN SIX PLAYS 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 Demy 8vo, Cloth, 10/6 net. 
 
 HISTORY IN SCOTT'S NOVELS 
 
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 LONDON : T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
SHAKESPEARE STUDIED 
 IN SIX PLAYS 
 
 HON. ALBERT S. G. QANNING 
 
 tAuthor of 
 
 "SHAKESPEARE STUDIED IN EIGHT PLAYS," "HISTORY 
 IN SCOTT'S NOVELS," ETC., ETC. 
 
 — • A- 
 
 "Shakespeare during the present [nineteenth] century has been 
 continually rising, until now his position is so high that criticism 
 is p**eti«sMy paralysed and societies occupy themselves with the 
 minutis of his sentences." 
 
 Herbert Spencer's Facts and Comments, 
 published in 1902 
 
 LONDON : T. FISHER UNWIN 
 ADELPHI TERRACE • MCMVII 
 

 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
Prefatory Note 
 
 FOUR of the studies contained in this volume 
 are now offered to the public in a revised 
 form. The other two, those on "Othello" and 
 " The Merry Wives of Windsor," are entirely 
 new. The work, like its predecessor, " Shakespeare 
 Studied in Eight Plays," is intended for the general 
 reader rather than the Shakespearian scholar. 
 
 A. S. G. CANNING. 
 
 London, July, 1906. 
 
 w> o t\ 4 n *•* 
 
V j 
 
 Contents 
 
 I. oIhello . 
 
 \ 
 
 II. MACBETH 
 
 \ 
 
 III KING JOHN 
 IV. RICHARD THE SECOND 
 V. HENRY THE FOURTH : 
 
 FIRST PART 
 
 SECOND PART 
 VI. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 175 
 213 
 
 250 
 296 
 
 383 
 
OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE" 
 
 LORD MACAU LAY writes enthusiastically of 
 this famous tragedy :■".' Othello ' is perhaps the 
 greatest work in the world." l It has certainly been 
 often mentioned as one of the ablest tragedies ever 
 written, though it is, of course, a matter of opinion 
 if it surpasses, or even equals, " King Lear" either in 
 pathos or in profound knowledge of character. It 
 is, however, only by a careful examination of its 
 different personages that its merits as a sketch of 
 life and character can be fairly compared to those 
 of others. Othello himself appears as a Moorish 
 officer, though a Christian and engaged in the 
 service of the Venetians, who, while not warring with 
 the Mohammedans of Morocco, Othello's fellow- 
 countrymen, were often at war with the Turks, the 
 only other Mohammedan nation which ever invaded 
 Europe. Othello's baptism is only once mentioned 
 (Act II., Scene 3), and where it took place, at what 
 age, or under what circumstances, is not told. This 
 
 1 "Criticisms on the Principal Italian Writers," Miscellaneous 
 Writings, vol. i. 
 
 3 
 
2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 play at the first describes him commanding, or 
 aspiring to command, the Venetians against the 
 Turks, or Ottomans, as the poet sometimes terms 
 them. Othello now stands deservedly high in the 
 trust and confidence of the Venetian Senate. The 
 Doge, or Duke, its supreme ruler, takes little part ; 
 like the Doge in the " Merchant of Venice," he seems 
 little more than a figure-head, though each nominally 
 is at the head of affairs. 
 
 In both of these plays little, if any, allusion is 
 made to Italian scenery or local customs. Othello is 
 beloved by Desdemona, the daughter and only child 
 of an aged Venetian Senator, Brabantio, likewise 
 highly esteemed by the Venetian Government. 
 Desdemona has, before this play commences, refused 
 the hand of Roderigo, a young Venetian gentleman, 
 and, unknown to her father, elopes with Othello at 
 night and secretly marries him. Where this secret 
 marriage took place, or who were present at it, are 
 never stated, but Desdemona evidently knew, or 
 believed, that her father would never consent to her 
 wedding Othello. Yet why Brabantio should so 
 vehemently disapprove her marrying one of the 
 chief officers in the Venetian State, who was generally 
 respected and trusted, appears to be only owing to 
 Othello's Moorish origin. 
 
 In Othello's case, Shakespeare makes the singular 
 mistake of describing the Moor as a negro, "black" 
 and "thick-lipped." Few, if any, Moors are thoroughly 
 black, though usually of dark complexion, while they 
 are never thick-lipped, and often have fine features. 
 
" Othello " 3 
 
 Othello, however, is evidently meant to have no 
 personal attraction, but owing to his valour, ability, 
 and loyal devotion to Venice, was often Brabantio's 
 welcome and honoured guest, though considered by 
 the proud old Venetian quite inadmissible as a son- 
 in-law. Othello, who has no Moorish friend or 
 follower, is a thorough Venetian in his feelings and 
 actions, and is attended chiefly by two Italian officers 
 of almost opposite characters, lago and Cassio. The 
 former, though the most intimate with Othello, has 
 yet been superseded by Cassio, who is appointed the 
 Moor's Lieutenant, while lago remains as Othello's 
 " ancient " or ensign, and more in his private con- 
 fidence than Cassio either is, or apparently desires 
 to be. 
 
 The first scene begins with lago and Desdemona's 
 rejected lover, Roderigo, appearing before her father's 
 window at night in Venice. They resolve to tell 
 Brabantio of his daughter's elopement, which has just 
 taken place, and of which they have heard, probably 
 through Othello never keeping any secret from his 
 trusted follower, lago. Roderigo, who, like most 
 others throughout this play, is for a time quite duped 
 by lago, foolishly reproaches him, being no match for 
 the other's terrible powers of deceit, exclaiming — 
 
 " Tush, never tell me ; I take it much unkindly 
 That thou, lago, who hast had my purse 
 As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this." 
 
 He apparently means that, though often paying lago 
 for supposed efforts in his behalf with Desdemona, 
 
4 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago knew all the time of her love for his patron 
 Othello. Iago, utterly despising his poor dupe, 
 Roderigo, yet wishing to appear his friend for the 
 present, replies with suppressed contempt : 
 
 " 'Sblood, but you'll not hear me : 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 Abhor me " ; 
 
 and poor Roderigo replies : 
 
 M Thou told me thou didst hold him in thy hate." 
 
 Iago replies, stating, with some but not the whole 
 truth, his reason for secretly hating his chief Othello : 
 
 11 Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city 
 In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
 Off-capp'd to him — and, by the faith of man, 
 I know my price, I am worth no worse a place." 
 
 Then, his anger rising at recalling the rejection of his 
 suit, Iago, with bitter sarcasm, ridicules, and probably 
 imitates or exaggerates, the alleged arrogant haughti- 
 ness of Othello : 
 
 " But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
 Evades them with a bombast circumstance 
 Horribly stuffd with epithets of war ; 
 And, in conclusion, 
 
 Nonsuits my mediators ; for, ' Certes,' says he, 
 1 1 have already chose my officer. 1 
 And what was he ? " 
 
 and the disappointed officer contemptuously adds, 
 comparing Cassio with himself: 
 
" Othello " 5 
 
 "Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
 One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
 
 That never set a squadron in the field, 
 Nor the division of a battle » knows 
 More than a spinster . . . 
 
 . . . mere prattle without practice, 
 Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election." 
 
 Then he proudly adds, comparing his own experience 
 and exploits, known to Othello, to Cassio's peaceful 
 habits : 
 
 "And I — of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
 At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds, 
 Christian and heathen — must be be-lee'd and calm'd 
 By debitor and creditor : this counter-caster, 
 He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
 And I (bless the mark) his Moorship's ancient ! " 
 
 The scorn with which he mentions his chief and the 
 quiet habits of his successful rival seems to rouse 
 Roderigo, who impetuously exclaims : 
 
 " By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman." 
 
 Iago, cautious, practical, yet confidential or unguarded 
 with Roderigo, owing partly to his contempt for him, 
 rejoins : 
 
 " Why, there's no remedy ; 'tis the curse of service, 
 Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
 And not by old gradation, where each second 
 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
 Whether I in any just term am affined 2 
 To love the Moor." 
 
 Army." — Staunton's notes. 2 " Bound." — Ibid. 
 
6 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 This abrupt question, cautiously revealing something 
 of Iago's selfish, vindictive mind, elicits a brief, 
 dignified reply from Roderigo — who, despite his 
 dejection at Desdemona's refusal of him, always 
 preserves an honourable feeling throughout, of which 
 I ago is, of course, incapable — and he answers : 
 
 " I would not follow him then." 
 
 Iago again, to some extent, opens his deceitful mind 
 to poor, sad Roderigo, of whom he makes a complete 
 dupe indeed, yet never inspires with his own base- 
 ness. He thus describes not only his treachery, but 
 the result of his keen, yet, happily, by no means 
 always accurate, observation on the mutual conduct 
 of masters and servants : 
 
 " O, sir, content you ; 
 I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 1 
 That, doting on his own obsequious 2 bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 For nought but provender ; and when he's old, cashier'd : 
 Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, 
 And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, 
 Do well, thrive by them, and when they have lin'd their 
 
 coats, 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have some soul, 
 
 1 " No opprobrious meaning here ; it is simply ' servitor. 
 Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " Obedient."— Ibid. 
 
" Othello " 7 
 
 And such a one I do profess myself. For, sir, 
 It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
 Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago : 
 In following him, I follow but myself; 
 Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 But seeming so, for my peculiar end." 
 
 He then frankly boasts of his own rare power of 
 deceit, by which such open, unsuspicious men as 
 his two victims, Othello and Roderigo, are alike easily 
 deceived: 
 
 " For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at : I am not what I am." 
 
 Roderigo, his grieved mind absorbed by Desde- 
 mona's refusing him and by her elopement with 
 Othello, makes no reply to Iago's last words, and, 
 confounding his black, or rather dark, rival with a 
 negro, he exclaims, astounded yet envious at Desde- 
 mona's love for him : 
 
 M What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, 
 If he can carry 't thus." 
 
 Iago, recalled from his brief description of masters and 
 servants generally, and knowing Roderigo's acquaint- 
 ance with Brabantio, exclaims, probably according to 
 a previous plan of action : 
 
 " Call up her father, 
 Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, 
 Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen." 
 
8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He apparently knows that Desdemona's relatives would 
 be enraged at her marriage, but while wishing them 
 informed of it, resolves to keep himself in the back- 
 ground and make Roderigo run the chief risk of 
 his dangerous communication. Accordingly, when 
 Roderigo exclaims : 
 
 " Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud," 
 
 I ago replies, telling him how to spread the news : 
 
 " Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell 
 As when (by night and negligence) the fire 
 Is spied in populous cities." 
 
 Roderigo, thus instructed, for the present following 
 all Iago's advice, shouts loudly : 
 
 "What ho ! Brabantio ! Signor Brabantio, ho !" 
 
 and I ago adds : 
 
 " Awake ! what ho ! Brabantio ! thieves ! thieves ! 
 Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags ! 
 Thieves ! thieves ! " 
 
 Brabantio, aroused, appears at a window. He at 
 first does not recognise Roderigo, but when he does, 
 he exclaims frankly : 
 
 " I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors ; 
 In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
 My daughter is not for thee, and now in madness 
 (Being full of supper and distempering draughts), 
 Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
 To start my quiet." 
 
" Othello " 9 
 
 Roderigo, grieved at such reproaches and by what 
 he has to tell, replies in evident confusion : 
 
 "Sir, sir, sir; " 
 
 and the hot-tempered Brabantio, at first mistaking 
 his hesitation for guilty confusion, proceeds sternly, 
 
 " But thou must needs be sure, 
 My spirit and my place have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee." 
 
 Brabantio seeming slow to believe the news, Iago, 
 with scornful impatience, exclaims : 
 
 " Zounds, sir, you are one of those who will not serve God if 
 the devil bid you." 
 
 Brabantio exclaims, certainly with truth : 
 
 "Thou art a villain," 
 
 and Iago, in evident sarcasm and likely in a pro- 
 voking manner, retorts : 
 
 " You are a senator." 
 
 Brabantio sternly rejoins, mindful of his own high 
 position in the State : 
 
 " This thou shalt answer." 
 
 Then, as if rather relenting to the more respectful 
 Roderigo, he says, as if encouraging him to speak : 
 
 " I know thee, Roderigo," 
 
 and awaits his news. 
 
io Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Roderigo then eagerly assures him of his daughter's 
 flight with Othello. Brabantio, though shocked and 
 irritated at Iago's insolent language, yet is inclined to 
 believe Roderigo, and after hearing him exclaims, now 
 really apprehensive of the truth : 
 
 " Strike on the tinder, ho ! 
 Give me a taper — call up all my people ! 
 This accident is not unlike my dream : 
 Belief of it oppresses me already. 
 Light, I say, light ! " 
 
 So saying, Brabantio withdraws with his attendants, 
 when Iago, alone with Roderigo, reveals some of his 
 plans and feelings : 
 
 "Farewell, for I must leave you: 
 It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place 
 To be produc'd (as if I stay I shall) 
 Against the Moor." 
 
 He then owns the high esteem in which Othello is 
 held in Venice and the importance of his position, 
 while admitting that his marriage will be disapproved 
 of by the Venetians. 
 
 " For I do know the State, 
 However this may gall him with some check, 
 Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd 
 With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, 
 
 Another of his fathom they have none, 
 To lead their business : in which regard 
 Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must show out a flag and sign of love, 
 Which is indeed but sign." 
 
" Othello " 1 1 
 
 Then, addressing Roderigo : 
 
 "That you shall surely find him, 
 Lead to the Sagittary ' the raised search ; 
 And there will I be with him. So farewell." 
 
 Iago departs, and Brabantio, re-appearing after his 
 vain search through his house, addresses Roderigo. 
 The grieved father is as much enraged and shocked 
 at the elopement of his daughter with Othello as if 
 she had committed some heinous crime. His shame 
 and indignation seem rather unreasonable, consider- 
 ing the Moor's high position in the Venetian service 
 and the general respect in which he is held; moreover, 
 Othello had been his own honoured guest hitherto. 
 Yet nothing- now can reconcile Brabantio to the 
 marriage. Had Desdemona eloped with a bigoted 
 Mohammedan instead of an illustrious leader of a 
 Chiistian army he could scarcely be more annoyed 
 and horrified. He exclaims, like a broken-hearted 
 man, almost distracted, to the sympathetic Roderigo : 
 
 " It is too true an evil : gone she is ! 
 And what's to come of my despised time 
 Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl ! 
 With the Moor, sayst thou ? Who would be a father ? 
 How didst thou know 'twas she ? O she deceives me 
 Past thought ! . . . 
 
 . . . Are they married, think you ? " 
 
 1 " The residence at the arsenal of the commanding officers of 
 the army and navy of the Republic." — Mr. Knight's opinion, quoted 
 in Staunton's comments. 
 
12 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Roderigo replies, though apparently not certain : 
 
 " Truly, I think they are." 
 
 Brabantio, hardly able apparently to yet realise what 
 has happened, exclaims : 
 
 " O heaven ! How got she out ? " 
 
 Without awaiting answer, he proceeds, astounded at 
 what he thinks his daughter's deceit : 
 
 " O treason of the blood ! 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
 By what you see them act." 
 
 Then a strange superstitious fancy occurs to him, 
 which perhaps at the moment may be a kind of 
 relief, and he asks Roderigo, who is as grieved, 
 though not as distracted, as himself: 
 
 "Are there not charms 
 By which the property of youth and maidhood 
 May be abused ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing ? " 
 
 Roderigo, who perhaps believes something of the kind, 
 sadly answers : 
 
 " Yes, sir, I have indeed." 
 
 Brabantio, having this idea firmly in his mind, rouses 
 all his energies for immediate pursuit of the fugitives, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " Call up my brother ! " 
 
"Othello" 13 
 
 Then, kindly addressing Roderigo, and longing to 
 recall the past, he exclaims : 
 
 " O would you had had her ! " 
 
 and proceeds, directing his followers, 
 
 " Some one way, some another." 
 
 Then asks Roderigo : 
 
 " Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? " 
 
 Roderigo replies, not without some alarm for the 
 safety of the pursuers: 
 
 " I think I can discover him, if you please 
 To get good guard and come along with me " ; 
 
 and Brabantio, completely trusting him, exclaims : 
 
 " Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call : 
 I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! 
 And raise some special officers of night. 
 On, good Roderigo ; I'll deserve your pains." 
 
 The next scene is in a street of Venice at night, 
 where Othello and Iago are together, with attendants 
 and torches, but they are likely not near enough to 
 their chief to hear his talk with his trusted adviser. 
 Iago alludes either to Brabantio or to Roderigo as 
 having provoked him by abusing Othello, but he had 
 restrained his anger, and Othello, approving this self- 
 control, calmly says : 
 
 " Tis better as it is," 
 
14 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 when I ago asks him if he is really married, declaring 
 
 that Brabantio has great influence in Venice, and will 
 
 either procure a divorce or do him some injury. But 
 
 Othello, knowing how highly he is esteemed now in 
 
 Venice, owing to his past military exploits, confidently 
 
 replies : 
 
 " Let him do his spite ; 
 My services which I have done the signiory 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. 
 
 I fetch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege." 
 
 He thus briefly alludes to his royal ancestry, but never 
 does so again. He probably referred to the royal 
 family of Morocco, but, since his leading Christian 
 forces against Mohammedans, could have had no more 
 intercourse with them. He now perceives people 
 with lights approaching, and Iago advises him to 
 retire, thinking they may be Brabantio and his friends, 
 but Cassio, at present Othello's chief officer, enters 
 with important news. The Turks are now at open 
 war with the Venetians, who were often at enmity, 
 and Othello, Cassio says, is requested by the 
 Venetian Senate to attend at the Duke's house 
 immediately. Othello goes into some house, saying 
 he will rejoin them soon ; and then Iago informs 
 Cassio of Othello's secret marriage, but does not say 
 to whom. It is evident from this that Iago enjoys 
 Othello's confidence the most, as no one but he 
 seems to know of the latter's secret marriage. 
 
 Othello returns to them, and at this moment Bra- 
 bantio, Roderigo and their followers appear on the 
 
"Othello" 15 
 
 scene. Iago pretends to challenge his poor dupe 
 Roderigo, as if befriending Othello, and swords are 
 drawn on both sides, when the Moor calmly addresses 
 friends and foes alike, exclaiming with fearless dignity : 
 
 " Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them." 
 
 Then respectfully addresses Brabantio : 
 
 " Good signor, you shall more command with years 
 Than with your weapons." 
 
 Brabantio, perhaps the more enraged at his coolness, 
 and still believing he has really bewitched his daughter 
 furiously asks : 
 
 " O thou foul thief, where hast thou stowed my daughter ? 
 Damned as thou art, thou hast enchanted her ; 
 For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
 Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, 
 So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd " 
 
 (here he probably alludes to the rejected Roderigo) 
 
 " The wealthy curled J darlings of our nation 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
 Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 
 Of such a thing as thou — to fear, not to delight." 
 
 He then makes a vehement, passionate appeal to all 
 around, as if to people in power, though now only 
 his foes and followers hear him : 
 
 " Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense 
 That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms, 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or minerals 
 That waken motion." 
 
 1 " Curled was an epithet characteristic of gentility." — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
1 6 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He thus persists in his idea that Desdemona has 
 been enchanted or bewitched when she eloped with 
 Othello, and threatens to bring forward a public trial 
 of the case. Yet his audience, except followers on 
 both sides, now alone comprise the rejected "curled 
 darling," Roderigo, and Othello, the suspected evil 
 magician, whose dark complexion, Moorish origin and 
 supposed deceit now drive the proud, formal, and 
 prejudiced old Venetian Senator almost beyond the 
 verge of reason. Had Othello been an infamous 
 criminal instead of a distinguished, trusted officer, 
 the vehement enmity of his father-in-law could hardly 
 have been more deep or more implacable. Fully 
 impressed with the belief that the Moor is a dangerous 
 magician, he indignantly proceeds : 
 
 " I therefore apprehend and do attach thee 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. 
 Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 
 Subdue him at his peril." 
 
 There might now have been a dangerous conflict 
 
 between the opposing followers of the Moor and 
 
 Brabantio, had not Othello again calmly intervened, 
 
 saying: 
 
 "Hold your hands ! 
 Both you of my inclining and the rest " ; 
 
 adding, with cool dignity : 
 
 " Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter." 
 
"Othello" 17 
 
 Then, addressing Brabantio : 
 
 " Where will you that I go, 
 To answer this charge ? " 
 
 Brabantio sternly replies : 
 
 "To prison," 
 
 when an attendant officer announces that the Duke is 
 now in council, and evidently some pressing State 
 business on hand, about which Othello is summoned, 
 although at night. Brabantio, surprised at this news, 
 asks all around to bring Othello at once before the 
 Duke, to whom he is going himself, and boldly 
 exclaims : 
 
 "Mine's not an idle cause; the Duke himself 
 Or any of my brothers of the State, 
 Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own." 
 
 He adds, as if hardly believing in Othello's being a 
 Christian : 
 
 "For if such actions may have passage free, 
 Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be." 
 
 About this period the island of Cyprus was ap- 
 parently either wholly or partly under Venetian rule, 
 but now menaced by a Turkish attack. While the 
 Duke and some Senators are discussing how to meet 
 this public danger, Othello, Brabantio, Iago and 
 Roderigo appear with attendants before the Duke, 
 who, first seeing the Moor, says : 
 
 "Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman." 
 
1 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then, perceiving Brabantio, he exclaims : 
 
 " I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signor, 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night." 
 
 Brabantio replies : 
 " So did I yours," 
 
 and sadly proceeds : 
 
 " Good your grace, pardon me, 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business 
 Hath rais'd me from my bed, nor doth the general care 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still itself." 
 
 He then accuses Othello openly of having 
 
 " By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks," 
 
 stolen his daughter from him. The Duke, astonished, 
 and likely divided in mind between friendship for Bra- 
 bantio and admiration for the gallant Moorish general 
 now about to head Venetian troops, asks Othello 
 what he has to say in defence. Then the Moor 
 addresses the Venetian Senate in an eloquent speech, 
 perhaps better known, or more admired, than any 
 other passage in this play : 
 
 " Most potent, grave, and reverend signors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter 
 It is most true j true, I have married her : 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more." 
 
"Othello" 19 
 
 He proceeds after this avowal in a manly, frank 
 manner, which probably impressed all the Senators 
 except Brabantio in his favour : 
 
 " Rude am I in my speech, 
 And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace, 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 Their dearest action in the tented field, 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broils and battle, 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
 In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love." 
 
 He then, utterly scorning, almost in sarcasm, the 
 
 idea that he had used magic or evil charms, and 
 
 evidently grieved or irritated at such an accusation, 
 
 proceeds : 
 
 " What drugs, what charms, 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 For such proceeding am I charged withal, 
 I won his daughter." 
 
 Brabantio, firmly impressed with his original idea, 
 is evidently quite unmoved by Othello's words. His 
 prejudice against Othello's nationality and appear- 
 ance now completely overcomes all the esteem which 
 he, in common with other Venetians, has hitherto felt 
 for the Moorish general. He is yet more incensed or 
 astounded, if possible, at what he considers Desdemona's 
 deceit towards himself, apparently her only parent. 
 Distrusting therefore, or perhaps hardly understanding 
 all Othello's words, the afflicted father again reverts 
 to his child in pathetic language, evidently hardly able 
 
20 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 to abandon his fond idea, if not hope, that she has 
 been drugged or bewitched by Othello's secret arts, 
 and he perhaps thinks that, if so, she may yet be re- 
 covered or restored to her ri^ht senses. Without 
 noticing Othello's declaration, he recalls to his 
 distressed and excited mind his daughter's peculiar 
 disposition and character, exclaiming : 
 
 " A maiden never bold, 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at herself, and she — in spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, everything — 
 To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ! 
 It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect. 
 
 ... I therefore vouch again 
 That with some mixture powerful o'er the blood, 
 Or with some dram conjured to this effect, 
 He wrought upon her." 
 
 The Duke, who likely thinks that such baseness is 
 altogether inconsistent with Othello's character, and 
 probably unwilling to in any way punish or degrade a 
 distinguished officer so useful to the Venetian State, 
 replies with calm truth : 
 
 " To vouch this is no proof, 
 Without more wider and more overt test." 
 
 A Senator here asks Othello a direct question how 
 he obtained Desdemona's love, to which the Moor 
 replies by asking that she should be sent for to state 
 her case before the assembled Senators. Othello then 
 bids Iago to conduct her to their presence, adding 
 significantly : 
 
 " You best know the place," 
 
"Othello" 21 
 
 for evidently Iago is more in Othello's confidence 
 than any one. When Iago is gone for this purpose, 
 Othello takes the opportunity to relate, by the Duke's 
 leave, how he obtained Desdemona's love, saying in 
 moving words : 
 
 " Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year — the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have passed. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it ; 
 Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field, 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe 
 
 And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence." 
 
 Othello proceeds to relate some risks and adven- 
 tures of his early life, the natural wonders of different 
 lands he had visited, and the various savages he had 
 seen or heard about. Among these he mentions a 
 race that neither ancient history nor modern discovery 
 acknowledges as ever existing for certain, though 
 obscurely hinted at by the ancient and comparatively 
 modern writers, Pliny and Sir Walter Raleigh. 1 
 
 "The Anthropophagi and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders." 
 
 During his wonderful narrative Othello, like some 
 other travellers, apparently mingled fact and fiction 
 together, either through his own credulity or from 
 wishing to astonish as well as interest his hearers, 
 
 1 Staunton's notes, 
 
22 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He adds, referring to the effect of his narrative on 
 Desdemona : 
 
 " This to hear 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence : 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She would come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart. 
 
 . . . My story being done, 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 She swore, in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful. 
 She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me, 
 And bade me if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake : 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, 
 And I lov'd her that she did pity them." 
 
 Then, scornfully reverting to Brabantio's charge against 
 him, he concludes: 
 
 "This only is the witchcraft I have used. 
 Here comes the lady; let her witness it." 
 
 Desdemona enters with Iago and attendants, while 
 the Duke, deeply impressed by Othello's words, 
 besides having high esteem for his past service to 
 Venice, exclaims with sympathetic feeling : 
 
 " I think this tale would win my daughter too." 
 
 Then, addressing Brabantio, who has remained silent 
 during Othello's speech, but doubtless heard it with 
 
"Othello" 23 
 
 earnest attention, the Duke proceeds to give him 
 advice : 
 
 " Good Brabantio, 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best," 
 
 evidently wishing him to be reconciled to his new 
 son-in-law, and utterly disbelieving in the idea of 
 Othello's having bewitched Desdemona. Brabantio's 
 love of truth and frankness has evidently been im- 
 pressed by Othello's words, yet he is still too preju- 
 diced and irritated to quite believe them, and firmly 
 replies : 
 
 " I pray you, hear her speak : 
 If she confess that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man ! " 
 
 He then asks his daughter the important question, 
 on her answer to which depends, indeed, all the happi- 
 ness of his future life : 
 
 " Come hither, gentle mistress : 
 Do you perceive in all this noble company 
 Where most you owe obedience ? " 
 
 All wait in silence, as so much depends on Des- 
 demona's reply to this solemn and, in her case, awful 
 question. To the grief and amazement of her father, 
 she answers in the calm style of a rational mind, free 
 from all secret evil influence, but fully determined and 
 resolute : 
 
 " My noble father, 
 I do perceive here a divided duty : 
 To you I am bound for life and education. 
 
2 4 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 . . . ¥ba are the lord of duty : 
 
 1 .-.- :-..'.':-.;::^ \ j-u: ^.i,:,:-;;- . -.:: ~::^s :v.y ';-. us ;,-.:-. vU 
 
 ".". . . -. • -. - . • 
 
 S.- ::-.:..- 1 .-':-.i '.'.;■;.• :..•.: 1 :v..iy vr;:;>s 
 Due to the Moor my lord." 
 
 These words convince Brabantio for the first time 
 that his daughter has left him of her own free will. 
 
 -■-■..- ■•-.-. .[ 
 
 that he would never have consented to he sbes, 
 had therefore secretly married Othello, who, though 
 *ndty with him. had never even hinted about his 
 t for Desdemona. Overcome, amazed and shock;.: 
 by Desdemona's free admission of her thoughts and 
 acts, Brabantio exclaims, evidently from his heart, 
 as he now abandons her for .uid believes that 
 
 she has ungratefully abandoned him : 
 
 w God be with you ! — I have done." 
 
 Then, as - suppress his private grief 
 
 in turning to his country's welfare, he proceeds, 
 addressing the Duke for the moment: 
 
 R Please it your grace, on to the State affairs 
 
 and at once reverting to his own troubles, he addresses 
 both Othello and his daughter in words of sad and 
 solemn abandonment : 
 
 •• l\-:v.; .-:--. Mjc: 
 1 •. . u; _ ■ , :.-.-; ...v. ■■■ :'.". :.'.'. ::• ~ru.:: 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 1 would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child : 
 V;: ::-. -j;.v;.. .-_.u' :-u;>. ~ ; :;.ru -.:-;.. 
 
 To hang dogs on them. I have done, my lord." 
 
"Othello" 25 
 
 The Duke recognising much to respect in both 
 Othello and Brabantio, and naturally anxious to 
 reconcile such men, calmly replies to the latter : 
 
 " Let me speak like yourself,' and lay a sentence, 
 Which, as a grise or stop, may help these lovers 
 Into your favour." 
 
 He then proceeds, vainly interceding, and perhaps 
 quoting, in favour of the newly married pair : 
 
 " When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
 By seeing (he worst, which late on hopes depe?ided. 
 To mount a mischief that is past and gone 
 Is the next way to draw ?iew mischief on. 
 What cannot he preserved ivhen Fortune takes 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
 The robb'd that smi/es, steals something from the thief; 
 He robs himself that spends a bootless grief " 
 
 This calm, quaint, yet wise advice, in a case which 
 the adviser has nothing to do with, has no effect 
 on the heart-broken Brabantio. He answers it 
 with almost sarcastic bitterness, while vainly trying 
 to turn his afflicted mind from private sorrows to 
 public business. Knowing the Venetian anxiety to 
 preserve Cyprus from the Turks, he aptly, even in 
 the midst of his depression, compares an appre- 
 hended political loss to his own private deprivation, 
 and exclaims : 
 
 "So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears, 
 But the free comfort, which from thence he hears , 
 
 1 Mr. Staunton suggests, " He perhaps means sententiously." 
 
26 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
 
 But words are words, I never yet did hear 
 
 That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear." 
 
 Then, as if unable to endure the subject longer, 
 or unwilling to take up more of the Senate's at- 
 tention at this important meeting, he adds : 
 
 " I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of State." 
 
 The Duke, seeing that his words prevail nothing with 
 Brabantio, gives him no more advice, but states 
 that the Turks are preparing to attack Cyprus. 
 The Duke says : 
 
 "Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you," 
 
 and therefore he, in the name of Venice, requests 
 Othello to go there in command of troops, despite 
 of his recent marriage, saying : 
 
 " You must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new 
 fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition." 
 
 Othello replies that the trials and hardships of war 
 are delightful to him, but while gladly accepting the 
 trust of leading the Venetian troops against the 
 Turks, he asks where he should leave Desdemona. 
 The Duke suggests at her father's house, but 
 Brabantio refuses consent, and then Desdemona 
 entreats the Senate to permit her accompanying 
 Othello. The Duke says that the Moor must set 
 
"Othello" 27 
 
 off for Cyprus this same evening. Othello agrees, 
 saying he will leave Desdemona under the care of 
 Iao-o, whom he terms and believes is " a man of 
 honesty and trust," till she rejoins him in Cyprus. 
 The Duke agrees, and warmly admiring Othello, 
 whom he would gladly reconcile with Brabantio, 
 says a few impressive words praising Othello to 
 the implacable father-in-law : 
 
 " Noble signor, 
 If virtue no delighted 1 beauty lack 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black." 
 
 A friendly Senator also exclaims : 
 
 "Adieu, brave Moor ; use Desdemona well." 
 
 Brabantio, at parting, says the most severe and 
 injurious words he can imagine about her to Othello, 
 words which Iago never forgot, and which he was 
 fated to recall later on with terrible effect : 
 
 " Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see : 
 She has deceived her father, and may thee." 
 
 The Duke departs after these words without 
 noticing them. 
 
 This warning denunciation proves indeed the 
 implacability of Brabantio towards his married 
 daughter, though he little foresaw its fearful effect 
 on her future life. His indignation against Othello, 
 and his suspicion of his having practised occult arts, 
 
 1 " Delighting." — Staunton's notes. 
 
28 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 completely vanish, while his confidence in Desde- 
 mona's innocence or virtue in any respect seems 
 utterly destroyed by what he thinks her ungrateful 
 deceit towards himself. Her conduct in never even 
 hinting to her father about her love for Othello can 
 hardly be quite excused by her believing he would 
 never consent to her marriage. She might surely 
 have tried the effect of some entreaty before 
 eloping at night from his house, hitherto her home, 
 and causing him, at his advanced age, all the 
 danger and distress of such an alarm. In filial 
 duty, and apparently in affection also, she falls far 
 short indeed of Cordelia in " King Lear," and yet 
 apparently had a more kind father than that 
 passionate old monarch was. Cordelia replies to her 
 enraged father, when told, or rather ordered to state, 
 
 how much she loves him : 
 
 • 
 " Good my lord, 
 You have begot me, bred me, loved me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit, 
 Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
 
 . . . Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry 
 Half my love with him ; half my care, and duty." 
 
 These sentiments surely raise Cordelia morally far 
 above Desdemona, eloping in secret from her old 
 father's house at night, and thus letting the event 
 unexpectedly be told him, which shortens his life. 
 She never throughout this tragedy inquires after 
 him, while Cordelia loves her denouncing father to 
 the last, and dies in trying to rescue him. 
 
" Othello " 29 
 
 Othello, at hearing Brabantio's terrible words, 
 eagerly notices them, yet with perfect confidence in 
 his denounced bride, and firmly replies : 
 
 " My life upon her faith ! " 
 
 Then, addressing his trusted follower, yet most bitter 
 enemy, he says : 
 
 " Honest Iago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave with thee : 
 I prythee, let thy wife attend on her, 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. 
 Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matter and direction, 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time." 
 
 They depart, and probably Brabantio left before 
 with the Duke, leaving Iago and Roderigo alone 
 together. No one hears, or likely even guesses 
 about their extraordinary conference. Roderigo is 
 apparently unacquainted with Othello — at least they 
 never exchange a word. But Iago, knowing all 
 about his rejected love for Desdemona, has obtained 
 his thorough confidence, and has for some time 
 successfully pretended to be his friend. 
 
 During the important scene before the Venetian 
 Senate, Iago and Roderigo, though both deeply 
 interested in its result, have remained quite silent, 
 and not till they are alone together do they ven- 
 ture to reveal their feelings. Roderigo, grieved and 
 disconsolate, patiently asks his treacherous friend : 
 
 11 What will I do, think'st thou ? " 
 
30 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and Iago, in reply, advising him to 
 
 " Go to bed and sleep," 
 Roderigo impetuously, if not frantically, exclaims : 
 
 " I will incontinently drown myself." 
 
 This desperate resolve Iago, who intends using 
 him as a profitable instrument for some time longer, 
 sarcastically discourages, replying : 
 
 " If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly 
 gentleman ! " 
 
 And when poor Roderigo answers : 
 
 "It is silliness to live when to live is a torment, and then have 
 we a prescription to die when death is our physician," 
 
 Iago rejoins emphatically : 
 
 "O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times 
 seven years, and since I could distinguish between a benefit and an 
 injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself." 
 
 Then, determined to encourage Roderigo by per- 
 suading him that he may yet win Desdemona, by 
 following his advice, Iago, scornfully alluding to 
 Roderigo's idea of suicide, calmly proceeds : 
 
 " Come, be a man. Drown thyself ! drown cats and blind 
 puppies. I have professed me thy friend. ... I could never 
 better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse ; follow thou 
 the wars ; defeat thy favour x with an usurped beard ; I say, put 
 money in thy purse." 
 
 1 " Change thy countenance by putting on a spurious beard." — 
 Staunton's notes. 
 
"Othello" 31 
 
 This practical advice Iago often repeats, well knowing 
 how to get it from him, and proceeds, in words well 
 calculated to win over the poor love-sick Roderigo : 
 
 " It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to 
 the Moor — put money in thy purse — nor he his to her ; it was a 
 violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestra- 
 tion — put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in 
 their wills — fill thy purse with money .... she must change for 
 youth .... she will find the error of her choice ; she must have 
 change, therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn 
 thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the 
 money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring 
 barbarian and a super-subtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits 
 .... thou shalt enjoy her ; therefore make money. A pox of 
 drowning thyself ! it is clean out of the way : seek thou rather 
 to be hanged in compassing thy joy, than to be drowned and go 
 without her." 
 
 This view of his case evidently startles Roderigo, 
 who, catching from it as it were a faint ray of hope, 
 almost imploringly asks : 
 
 " Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue ?" 
 
 This question Iago is well prepared for, and, eager 
 to get more and more money from his luckless dupe, 
 artfully replies, though with some hints as to his 
 private feelings : 
 
 " Thou art sure of me — go, make money — I have told thee often, 
 and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor : my cause is 
 hearted ; thine hath no less reason ; let us be conjunctive in our 
 revenge against him. . . . Traverse ! go, provide thy money. We 
 will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu." 
 
 Roderigo eagerly asks : 
 
 "Where shall we meet in the morning? " 
 
2,2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 I ago replies : 
 
 " At my lodging." 
 Roderigo rejoins : 
 
 " I'll be with thee betimes." 
 I ago replies : 
 
 " Go to ; farewell." 
 
 Then, apparently uneasy lest he should commit 
 suicide, as he had mentioned, Iago calls him back, 
 saying half in scorn, half in earnest : 
 
 " No more of drowning, do you hear ? " 
 
 To these words the poor dupe makes precisely the 
 answer his tempter desired : 
 
 " I am changed. I'll go sell all my land." 
 
 This resolution lago evidently approves, replying : 
 
 " Go to ; farewell ; put but money enough in thy purse." 
 
 Roderigo departs, and then Iago, alone, reveals his 
 dangerous mind and purposes in safe soliloquy. It 
 seems often Shakespeare's practice to make his villains 
 thus explain themselves and to rarely trust any con- 
 fidant, beyond a very limited point. Iago, especially, 
 unlike King John, Richard III., or Edmund in " King 
 Lear," has neither friend, adherent, nor lover to aid 
 his secret designs. It is true, indeed, that Richard 
 
" Othello" 33 
 
 declared no one loved him, and that he was 
 "himself alone"; yet these notions proceeded from 
 the depressing fancies of his guilty mind, rather 
 than from real fact, as thousands of brave English 
 subjects were faithful to him at the last and perished 
 in his cause. King John had also faithful adherents, 
 Hubert de Buro-h and Falconbrido-e — far better 
 subjects than he deserved to have ; while Edmund 
 had completely won the affections of the royal 
 sisters, the two Princesses Goneril and Regan. 
 But Iago is absolutely and completely alone in 
 his secret plots. Neither his wife, Emilia, his chief, 
 Othello, nor his two dupes, Cassio and Roderigo, 
 has the least idea of his real character or evil 
 plans, which he now ventures to disclose as Roderigo 
 leaves him alone. He begins by exulting over his 
 superior cunning in duping the trustful, unsuspicious 
 Roderigo, and scornfully recalling similar instances 
 of his successful deceit. It may seem strange 
 that a habitual knave, as he admits himself to be, 
 should so completely impose upon so many persons. 
 At the beginning of this play, Iago is liked, esteemed, 
 and trusted by all his acquaintances, and he con- 
 temptuously exclaims, referring to Roderigo as he 
 departs : 
 
 "Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; 
 For I mine own gained knowledge should profane, 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe. 
 But for my sport and profit." 
 
 In the poet's time snipe, it is said, were not 
 
 4 
 
34 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 uncommon in the neighbourhood of London. Many 
 sportsmen well know how often this bird, when missed, 
 alights again, thus tempting shooters to " expend 
 time " in its pursuit. This fact may explain Iago's 
 comparison, and also prove how true Shakespeare is 
 to natural history, though he seldom alludes to it. 
 Iago proceeds, revealing more and more of his secret 
 mind, which none of his numerous acquaintances seem 
 to understand in the least decree : 
 
 " I hate the Moor," 
 
 and mentions an evidently wicked scandal that 
 Othello is a lover of Emilia, his wife, adding 
 words and intentions hardly consistent with his 
 shrewd, observant nature : 
 
 " I know not if 't be true ; 
 But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
 Will do as if for surety." 
 
 It seems scarcely worthy of a man so crafty, so 
 worldly and self-controlled, to "do for surety " without 
 full proof in such an important case. A young, 
 impetuous lover might act so, indeed, but the Iago of 
 reality would likely be more deliberate, before devot- 
 ing all his energies and risking his life to injure a 
 patron and benefactor without absolute certainty of 
 the wrong alleged. A man so worldly-wise as Iago, 
 admitting previously that he had never known a man 
 "who could love himself," would surely in his life's 
 progress have learned to rather distrust, or at least 
 carefully examine, a case of " mere suspicion," instead 
 
: < Othello" 35 
 
 :>f absolutely relying upon it for belief and conduct. 
 Vet, having once this idea firmly in his mind, he 
 Droceeds, with the calm malignity of his relentless 
 lature, to avail himself of Othello's confidence, saying : 
 
 " He holds me well; 
 The better shall my purpose work on him." 
 
 This purpose is to rouse Othello's jealousy of 
 Desdemona, as the next sentence reveals : 
 
 " Cassio's a proper man : let me see now : 
 To get his place and to plume up my will 
 In double knavery — How, how ? — Let's see." 
 
 He asks himself this question, and then, as if Mephis- 
 :opheles whispered in his ear, thoughtfully proceeds 
 ;o compose and unfold the whole plot of this terrible 
 ;ragedy. 
 
 " After a time to abuse Othello's ear 
 That he is too familiar with his wife. 
 He hath a person and a smooth dispose 
 To be suspected, fram'd to make women false." 
 
 Here he recalls with confidence Othello's noble 
 :haracter, while as resolved as ever to effect his 
 destruction : 
 
 " The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
 That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
 As asses are." 
 
 Thus calmly calculating on the personal attractions 
 )f Cassio and the trustful simplicity of Othello, Iago 
 laturally thinks that both in mind and body these two 
 
36 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 future subjects of his treachery will be as easily 
 victimised as the confiding, weak Roderigo. The 
 whole trio certainly are none of them astute men, and 
 up to this time repose complete confidence in " honest 
 Iago," as he is often termed, who, thus reviewing their 
 separate characters, and with thorough knowledge of 
 each, finally exclaims, as his plot ripens in his secret 
 mind : 
 
 " I have 't. It is engendered. Hell and night 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light." 
 
 The idea of the ruin of Othello and Cassio now 
 inspires and absorbs Iago's thoughts. Their destruc- 
 tion would be indeed, as he admits, " a double 
 knavery," by which his strange, mistaken hatred of 
 Othello and his bitter contempt for Cassio would be 
 alike gratified. He has now the future fortunes of 
 Othello, Desdemona, Roderigo and Cassio constantly 
 in his malignant mind. None of the four knows 
 his real character, but on the contrary alike believe 
 him the precise opposite of what he is. To them 
 he is sometimes "honest," sometimes "good" Iago; 
 and no one has the least suspicion of him. He 
 therefore calmly and safely examines or reviews 
 their separate characters, positions, and feelings, with 
 a relentless enmity, which would seem hardly 
 natural, considering their friendly esteem for him, yet 
 which the poet describes with such wonderful con- 
 sistency. 
 
 The next act and scene are in Cyprus, where, 
 indeed, all the rest of the tragedy takes place. This 
 
 
 
: < Othello" 37 
 
 sland, according to the play, is now held by the 
 Venetians, but was a frequent cause of strife between 
 :hem and the Turks, against whom the Moorish 
 general, Othello, is now heading the forces of Venice 
 with all the vigour of an able and faithful commander, 
 md perhaps partly with the zeal of a convert. 
 Montano, the Venetian Governor of Cyprus, is now 
 iwaiting the arrival of Othello, who is to be his 
 successor. The latter's officers, Iago and Cassio, 
 escorting Desdemona and Emilia, arrive before him. 
 Cassio, an enthusiastic admirer of female beauty, 
 iescribes Desdemona to Montano, who inquires if 
 Othello is married. He warmly replies : 
 
 " Most fortunately : he hath achieved a maid 
 That paragons description and wild fame. 
 
 And in the essential vesture of creation 
 Does tire the ingener." J 
 
 Al gentleman now announces the landing of Iago, and 
 Cassio exclaims : 
 
 " He has had most favourable and happy speed : 
 Tempests themselves, high seas and howling winds, 
 The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands — 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel — 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdemona." 
 
 Cassio proceeds in his admiring description, full of 
 
 1 " Painter or artist." — Staunton's notes. 
 
38 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 devotion towards Othello, to whom he is always 
 faithful : 
 
 u O behold, 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore," 
 
 as Desdemona, with Iago, Emilia, the disguised 
 Roderigo and attendants, now appear after a terrific 
 sea-storm. 
 
 The position of Roderigo disguised on board the 
 same ship as Desdemona was alike dangerous and 
 interesting. He had thoroughly taken Iago's advice 
 to follow Othello to Cyprus, but he is never 
 recognised by any one, and so is only known to 
 Iago. Cassio, doing the honours of Cyprus till 
 Othello's arrival, exclaims, addressing those around : 
 
 " Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round ! " 
 
 Desdemona, thanking him, asks eagerly for news of 
 Othello, whose arrival all expect every moment. 
 Cassio, always polite and courteous, salutes Emilia, 
 while apologising for his freedom by saying : 
 
 " Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 That gives me this bold show of courtesy." 
 
 He takes no notice of Roderigo, whom evidently 
 none, except Iago, recognises. Iago, always observing 
 
 
"Othello" 39 
 
 everybody and everything closely, sarcastically remarks 
 of his wife, though with assumed good-humour : 
 
 " Sir, would she give you so much of her lips 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
 You 'd have enough." 
 
 Desdemona, always attached to Emilia, vindicates 
 her, though not offended with Iago, by saying kindly : 
 
 "Alas ! she has no speech," 
 
 while Iago rejoins, apparently still in good-humour : 
 
 " I' faith, too much ; 
 I find it still , when I have list to sleep : 
 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
 And chides with thinking." 
 
 Emilia calmly replies : 
 
 "You have little cause to say so," 
 
 and Iago answers in blunt words, intended apparently 
 more to amuse than to irritate, and as if describing 
 women generally : 
 
 11 Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of doors, 
 Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended." 
 
 Desdemona, protesting against this description, yet 
 apparently not personally offended, exclaims : 
 
 "O fie upon thee, slanderer ! " 
 
40 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and I ago answers : 
 
 " Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk," 
 and Emilia naturally observes : 
 
 " You shall not write my praise," 
 and he retorts : 
 
 "No, let me not." 
 
 Desdemona, as if amused, asks him : 
 
 " What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me ? " 
 
 and Iago, now assuming politeness and always able, 
 like Richard III., to " frame his face to all occasions," x 
 replies deferentially : 
 
 " O gentle lady, do not put me to 't ; 
 For I am nothing, if not critical." 
 
 Desdemona, eagerly awaiting Othello's arrival, appar- 
 ently tries to pass away the anxious time by thus 
 questioning Iago, as if amused by his answers, while 
 for a man of his mental powers to assume politeness 
 or rough plainness is perhaps almost equally easy. 
 She therefore unsuspectingly proceeds, as if address- 
 ing an amusing, friendly acquaintance instead of a 
 relentless, crafty deceiver : 
 
 " Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? " 
 
 "Henry VI.," Act III. 
 
"Othello" 4- 1 
 
 Iag-o wishing her to still believe him a frank, honest 
 man, amusing and blunt, but incapable of deceit, 
 replies : 
 
 " I am about it ; but indeed my invention 
 Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize ; 
 It plucks out brains and all : but my Muse labours, 
 And thus she is deliver'd. 
 If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 
 The one's for use — the other useth it." 
 
 Desdemona replies, perhaps recalling Othello to her 
 mind : 
 
 " Well praised ! How if she be black and witty ? " 
 
 Iago replies, as if reversing the real state of things : 
 
 " If she be black and thereto have a wit, 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit." 
 
 Desdemona, diverted, yet hardly knowing what to say, 
 exclaims : 
 
 "Worse and worse," 
 
 when Emilia, now joining in the conversation, perhaps 
 wishing to amuse her mistress, asks her husband : 
 
 " How if she be fair and foolish ? " 
 
 and he readily answers : 
 
 " She never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir." 
 
42 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Desdemona, as if tired of this talk, or thinking it 
 beneath her notice, exclaims : 
 
 " These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh in the ale- 
 house" ; 
 
 then again asks him : 
 
 " What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish ? " 
 
 Iago replies, as if wishing to be thought a woman- 
 hater : 
 
 " There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do." 
 
 Desdemona then exclaims, wishing to hear him praise 
 a virtuous woman if possible : 
 
 " O heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the worst best. But what 
 praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed — one that 
 in the authority of her merit, did justly put on 1 the vouch of very 
 malice itself? " 
 
 This question Iago answers in smooth, attractive 
 language, proving how easily he can be polished or 
 rough, alternately, though usually pretending to be 
 frank and downright, to preserve his acquired reputa- 
 tion for plain honesty and steady faithfulness. Iago, 
 now likely assuming a tender, sentimental tone, thus 
 replies, describing an interesting heroine : 
 
 " She that was ever fair and never proud ; 
 Had tongue at will and yet was never loud ; 
 
 1 " Provoke." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" Othello " 43 
 
 Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay ; 
 Fled from her wish and yet said, ' Now I may ; ' 
 She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly ; 
 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind ; 
 See suitors following and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, if ever such wight were " 
 
 He evidently stops here, and Desdemona, curious to 
 hear the conclusion of his singular description, asks : 
 
 " To do what ? " 
 
 I ago replies in his usual sarcastic manner, probably 
 disappointing all but himself : 
 
 " To suckle fools and chronicle small beer." 
 
 Desdemona, disappointed if not shocked, yet not 
 angry, exclaims : 
 
 " O most lame and impotent conclusion ! " 
 
 Then, addressing Emilia, whom she thoroughly likes 
 and trusts : 
 
 " Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How 
 say you, Cassio? Is he not a most profane and liberal T counsellor?" 
 
 Cassio, apparently thinking himself much superior to 
 Iago, not only in appearance, but in manner, is yet 
 
 1 " Licentious." — Staunton's notes. 
 
44 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 inclined to patronise him, and tries to excuse him as 
 a good, blunt fellow, saying apologetically : 
 
 " He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him more in the 
 soldier than in the scholar." 
 
 While Cassio thus speaks with polite deference to 
 Desdemona, Iago, like a malignant demon, watching 
 both closely, thus reveals to himself thoughts and 
 desires of which none who know him believe him 
 capable : 
 
 " He takes her by the palm : ay, well said, whisper : with as little 
 a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon 
 her, do ; I will gyve x thee in thine own courtship. You say true ; 'tis 
 so, indeed ; if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenancy, 
 it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, 
 which now again you are most apt to play the sir 2 in. Very good ; 
 well kissed ! an excellent courtesy ! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your 
 fingers to your lips ? " 
 
 At this moment the expected Moor returns, 
 announced by a trumpet, which Iago recognises. 
 He is eagerly greeted by the devoted Desdemona, 
 and he joyously exclaims, in words worthy of the 
 poet indeed, but which few, if any, Moors were likely 
 to use : 
 
 "O my soul's joy I 
 If after every tempest come such calms, 
 May the winds blow till they have wakened death ! 
 
 ... If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear 
 
 1 " Fetter." — Staunton's notes. 
 ■ " Courtier."— Ibid. 
 
" Othello " 45 
 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate." 
 
 And Desdemona answers in beautiful words : 
 
 " The heavens forbid 
 But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
 Even as our days do grow." 
 
 Othello responds in a like spirit : 
 
 "Amen to that, sweet powers 
 I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
 It stops me here ; it is too much of joy." 
 
 During these fond greetings I ago evidently watches 
 them both keenly. While plotting their ruin, his 
 malignant spirit secretly knows and despises their 
 estimate of him, as he says to himself: 
 
 " O you are well tun'd now ! 
 But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am." 
 
 The general belief in his "honesty," to which Iago 
 here scornfully alludes, is alike shared by Othello, 
 Cassio, and Roderigo, and apparently not contra- 
 dicted by either Desdemona or Emilia. It may be 
 said that in the whole play Iago is the only villain 
 in it, while surrounded by kind, friendly, unsuspicious 
 persons. If he had possessed his free choice he could 
 hardly have found in Venice a set of acquaintances 
 more easy to dupe or deceive than all his associates 
 during this tragedy. Othello now announces that the 
 war is over by Turkish disasters at sea, and tells 
 
46 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "good" Iago to follow him with money from his 
 vessel to the citadel, and departs with Desdemona 
 and attendants, but takes no notice of the disguised 
 Roderigo, whom he now leaves alone with Iago. 
 The latter then tells Roderigo that Desdemona is 
 in love with Cassio. At first Roderigo exclaims, 
 astonished : 
 
 " With him ! why, 'tis not possible," 
 
 when Iago, well prepared how to deal with him, replies 
 in words perhaps more deceiving than ever : 
 
 "Let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she 
 first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: 
 and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart 
 think it. Her eye must be fed, and what delight shall she have to 
 look on the devil ? " 
 
 Here Iago evinces the same intense prejudice against 
 dark Orientals that Brabantio had expressed, and 
 which at this period may have been usual enough 
 in Christian Europe. At the present time and for 
 many years past, owing to the vast increase of 
 national intercourse, these horrified allusions either 
 to Moors or negroes would be thought ridiculous, 
 unless justified by some morally evil qualities. 
 Roderigo probably fully shares in such prejudices, 
 while Iago persists that Desdemona will soon tire 
 of the Moor, saying : 
 
 "Very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some 
 second choice. Now, sir, this granted . . . who stands so eminent 
 in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? . . . 
 
" Othello " 47 
 
 Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites 
 in him that folly and green minds look after : . . . and the woman 
 hath found him already." 
 
 Roderigo, who, though heart-broken at his rejec- 
 tion, always shows a generous if not noble spirit, 
 replies, still incredulous : 
 
 " I cannot believe that in her ; she is full of most blessed 
 condition." x 
 
 Iago readily replies, in words well calculated to alter 
 Roderigo's opinion : 
 
 " Blessed fig's-end ! the wine she drinks is made of grapes; if she 
 had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. . . . But, 
 sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch 
 you to-night ; for the command, I'll lay it upon you. Cassio knows 
 you not. I'll not be far from you ; do you find some occasion to 
 anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline, 
 or from what other cause you please, which the time shall more 
 favourably minister. . . . He is rash and very sudden in choler, 
 and haply may strike at you : provoke him that he may, for even out 
 of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification 2 
 shall come into no true taste again, but by the displanting of Cassio. 
 So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I 
 shall then have to prefer them ; and the impediment most profitably 
 removed, without the which there were no expectation of our 
 prosperity." 
 
 Roderigo departs, agreeing to all Iago's plans, and 
 the latter then utters an instructive soliloquy, in which 
 he reveals those plots, desires, and thoughts which 
 he so ably conceals from all he knows. It is usual 
 with the poet, as before observed, to make his chief 
 
 1 " Disposition." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " Temperament." — Ibid. 
 
48 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 villains reveal themselves in this manner. Iago 
 especially indulges in frequent soliloquy, having no 
 trusted friend or adherent. Iago is, in fact, com- 
 pletely "himself alone" against the world, and has 
 far more reason to say so than Richard III., to whom 
 Shakespeare imputes the expression. For Iago 
 trusts no one ; in fact, nearly all he knows are his 
 dupes, more or less, to be robbed and deceived as 
 he pleases. He is, indeed, a virtual stranger in his 
 real character to every one he deals with, and thus 
 in secure solitude reveals his true feelings, desires, 
 and opinions, which he confides to no ears but his 
 own. He naturally suspects that a giddy, gay young 
 man like Cassio would easily fall in love with the 
 beautiful Desdemona, and has likely too little confi- 
 dence in any one not to think that she might be 
 tempted to return his love. His thoughts are now 
 devoted to three credulous men — Othello, Cassio, 
 and Roderigo, each brave enough, probably, when in 
 personal danger, yet alike easily deceived by one 
 whom they believe to be peculiarly honest and 
 reliable. These three, in their different positions, Iago 
 knows thoroughly, while they are equally and totally 
 mistaken in him. In reviewing their different 
 characters with all the calmness of familiar knowledge, 
 Iago now says to himself: 
 
 " That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it ; 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit : 
 The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature." 
 
 He again refers to Othello's suspected intimacy with 
 
" Othello " 49 
 
 his wife, which Iago inclines to believe, though ad- 
 mitting he has no proof. The fact, indeed, of Othello 
 being of a " noble nature " would be hardly consistent 
 with his having a guilty intrigue with his trusted 
 subordinate's wife, yet Iago, having this idea in his 
 mind, cannot get rid of it. He exclaims, with extra- 
 ordinary inveteracy, to himself : 
 
 "The thought whereof, 
 Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards ; 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul 
 Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, 
 Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, 
 If this poor trash of Venice [Roderigo] whom I trash z 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb — 
 For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too — 
 Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me, 
 For making him egregiously an ass, 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness." 
 
 His plan how to manage or conduct all this treachery 
 is not yet clear to his unassisted mind, but, quite 
 determined in his course, he concludes : 
 
 " 'Tis here, but yet confused : 
 Knavery's plain face is never seen till us'd." 
 
 In the next short scene a herald announces, in 
 Othello's name, that owing to the destruction of 
 the Turkish fleet there should be general rejoicings 
 throughout Cyprus : 
 
 1 " Impede." — Staunton's notes. 
 5 
 
50 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Every man put himself into triumph, some to dance, some 
 to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction 
 leads him : for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration 
 of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure, should be proclaimed. 
 All offices are open ; and there is full liberty of feasting from 
 this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven 
 bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble general Othello." 
 
 This proclamation shows that peace is now established 
 in the island, and from this time Shakespeare makes 
 little, if any, historical allusion, devoting the rest 
 of the play to the words and deeds of his imaginary 
 personages. 
 
 In the next long scene are Othello, Desdemona, 
 Cassio and attendants. The Moor, though of an 
 excitable nature usually, shows calm good sense 
 and love of order, as when he declined conflict with 
 his enraged father-in-law, Brabantio, and his armed 
 followers. He coolly addresses Cassio, now second 
 in command at Cyprus, though little fitted for his 
 trust : 
 
 " Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night : 
 Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
 Not to outsport discretion." 
 
 Cassio earnestly, yet somewhat simply, answers : 
 
 " Iago hath direction what to do, 
 But notwithstanding with my personal eye 
 Will I look to 't." 
 
 Othello rejoins, with his usual complete confidence in 
 his malignant foe : 
 
 " Iago is most honest. 
 Michael, good-night." 
 
" Othello " 5 1 
 
 Hitherto the esteem of Othello and Cassio for Iago 
 seems equally high. He is the "good" or the 
 "honest" Iago of both, and up to this time he is 
 trusted and relied on by all around him. Othello, 
 with Desdemona and attendants, departs, leaving 
 Cassio alone, when Iago appears. Their ensuing 
 conversation proves the mistake of placing such a 
 man as Cassio even by his own admission in nominal 
 authority over the shrewd, crafty Iago, who in most 
 matters important or trifling must have always been 
 his superior. Cassio, fully trusting him, frankly 
 begins : 
 
 " Welcome, Iago ; we must to the watch." 
 
 Iago coolly replies : 
 
 " Not for this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet ten o'clock. Our 
 general cast * us thus early for the love of his Desdemona." 
 
 Cassio in sincere admiration replies : 
 
 " She's a most exquisite lady." 
 
 After further praise of Desdemona's beauty, Iago, 
 wishing to encourage Cassio's admiration for her, 
 asks him : 
 
 " And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love ? " 
 to which Cassio rejoins enthusiastically : 
 " She is indeed perfection." 
 
 1 " Dismissed." — Staunton's notes. 
 
52 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago, well knowing Cassio's jovial habits, has resolved 
 to take advantage of them, and now tempts him, 
 saying : 
 
 " Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and here without 
 are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to 
 the health of black Othello." 
 
 Cassio, honest and trustful, replies in simple good 
 faith, knowing his own weakness, yet unable to resist 
 it, and with a sort of grateful regret : 
 
 "Not to-night, good Iago; I have j very poor and unhappy 
 brains for drinking : I could well wish courtesy would invent 
 some other custom of entertainment." 
 
 Iago merrily replies : 
 " O, they are our friends ; but one cup : I'll drink for you." 
 
 Cassio honestly, if not timidly, replies : 
 
 " I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily 
 qualified too, and behold, what innovation it makes here. I am 
 unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with 
 any more." 
 
 These words are very encouraging to Iago, who with 
 assumed joyousness replies : 
 
 "What, man ! 'tis a night of revels : the gallants desire it. ' 
 Cassio, wavering, asks : 
 
 " Where are they ? " 
 and Iago promptly replies : 
 
 " Here at the door ; I pray you call them in." 
 
"Othello" 53 
 
 Cassio, yielding more and more, yet rather mistrusting 
 himself, replies : 
 
 " I'll do it, but it dislikes me," 
 
 and he departs to call in the guests. I ago, when 
 alone, again reveals his true mind, saying : 
 
 " If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
 With that which he hath drunk to-night already, 
 He'll be as full of quarrel and offence 
 
 As my young mistress's dog. Now, my sick fool, Roderigo, 
 Whom love has almost turn'd the wrong side out, 
 To Desdemona hath to-night caroused 
 Potations pottle-deep ; and he's to watch : 
 Three lads of Cyprus — noble swelling spirits, 
 
 Have I to-night flustered with flowing cups, 
 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, 
 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 
 That may offend the isle — but here they come : 
 
 If consequence do but approve my dream, 
 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream." 
 
 Everything now, indeed, seems to favour Iago's 
 wishes, as Cassio re-enters with other gentlemen and 
 attendants, having drunk more, and accompanied by 
 Montano, the former Governor of Cyprus, who, though 
 wise and temperate himself, is now in very giddy 
 company. Cassio exclaims merrily : 
 
 " 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse already," 
 
 while Montano, perhaps not knowing what Cassio 
 had drunk previously, observes : 
 
 " Good faith, a little one j not past a pint, as I'm a soldier." 
 
54 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago, calling for wine, begins to sing a jovial song : 
 
 " Come, let me the canakin clink, clink, 
 And let me the canakin clink : 
 
 A soldier's a man, 
 
 Man's life's but a span ; 
 Why, then, let a soldier drink." 
 
 Cassio, drinking more, exclaims with delight : 
 
 " 'Fore heaven, an excellent song ! " 
 
 Iago replies in words which perhaps Shakespeare 
 wrote to amuse or rally an English audience, but 
 which it may be hoped are scarcely fair to English 
 people, who were surely never so intemperate as 
 some foreign nations : 
 
 " I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent 
 in potting; your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied 
 Hollander — Drink, ho ! — are nothing to your English." J 
 
 Cassio, to show his loyalty to Othello, now proposes 
 a toast : 
 
 "To the health of our general." 
 
 Montano, partly out of compliment to his illustrious 
 successor, cordially agrees, exclaiming : 
 
 " I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice." 
 
 Iago exclaims : 
 "O sweet England ! " 
 
 1 "The Englishman's potentiality in potting was a common 
 topic of satire with our old writers." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" Othello" 55 
 
 and then sings part of a homely old ballad which he 
 has probably heard there, yet is not the least like a 
 drinking song. Few, if any, English topers would 
 have sung it, while probably no Italians would have 
 endured it : 
 
 " King Stephen was a worthy peer, 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
 He held them sixpence all too dear ; 
 With that he called the tailor lown. 
 
 " He was a wight of high renown, 
 And thou art but of low degree : 
 'Tis pride that pulls the country down ; 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee." : 
 
 Iago's quaint, simple old song, utterly unlike what 
 either English or Italian officers would choose for a 
 drinking party, is taken from an old English rural 
 ballad, a duet between an English farmer and his 
 wife about their sick cow. There is nothing merry, 
 witty, or jovial about it ; and how or why Shake- 
 speare ascribed such a song to Iago, and made it 
 applauded even by the drunkard Cassio, is difficult 
 if not impossible to explain. Its rustic simplicity, 
 about cows and clothes, is amusingly shown in some 
 lines not quoted by Shakespeare. 2 Yet surely there 
 
 1 Hume's account of King Stephen, as well as Green's " History 
 of the English People," admit this monarch's generosity and 
 prodigality, so that Iago's song may be meant for a sarcasm, in 
 alluding to this sovereign. 
 
 2 After deploring the wintry weather, from which their cow is 
 suffering, the old farmer exclaims to his wife Bell : 
 
 " Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend, 
 For once I'll new apparel'd bee, 
 To-morrow I'll to town and spend, 
 For I'll have a new cloake about me." 
 
56 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 must have been many jovial ballads known in London 
 at this period, and long before it, even if the poet 
 was ignorant, as he probably was, of foreign vocal 
 music. Cassio, however, applauds Iago's choice, 
 as if it had been a brilliant "brindisi" of an Italian 
 composer, or a spirit-stirring melody in heroic 
 language, and exclaims delighted, though evidently 
 more and more intoxicated : 
 
 "Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.' 
 
 I ago asks : 
 " Will you hear it again ? " 
 
 His wife replies in behalf of the cow, which she seems to care for 
 more than his comfort : 
 
 " Cow Crombocke is a very good cow, 
 
 Shee has been always true to the payle, 
 Still has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow, 
 
 And other things she will not fayle ; 
 I would be loth to see her pine, 
 
 Good husband, councell take of me, 
 It is not for us to goe so fine, 
 
 Then take thine old cloake about thee." 
 
 The husband finally exclaims : 
 
 " Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, 
 Yet she will lead me if she can, 
 And oft to live a quiet life 
 
 I am forced to yield, though I'me good man ; 
 It's not for a man with a woman to threape, * 
 
 Unless he first give o'er the plea ; 
 Where I begun wee now mun leave, 
 And take mine old cloake about me." 
 
 — Staunton's notes. 
 
 * " Dispute."— Ibid. 
 
"Othello" 57 
 
 But Cassio, his drunkenness quickly changing from 
 merriment to gloom, grimly replies : 
 
 " No," 
 
 and solemnly proceeds, though with some truth, to 
 unconsciously censure his own present condition : 
 
 " For I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does these 
 things. Well, heaven's above all; and there are souls must be 
 saved, and there be souls must not be saved." 
 
 Iago, agreeing in these theological views, replies : 
 " It's true, good lieutenant," 
 
 and Cassio solemnly proceeds, evidently becoming 
 more and more confused, yet always well-meaning : 
 
 " For mine own part — no offence to the general, nor any man of 
 quality — I hope to be saved." 
 
 Iago quietly observes, probably with a hardly sup- 
 pressed sneer, as he offends Cassio : 
 
 "And so do I too, lieutenant." 
 
 Cassio irritably retorts, as if he thought Iago pre- 
 sumptuous, and ought to be taught his place under 
 himself : 
 
 " Ay, but by your leave, not before me ; the lieutenant is to be 
 saved before the ancient " ; ' 
 
 1 Ensign. 
 
58 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and proceeds in confused maundering : 
 
 " Let's have no more of this ; let's to our affairs. Forgive us our 
 sins ! " 
 
 Then becoming practical : 
 
 "Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentle- 
 men, I am drunk ; this is my ancient ; this is my right hand, and 
 this is my left." 
 
 Having now, he thinks, proved his sobriety by accu- 
 racy, he confidently appeals to his hearers : 
 
 " I am not drunk now ; I can stand well enough and I speak well 
 enough." 
 
 All exclaim, as if willing to please him : 
 
 " Excellent well," 
 
 and poor Cassio, gratified at hearing this, feeling 
 himself unfit to remain among his companions, yet 
 trying to deny the state his conscience tells him he is 
 in, replies uneasily as he departs : 
 
 " Why, very well then : you must not think, then, that I am 
 drunk." 
 
 Montano, unwilling to first mention Cassio's drunken- 
 ness, knowing Othello's confidence in him, proposes 
 without allusion to him to set the watch, when I ago, 
 as if in a friendly way, sarcastically exposes Cassio to 
 the utmost, exclaiming : 
 
 " You see this fellow that is gone before; 
 He is a soldier fit to stand by Csesar 
 
"Othello" 59 
 
 And give direction : and do but see his vice. 
 
 . . . Tis pity of him 
 I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 
 On some odd time of infirmity, 
 Will shake this island." 
 
 Montano, its former Governor, surprised and shocked, 
 asks : 
 
 11 But is he often thus ? " 
 
 and I ago, speaking as Cassio's familiar acquaintance, 
 replies : 
 
 "'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep." 
 
 Montano, alarmed for the general good, and evidently 
 a conscientious man, observes truly : 
 
 " It were well the general were put in mind of it ; 
 Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature 
 Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
 And looks not on his evils ; is not this true ? " 
 
 Iago does not answer, as Roderigo enters, whom he 
 sends after Cassio, hoping to arouse a quarrel between 
 them. Montano, a man of sense and feeling, yet who 
 takes little part in this story till near its end, observes 
 to Iago, wishing well to Othello's authority : 
 
 " And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor 
 Should hazard such a place as his own second, 
 With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
 It were an honest action to say 
 So to the Moor." 
 
60 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Montano, who hitherto knows nothing of Iago's real 
 character or designs, elicits a crafty answer : 
 
 "Not I, for this fair island : 
 I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But hark ! what noise ? " 
 
 Cassio re-enters, pursuing Roderigo, abusing him, and 
 exclaiming : 
 
 "A knave teach me my duty ! 
 I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle." 
 
 He strikes Roderigo, and is held back by Montano, 
 who, telling him he is drunk, is wounded by Cassio, 
 while Iago now tells Roderigo to go out and cry 
 " a mutiny." Roderigo, as usual, obeys Iago, and 
 the latter exclaims aloud, pretending to be astonished 
 and at his wits' end, while trying to increase the 
 disturbance : 
 
 " Nay, good lieutenant — alas, gentlemen ; 
 Help, ho ! — Lieutenant — sir — Montano — sir ; 
 Help, masters ! Here's a goodly watch indeed ! " 
 
 A bell here rings, and Iago, pretending to be alike 
 shocked and astounded at everything, asks : 
 
 " Who's that which rings the bell ? Diablo, ho ! 
 The town will rise. Fie, fie, lieutenant, hold ! 
 You will be shamed for ever." 
 
 Othello now re-enters with attendants, while Montano 
 faints, declaring himself mortally, though he is only 
 slightly, wounded. Othello exclaims : 
 
 " Hold, for your lives ! " 
 
"Othello" 6 1 
 
 and Iago, pretending to be confused and horrified, 
 calls out : 
 
 " Hold, ho ! Lieutenant — sir — Montano — gentlemen — 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
 Hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, for shame ! " 
 
 Othello, astonished at what he sees and hears around 
 him, indignantly asks : 
 
 " Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth this ? " 
 
 He proceeds, addressing his Italian followers rather 
 in the spirit of a Christian convert, yet alluding to 
 Mohammedan sobriety : 
 
 " Are we turned Turks, and to ourselves do that 
 Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
 For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
 
 Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle 
 
 From her propriety. What is the matter, masters ? " 
 
 Then, always trusting Iago, who certainly proves 
 himself an admirable actor, he asks : 
 
 " Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
 Speak, who began this ? On thy love, I charge thee." 
 
 Iago, well assuming the part of an honest, perplexed 
 man, wishing well to all, yet anxious to tell the truth, 
 replies : 
 
 " I do not know : friends all but now, even now, 
 In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
 
 . . . and then but now 
 (As if some planet had outwitted men) 
 Swords out and tilting one at other's breast. 
 
62 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 ... I cannot speak 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds." ' 
 
 And he then utters a wish well calculated to convince 
 and impress the brave and generous Othello : 
 
 " And would in action glorious I had lost 
 Those legs that brought me to a part of it ! " 
 
 Othello, satisfied with I ago, addresses Cassio : 
 
 " How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? " 
 
 The unlucky Cassio, between the effects of drink and 
 his confused distress, can only answer : 
 
 " I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak." 
 
 Othello then, with respect yet in remonstrance, 
 addresses the wounded Montano : 
 
 " Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure : what's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus 
 And spend your rich opinion 2 for the name 
 Of a night- brawler? give me answer to it." 
 
 Montano, weak from his wound, and greatly respect- 
 ing Othello for his high reputation, truly replies, with 
 evident difficulty, owing to his present state : 
 
 " Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger : 
 Your officer, Iago, can inform you — 
 While I spare speech, which something now offends me — 
 
 1 " Headstrong quarrel." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 "Squander your valued estimation." — Ibid. 
 
" Othello" 63 
 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I ought 
 By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
 Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, 
 And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
 When violence assails us." 
 
 Othello, alike perplexed and irritated, can only exclaim : 
 
 " Now, by heaven, 
 My blood begins my safer guides to rule, 
 
 ... if I once stir, 
 Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
 Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
 How this foul rout began, who set it on : 
 
 . . . What ! in a town of war, 
 Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
 
 In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
 Tis monstrous." 
 
 Then, as usual referring to his evil genius, he asks : 
 
 " Iago, who began 't ? " 
 
 Before Iago replies, Montano, perhaps with vague 
 suspicion of him, or at least not placing the same 
 implicit confidence in him that the others do, says 
 to him in grave warning- : 
 
 " If partially affined, 1 or leagued in office, 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 Thou art no soldier ' 
 
 Iago, aware that Montano, though he may be sus- 
 picious, has no real knowledge of him, and justly 
 
 " Bound by partiality." — Staunton's notes. 
 
64 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 relying on Othello's complete confidence, with calm c 
 
 self-possession replies to both : r 
 
 " Touch me not so near : 
 I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth 
 Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
 Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 Shall nothing wrong him." 
 
 He then proceeds to mingle truth with falsehood by- 
 mentioning a nameless stranger, who in reality was 
 Roderigo : 
 
 " Thus it is, general, 
 Montano and myself being in speech, 
 There comes a fellow crying out for help ; 
 And Cassio following him with determined sword, 
 To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
 Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause : 
 Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 
 Lest by his clamour — as it so fell out — 
 The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
 Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
 For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night 
 I ne'er might say before. When I came back 
 (For this was brief) I found them close together, 
 At blow and thrust ; even as again they were 
 When you yourself did part them. 
 More of this matter cannot I report : 
 But men are men ; the best sometimes forget : 
 Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them best, 
 Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received 
 From him that fled some strange indignity, 
 Which patience could not pass." 
 
 This account produces on the listening, credulous 
 Othello precisely the effect Iago desired, and his reply 
 must have delighted the latter to hear. Othello, quite 
 
"Othello" 65 
 
 convinced of Iago's truth, yet now naturally liking 
 rather than trusting Cassio, exclaims : 
 
 " I know, Iago, 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio." 
 
 Then solemnly addressing the poor drunken dupe he 
 sxclaims : 
 
 " Cassio, I love thee ; 
 But never more be officer of mine." 
 
 Desdemona now enters, and Othello, irritated at her 
 being alarmed, exclaims : 
 
 " Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ! 
 I'll make thee an example." 
 
 She asks what the matter is, and Othello, telling her 
 ill is well, now addresses Montano : 
 
 " Sir, for your hurts myself will be your surgeon : 
 Lead him off." 
 
 The wounded man is led away, and Othello, charging 
 [ago to keep all quiet, departs with Desdemona, 
 saying : 
 
 " Come, Desdemona, 'tis the soldiers' life 
 To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife." 
 
 \11 depart except Iago and Cassio, when the former 
 succeeds as well in deceiving the latter as he did when 
 lealing with Roderigo, for these young Italians, the 
 Venetian and the Florentine, rather resemble each 
 
 6 
 
66 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 other in the easy way they are alike duped by their 
 common tempter. Cassio passionately declares that 
 he is hurt past all surgery, exclaiming : 
 
 " Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O I have lost my reputa- 
 tion ! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is 
 bestial." 
 
 And appealing to Iago, as if to a friend, repeats : 
 
 " My reputation, Iago, my reputation ! " 
 
 Iago calmly rejoins, desiring for his own purposes to 
 console him for the present : 
 
 "As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily 
 wound ; there is more sense in that than in reputation." 
 
 He proceeds in his characteristic, calm, sarcastic style 
 to deny the value of a good reputation. In this denial 
 Iago, considering his own undeserved reputation for 
 honesty, unconsciously rather condemns himself: 
 
 " Reputation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without 
 merit, and lost without deserving ; you have lost no reputation at 
 all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man ! there are 
 ways to recover the general again ; you are but now cast in his 
 mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice ; . . . sue to 
 him again, and he's yours." 
 
 Cassio, though well knowing Iago's knowledge of 
 and influence with Othello, is deeply ashamed of 
 his late conduct, and in sincere penitence cannot 
 help referring to it as he answers : 
 
 " I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a 
 commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an 
 officer." 
 
" Othello " 67 
 
 Again recalling his foolishness, he passionately 
 exclaims, in earnest self-reproach : 
 
 " Drunk ? and speak parrot ? and squabble ? swagger? swear ? " 
 
 And then in a repentant fit of sober enthusiasm he 
 exclaims : 
 
 "O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by, let us call thee devil." 
 
 Iago, disregarding this idea, asks : 
 
 " What was he that you followed with your sword ? What had he 
 done to you ? " 
 
 Cassio, really confused, yet trying to recollect the 
 late drunken scene, can only reply, evidently with 
 perfect frankness : 
 
 " I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly ; a quarrel, 
 but nothing wherefore." 
 
 Then he utters words of truth indeed, worthy of a 
 wiser man : 
 
 "O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal 
 away their brains ! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and 
 applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! " 
 
 Iago, probably seldom drunk himself, yet well knowing 
 how to deceive or victimise drunkards, replies, wishing 
 to encourage Cassio and revive his spirits : 
 
 " Why, but you are now well enough ; how came you thus 
 recovered ? " 
 
68 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Cassio, still ashamed and sad, answers : 
 
 " It hath pleased the devil Drunkenness to give place to the devil 
 Wrath : one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly 
 despise myself." 
 
 Iago admits that he regrets the late quarrel, owing to 
 the disturbed state of Cyprus, adding : 
 
 " But since it is as it is, mend it for your own good." 
 
 Cassio, ashamed to address Othello again, continues 
 to blame himself for his drunkenness, in a style not 
 very unlike that of the young heroes in two famous 
 novels of the last century, after their first dissipation. 
 Sir Walter Scott and Charles Dickens, the former 
 avowedly, the latter possibly, had Shakespeare's 
 drunken scene in mind when describing the re- 
 morseful feelings of Frank Osbaldistone and of David 
 Copperfield immediately after drunken bouts. 1 Cassio 
 proceeds in true humility : 
 
 1 "But with the morning cool repentance came . . . and I 
 descended to the breakfast hall like a criminal to receive 
 sentence ... I hastened to meet Rashleigh and to express 
 myself in the highest degree sorry for the rudeness with which 
 I had acted on the preceding evening. . . . ' Indeed,' he said, ' I 
 have so poor a brain myself, when I impose on it the least burden 
 beyond my usual three glasses, that I have only, like honest Cassio, 
 a very vague recollection of the confusion of last night.' " — " Rob 
 Roy," chap. 12. 
 
 Yet Frank's penitence, though sincere, is exceeded in intensity 
 by Dickens's young hero after a similar indulgence : " But the agony 
 of mind, the remorse and shame I felt, when I became conscious 
 the next day. My horror of having committed a thousand offences 
 I had forgotten and which nothing could ever expiate . . . My 
 disgust of the sight of the very room where the revel had been held 
 — my racking head — Oh, what a day it was ! ' " — " David Copper- 
 field," chap. 24. 
 
" Othello " 69 
 
 " I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me that I am a 
 drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, 1 such an answer 
 would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, and by and by a 
 fool, and presently a beast ! O strange ! Every inordinate cup is 
 unblessed, and the ingredient a devil." 
 
 Iago, who likely can enjoy a drinking bout without 
 ever letting it confuse his hardened mind, replies rather 
 impatiently : 
 
 " Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well 
 used ; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think 
 you think I love you." 
 
 The confiding, self-reproachful Cassio replies : 
 
 " I have well approved it, sir," 
 
 then, again recalling his misconduct, he exclaims, as if 
 partly stupefied by regret : 
 
 " I drunk ! " 
 
 and pauses. Iago now diverts him from his self- 
 reproaches, giving apparently friendly advice, which, 
 as before, quite deceives Cassio. He exclaims, as if 
 in good-natured raillery : 
 
 " You or any man living may be drunk at some time, man. I'll 
 tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general, — 
 I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up 
 himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts 
 ind graces ; — confess yourself freely to her, importune her help to 
 put you in your place again ; she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
 blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do 
 more than she is requested." 
 
 1 Shakespeare here makes this young Italian recall an ancient 
 Greek monster, celebrated by some classical writers as " possessing 
 3ne hundred heads" (Lempriere's Classical Dictionary). 
 
70 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Cassio, to whom this counsel is most pleasing, owing 
 to his admiration for Desdemona as well as respect for 
 Othello, replies with evident confidence : 
 
 " You advise me well. . . . and, betimes in the morning, I will 
 beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. I am 
 desperate of my fortunes if they check me here." 
 
 Cassio now departs, saying : 
 
 "Good-night, honest Iago," 
 
 and leaving Iago alone, who utters an extraordinary 
 soliloquy, in some respects different from what he 
 ever says before or after it. While hardened, firm, 
 and practical as ever in his purposes, he indulges in 
 a strange self-examination, difficult if not impossible 
 to explain. He is apparently not a thoughtful or a 
 philosophical atheist, as he alludes to invisible powers 
 of evil being more potent than mankind. He does 
 not, however, long dwell on the subject, but soon 
 returns to his present worldly position, hating all 
 immediately around him, while recalling their different 
 qualities and feelings, and resolved, as if inspired by 
 "the Divinity of Hell" he mentions, to effect their 
 ruin. He exclaims, questioning himself: 
 
 " And what's he then that says I play the villain ? 
 When this advice is free I give, . . . 
 Probal l to thinking and indeed the course 
 To win the Moor again ? For 'tis most easy 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 In any honest suit. . . ." 
 
 He alludes to Othello's being a Christian, intimating 
 
 1 Probable. 
 
"Othello" 71 
 
 as an instance of Desdemona's influence that she 
 might even induce him to change his faith, if 
 she chose. 
 
 " And then for her 
 To win the Moor, — were 't to renounce his baptism, 
 All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 
 His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
 That she may make, unmake, do what she list. 
 
 . . . How am I then a villain 
 To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, 
 Directly to his good ? Divinity of Hell ! 
 When devils will the blackest sins put on, 1 
 They do suggest 2 at first with heavenly shows, 
 As I do now ; for while this honest fool 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, 
 And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor 
 I'll pour this pestilence into his ear " — 
 
 meaning, that she loves Cassio. He then calculates 
 with unerring exactness how likely his plot will 
 succeed with his brave and generous yet unsuspicious 
 dupes : 
 
 " And by how much she strives to do him good, 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch ; 
 And out of her own goodness make the net 
 That shall enmesh them all." 
 
 Here Roderigo enters, disappointed, and complain- 
 ing, but as yet expressing no actual doubt of Iago's 
 honesty. He exclaims, in almost comic discontent : 
 
 " I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but 
 one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent ; I have been 
 
 " Instigate." — Staunton's notes. 
 11 Entice."— Ibid. 
 
72 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 to-night exceedingly well cudgelled, and I think the issue will be, I 
 shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money 
 at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice." 
 
 Though poor Roderigo has likely lost his money, he 
 apparently has not gained any wit by the expenditure ; 
 while Iago, who finds both him and Cassio almost 
 equally easy dupes, now regains complete influence by 
 words in which real wisdom and secret deceit are 
 marvellously combined. He exclaims : 
 
 " How poor are they that have not patience ! 
 What wound did ever heal but by degrees ? 
 Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft ; 
 And wit depends on dilatory time." 
 
 None indeed can contradict this truth, which the luck- 
 less Roderigo never tries to do, and Iago, becoming 
 suddenly practical, artfully asks : 
 
 " Does't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hath cashiered Cassio : 
 
 Content thyself awhile. . . . 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter : 
 Nay, get thee gone." 
 
 Roderigo without another word departs, and Iago, 
 again left to himself, concludes his fearful soliloquy, 
 acting and thinking entirely by himself, without friend 
 or confederate : 
 
 "... Two things are to be done, — 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress : 
 I'll set her on : 
 
"Othello" 73 
 
 Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife — ay, that's the way." 
 
 Having thus arranged his plans in regular due order, 
 he concludes, as if in excited eagerness : 
 
 " Dull not device by coldness and delay." 
 
 Thus ends the second act, and the third introduces 
 Cassio with some unwelcome musicians playing likely 
 a discordant salute in honour of Othello. 
 
 A witty clown, whose name is not given, thus gets 
 rid of them, saying : 
 
 " Masters, here's money for you, and the general so likes your 
 music that he desires you of all loves 1 to make no more noise with 
 it. . . . If you have any music that may not be heard, to 't again ; 
 but, as they say, to hear music the general does not greatly care." 
 
 Whether this odd message was really sent by Othello 
 or is the man's invention is not clear ; probably the 
 Moor sent word to stop the music and the clown 
 invented the precise message in his peculiar style. 
 After the musicians depart, Cassio says to the clown, 
 whom he pays : 
 
 " If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, 
 tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech." 
 
 The clown agrees and departs, when Iago appears, 
 who promises to aid Cassio in procuring him an inter- 
 
 1 " For love's sake." — Staunton's notes. 
 
74 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 view with Desdemona, and receives Cassio's warm 
 thanks, who exclaims, as I ago departs : 
 
 " I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest." 
 
 Emilia enters, consoling Cassio by saying that Desde- 
 mona is already pleading for him with Othello, who, 
 though owning his love for Cassio, is deeply offended 
 at his conduct, especially in wounding Montano. Cassio 
 begs to see Desdemona alone, and Emilia replies : 
 
 " Pray you come in : 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your bosom freely." 
 
 They withdraw accordingly, and in the next scene 
 Othello appears with Iago and attendants. 
 He says to his trusted ancient : 
 
 "These letters give, Iago, to the pilot, 
 And by him do my duties to the Senate : 
 That done. I will be walking on the works ; 
 Repair there to me." 
 
 Iago promises obedience to all directions, and the 
 next scene is in the Castle garden, where Cassio 
 converses with Desdemona and Emilia. The former 
 promises to do all she can in his behalf, while Emilia, 
 though Iago's wife, displays the same utter ignorance 
 of her husband's real character shown by all the 
 rest of his acquaintance when referring to Cassio's 
 disgrace, in perfect sincerity : 
 
 ..." I warrant it grieves my husband, 
 As if the cause were his " ; 
 
" Othello" 75 
 
 and Desdemona, equally deceived, exclaims, referring 
 to I ago : 
 
 "O, that's an honest fellow," 
 
 and proceeds, comforting the penitent Cassio : 
 
 " Do not doubt, Cassio, 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were " ; 
 
 and Cassio gratefully replies : 
 
 " Bounteous madam, 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never anything but your true servant." 
 
 Desdemona, with kind enthusiasm, replies : 
 
 " I know't, I thank you. You do love my lord ; 
 You have known him long . . . 
 
 . . . before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee, 
 If I do vow a friendship I'll perform it 
 To the last article ; my lord shall never rest. 
 
 I'll intermingle everything he does 
 
 With Cassio's suit ; therefore be merry, Cassio, 
 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die, 
 
 Than give thy cause away." 
 
 Othello, with Iago, now approaches, and Cassio retires, 
 fearing- that even the sight of him after all that has 
 occurred may offend his commander. 
 
 Iago exclaims aloud, at seeing Cassio departing : 
 
 " Ha ! I like not that." 
 
76 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He says these words only for Othello to hear, who 
 may not at first catch their full import, and asks : 
 
 " Was not that Cassio parted from my wife ? " 
 
 I ago replies, affecting surprise : 
 
 " Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it, 
 That he would steal away so guilty like, 
 Seeing you coming. " 
 
 Othello replies : 
 
 " I do believe 'twas he," 
 
 when Desdemona says : 
 
 " How now, my lord ? 
 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure, 
 
 . . . your lieutenant, Cassio," 
 
 and asks leave to call him back, but Othello refuses, 
 and, as if already uneasy in his mind, puts off Des- 
 demona, who vainly entreats him to name a time as 
 soon as possible to hear Cassio ; while Othello, wearied 
 by or doubtful about her importunity, yet wishing to 
 please her, replies at length : 
 
 " Pry'thee no more, let him come when he will ; 
 I will deny thee nothing," 
 
 and asks her to leave him for a little time, while 
 evidently the few words, and likely the suspicious 
 looks, of Iago already perplex his mind, as when 
 Desdemona departs he exclaims passionately : 
 
 " Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul, 
 But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again." 
 
" Othello" 77 
 
 This is now the moment for I ago to resume his secret 
 insinuation, and he asks, as if in simple curiosity : 
 
 " Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady, 
 Know of your love ? " 
 
 Othello replies without the least suspicion of his 
 questioner : 
 
 " He did, from first to last : why dost thou ask? " 
 
 I ago answers : 
 
 " But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
 
 No further harm " ; 
 
 yet, despite these quiet words, Iago's manner makes 
 the Moor uneasy, as he asks another question : 
 
 " Why of thy thought, Iago ? " 
 
 and Iago calmly rejoins : 
 
 " I did not think he had been acquainted with her," 
 
 when Othello says : 
 
 " O yes, and went between us very oft." 
 
 Iago now says one word, but evidently with a look 
 and tone of deep meaning : 
 
 11 Indeed ! " 
 
 which the observant, listening Othello repeats with 
 surprise and some suspicion, exclaiming : 
 
 " Indeed ! ay, indeed ; discern'st thou aught in that ? 
 Is he not honest ? " 
 
78 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 I ago replies : 
 
 " Honest, my lord ? " 
 
 and Othello repeats emphatically : 
 
 "Honest! ay, honest." 
 
 Iago answers with assumed simplicity : 
 
 " My lord, for aught I know." 
 
 He thus induces Othello to repeat his eager question ; 
 likely gratified at prolonging his anxiety, while the 
 Moor, becoming more and more uneasy at Iago's 
 manner of speaking, asks : 
 
 " What dost thou think ? " 
 
 Again Iago repeats in the same provoking style : 
 
 "Think, my lord?" 
 
 and Othello emphatically rejoins, perhaps trying to 
 
 imitate Iago's cold or embarrassed manner, to induce 
 
 him to be more open : 
 
 " Think, my lord I 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if there were some monster in his thought 
 Too hideous to be shown." 
 
 Then, apprehending that Iago knows more than he 
 reveals, he earnestly addresses him : 
 
 " Thou dost mean something : 
 I heard thee say, but now, thou lik'st not that, 
 When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like ? 
 And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
 
" Othello " 79 
 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, ' Indeed ! ' 
 And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, 
 Show me thy thought." 
 
 Iago, calmly observing, and doubtless enjoying Othello's 
 agitation, increases it by delaying his reply and quietly 
 protesting : 
 
 " My lord, you know I love you," 
 
 and Othello rejoins, precisely as Iago would have 
 
 wished : 
 
 " I think thou dost ; 
 And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more ; 
 For such things in a false disloyal knave 
 Are tricks of custom ; but in a man that's just 
 They're close delations, working from the heart, 
 That passion ! cannot rule." 
 
 Iago, steadily maintaining by his wonderful art his 
 general reputation for honesty, then says, doubtless 
 with every appearance of sincerity : 
 
 " For Michael Cassio, 
 I dare be sworn I think that he is honest." 
 
 Othello, probably feeling a momentary relief, rejoins : 
 
 " I think so, too." 
 
 Yet this relief is of short duration, for Iago, resuming 
 1 " Prudence." — Staunton's notes. 
 
8o Shakespeare Studied 
 
 his cautious, if not suspicious manner, proceeds in 
 words of calm reasoning : 
 
 " Men should be what they seem ; 
 Or those that be not, would they might seem none." 
 
 Othello repeats these words, pondering upon them : 
 
 "Certain, men slwuld be what they seem" 
 
 I ago then exclaims, as if trusting more to general 
 probability or rule than to his knowledge of Cassio : 
 
 " Why, then ! I think Cassio's an honest man." 
 
 Still Iago's constrained words and manner prolong, if 
 they do not somewhat arouse, Othello's suspicions, for 
 he exclaims, in evident perplexity : 
 
 " Nay, yet there's more in this ; 
 
 I pray thee speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 
 As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
 
 The worst of words." 
 
 To this rather comprehensive and hardly reasonable 
 request I ago demurs with a calm, respectful deference, 
 as if pleading for the rights of men in general : 
 
 " Good my lord, pardon me : 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts ? Why, say they are vile and false ; 
 As where's that palace whereinto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not ? Who has a breast so pure, 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets and law-days, and in sessions sit 
 With meditations lawful ? " 
 
"Othello" 8 1 
 
 Othello, aroused, but not yet irritated, by his follower's 
 apparent unwillingness to say more, exclaims earnestly : 
 
 " Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, 
 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts." 
 
 Iago, whose thorough knowledge of Othello's hot, yet 
 generous temper almost gives him a complete, if not 
 easy, advantage over him, replies with assumed frank- 
 ness, which he knows will deceive the Moor : 
 
 " I do beseech you — 
 Though I perchance am vicious in my guess 
 (As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not) — that your wisdom yet, 
 From one that so imperfectly conceits, 
 Would take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance." 
 
 Thus having cautiously depreciated himself, Iago 
 adopts a friendly, considerate style, adding : 
 
 " It were not for your quiet nor your good, 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty nor wisdom, 
 To let you know my thoughts." 
 
 Othello, utterly perplexed, yet with unshaken con- 
 fidence in Iago, asks : 
 
 " What dost thou mean ? " 
 
 and the other readily replies, in words which seem 
 carefully prepared and suited for this momentous 
 occasion : 
 
 " Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 
 7 
 
82 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 But he that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed." 
 
 These celebrated words, so often quoted, briefly ex- 
 pressing" so vast an amount of truth, are well worthy 
 of the wisest philosopher or theologian who has ever 
 enlightened mankind. Yet Shakespeare attributes 
 them here to a deceitful villain devoting them to the 
 vilest purposes. Their influence naturally excites 
 Othello deeply, without adding to his information ; 
 their force and truth completely seize upon his mind 
 as he exclaims, in bewildered, yet keen anxiety : 
 
 " By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts." 
 
 Iago truly replies to this burst of excitement : 
 
 " You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, 
 Nor shall not, while 'tis in my custody." 
 
 Othello exclaims : 
 " Ha ! " 
 
 in increasing anxiety ; and Iago, with apparent sym- 
 pathy, proceeds to instil the worst suspicion into 
 Othello's agitated mind, saying, as if in warning : 
 
 " O beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on . . . 
 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
 
 Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet soundly loves ! " 
 
"Othello" 83 
 
 Othello from his heart exclaims : 
 
 " O misery ! " 
 
 while I ago proceeds : 
 
 " Poor and content is rich and rich enough, 
 But riches fineless * is as poor as winter 
 To him who ever fears he shall be poor : 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 From jealousy." 
 
 Iago's apparent sincerity in these emphatic words 
 produces the desired effect on Othello, who, always 
 believing him the perfection of honesty, asks with 
 increasing vehemence : 
 
 " Why, why is this ? 
 Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the changes of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions ? No ; to be once in doubt 
 Is once to be resolv'd : 
 
 . . . 'Tis not to make me jealous 
 To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ; 
 Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ; 
 For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago ; 
 I'll see before I doubt, when I doubt prove ; 
 And on the proof there is no more but this — 
 Away at once with love or jealousy ! " 
 
 This frank declaration well displays Othello's open 
 nature, yet its intimating thorough reliance on Iago is 
 much what the latter wishes to hear him say. Iago 
 
 1 " Endless." — Staunton's notes. 
 
84 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 therefore rejoins, as if Othello's true friend, resolved to 
 tell the truth even at his own peril and with pretended 
 relief: 
 
 "lam glad of this : for now I shall have reason 
 To show the love and duty that I bear you, 
 With franker spirit ; therefore, as I am bound, 
 Receive it from me : I speak not yet of proof." 
 
 Then in words of calm, cautious warning he proceeds : 
 
 " Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
 Wear your eyes thus — not jealous nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abused ; look to 't, 
 I know our country disposition well ; 
 In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not show their husbands ; their best conscience 
 Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown." 
 
 Othello, suspicious and wondering, knowing that 
 Iago's acquaintance with Venice and Venetians must 
 be far greater than his own, asks in astonishment : 
 
 " Dost thou say so ? " 
 
 Iago now refers to Desdemona's weakest point in 
 deceiving her fond, trustful father, and replies, in 
 words which Othello knows cannot be contradicted : 
 
 " She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
 And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks, 
 She lov'd them most." 
 
 Othello, almost overcome at hearing the past so 
 unexpectedly recalled to his troubled mind, exclaims : 
 
 "And so she did." 
 
"Othello" 85 
 
 Iago, thus encouraged by Othello's increasing alarm, 
 steadily proceeds : 
 
 " Why, go to then ; 
 She that, so young, could give out such a seeming, 
 To seal her father's eyes up, close as oak, — 
 He thought 'twas witchcraft : — " 
 
 This being once Brabantio's expressed idea, its men- 
 tion naturally produces strong effect on Othello's 
 recollection, and Iago thinks it best now to feign 
 regret at his own freedom, exclaiming, as he breaks off 
 abruptly : 
 
 " But I am much to blame ; 
 I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
 For too much loving you." 
 
 Othello, his excitable mind being touched by this appeal 
 from one he believed so faithful, warmly replies : 
 
 " I am bound to thee for ever." 
 
 Iago, perceiving his increasing emotion, gently notices 
 it with apparent sympathy, observing : 
 
 " I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits." 
 
 Othello, no dissembler at any time, tries to assume a 
 firmness which he is far from feeling, as he says what 
 is not true, though the most truthful of men : 
 
 " Not a jot, not a jot." 
 His thus trying to conceal or deny his agitation only 
 
86 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 makes it the plainer to a man of Iago's keen observa- 
 tion, who rejoins : 
 
 " P faith, I fear it has ; 
 I hope you will consider what is spoke 
 Comes from my love — but I do see you're mov'd — 
 I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues, nor to larger reach 
 Than to suspicion." 
 
 Othello replies : 
 " I will not." 
 
 while Iago, anxious to guard himself from the chance 
 of Othello's suspecting him, proceeds : 
 
 " Should you do so, my lord, 
 My speech should fall into such vile success 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend." 
 
 Perhaps Othello, at hearing this name, looks more 
 agitated, for Iago, breaking off again, observes : 
 
 " My lord, I see you're mov'd." 
 
 Othello, knowing that the other sees his anxiety, partly 
 
 admits it, replying : 
 
 " No, not much mov'd" — 
 
 then in apparent hesitation adds, as if soliciting sym- 
 pathy : 
 
 " I do not think but Desdemona's honest." 
 
 Iago, assuming complete frankness and cordiality, 
 rejoins, as if to please him : 
 
 " Long live she so, and long live you to think so ! " 
 
"Othello" 87 
 
 Yet Othello, unable to recover from the effects of Iago's 
 insinuations and uneasily recalling them, observes : 
 
 "And yet, how nature erring from itself " 
 
 Iago here eagerly rejoins, rightly guessing the current 
 of the other's thoughts, and again rousing his suspicion, 
 alluding to Desdemona's refusal of many Italian lovers : 
 
 " Ay, there's the point : as — to be bold with you — 
 Not to affect many proposed matches 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, 
 Whereto we see in all things nature tends, — 
 Foh ! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural." 
 
 He interrupts himself, as if afraid of having said too 
 much, and apologising for his plain speaking, says : 
 
 " But, pardon me, I do not in position 
 Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear, 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
 May fall to match you with her country forms, 
 And happily repent." 
 
 He thus, without naming Roderigo, reminds Othello 
 of Desdemona's many Italian suitors, and also of his 
 own singular, if not repelling, appearance and Moorish 
 origin. These facts were often likely in Othello's 
 mind, who in evident dejection stops this dangerous 
 conversation, sadly exclaiming : 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ; 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more." 
 
 He then completely reveals his aroused suspicion by 
 adding : 
 
 " Set on thy wife to observe." 
 
88 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 This unworthy, degrading direction probably tries his 
 proud mind severely, as he only adds, as if unable or 
 unwilling to pursue the subject further at present : 
 
 " Leave me, Iago." 
 
 The latter goes a short way, when Othello exclaims 
 to himself, evidently believing Iago more and more : 
 
 " Why did I marry ? This honest creature doubtless 
 Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds." 
 
 Iago, perceiving his agitation, returns and says, in 
 mingled uncertainty and sympathy : 
 
 " My lord, I would I might entreat your honour 
 To scan this thing no further; leave it to time." 
 
 He proceeds with suppressed sarcasm as to Cassio, 
 yet doubtless with all appearance of sincerity : 
 
 " Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his place, 
 For, sure, he fills it up with great ability, 
 Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
 Note if your lady strain his entertainment ■ 
 With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honour." 
 Othello replies : 
 
 " Fear not my government," 
 
 and Iago again departs, when Othello, alone, utters 
 his thoughts ; he is fearful and perplexed, yet still 
 
 1 " Reinstatement." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"Othello" 89 
 
 preserves his usual confidence in Iago, of whose 
 wisdom as well as fidelity he has the highest opinion, 
 when he exclaims about him : 
 
 "This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings." 
 
 This opinion is doubtless caused by Iago's superior 
 knowledge of his Italian fellow-countrymen, with whom 
 this Moorish general's fate and fortunes are now so 
 strangely involved. He exclaims, as if he knew 
 something of the sport of falconry, which is not likely, 
 considering his origin and position, comparing Desde- 
 mona to a "wild unreclaimed hawk," 1 and saying 
 that if she is false he will — 
 
 " Whistle her off and let her down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune." 
 
 He then tries in a confused way to understand the 
 reason for Desdemona's suspected infidelity, in which 
 he is now gradually believing, and exclaims : 
 
 "Haply for I am black, 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have ; or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years, — yet that's not much ; — 
 She's gone. I am abus'd, and my relief 
 Must be to loathe her." 
 
 After induloinor in more bitter and sad regrets, 
 Desdemona enters. The sight of her innocent beauty 
 almost quells his new suspicion for the moment, as he 
 exclaims to himself impulsively : 
 
 " If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself ! 
 I'll not believe it." 
 
 Staunton's notes. 
 
go Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Desdemona addresses him, inquiring why he speaks so 
 faintly ; he complains of pains in his forehead ; she tries 
 to bind a handkerchief on it, which he drops, and 
 departing with Desdemona, leaves Emilia alone. She 
 picks up the handkerchief, exclaiming : 
 
 " I am glad I have found this napkin. 
 This was her first remembrance * from the Moor. 
 My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the token, — 
 For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it, — 
 That she reserves it evermore about her, 
 To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, 
 And give t' Iago; 
 
 What he will do with it, Heaven knows, not I ; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy." 
 
 Though Emilia was greatly to blame for taking the 
 handkerchief, her words prove she is quite ignorant of 
 her husband's real character and designs. There 
 exists a strong mutual attachment between her and her 
 mistress, and she doubtless believes in the equally 
 strong- attachment between her husband and Othello. 
 She evidently thinks that Iago has some strange fancy 
 to have it, and hitherto has apparently as much confi- 
 dence in his reputed honesty as Othello, Cassio and 
 Roderigo undoubtedly have. Iago now enters, and 
 she gives him the handkerchief, saying first : 
 
 " I have a thing for you." 
 
 He at first sarcastically says it is a common thing — 
 
 " To have a foolish wife," 
 
 1 " Memorial." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"Othello" 91 
 
 as he evidently thinks her, but when he sees it, he 
 exclaims in momentary good-humour : 
 
 "A good wench ; give it me." 
 
 She hesitates, asking what he will do with it ; he 
 snatches it from her, replying : 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 and she, as if sorry for what she has done, vainly 
 remonstrates, saying : 
 
 " If it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give it me again : poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 When she shall lack it." 
 
 Iago, who evidently awes her, despite her trust in him, 
 sternly replies : 
 
 " Be not acknown z on 't ; I have use for it ; 
 Go, leave me." 
 
 She departs, and Iago, when alone, as usual reveals 
 his plans, which none are to know : 
 
 " I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin 
 And let him find it." 
 
 Then, with that knowledge of mankind which he 
 unfortunately possesses, observes with truth : 
 
 "Trifles light as air, 
 Are to the jealous confirmation strong 
 As proofs of holy writ ; this may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : 
 Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, 
 Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
 But with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur." 
 
 " Be not you known on 't." — Staunton's notes. 
 
92 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Othello approaches, and Iago, perceiving him, proceeds 
 with malignant triumph, worthy of the fiend with 
 whom he when alone seems to commune : 
 
 " I did say so — 
 Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday." 
 
 His commander and yet his dupe enters, exclaiming, 
 as if now inclined to believe his wife's innocence : 
 
 "Ha! ha! false to me?" 
 and Iago says : 
 
 " Why, how now, general ! no more of that." 
 
 Othello, grieved or irritated at his voice, though still 
 partly trusting him, vehemently exclaims : 
 
 "Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the rack, — 
 I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd 
 Than but to know't a little . . . 
 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, 
 Let him not know 't and he's not robb'd at all." 
 
 Iago, in apparent deep sympathy, and confidently 
 reckoning on Othello's firm reliance on him, exclaims, 
 assuming the tone of real compassion : 
 
 " I am sorry to hear this." 
 
 The distracted Othello proceeds, foreseeing a life of 
 suspicious anxiety before him, a state of mind he had 
 evidently never known during his former glorious 
 military career, and mournfully utters those celebrated 
 
"Othello" 93 
 
 words that are so universally admired, but which at 
 their deliverance were only heard by Iago : 
 
 " O now, for ever, 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars 
 That make ambition virtue !" 
 
 This idea, natural enough in a man whose happiest 
 days were spent in the army, might find little favour 
 with philanthropists, yet many great generals — 
 Napoleon the First especially — would have cordially 
 shared it ; Othello, now recalling his past life with the 
 deepest regret, and rather suddenly abandoning all 
 hopes of future happiness, while loving every recollec- 
 tion of his military profession, continues : 
 
 " O farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 1 
 The royal banner and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
 And O, you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! " 
 
 Yet while uttering these despairing words, he is still 
 holding the chief command of the Venetian forces in 
 Cyprus, having as yet expressed no intention of 
 resigning his high and responsible position. The 
 way in which Othello here abandons all idea of 
 political and professional duty, owing to disappointed 
 love, may recall Mark Antony's words also renoun- 
 
 1 " In mentioning the fife joined with the drum, Shakespeare 
 as usual paints from the life ; those instruments accompanying each 
 other, being used in his age by the English soldiery." — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
94 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 cing both when completely devoted to Cleopatra. 1 
 In each case Shakespeare describes triumphant 
 warriors, the Roman and the Moor, abandoning all 
 ambition, duty, and interest owing to the influence 
 of love : in Antony's instance for its gratification, in 
 Othello's from its disappointment. In describing the 
 happiness of a soldier's life and the glory of warfare, 
 Othello, however, omits to name their attendant 
 miseries, the wounds, the maiming, and the hospital, 
 which in real life so fearfully counterbalance the 
 pleasure or the excitement of a military career. His 
 regretful words perhaps more resemble those of an 
 enthusiastic young soldier than of a general who 
 must have known or endured the cares, anxieties 
 and sorrows of warlike campaigns. I ago begins to 
 speak, when Othello, as if maddened at the sound of 
 his tormenting voice, for the first and only time till 
 too late, fully suspects him, and seizing him by the 
 throat, threatens him unless he proves his words, 
 exclaiming in wild excitement : 
 
 " If thou dost slander her and torture me, 
 Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ; 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate: 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd ; 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add, 
 Greater than that." 
 
 His sudden, dangerous fury now again arouses 
 Iago's wonderful powers of deceit, and, like an able 
 
 1 " Let Rome in Tiber melt and the wide arch 
 Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space." 
 
 " Antony and Cleopatra," Act I., Scene 2. 
 
"Othello" 95 
 
 actor, he assumes the part of an injured, honest 
 man, whose devotion and love of truth now en- 
 danger his life, and he exclaims with unwonted 
 vehemence, all the more convincing in a man of his 
 self-control : 
 
 " O grace ! O heaven, defend me ! 
 Are you a man ? have you a soul or sense ? — 
 God be with you ; take mine office. — O wretched fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be direct and honest is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ■ and, from hence, 
 
 I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence." 
 
 The well assumed frankness of this declaration con- 
 founds the enraged Othello, who, evidently hesitating, 
 replies : 
 
 " Nay, stay ; thou shouldst be honest." 
 
 Iago answers, as if full of just indignation and injured 
 innocence : 
 
 " I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool, 
 And loses that it works for." 
 
 Othello, apparently at his wit's end between his trust 
 in Iago and his love for Desdemona, while trying to 
 balance his esteem for the former with his affection 
 for the latter, replies in eager excitement : 
 
 " By the world, 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
 I think that thou art just, and think thou art not ; 
 I'll have some proof ; her name, that was as fresh 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives, 
 Poison or fire or suffocating streams, 
 I'll not endure it. — Would I were satisfied ! " 
 
96 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 I ago, resuming his former calmness at seeing Othello 
 almost desperate, cautiously replies : 
 
 " I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
 I do repent me that I put it to you." 
 
 He adds, repeating Othello's words : 
 
 " You would be satisfied ? " 
 
 Othello retorts : 
 
 11 Would; nay, I will," 
 
 and Iago, now as cool as ever, replies : 
 
 " And may ; but how? how satisfied, my lord ? 
 
 What shall I say ? Where's satisfaction ? 
 
 ... But yet I say, 
 If imputation and strong circumstances, — 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, — 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't." 
 
 Othello, striving to be calm and truth-seeking, despite 
 his agitation, briefly exclaims : 
 
 "Give me a living reason she's disloyal,' 
 
 and Iago, as if reluctantly discharging an odious duty, 
 replies, mildly blaming his own fidelity, while inventing 
 more falsehoods : 
 
 " I do not like the office : 
 But sith I am entered in this cause so far, 
 Prick'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, 
 
" Othello" 97 
 
 And being troubled with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. . . . 
 
 In sleep I heard him say, ' Sweet Desdemona, 
 Let us be wary, let us hide our loves I ' 
 And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, 
 Cry, — ' O siveet creature / . . . 
 
 . . . Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor.' " 
 
 Othello exclaims in rage and astonishment : 
 
 " O monstrous ! monstrous ! " 
 
 and Iago quietly remarks : 
 
 " Nay, this was but his dream," 
 when Othello replies : 
 
 " But this denoted a foregone conclusion," 
 
 and Iago adds : 
 
 " And this may help to thicken other proofs, 
 That do demonstrate thinly." 
 
 Othello, in a fury, exclaims wildly that he will slay 
 his wife, when Iago, pretending to be more calm and 
 just at perceiving the other becoming more and more 
 furious, proceeds : 
 
 " Nay, but be wise ; yet we see nothing done ; 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
 Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand ? " 
 
 Othello at once replies : 
 
 " I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first gift," 
 8 
 
98 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and I ago says : 
 
 " I know not that : but such a handkerchief 
 (I am sure it was your wife's) did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with ! " 
 
 Othello, exasperated, exclaims : 
 
 " If it be that " 
 
 when I ago calmly finishes the sentence : 
 
 "If it be that, or any that was hers, 
 It speaks against her with the other proofs." 
 
 Othello, now furious against Cassio, wildly exclaims : 
 
 " O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ; 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! " 
 
 Then, apparently convinced by this story of the 
 handkerchief, he renounces Desdemona for ever, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, Iago, 
 All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. 
 'Tis gone." 
 
 Then, turning to revenge for relief, he exclaims in 
 raging yet fantastic words : 
 
 " Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne, 
 To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught ; 
 For 'tis of aspicks' tongues ! " 
 
 Iago, hearing his frantic words and coolly calculating 
 
" Othello " 99 
 
 when to speak and what to say without interrupting, 
 waits for a pause, and then calmly observes : 
 
 " Patience, I say ; your mind perhaps may change." 
 
 Othello's excited temper rejects the idea at once, as 
 Iago doubtless wished and expected, and he answers 
 fiercely : 
 
 " Never, Iago. . . . 
 
 . . . Now by yond marble heaven, 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow 
 I here engage my words." 
 
 He kneels, and Iago, now convinced that Othello is 
 thoroughly determined and needs no more persua- 
 sion, keeps up his excitement by kneeling also, and 
 exclaiming, as if devoted to him : 
 
 " Do not rise yet : 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
 You elements that clip us round about, 
 Witness that here Iago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
 To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him command, 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
 What bloody business ever." 
 
 Othello, quite yielding to his roused passion, trusting 
 Iago more than ever, exclaims : 
 
 " I greet thy love, 
 Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 
 And will upon the instant put thee to 't. 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say 
 That Cassio's not alive." 
 
ioo Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago, pretending reluctance and friendship for Cassio 
 and pity for Desdemona, replies regretfully : 
 
 " My friend is dead j 'tis done at your request ; 
 But let her live." 
 
 Othello's fury is yet more roused at this assumed 
 intercession, and he frantically declares she shall die, 
 adding, as if to complete Iago's triumph : 
 
 " Now art thou my lieutenant," 
 
 and Iago obsequiously replies : 
 
 " I am your own for ever." 
 
 At this moment Iago has obtained almost complete 
 success. His knowledge of the Moor and the able, 
 subtle way in which he has enraged him against both 
 Desdemona and Cassio have raised him thoroughly in 
 Othello's favour. Yet this success by its very nature 
 was fated to be of short duration. Iago has no proof 
 whatever to confirm his evil insinuations, his practical 
 triumph now depends on Othello's violence making 
 him commit irrevocable deeds. They now depart 
 together, when Desdemona and Emilia enter. The 
 former, most anxious to restore Cassio to Othello's 
 favour, asks a clown attending on the Moor, perhaps 
 like a jester, as he shows a little of a jester's humour, 
 where Cassio lies, meaning where he lodges ; but the 
 man replies, as if trying to joke : 
 
 " I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging and 
 say he lies here, or lies there, were to lie in mine own throat." 
 
"Othello" lot 
 
 Desdemona says : 
 
 "Seek him, bid him come hither; tell him I have moved my lord 
 on his behalf and hope all will be well." 
 
 The man promises obedience, and Desdemona men- 
 tions to Emilia the precious handkerchief which she 
 thinks she has lost, exclaiming, while Emilia says she 
 knows nothing of it : 
 
 " Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 Full of crusadoes, 1 and, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
 As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill thinking." 
 
 Emilia briefly asks : 
 
 " Is he not jealous ? " 
 
 and Desdemona replies, knowing Othello's natural 
 simplicity and generosity of mind : 
 
 " Who, he ? I think the sun where he was born 
 Drew all such humour from him." 
 
 Othello now approaches, and Desdemona says : 
 
 " I will not leave him now till Cassio 
 Be call'd to him." 
 
 She kindly greets Othello, who, full now of suspicion 
 and suppressed rage, says : 
 
 "Give me your hand ; this hand is moist, my lady." 
 
 1 " The crusadoe was current in England at the time of Shake- 
 speare. It was of gold and weighed two pennyweights six grains, 
 or nine shillings English." — Staunton's notes. 
 
£d2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 She mildly answers : 
 
 " It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow." 
 
 These words indicate that she had no cause to com- 
 plain of her deserted father, whom she seems never 
 to think of, being entirely devoted to Othello. He, 
 likely holding her hand, says in stern, vague reproach, 
 wholly incomprehensible to her innocent mind : 
 
 " This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart." 
 
 He proceeds, more in the style of a Christian priest 
 than of a jealous soldier : 
 
 "Hot, hot, and moist, this hand of yours requires 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting, and prayer, 
 Much castigation, exercise devout ; 
 
 . . . ' Tis a good hand, 
 A frank one.'' 
 
 These words completely puzzle Desdemona, who 
 
 replies : 
 
 " You may indeed say so, 
 For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart." 
 
 Othello gloomily proceeds : 
 
 " A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave hands ; 
 But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts." 
 
 Desdemona, eager to plead for Cassio and fancying 
 that Othello is merely wandering from the subject, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise," 
 
" Othello " 103 
 
 meaning his declaring that he would deny her nothing, 
 and she says she has sent for Cassio to come and 
 speak to him. 
 
 Then the Moor asks for her handkerchief ; she 
 gives one, but not what he meant, which she owns 
 she has not about her. Othello, hearing this, exclaims 
 sternly, while revealing superstitious ideas : 
 
 " That is a fault : 
 That handkerchief 
 Did an Egyptian to my mother give : 
 She was a charmer ■ and could almost read 
 The thoughts of people ; she told her while she kept it, 
 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father 
 Entirely to her love, but if she lost it, 
 Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
 Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt 
 After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me : 
 And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
 To give it her. I did so, and take heed of 't, 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye : 
 To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition 
 As nothing else could match." 
 
 Desdemona likely never heard of the Egyptian 
 woman before, and had little if any idea that Othello 
 was prone to such superstitious beliefs. These he 
 may not have learned from either Mohammedanism 
 or Christianity, and were perhaps derived from some 
 ancient African Paganism. Desdemona is evidently 
 wonder-struck at his strange ideas, and asks : 
 
 " Is 't possible ? " 
 
 and Othello continues in the same singular style, 
 
 which is apparently caused by early recollection, and 
 
 1 " Enchantress." — Staunton's notes. 
 
104 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 vague ideas of his Moorish youth or childhood, likely 
 only recalled to his mind during times of intense 
 mental excitement. He proceeds, still dwelling on 
 what he believed the magical handkerchief : 
 
 "'Tis true, there's magic in the web of it ; 
 A sibyl that had number'd in the world 
 The sun to course two hundred compasses, 
 In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; 
 The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk ; 
 And it was dy'd in mummy which the skilful 
 Conserv'd of maidens' hearts . . . 
 
 . . . therefore look to 't well." 
 
 Desdemona, alarmed at his anxiety about the hand- 
 kerchief and not knowing where it is, exclaims : 
 
 " Then would to heaven I had never seen it." 
 
 He replies, more suspicious : 
 "Ha ! wherefore?" 
 
 and she asks, amazed at his vehemence : 
 " Why do you speak so startingly and rash ? " 
 
 He eagerly asks : 
 
 " Is it lost ? is 't gone ? speak, is 't out of the way ? " 
 
 Desdemona, astonished at such excitement, exclaims : 
 
 " Heaven bless us ! ... It is not lost ; but what an if it were ? " 
 
 He continues : 
 
 " Fetch 't, let me see it." 
 
"Othello" 105 
 
 Desdemona replies : 
 
 "Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now." 
 
 Then hoping, perhaps thinking his sudden vehemence 
 is assumed, she continues : 
 
 " This is a trick to put me from my suit : 
 Pray you, let Cassio be received again." 
 
 Othello, more and more jealous, hearing this un- 
 lucky request, replies : 
 
 "Fetch me the handkerchief; my mind misgives." 
 
 Desdemona, longing to benefit Cassio and hardly 
 believing Othello can be in real anger, proceeds, 
 pleading for the former : 
 
 " Come, come, 
 You'll never meet a more sufficient man." 
 
 Othello exclaims : 
 
 "The handkerchief!" 
 
 and she rejoins : 
 
 " I pray, talk me of Cassio." 
 
 Again Othello asks for the handkerchief, while she, 
 pleading for Cassio at length, praises him with a 
 generous eagerness, wholly misunderstood by the 
 listening jealous Moor. She proceeds: 
 
 "A man that all his time, 
 Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; 
 Shar'd dangers with you." 
 
106 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He again interrupts, exclaiming : 
 
 " The handkerchief," 
 
 and Desdemona exclaims, shocked and wondering at 
 his manner : 
 
 " In sooth, you are to blame," 
 
 and the Moor fiercely replies : 
 
 "Away!" 
 
 and departs, leaving Desdemona alone with Emilia, 
 who naturally asks her mistress : 
 
 " Is not this man jealous ? " 
 
 and Desdemona replies : 
 
 " I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief : 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it." 
 
 These words indicate that Othello till now never 
 told her about this extraordinary handkerchief, which 
 is strange, considering its importance to his super- 
 stitious mind. Emilia, who could hardly avoid know- 
 ing her husband better than when she married him, 
 though still quite ignorant of his real character and 
 present designs, exclaims truly enough, as if not 
 cheered by her experience of married life : 
 
 " 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man : 
 
 . . . Look you, Cassio, and my husband." 
 
"Othello" 107 
 
 These two now enter, I ago saying to Cassio, at 
 sight of Desdemona : 
 
 " There is no other way : 'tis she must do it." 
 
 Then seeing her, he exclaims : 
 
 "And lo ! the happiness ! go and importune her." 
 
 Cassio repeats his request to Desdemona for her 
 intercession with Othello in his behalf, when she sadly 
 answers, doubtless to his surprise : 
 
 " Alas ! thrice gentle Cassio ! 
 My advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Were he in favour ' as in humour alter'd. 
 So help me every spirit sanctified, 
 As I have spoken for you all my best, 
 And stood within the blank of his displeasure, 
 For my free speech ! You must awhile be patient ; 
 What I can do I will, and more I will, 
 Than for myself I dare ; let that suffice you." 
 
 I ago, doubtless rejoiced at what he hears, asks like 
 one surprised : 
 
 "Is my lord angry ? " 
 
 and Emilia answers : 
 
 " He went hence but now, 
 And certainly in strange unquietness." 
 
 Iago asks, recalling a terrible event, while equally 
 trusted by Desdemona and Emilia : 
 
 " Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon, 
 When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 
 
 1 Feature. 
 
108 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 Puff d his own brother — and can he be angry ? 
 Something of moment then : I will go meet him ; 
 There's matter in 't indeed, if he be angry." 
 
 Iago departs ; nothing more is said about Othello's 
 brother, or where the battle was where he fell, the 
 Moor's personal history being rarely mentioned. 
 From the first he is quite devoted to the Venetian 
 service and surrounded entirely by Italians. He has 
 no Moorish friends or adherents, and would likely 
 have been thought a dangerous renegade in Moham- 
 medan countries. He trusts no one, however, as 
 much as he does Iago, who has long known him, 
 though whether all he says about past events be true 
 or not may be doubtful. Desdemona, Emilia and 
 Cassio rely thoroughly on his honesty, and now, after 
 he is gone, Desdemona observes, trying to explain or 
 account for Othello's changed manner, attributing it 
 to Italian politics or a revolt in Cyprus : 
 
 " Something, sure, of state, 
 Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice, 
 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases, 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 
 Though great ones are their object." 
 
 She continues trying thus to excuse him to her own 
 mind, but Emilia, perhaps older, more shrewd or 
 observant than her gentle mistress, thoughtfully 
 observes : 
 
 " Pray heaven, it be state matters as you think ; 
 And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
 Concerning you." 
 
"Othello" 109 
 
 Desdemona answers : 
 
 " Alas the day ! I never gave him cause.' 
 
 Emilia readily replies : 
 
 " But jealous souls will not be answered so ; 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
 But jealous for they are jealous." 
 
 Thus speaking rather like Iago, though with a 
 very different design ; she adds : 
 
 " 'Tis a monster, 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself." 
 
 Desdemona devoutly exclaims : 
 
 " Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind ! " 
 
 and Emilia, with deep, sincere emotion, fervently 
 rejoins : 
 
 " Lady, amen ! 
 
 Desdemona, still anxious to do something for Cassio, 
 who has remained silent since Iago left, exclaims 
 eager to persuade Othello again : 
 
 " I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout ; 
 If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, 
 And seek to effect it to my uttermost." 
 
 Cassio replies with sincere gratitude : 
 
 " I humbly thank your ladyship." 
 
 Desdemona and Emilia depart together, and Cassio's 
 
no Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Venetian lover, Bianca, enters. Though she loves 
 him, he apparently cares less for her, as she exclaims 
 reproachfully : 
 
 " What ! keep a week away? seven days and nights ? 
 Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours, 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 
 
 weary reckoning ! " 
 
 Cassio excuses himself, faintly alluding to his dis- 
 grace with Othello without mentioning it : 
 
 " Pardon me, Bianca, 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; " 
 
 and gives her Desdemona's handkerchief, saying : 
 
 "Sweet Bianca, 
 Take me this work out." 
 
 Bianca becomes jealous immediately, thinking that 
 Cassio has another lover, and angrily asks : 
 
 " O Cassio, whence came this ? 
 This is some token from a newer friend. 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 Is it come to this ? Well, well." 
 
 Cassio contradicts her, saying truly that he found it 
 in his room, Iago doubtless having put it there, as he 
 had intended, and has no idea to whom it belongs. 
 He adds to Bianca : 
 
 " I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, 
 As like enough it will, I'd have it copied : 
 Take it and do 't ; and leave me for this time." 
 
" Othello " in 
 
 Bianca asks : 
 
 " Leave you ? Wherefore ? " 
 
 Cassio replies : 
 
 " I do attend here on the general ; 
 Not that I love you not " ; 
 
 and she, evidently in a fallen, friendless position, 
 meekly replies : 
 
 " Tis very good. I must be circumstanced,' 
 
 and they depart. Cassio is apparently ashamed of 
 this woman, who has followed him from Venice to 
 Cyprus, and seems unknown to all but himself and 
 Iago, who knows all around him. 
 
 The next act and scene describe Othello and Iago 
 alone together, talking over the one terrible subject. 
 Iago at first pretends to have some doubt as to 
 Desdemona's infidelity, and rather pleads for her, but 
 when he alludes a second time to the missing hand- 
 kerchief, Othello passionately exclaims : 
 
 " By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it ; 
 Thou saidst — O it comes o'er my memory, 
 As doth the raven o'er the infectious house, 
 Boding to all — he had my handkerchief." 
 
 Iago proceeds to say that Cassio has owned confi- 
 dentially his intimacy with Desdemona, and at this 
 news, which Iago delivers with his usual extraordinary 
 artfulness, the violence of Othello's temper overcomes 
 
U2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 him completely. He has hitherto thoroughly trusted 
 Iago, and has had apparently no discovered reason to 
 think his confidence misplaced. Iago steadily persists, 
 therefore, in his story about the precious lost handker- 
 chief. On this subject the Moor has admitted having 
 strange superstitious fancies, and now the alleged 
 confession of Cassio produces the mental effect on 
 Othello which Iago had desired and probably expected. 
 Uttering incoherent words of rage, suspicion, and 
 confused excitement, the brave Othello falls senseless 
 in a trance before his evil genius, who, with the calm, 
 consistent triumph of a successful operator, exclaims 
 in self-congratulation : 
 
 "Work on, 
 My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are caught ; 
 And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
 All guiltless, meet reproach." 
 
 Then, trying to rouse the victim of his deceit, Iago 
 exclaims : 
 
 " What, ho, my lord ! My lord, I say ! Othello ! " 
 
 Cassio now enters, and Iago declares Othello has 
 fallen into an epilepsy, having had one the previous 
 day ; Cassio in real sympathy exclaims : 
 
 " Rub him about the temples," 
 
 but Iago, wishing Cassio away, replies : 
 
 " No, forbear ; 
 The lethargy must have its quiet course. 
 
 . . . Look, he stirs, 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
 
"Othello" 113 
 
 He will recover straight ; when he is gone, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you." 
 
 Cassio, who, like all the rest in this play, trusts I ago 
 completely, withdraws at once, and Iago, as Othello 
 recovers from his fit, asks how he is, in apparent 
 sympathy. The Moor almost immediately reverts to 
 his troubles, and asks, alluding to Cassio : 
 
 " Did he confess it ? " 
 
 and Iago replies : 
 
 " Good sir, be a man." 
 
 Then, pretending to console him by declaring his 
 great cause of jealousy to be a very common one, 
 and that millions of married people are faithless to 
 each other in secret, he adds practically : 
 
 " Stand you awhile apart ; 
 Confine yourself but in a patient list. 
 Whilst you were here, o'erwhelmed with your grief, 
 A passion most unsuiting such a man, 
 Cassio came hither : I shifted him away 
 And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ; 
 Bade him anon return and here speak with me ; 
 The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself, 
 And mark the fleers, the gibes and notable scorns, 
 That dwell in every region of his face ; 
 For I will make him tell the tale anew. 
 
 I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ; 
 Or I shall say you are all-in-all in spleen, 
 And nothing of a man." 
 
 Othello listens with enforced patience and ill-sup- 
 pressed rage, as Iago desires, and replies : 
 
 9 
 
ii4 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Dost thou hear, Iago ? 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
 But — dost thou hear ? — most bloody." 
 
 Iago, secretly gratified, replies : 
 
 " That's not amiss ; 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? " 
 
 Othello, always taking his advice, retires accordingly, 
 when Iago reveals to himself his secret plans, in 
 which his accurate knowledge of all he is now dealing 
 with is only too evident. 
 
 " Now will I question Cassio of Bianca. 
 
 . . . It is a creature, 
 That dotes on Cassio : 
 
 He when he hears of her cannot restrain 
 
 From the excess of laughter ! — here he comes ! — 
 
 As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
 
 And his unbookish * jealousy must construe 
 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour, 
 
 Quite in the wrong." 
 
 Cassio enters, and Iago purposely asks : 
 
 " How do you now, lieutenant ?"" 
 
 which name depresses the poor, degraded officer, 
 though always believing Iago to be his friend. He 
 replies, in dejection highly amusing to the other : 
 
 " The worser that you give me the addition, 
 Whose want even kills me." 
 
 1 " Ignorant." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"Othello" 115 
 
 I ago replies : 
 
 " Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure of 't. 
 Now if this suit lay in Bianca's dower, 
 How quickly shall you speed ? " 
 
 He is here supposed to lower his voice, according to 
 a brief direction in the text ; yet this passage seems 
 most important in the tragedy. Iago's own safety 
 must surely depend entirely on Cassio's not naming 
 Bianca, lest Othello should hear it in their private 
 talk. Cassio's not naming her is surely a mere chance : 
 if once he had, Othello's roused fury would imme- 
 diately have been diverted from Desdemona and 
 Cassio. A man of Iago's shrewdness would scarcely 
 have staked all his hopes of success on such a doubtful 
 chance as that of Bianca not being actually named, 
 while spoken about. Yet the dangerous conversation 
 between the knave and his new dupe continues just 
 as I ago wishes, for Cassio, hearing Bianca's name, 
 which Othello, of course, never catches, though listen- 
 ing, immediately laughs, exclaiming, in contemptuous 
 pity for his despised mistress : 
 
 " Alas, poor caitiff ! " 
 
 while the Moor exclaims to himself : 
 
 " Look how he laughs already," 
 while Iago quickly proceeds, referring to Bianca : 
 
 " I never knew woman love man so," 
 
n6 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and Cassio rejoins : 
 
 " Alas ! poor rogue, I think i' faith she loves me." 
 
 Othello exclaims to himself, closely observing Cassio 
 and partly hearing his words, during this trying scene : 
 
 " Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out." 
 Iago, wishing Othello to hear, says evidently louder : 
 
 " Do you hear, Cassio ? " 
 
 Othello, understanding this, says aside : 
 
 " Now he importunes him 
 To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said." 
 
 Iago continues, addressing Cassio : 
 
 "She gives it out that you shall marry her. 
 Do you intend it ? " 
 
 Cassio only laughs at the question, and Othello, for- 
 getting or not knowing Cassio is a Florentine, mutters : 
 
 " Do you triumph, Roman ? do you triumph ? " 
 
 and Cassio, thinking he is only joking with Iago about 
 Bianca, laughingly retorts : 
 
 " I marry her ! . . . Prythee bear some charity to my wit," 
 
 and laughs again ; while Othello, hinting at future 
 danger, exclaims aside : 
 
 " So, so, so — they laugh that win," 
 
"Othello" 117 
 
 and Iago proceeds, tempting Cassio to say more : 
 
 " Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her." 
 
 Cassio cannot believe this, though trusting Iago, and 
 alluding to Bianca says : 
 
 " This is the monkey's own giving out ; she is persuaded I will 
 marry her out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise." 
 
 Iago, who really directs Cassio's revelation, makes 
 a sign to Othello to hear particularly what is now 
 coming, as the Moor says aside : 
 
 " Iago beckons me ; now he begins the story," 
 
 while Cassio proceeds to describe Bianca's unwelcome 
 attentions : 
 
 " She was here even now ; she haunts me in every place. I was 
 the other day talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and 
 thither comes the bauble, and falls me thus about the neck." 
 
 Othello here says to himself, observing Cassio's 
 gesture, and hardly guessing his words : 
 
 " Crying, O dear Cassio ! as it were : his gesture imports it." 
 
 Cassio proceeds, still laughing at recollections : 
 
 " So hangs, and lolls and weeps upon me ; so hales and pulls me : 
 ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Othello, guessing as well as closely watching, says 
 again to himself : 
 
 " Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see 
 that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to." 
 
n8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Bianca herself now approaches ; Cassio asks why she 
 still haunts him, and she irritably mentions the hand- 
 kerchief which she has with her, asking : 
 
 " What did you mean by that same handkerchief you gave me 
 even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. ... A likely piece of work 
 that you should find it in your chamber and not know who left it 
 there ! This is some minx's token, I must take out the work. 
 There, give it your hobby-horse wheresoever you had it, I'll take 
 out no work on 't." 
 
 Cassio exclaims : 
 
 " How now, sweet Bianca ? " 
 
 seeming surprised at her petulance, and Othello 
 exclaims to himself again : 
 
 " By heaven, that should be my handkerchief," 
 
 while Bianca, still offended, says to Cassio : 
 
 " If you come to supper to-night, you may ; if you will not, come 
 when you are next prepared for," 
 
 and departs. Iago exclaims : 
 
 "After her, after her!" 
 and Cassio replies : 
 
 " Faith, I must ; she'll rail in the streets else," 
 
 and replying to Iago, adds he will sup there, when 
 Iago says : 
 
 " Well, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with 
 you," 
 
"Othello" 119 
 
 and Cassio cordially rejoins : 
 
 " Prithee, come ; will you ? " 
 when the other says : 
 
 "Go to ; say no more," 
 
 and Cassio departs, evidently believing Iago to be as 
 much his friend as ever. Othello then, bursting with 
 rage against Cassio, exclaims : 
 
 " How shall I murder him, Iago ? " 
 
 This savage question Iago does not immediately 
 answer, but continues to provoke Othello yet more 
 by asking if he saw the handkerchief, when Othello 
 asks : 
 
 " Was that mine ? " 
 
 and Iago replies : 
 
 " Yours by this hand, and to see how he prizes the foolish woman 
 your wife ! " 
 
 adding that Desdemona gave the precious article to 
 Cassio, who, in his turn, gave it to Bianca. Othello 
 is now thoroughly enraged with both his wife and 
 Cassio, yet cannot help recalling Desdemona's beauty 
 and attractions, when Iago practically remarks : 
 
 " Nay, you must forget that," 
 
 and Othello wildly proceeds : 
 
 " Ay, let her perish, ... for she shall not live ; no, my heart is 
 turned to stone ; I strike it and it hurts my hand." 
 
120 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then, Desdemona's sweet image again returning to 
 his frantic mind, he exclaims mournfully : 
 
 "O the world hath not a sweeter creature; she might lie by an 
 emperor's side and command him tasks." 
 
 Again Iago calmly interposes to stop these regrets, 
 observing : 
 
 " Nay, that's not your way," 
 
 while Othello rejoins, still unable to cease praising 
 her in the midst of his rage, and even recalling her 
 accomplishments : 
 
 " Hang her ! I do but say what she is — so delicate with her needle ! 
 — an admirable musician ! O, she will sing the savageness out of a 
 bear ! Of so high and plenteous wit and invention ! " 
 
 Iago, insinuating that all her charms, graces, and 
 talents are for other men, rather than for her husband, 
 quietly remarks : 
 
 " She's the worse for all this," 
 
 and Othello, the more incensed, as he wished, assents, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " O, a thousand, thousand times — and then, of so gentle a 
 condition." 
 
 Iago sarcastically catches at the word, observing : 
 
 "Ay, too gentle," 
 
 and Othello assents, exclaiming, evidently nearly as 
 grieved as enraged : 
 
 "Nay, that's certain; but yet the pity of it, Iago! — O Iago, the 
 pity of it, Iago ! " 
 
"Othello" 121 
 
 The latter now thinks it high time to put a complete 
 stop to these regrets, and does so with malignant 
 cunning by emphatically remarking : 
 
 " If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, 
 for if it touches not you, it comes near nobody." 
 
 This reminder again turns Othello's pity to rage, and 
 when I ago exclaims : 
 
 " O, 'tis foul in her ! " 
 
 he rejoins : 
 
 "With mine officer," 
 
 feeling it particularly disgraceful that his subordinate 
 should now become his wife's lover ; and when Iago 
 adds : 
 
 " That's fouler," 
 
 he resolves to poison Desdemona ; when Iago suggests 
 her strangulation : 
 
 " in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated," 
 
 and the Moor furiously exclaims : 
 
 "Good, good ; the justice of it pleases," 
 
 while Iago says : 
 
 "And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker; you shall hear more 
 by midnight." 
 
 While they are thus plotting a trumpet is heard, 
 
122 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 which, Iago says, means news from Venice, and 
 Desdemona enters, accompanied by her relative 
 Lodovico, who brings news or despatches from 
 Venice for Othello to read. As they greet each 
 other, Desdemona says to Lodovico, who has inquired 
 after " Lieutenant Cassio " : 
 
 " Cousin, there's fallen between him and my lord 
 An unkind breach, but you shall make all well." 
 
 Iago grimly replies : 
 " Lives, sir," 
 
 to Lodovico, asking for Cassio, but no one guesses 
 or inquires into his meaning, known only to the Moor. 
 Othello, now distracted between public duty and 
 private trouble, hearing Desdemona's words, asks her 
 distrustfully : 
 
 "Are you sure of that ? " 
 
 and proceeds, or rather tries, to read the Venetian 
 despatches, when Lodovico asking if there is a dis- 
 pute between Othello and Cassio, Desdemona replies : 
 
 " A most unhappy one : I would do much 
 To atone them for the love I bear to Cassio." 
 
 These unfortunate words make Othello, in a fury, 
 exclaim, while seeming to read the news : 
 
 " Fire and brimstone ! " 
 and to ask her : 
 
 "Are you wise?" 
 
"Othello" 123 
 
 Desdemona naturally exclaims to all around : 
 
 " What, is he angry ? " 
 
 when Lodovico, also wondering at Othello's manner, 
 
 suggests : 
 
 " Maybe the letter mov'd him ; 
 For as I think they do command him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government." 
 
 This change is not made apparently from any offence 
 Othello has given to the Venetian State, though its 
 true reason is not mentioned. Desdemona, however, 
 for some unexplained reason, unless she wishes to 
 return to Italy, joyfully exclaims : 
 
 " Trust me, I am glad on 't," 
 
 and thus confirms Othello's jealousy, who exclaims 
 first : 
 
 " Indeed," 
 and then : 
 
 " I am glad to see you mad." 
 
 She asks him in wonder : 
 
 " Why, sweet Othello ? " 
 
 and he then actually strikes her, to the amazement of 
 all, Lodovico exclaiming indignantly : 
 
 " My lord, this would not be believed in Venice, 
 Though I should swear I saw it : 'tis very much ; 
 Make her amends ; she weeps." 
 
124 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Othello frantically exclaims, like one out of his senses : 
 
 " O devil, devil ! 
 If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile ; 
 Out of my sight!" 
 
 She meekly replies : 
 
 " I will not stay to offend you,' 
 
 and is leaving, when Lodovico exclaims : 
 
 " Truly an obedient lady, — 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back." 
 
 The Moor does so, and cannot conceal his confused 
 mind from the wonder of all present except Iago. 
 Divided between his public duties at Venice and his 
 suspicions of Desdemona, Othello, unable, yet striving 
 to conceal his agitation, asks Lodovico : 
 
 " What would you with her, sir ? " 
 and he, amazed, asks in return : 
 
 " Who, I, my lord ? " 
 and Othello says, becoming more and more distracted : 
 
 "Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn." 
 
 He proceeds to address Lodovico and Desdemona 
 alternately : 
 
 " Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on, 
 And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep ! 
 And she's obedient, as you say — obedient ! — 
 Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears." 
 
" Othello" 125 
 
 Then he says to Lodovico : 
 " Concerning this, sir," 
 
 and again to Desdemona : 
 
 " O well painted passion ! 
 I am commanded home ; get you away, 
 I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate, 
 And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! " 
 
 Desdemona departs, and the Moor continues : 
 
 " Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night 
 I do entreat that we may sup together. 
 You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys ! " 
 
 He departs in evident wild excitement, and Lodovico, 
 astounded at his words and manner, asks Iago : 
 
 " Is this the noble Moor whom our full Senate 
 Call all-in-all sufficient ? Is this the nature 
 Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue 
 The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
 Could neither graze nor pierce ! " 
 
 Iago drily replies : 
 
 " He is much chang'd," 
 
 and Lodovico proceeds : 
 
 " Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain ? " 
 and Iago replies, in assumed confusion and sorrow 
 
 " He's — that he is ; I may not breathe my censure. 
 What he might be — if what he might, he is not, — 
 I would to heaven he were ! " 
 
 ' 
 
126 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Lodovico, shocked at recalling Othello's violence, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " What, strike his wife ! " 
 
 Iago, pretending sympathy with Lodovico's feelings, 
 replies : 
 
 " Faith, that was not so well ; yet would I knew 
 That stroke would prove the worst." 
 
 Lodovico, unable to comprehend all he has seen and 
 heard, again asks: 
 
 " Is it his use ? 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
 And new create this fault ? " 
 
 Iago replies, with apparent deep and hopeless regret : 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! 
 It is not honesty in me to speak 
 
 What I have seen and known. You shall observe him ; 
 And his own courses will denote him so, 
 That I may save my speech ; do but go after, 
 And mark how he continues." 
 
 Lodovico, apparently a man of good sense and right 
 feeling, exclaims gravely, reflecting on Othello : 
 
 " I am sorry that I am deceiv'd in him." 
 
 In the next scene Othello and Emilia enter together. 
 The former inquires about Desdemona's alleged love 
 for Cassio, which Emilia does not believe, and 
 anxiously asks : 
 
 " What, did they never whisper ? " 
 
"Othello" 127 
 
 Emilia replies : 
 
 " Never." 
 Othello again asks : 
 
 " Nor send you out of the way ? " 
 
 Emilia repeats : 
 
 " Never,' 
 and the Moor asks : 
 
 " To fetch her fan, her gloves, her work, nor nothing ? " 
 
 A third time Emilia repeats the solemn word 
 
 " Never," 
 
 which induces him to exclaim : 
 " That's strange ! " 
 
 and Emilia, trustful and thoroughly attached to her 
 suspected mistress, proceeds : 
 
 " I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
 Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
 Remove your thought ; it doth abuse your bosom." 
 
 Eager in Desdemona's vindication and knowing 
 nothing of Iago's villainy, this faithful servant 
 continues : 
 
 " If any wretch hath put this in your head, 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
 For if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
 There's no man happy." 
 
 The Moor, unmoved by Emilia's honesty and com- 
 pletely relying on I ago, tells her to go and send 
 
128 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Desdemona to him ; she leaves, and when alone, 
 Othello says to himself in bitter words : 
 
 " She says enough ; yet she's a simple bawd 
 That cannot say as much," 
 
 intimating distrust of both these women, yet knowing 
 nothing for certain against either. 
 
 Desdemona then comes, accompanied by Emilia, 
 when he exclaims to his wife : 
 
 " Let me see your eyes ; 
 Look in my face." 
 
 Desdemona, wondering at what seems his strange 
 passion, asks : 
 
 " What horrible fancy is this ? " 
 
 Othello, who appears to have vague suspicions of 
 Emilia also, tells her to go, saying in bitter taunt : 
 
 " Shut the door ; 
 Cough or cry he?n if anybody come ; 
 Your mystery, your mystery — nay, despatch." 
 
 Emilia, without a word, departs ; while Desdemona, 
 kneeling, entreats him to say what he means. 
 Othello fiercely denounces her as false to him, while 
 she vainly defends herself ; and the distracted Moor, 
 now shedding tears, seems struggling between grief 
 and anger, exclaiming : 
 
 " Ah ! Desdemona ! — away ! away ! away ! " 
 
"Othello" 129 
 
 She asks in terrified astonishment : 
 
 " Why do you weep ? 
 Am I the motive of these tears, my lord ? " 
 
 Then, imagining that he may think her father is 
 intriguing against him in Venice, she proceeds, quite 
 mistaken : 
 
 " If haply you my father suspect, 
 An instrument of this your calling back, 
 Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost him, 
 Why, I have lost him too." 
 
 At this trying moment she thus recalls the image of 
 her absent father, who had so vehemently opposed 
 her unfortunate marriage, and to whom she can no 
 longer appeal. Her words produce no effect on 
 Othello, who, thoroughly jealous now, in real mental 
 distress utters a strange, eloquent lamentation, in 
 mingled sorrow and dangerous anger : 
 
 " Had it pleased heaven 
 To try me with affliction . . . 
 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, 
 I should have found in some place of my soul 
 A drop of patience ; but, alas ! to make me 
 A fixed figure of the time for Scorn 
 To point his slow unmoving finger at ! 
 Yet I could bear that too ; well, very well." 
 
 Then, reverting vehemently to his supposed injury : 
 
 "iBut there, where I have garner'd up my heart, 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life, 
 The fountain from the which my current runs 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! " 
 10 
 
130 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He proceeds in more wild, reproachful language, and 
 Desdemona for the first time thinks that he suspects 
 her, and exclaims in apprehensive doubt or wonder : 
 
 " I hope my noble lord esteems me honest." 
 
 The Moor answers in bitter sarcasm, intimating utter 
 distrust of her, and proceeds in deep reproach : 
 
 "O thou weed, 
 Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet 
 That the sense aches at thee — would thou hadst ne'er been born ! " 
 
 Dismayed and shocked, she can only ask : 
 
 " Alas ! what ignorant sin have I committed ? " 
 
 Othello, catching at this last word, and lashing himself 
 up into fury, accuses her vehemently of what he sus- 
 pects, when she is roused into exclaiming indignantly : 
 
 " By heaven, you do me wrong." 
 
 But nothing she can say avails her, and the Moor 
 continues his reproaches, when Emilia re-enters, to 
 whom he says in mysterious language, suspecting and 
 astonishing both : 
 
 " We have done our course ; there's money for your pains. 
 I pray you turn the key and keep our counsel," 
 
 and departs in confused rage. Emilia then exclaims : 
 
 " Alas ! what does this gentleman conceive ? 
 How do you, madam ? how do you, my good lady ? " 
 
 Desdemona, apparently confused or stupefied by 
 
"Othello" 131 
 
 Othello's vehemence, which she cannot understand, 
 and which is so different from his former manner, 
 replies wearily : 
 
 " Faith, half asleep." 
 Emilia asks : 
 
 " Good madam, what's the matter with my lord ? " 
 
 The other asks : 
 
 " Who is thy lord ? " 
 
 and Emilia replies : 
 
 " He that is yours, sweet lady." 
 
 Desdemona sadly replies : 
 
 " I have none : do not talk to me, Emilia; 
 I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none, 
 But what should go by water." 
 
 Then, recalling the early days of her unhappy marriage, 
 she says : 
 
 " Prythee, to-night 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember — 
 And call thy husband hither." 
 
 Emilia exclaims, likely to herself, as if remembering 
 her mistress's wedding : 
 
 " Here's a change indeed," 
 
 and departs, while Desdemona exclaims to herself, 
 perhaps remembering her distressed father, or her 
 
132 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 rejected lover, Roderigo, though she names neither of 
 the two who certainly loved her sincerely : 
 
 " Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet." 
 
 Emilia re-enters with Iago, who asks her what she 
 wishes and how she is. Desdemona replies, alluding 
 to the Moor's anger with her : 
 
 " I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes, 
 Do it with gentle means and easy tasks ; 
 He might have chid me so ; for in good faith 
 I am a child to chiding." 
 
 This admission again implies that Brabantio had 
 always been a kind rather than a stern father, and 
 that her experience of him was very different from 
 that of Cordelia, patiently enduring the occasional, if 
 not frequent, wrath of her passionate father, King 
 Lear. Yet it is not till Desdemona sees Othello in a 
 fury with her that she recalls the indulgence of her 
 deserted parent, and the general kindness of all she 
 had apparently known in early life. Iago again asks 
 what is the matter, and Emilia, never suspecting that 
 he is the sole cause of all the mischief, warmly 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Alas, Iago, my lord hath . . . 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her 
 As true hearts cannot bear." 
 
 Iago, pretending to sympathise, asks : 
 
 "Why did he so?" 
 and proceeds : 
 
 " Do not weep, do not weep ; alas the day ! " 
 
"Othello" 133 
 
 Whether Iago here means to regret Desdemona's 
 marriage does not seem clear, yet his words evidently 
 encourage Emilia to nobly resent her mistress's treat- 
 ment, as she warmly exclaims, recalling Desdemona's 
 early history and social position in Venice, yet never 
 naming Roderigo as among former lovers : 
 
 "Hath she forsook so many noble matches, 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends ? " 
 
 Then, recalling Othello's abusive words, adds : 
 
 " Would it not make one weep ? " 
 
 Iago inquires as to the Moor's behaviour : 
 
 " How comes this trick upon him ?" 
 
 Desdemona can only exclaim : 
 
 " Nay, heaven doth know," 
 
 and Emilia, never guessing that she is condemning 
 her husband alone, indignantly proceeds : 
 
 " I will be hang'd if some eternal villain, 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue, 
 Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, 
 Have not devis'd this slander, I'll be hanged else." 
 
 Iago, naturally wishing to silence her, and perhaps 
 taken by surprise at the boldness of her indignation, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Fie ! there is no such man ; it is impossible." 
 
 Desdemona, though never suspecting that the real 
 
134 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 villain is beside her, nobly exclaims, in a truly devout 
 spirit, worthy of her gentle, forgiving nature : 
 
 " If any such there be, heaven pardon him." 
 
 Emilia, whose indignation is thoroughly aroused, 
 rejoins : 
 
 " A halter pardon him ! " 
 
 but neither she nor her mistress entertains the faintest 
 suspicion of Iago. His wife proceeds, in honest anger 
 in behalf of her ill-used mistress : 
 
 " The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave, 
 Some base, notorious knave, some scurvy fellow ; 
 O heaven ! that such companions 1 thou'dst unfold, 
 And put in every honest hand a whip 
 To lash the rascal naked through the world, 
 Even from the east to the west ! " 
 
 Iago, again trying to silence her, exclaims : 
 
 " Speak within door," 
 
 but she, unheeding him, boldly continues in the same 
 strain of eager denunciation : 
 
 " Oh, fie upon them ! " 
 
 Then aside to Iago she adds, probably with bitter 
 personal experience of the consequences of slander : 
 
 " Some such squire he was 
 That turned your wit the seamy side without, 
 And made you to suspect me with the Moor." 
 
 1 " ' Companion ' was often used in Shakespeare's time as a term 
 of contempt." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"Othello" 135 
 
 Iago, always distrusting, yet unable to silence her in 
 Desdemona's presence, replies with suppressed anger, 
 probably unheard by Desdemona : 
 
 " You are a fool ; go to," 
 
 and Desdemona asks him : 
 
 " Alas ! Iago, 
 What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
 Good friend, go to him ; for by this light of heaven 
 I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel — 
 If e'er my guilt did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 Either in discourse of thought or actual deed ; 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense 
 Delighted them in any other form . . . 
 
 Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do much, 
 And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
 But never taint my love." 
 
 Iago tries to soothe her in calm words, which 
 apparently, or to some extent, convince both Des- 
 demona and Emilia : 
 
 " I pray you, be content ; 'tis but his humour : 
 The business of the State does him offence, 
 And he does chide with you." 
 
 Trumpets here sound, when Iago exclaims : 
 
 " Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
 The messengers of Venice stay the meat. 
 Go in and weep not, all things shall be well." 
 
 The two ladies depart, both, likely, trying to 
 believe him, and Roderigo now enters and confronts 
 Iago alone. This lovesick dupe has begun to suspect 
 
136 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 that he is not fairly dealt with — that Iago has obtained 
 his money or jewels by false pretences ; and, though 
 easily deceived, is evidently no coward. He angrily 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Every day thou daffest me with some device, Iago. ... I will 
 indeed no longer endure it " ; 
 
 and truly enough proceeds in his complaints : 
 
 " Your words and performances are no kin together. . . I have 
 wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had from 
 me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted a votarist ; 
 you have told me she hath received them and returned me ex- 
 pectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but 
 I find none." 
 
 Iago tries to quiet or satisfy him, and repeats : 
 
 " Very well " 
 
 twice, when Roderigo angrily retorts : 
 
 " I tell you, 'tis not verv well." 
 
 Then, becoming more practical and spirited, though 
 only for a short time, he boldly proceeds : 
 
 " I will make myself known to Desdemona ; if she will return me 
 my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my unlawful solicita- 
 tion ; if not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you." 
 
 He may touch the hilt of his sword here, for Iago, 
 evidently seeing it is time now to satisfy him, if 
 possible, and wishing to avoid the threatened duel, 
 replies with assumed cordiality : 
 
"Othello" 137 
 
 " Why, now I see there's mettle in thee, and even from this 
 instant do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give 
 me thy hand, Roderigo ; thou hast taken against me a most just 
 exception, but I protest I have dealt most directly in thy affair." 
 
 Roderigo rather distrustfully replies : 
 
 " It hath not appeared " ; 
 
 and Iago, with apparent frankness, admits — 
 
 " I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not 
 without wit and judgment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in 
 thee indeed which I have greater reason to believe now than ever — 
 I mean purpose, courage, and valour — this night show it." 
 
 He then promises Roderigo that to-morrow night 
 he will obtain Desdemona, earnestly exclaiming that 
 if he does not : 
 
 "take me from this world with treachery and devise engines for my 
 life." 
 
 Roderigo, still rather uneasy, asks : 
 
 " Well, what is it ? is it within reason and compass ? " 
 
 and his tempter rejoins with some important intelli- 
 
 "Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute 
 Cassio in Othello's place." 
 
 Roderigo asks if Othello and Desdemona will then 
 return to Venice ; Iago replies that they are going to 
 Mauritania, unless they may be accidentally detained 
 in Cyprus, adding : 
 
 " wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio." 
 
138 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Roderigo, more sentimental or fiery than intelligent, 
 asks : 
 
 " How do you mean, removing him ? " 
 And Iago briefly, yet decidedly, replies : 
 
 "Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking 
 out his brains." 
 
 Roderigo asks again : 
 
 "And that you would have me to do ? " 
 and the other resolutely replies : 
 
 " Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right." 
 
 He then says that Cassio is to sup this night with 
 his mistress, meaning Bianca ; that he does not yet 
 know of his recent appointment as Governor of 
 Cyprus, but that he will arrange for Cassio's leav- 
 ing the place where he sups between twelve and one 
 o'clock, adding murderous directions : 
 
 " You may take him at your pleasure ; I will be near to second 
 your attempt, and he shall fall between us." 
 
 Then, evidently perceiving Roderigo's reluctance or 
 hesitation to commit this crime, he proceeds : 
 
 "Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me; I will 
 show you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself 
 bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night 
 grows to waste ; about it." 
 
"Othello" 139 
 
 Roderigo, still rather hesitating, though under Iago's 
 influence, exclaims doubtfully : 
 
 " I will hear further reason for this," 
 
 and I ago replies : 
 
 "And you shall be satisfied." 
 
 The next scene introduces Othello, Desdemona, 
 Emilia, Lodovico, and attendants. Lodovico, perhaps 
 seeing that Othello looks ill, fatigued, or agitated, 
 says to him : 
 
 " I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further " ; 
 
 and Othello answers : 
 
 " O, pardon me, 'twill do me good to walk." 
 
 A few civil words pass between Desdemona and 
 Lodovico, and Othello then sternly tells her to retire 
 to bed at once, to dismiss Emilia, and he will soon 
 be with her. He, Lodovico, and attendants depart, 
 leaving Desdemona and Emilia alone ; the latter then 
 asks, referring to the Moor : 
 
 " How goes it now ? he looks gentler than he did ? " 
 
 and Desdemona answers : 
 
 " He says he will return incontinent . . . 
 And bade me to dismiss you " ; 
 
 and Emilia exclaims : 
 
 " Dismiss me ! " 
 
140 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 but Desdemona proceeds quietly : 
 
 " It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
 Give me my nightly wearing and adieu. 
 We must not now displease him." 
 
 Emilia, now evidently full of alarm, exclaims earnestly : 
 
 " I would you had never seen him " ; 
 
 and Desdemona replies : 
 
 u So would not I ; my love doth so approve him, 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns — 
 Pr'ythee unpin me — have grace and favour in them." 
 
 Yet, despite her love, she vaguely apprehends danger 
 from him, and she recalls the words of a sad old song, 
 which she now repeats to her faithful attendant ; 
 
 " My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : 
 She was in love and he she lov'd prov'd mad, 
 And did forsake her ; she had a song of Willow, 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
 And she died singing it : that song to-night 
 Will not go from my mind." 
 
 Perhaps from these words Desdemona imagines 
 Othello may be also going out of his mind, as she 
 cannot explain or understand his altered conduct, and 
 if so, her own present position would somewhat re- 
 semble that of Barbara. As if at length trying to 
 divert her sad thoughts, she praises her cousin Lodo- 
 vico's personal appearance and exclaims : 
 
 11 This Lodovico is a proper man." 
 
"Othello" 141 
 
 Emilia assents, replying : 
 
 "A very handsome man," 
 and Desdemona briefly rejoins : 
 
 " He speaks well," 
 
 while Emilia, perhaps to amuse her poor mistress, 
 observes : 
 
 " I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine 
 for a touch of his nether lip," 
 
 and Desdemona begins to sing the pathetic song she 
 had mentioned : 
 
 " The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, 
 
 Sing all a green willow ; 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 The fresh streams ran by her and murmur'd her moans, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 Her salt tears fell from her and soften'd the stones, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow." 
 
 During this melancholy ditty she is being undressed, 
 and fancies she hears a knock, but no one enters, and 
 she proceeds to ask Emilia if she believes that there 
 are any wives who would deceive their husbands as 
 she is accused of doing. Emilia, in somewhat free 
 language, a contrast to the modest delicacy of 
 Desdemona, lays equal if not more blame on faith- 
 less husbands, as a rule, and says, concluding a 
 strange, sad dialogue : 
 
 " But I do think it is their husbands' faults, 
 If wives do fall : say that they slack their duties. . . 
 
142 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 
 Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say they strike us, 
 Or scant our former having in despite : 
 
 Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
 Their wives have sense like them . . . 
 
 Then let them use us well ; else let them know 
 The ills we do, their ills instruct us so." 
 
 These words seem rather like those of Shylock 
 about Jewish ill-usage by Christians. l 
 
 Desdemona answers them in two noble lines worthy 
 of herself, which end this act and scene : 
 
 " Good night, good night ; heaven me such uses send, 
 Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend." 
 
 The next and last act is tragic throughout. I ago 
 and Roderigo appear together in a street, the latter 
 being now persuaded to attack Cassio, while Iago 
 gives directions, saying : 
 
 " Here stand behind this bulk, straight will he come ; 
 Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home : 
 Quick, quick ; I'll be at thy elbow." 
 
 Then, knowing Roderigo's reluctance or indecision, he 
 adds : 
 
 " It makes us or it mars us, think on that, 
 And fix most firm thy resolution." 
 
 1 " If a Jew wrong a Christian, what's his humility ? Revenge. 
 If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Chris- 
 tian example ? Why revenge. The villainy you teach me I will 
 execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction." — 
 " Merchant of Venice," Act III., Scene 1. 
 
" Othello " 143 
 
 Roderigo, still somewhat irresolute, replies : 
 
 " Be near at hand, I may miscarry in 't," 
 and Iago rejoins, trying to encourage him : 
 
 " Here at thy hand ; be bold and take thy stand." 
 
 Iago retires a little distance, and Roderigo, when 
 alone, reveals his reluctant, yet excited state of mind : 
 
 " I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons." 
 
 These words show that Iago has quite convinced him 
 that Cassio is his rival in Desdemona's love, and 
 Roderigo adds desperately : 
 
 " Tis but a man gone, — forth, my sword ; he dies." 
 
 Iago also now says to himself, with his usual contempt 
 for Roderigo : 
 
 " I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the sense, 1 
 And he grows angry." 
 
 Then, carefully reviewing the position of his three 
 dupes towards himself, he adds : 
 
 " Now whether he kills Cassio, 
 Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
 Every way makes my gain ; live Roderigo, 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 
 1 " I have rubbed this pimple to the quick." — Staunton's notes. 
 
144 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 It must not be; if Cassio do remain, 
 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life 
 
 That makes me ugly, and besides the Moor 
 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril : 
 
 No, he must die." 
 
 Cassio now enters, and Roderigo immediately attacks 
 him, exclaiming : 
 
 " Villain ! thou diest," 
 
 when Cassio, evidently unhurt, exclaims : 
 
 " That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, 
 But that my coat is better than thou know'st ; 
 I will make proof of thine." 
 
 He wounds Roderisfo without reco^nisingf him. Iaofo 
 then rushes forwards, wounds Cassio, and vanishes. 
 The wounded men, apparently now both helpless, 
 exclaim : 
 
 "Roderigo. 0, I am slain ! 
 Cassio. I am maim'd for ever : Help, ho ! murder ! " 
 
 Cassio falls. Othello now appears at a distance from 
 the fray, and hearing the shouts of Cassio, exclaims : 
 
 " The voice of Cassio ! Iago keeps his word." 
 
 The wounded Roderigo exclaims, repenting his attack 
 on Cassio : 
 
 " O villain that lam!" 
 
 Othello, perhaps thinking it the same voice, as both 
 men are wounded and helpless, exclaims : 
 
 " 'Tis even so," 
 
" Othello" 145 
 
 while Cassio continues to call for a light and a 
 surgeon, and Othello, hearing him, again exclaims, 
 as if his anger was gratified : 
 
 " 'Tis he : O brave Iago, honest and just, 
 That hast such a noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! 
 Thou teachest me." 
 
 Then, referring to Desdemona, he exclaims : 
 
 " Minion, your dear lies dead, 
 And your unblest fate hies " ; 
 
 and with fiery words threatening death to his 
 wife he departs, while the Venetians, Lodovico and 
 Gratiano, enter together; the latter, though Brabantio's 
 brother, has apparently no prejudice against the Moor. 
 They now hear and wonder at the sighs and moans of 
 the two wounded men in the dark, when Iago re-enters 
 with a light, asking : 
 
 " Did you not hear a cry ? " 
 
 and Cassio exclaims again : 
 
 " Here, here, for heaven's sake, help me." 
 
 Gratiano does not know Iago, but Lodovico tells him 
 he is the Moor's ensign and a 
 
 " very valiant fellow," 
 
 while Cassio, little knowing the truth, calls to Iago as 
 if to a friend : 
 
 " Iago ! O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains ! 
 Give me some help"; 
 
 11 
 
14.6 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and I ago replies, as if astonished : 
 
 " O me, lieutenant ! what villains have done this?" 
 
 and Cassio answers, having heard Roderigo's voice : 
 
 " I think there is one of them hereabout, 
 And cannot make away." 
 
 Then Iago, calling on Lodovicoand Gratiano to assist 
 
 him, exclaims : 
 
 " O treacherous villains ! " 
 
 The unlucky Roderigo also calls for assistance, being 
 as helpless as Cassio ; and, at hearing his voice, Iago 
 exclaims : 
 
 " That's one of them," 
 
 and stabs Roderigo, who, recognising him, is just able 
 to reproach him by name, exclaiming : 
 
 " O d — ned Iago, O inhuman dog ! " 
 
 but is mortally wounded. Iago then addresses Gratiano 
 and Lodovico : 
 
 " What may you be ? " 
 
 Lodovico replies : 
 
 " As you shall prove us, praise us." 
 
 Iago recognises his voice and shows him Cassio 
 wounded and helpless, when Bianca enters and 
 immediately mourns over her beloved Cassio. Iago 
 
"Othello" 147 
 
 then, apparently thinking that anything will be 
 believed against one in her friendless, degraded 
 position, insinuates that she was a party to this injury, 
 and recognising Roderigo, exclaims: 
 
 " Lend me a light. Know we this face or no ? 
 Alas ! my friend and my dear countryman, 
 Roderigo ! " 
 
 Gratiano, hearing the name, asks : 
 " What, of Venice ? " 
 
 and I ago replies : 
 
 " Even he, sir ; did you know him ? " 
 
 Gratiano emphatically answers : 
 
 " Know him ! ay," 
 
 but apparently knew nothing of his coming disguised 
 to Cyprus. Cassio is now placed on a chair, and Iago, 
 directing those around, says : 
 
 " Some good man bear him carefully from hence; 
 I'll fetch the general's surgeon." 
 
 Then, referring to Roderigo, he exclaims to Cassio : 
 
 " He that lies here, Cassio, 
 Was my dear friend ; what malice was between you ? " 
 
 Cassio honestly answers : 
 
 " None in the world ; nor do I know the man." 
 
148 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago sternly says to the poor sorrowing Bianca : 
 "What! look you pale?" 
 
 The wounded Cassio and Roderigo are then borne off, 
 and Iago, asking Lodovico and Gratiano to remain, 
 tries to lay the blame on the unfortunate Bianca, 
 among whose sins hardness of heart seems to have 
 no place, as she sincerely grieves over the wounded 
 Cassio, amid general scorn and suspicion. Iago 
 continues to her : 
 
 " Look you pale, mistress ? 
 Do you perceive, gentlemen, the gastness of her eye ? 
 
 Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her ; 
 Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak 
 Though tongues were out of use." 
 
 Emilia now enters, and hears from Iago that Cassio 
 has been attacked by Roderigo and others in the 
 dark and wounded, and that Roderigo is slain. Iago 
 tells his wife to ask Cassio where he supped that 
 night, and turning on Bianca, asks : 
 
 " What ! do you shake at that ? " 
 and the unlucky Bianca has to own : 
 
 " He supped at my house, but I therefore shake not." 
 Iago replies : 
 
 " O, did he so ? I charge you, go with me," 
 while Emilia, still trusting her husband, also reproaches 
 
" Othello " 149 
 
 the distressed and helpless Bianca. Iago, now taking 
 on himself the direction of everything, addresses 
 Lodovico and Gratiano, who hitherto appear to watch 
 or hear him in observant silence : 
 
 " Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd. 
 Come, mistress, you must tell another tale. 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
 And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 
 Will you go on afore ? " 
 
 Having thus disposed of all around him, this arch- 
 plotter says to himself, yet apparently in growing 
 alarm or excitement : 
 
 " This is the night 
 That either makes me, or fordoes me quite." 
 
 The next and final scene is long, eventful, and 
 the most pathetic in this tragedy. Othello, convinced 
 of his wife's guilt, enters her room while she is asleep. 
 He exclaims, as if trying to harden himself for the 
 crime he contemplates by dwelling on her alleged 
 infidelity : 
 
 " It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! 
 
 Yet she must die, or she'll betray more men." 
 
 While determined in his fatal purpose,he continues to 
 admire Desdemona's beauty in sentimental words, and 
 kissing her, exclaims : 
 
 " O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! . . . 
 
! 
 
 150 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 ... I must weep, 
 But they are cruel tears ; this sorrow's heavenly ; 
 It strikes where it doth love." 
 
 Desdemona awakes and suspects his object when, after 
 advising her to pray, he says : 
 
 " I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 
 No — heaven forfend — I would not kill thy soul." 
 
 At hearing the terrific word she asks : 
 "Talk you of killing?" 
 
 and he replies : 
 
 "Ay, I do"; 
 
 she apparently has had some proofs of his fiery temper, 
 as she proceeds : 
 
 "Then heaven 
 Have mercy on me ! " 
 
 and he replies : 
 
 "Amen, with all my heart ! " 
 
 She rejoins : 
 
 " If you say so, I hope you will not kill me," 
 
 and proceeds, as he hardly answers : 
 
 " And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then, 
 When your eyes roll so." 
 
 He exclaims : 
 
 " Think on thy sins ! " 
 
"Othello" 151 
 
 and she replies : 
 
 "They are loves I bear to you," 
 
 and after more entreaty he reverts to the lost hand- 
 kerchief, one of the chief causes of his fatal suspicion, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " That handkerchief which I so lov'd and gave thee, 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio " ; 
 
 and she replies : 
 
 " No, by my life and soul ! 
 Send for the man and ask him." 
 
 He then, after more reproaches, tells her the terrific 
 news that Cassio is killed, as he believes, and has 
 confessed his and her guilt. At hearing this news she 
 exclaims, distracted alike between fear and terror : 
 
 " Alas ! he is betray'd and I undone." 
 
 These unfortunate words, uttered in her distracted 
 amazement, confirm Othello's worst suspicions, and he, 
 after more words of jealous fury, smothers her as he 
 had designed. The crime is only just committed 
 when Emilia calls from without that she must speak 
 with him. Othello, excited, horrified at what he has 
 done, but not yet repenting, exclaims, partly in answer 
 to her and partly to himself : 
 
 " Yes — 'tis Emilia : by and by. — She's dead. 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death, 
 
 . . . Shall she come in ? . . . 
 
 . . . What's best to do ? 
 If she come in she'll sure speak to my wife : 
 My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? I have no wife ! " 
 
152 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The dreadful reality of the moment now first occurs 
 to him : 
 
 " O insupportable ! O heavy hour ! 
 Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
 Should yawn at alteration." 
 
 Emilia again calls for admittance and Othello exclaims : 
 
 " I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia. 
 
 . . . Let me the curtain draw." 
 
 Emilia enters and exclaims : 
 
 " Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian 
 Call'd Roderigo." 
 
 Othello exclaims, naming his rival for the first time : 
 
 " Roderigo kill'd ! " 
 and asks : 
 
 " And Cassio kill'd ? " 
 
 and is evidently disappointed when she replies : 
 
 "No, Cassio is not kill'd," 
 
 as he exclaims : 
 
 " Then murder's out of tune, 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh." 
 
 The dying Desdemona is just able to exclaim that she 
 is falsely murdered ; then, laying blame on herself, and 
 declaring she has committed suicide, forgives Othello 
 
" Othello" 153 
 
 and dies. Emilia, astounded and horrified, calls aloud 
 for help, adding : 
 
 " O, who hath done this deed ? " 
 
 Othello asks, perhaps wishing to hear what Emilia 
 suspects : 
 
 " Why, how should she be murdered ? " 
 
 and Emilia answers, perhaps with rising suspicion of 
 the truth : 
 
 "Alas ! who knows?" 
 
 when Othello, in a spirit unlike his former self, as if 
 wishing to avoid suspicion, exclaims : 
 
 " You heard her say yourself, it was not I." 
 
 Emilia, evidently suspecting the truth, replies bravely, 
 remembering Desdemona first owning that she was 
 falsely murdered, before her denial : 
 
 " She said so : I must needs report the truth ! " 
 
 Then Othello, unused to any deception, and seeing 
 what is in Emilia's mind, wildly confesses that he has 
 slain her ; and Emilia nobly exclaims, while losing all 
 fear of him at once : 
 
 " O, the more angel she, 
 And you the blacker devil." 
 
 He answers briefly defending himself, and adding : 
 " She was false as water " ; 
 
154 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and Emilia retorts : 
 
 " Thou art rash as fire to say 
 That she was false : O, she was heavenly true ! " 
 
 Othello answers, in words first inculpating Cassio, 
 which equally astonish and enrage Emilia : 
 
 " Ask thy husband else. 
 
 . . . Thy husband knew it all." 
 
 Emilia can only exclaim : 
 
 " My husband ! . . . 
 That she was false to wedlock ? " 
 
 and Othello replies : 
 "Ay, with Cassio." 
 
 Emilia, never knowing, and apparently never suspect- 
 ing Iago before, repeats three times : 
 
 " My husband ? " 
 
 when Othello asks : 
 
 " What needs this iterance, woman ? I say, thy husband." 
 
 Again Emilia exclaims, as if unable to believe her 
 
 senses : 
 
 " O mistress, villainy hath made mock with love ! — 
 My husband say that she was false ! " 
 
 Othello replies with nervous agitation : 
 
 "He, woman, 
 I say, thy husband, dost understand the word ? 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago ! " 
 
" Othello" 155 
 
 Then Emilia, still doubtful about Iago's guilt, yet 
 utterly fearless in the cause of truth, and practically 
 defying both Othello and Iago at the same moment, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " If he did say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart ; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain." 
 
 Othello at this defiance likely shows signs of anger, 
 as she nobly proceeds : 
 
 "Do thy worst. 
 
 Thou hast not half the power to do me harm, 
 As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 
 
 I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known 
 Though I lost twenty lives : — Help, help, ho ! help ! 
 The Moor hath kill'd my mistress ! Murder, murder ! " 
 
 Hearing her cries, Iago, Gratiano, and Montano 
 enter ; while Emilia, still believing her husband is 
 falsely accused, first addresses him : 
 
 " O, are you come, Iago ? You have done well, 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck." 
 
 Gratiano and Montano ask what is the matter, and 
 Emilia, always showing a true, fearless love for her 
 mistress, addresses Iago, while utterly defying Othello : 
 
 " Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man, 
 He says thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
 I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain ; 
 Speak, for my heart is full." 
 
156 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Iago, evidently embarrassed by his wife's spirit, then 
 replies, yet not with his usual boldness : 
 
 " I told him what I thought, and told no more 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true." 
 
 He then owns that he did accuse Desdemona, and 
 Emilia, turning her full indignation upon him, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " You told a lie, 
 Upon my soul a lie ; a wicked lie ! — 
 She false with Cassio ! — Did you say with Cassio ? " 
 
 Iago, now trying to frighten her, replies : 
 
 " With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue." 
 
 Emilia, perhaps for the first time in her married 
 life, utterly defies her wicked husband, exclaiming : 
 
 " I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound to speak, 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed." 
 
 All present except the two guilty men exclaim : 
 
 " O heaven forefend " ; 
 and Emilia proceeds : 
 
 " And your reports have set the matter on." 
 
 Othello, seeing the horrified looks of the Venetian 
 gentlemen, so different from their former respect for 
 him, exclaims, confirming Emilia : 
 
 " Nay, stare not, masters ; it is true, indeed." 
 
" Othello" 157 
 
 Gratiano and Montano express briefly their horrified 
 astonishment, while Emilia, now inspired with a 
 courage of which perhaps none, certainly not Iago, 
 ever thought her capable, proceeds like an avenging 
 angel, animated by truth alone, and fearing no human 
 power or brutality : 
 
 " Villainy, villainy, villainy ! — 
 I think upon 't l — I think I smell 't — O villainy ! 
 I thought so then ; — -I'll kill myself for grief. — 
 O villainy, villainy ! " 
 
 Iago, evidently astonished at her sudden fearless spirit, 
 which he never expected, exclaims in threatening 
 wrath : 
 
 " What, are you mad ? I charge you, get you home." 
 
 But she now, to his amazement, disobeys him, and, 
 animated with a love as strong - as death for her slain 
 mistress, appeals to the Venetian nobles : 
 
 " Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak : 
 Tis proper I obey him, but not now." 
 
 Then, foreseeing or guessing her own fate, yet fearless 
 of it in a right cause, she addresses her husband : 
 
 " Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home." 
 
 Othello, in terrible agitation, beginning to repent, yet 
 
 1 " That is, at the instant when she gave Desdemona's handkerchief 
 to Iago." Quoted in Staunton's notes. 
 
158 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 almost distracted by mingled anger and sorrow, falls 
 upon the bed exclaiming — 
 
 "O! O! O!" 
 when Emilia, seeing his condition, says : 
 
 " Nay, lay thee down and roar : 
 For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 
 That e'er did lift up eye." 
 
 Othello, rising, exclaims, still trying to believe in 
 Desdemona's guilt : 
 
 " O, she was foul ! " 
 
 Then addressing Gratiano : 
 
 " I scarce did know you, uncle. There lies your niece. 
 
 I know, this act looks horrible and grim." 
 
 Gratiano, remembering how his brother Brabantio 
 had opposed Desdemona's marriage, here exclaims : 
 
 " Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's dead ; 
 Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
 Shore his old thread in twain ; did he live now, 
 This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
 Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
 And fall to reprobation." 
 
 Othello, overcome by his crime, yet trying to rely on 
 Iago's supposed truth and honesty, answers almost 
 feebly : 
 
 " 'Tis pitiful," 
 
" Othello" 159 
 
 and then repeats that Iago had known for certain of 
 her guilt with Cassio, and that the latter confessed 
 it, adding : 
 
 " And she did gratify his amorous works 
 With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand ; 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother." 
 
 The listening Emilia, shocked at now hearing her 
 own unconscious mischief in stealing the handker- 
 chief, exclaims from her grieved heart : 
 
 " O God ! O heavenly God ! " 
 
 while Iago, now dreading her evidence, exclaims, 
 vainly trying to frighten her : 
 
 " Come, hold your peace ! " 
 
 But she in her turn, enraged as well as grieved by 
 the part she had ignorantly taken in causing her 
 mistress's death, exclaims, yet determined to vindi- 
 cate herself as well as Desdemona's memory : 
 
 " 'Twill out, 'twill out ;— I hold my peace, sir ? no ; 
 No, I will speak as liberal as the north ; 
 Let heaven, and men and devils, let them all, 
 All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak." 
 
 Iago, with a last attempt to silence her, exclaims : 
 
 " Be wise, and get you home." 
 
 She refuses, and he tries to stab her, but is restrained 
 by Gratiano, who exclaims : 
 
 " Fie ! your sword upon a woman ? " 
 
160 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and Emilia fearlessly proceeds, revealing the past to 
 the wretched Othello : 
 
 " O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou speak'st of, 
 I found by fortune and did give my husband ; 
 For often with a solemn earnestness, 
 More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle, 
 He begged of me to steal it." 
 
 Iago, now seeing he has no control over her, vehemently 
 abuses her, declaring she lies, and she retorts, appeal- 
 ing to Gratiano and Montano : 
 
 " By heaven, I do not ! I do not, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Then, scornfully reproaching Othello, she asks : 
 
 " O murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife ? " 
 
 Iago now actually stabs Emilia, and, unable to say a 
 word in his defence, rushes out, apparently with a vague 
 idea of escaping. Othello, completely overcome by 
 his own crime and the effect of Emilia's statement, 
 exclaims, as if helpless or in a dream : 
 
 " Are there no stones in heaven, 
 But what serve for the thunder ? — Precious villain ! " 
 
 Gratiano here declares, as Emilia falls, that Iago has 
 slain her, while the brave, devoted woman exclaims, 
 knowing she is mortally wounded : 
 
 " Ay, ay ; O, lay me by my mistress' side ! " 
 Gratiano exclaims: 
 
 " He's gone, but his wife's killed," 
 
"Othello" 161 
 
 and Montano, who evidently seems to have rather 
 suddenly discovered the real character of " Honest 
 Iago," truly declares what has apparently never 
 been known before : 
 
 " Tis a notorious villain " ; 
 
 then says to Gratiano : 
 
 " Take you this weapon 
 Which I have recover'd from the Moor ; 
 Come, guard the door without : let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain " j 
 
 Montano, while Gratiano watches outside, pursues the 
 fugitive Iago, and the Moor is left with the dying 
 Emilia. Othello exclaims, as if dazed and utterly 
 prostrate in mind, alluding to the spirited young 
 Montano : 
 
 " I am not valiant neither, 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword, — 
 But why should honour outlive honesty ? 
 Let it go all." 
 
 Emilia, recalling some last words of her beloved 
 mistress, exclaims : 
 
 " What did thy song bode, lady ? 
 Hark, canst thou hear me ? I will play the swan, 
 And die in music, — Willow, willow, willow." 
 
 Then, addressing the Moor for the last time . 
 
 " Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor, 
 So come my soul to bliss as I speak true, 
 So speaking as I think, I die, — I die." 
 
 12 
 
1 62 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 She expires, and Othello, finding he is without his 
 sword, exclaims : 
 
 " I have another weapon in this chamber, 
 It is a sword of Spain . . . 
 O, here it is." 
 
 Then, addressing Gratiano, he exclaims : 
 
 " Uncle, I must come forth," 
 when Gratiano resolutely answers : 
 
 " If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear." 
 Not knowing Othello is armed, he says : 
 
 "Thou hast no weapon and perforce must suffer." 
 
 Othello not wishing him yet to know he has a sword, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Look in upon me then and speak with me, 
 Or, naked x as I am, I will assault thee." 
 
 Gratiano at these words re-enters, and the Moor, 
 
 now showing his sword, exclaims at first with some 
 
 self-control, but which his distracted mind cannot long 
 
 preserve : 
 
 " Behold, I have a weapon ; 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, 
 That with this little arm, and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediments 
 Than twenty times your stop." 
 
 1 "Unarmed." 
 
"Othello" 163 
 
 Then, comparing his glorious past with his present 
 state, he breaks down and proceeds : 
 
 " But, O vain boast ! 
 Who can control his fate ? 'Tis not so now, — 
 Be not afraid though you do see me weapon'd ; 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
 And very seamark of my utmost sail." 
 
 Then, apparently seeing that Gratiano, though indig- 
 nant, has no desire to cope with so distinguished a 
 warrior as himself, he proceeds : 
 
 " Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear ; 
 Man but a rush l against Othello's breast, 
 And he retires : where should Othello go ? " 
 
 Where, indeed ? — as in Christian lands he would be 
 called a murderer, and in Mohammedan countries 
 probably a dangerous renegade to that faith, and a 
 foe to their religion. He then gazes at his victim, 
 exclaiming ; 
 
 " How dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wretch ! 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, 
 And fiends will snatch at it ! — Cold, cold, my girl ? " 
 
 Then for a moment remembering Iago, he exclaims : 
 " O cursed, cursed slave ! " 
 
 1 "An allusion to the mock tournaments in which the com- 
 batants were armed with rushes in place of spears." — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
164. Shakespeare Studied 
 
 In frantic self-reproach, and maddening grief at the 
 sight before him, he wildly exclaims : 
 
 " Whip me, ye devils, 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 
 O, Desdemon dead ! Desdemon dead ! 
 O, O!" 
 
 Lodovico and Montano enter, rejoining Gratiano, 
 bringing the wounded Cassio, and also I ago as a 
 prisoner. 
 
 The three Venetians now direct everything, while 
 Othello, gazing at I ago, exclaims : 
 
 " I look down towards his feet, but that's a fable ; 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee." 
 
 Yet he wounds Iago, when Lodovico exclaims : 
 " Wrench his sword from him." 
 
 But this direction is not so easy to execute, and 
 apparently none attempts it, while Iago exclaims : 
 
 " I bleed, sir, but not kill'd," 
 
 and Othello bitterly rejoins, as if partly stupefied : 
 
 " I am not sorry neither : I'd have thee live ; 
 For in my sense 'tis happiness to die." 
 
 Lodovico, displaying both sense and humanity, can- 
 
"Othello" 165 
 
 not avoid even at this awful moment showing some 
 pity for the Moor, exclaiming : 
 
 " O thou Othello, that wert once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice I of a damned slave, 
 What shall be said to thee ? " 
 
 To this sad question the Moor answers with some 
 
 firmness : 
 
 " Why anything : 
 An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
 For nought did I in hate, but all in honour." 
 
 Lodovico then informs him : 
 
 " This wretch hath part confessed his villainy : 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? " 
 
 Othello admits it, and Cassio, always faithful and 
 attached to him, exclaims : 
 
 " Dear general, I never gave you cause," 
 
 when the Moor sincerely replies : 
 
 " I do believe it, and I ask your pardon." 
 
 Then, apparently addressing all around, Othello 
 exclaims : 
 
 "Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil, 
 Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body ? " 
 
 Iago answers at once, with resolute gloomy deter- 
 mination : 
 
 " Demand me nothing : what you know, you know : 
 From this time forth I never will speak word." 
 
 Machinations." — Staunton's notes. 
 
1 66 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Lodovico and Gratiano, who likely never knew such 
 a hardened villain before, exclaim, the former : 
 
 "What, not to pray?" 
 and the latter : 
 
 " Torments will ope your lips." 
 
 Iago remaining resolutely silent, Othello, evidently 
 broken down with grief and likely believing that no 
 prayers would avail Iago, exclaims : 
 
 " Well, thou dost best." 
 
 Lodovico then states that two letters were found 
 in the pocket of the unfortunate Roderigo, one of 
 them saying that Cassio was to be slain by him. 
 Othello vainly exclaims, as Iago's crimes are made 
 more and more apparent : 
 
 " O villain ! " 
 
 and Cassio, kind and harmless, though intemperate in 
 his habits, exclaims in wondering words : 
 
 " Most heathenish and most gross ! " 
 Lodovico then mentions the other letter, saying : 
 
 " This, it seems, 
 Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain ; 
 But that belike Iago in the interim, 
 Came in and satisfied him." 
 
 Othello only exclaims about Iago : 
 
 " O thou pernicious caitiff ! " 
 
"Othello" 167 
 
 then, addressing Cassio, asks : 
 
 " How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wife's ? " 
 
 and the other truthfully replies : 
 
 " I found it in my chamber, 
 And he himself confess'd but even now, 
 That there he dropped it for a special purpose, 
 Which wrought to his desire." 
 
 Othello here exclaims, referring to himself and the 
 deceit practised on him : 
 
 " O fool, fool, fool ! " 
 and Cassio proceeds : 
 
 " There is besides in Roderigo's letter, 
 How he upbraids Iago that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
 That I was cast, and even but now he spake, 
 After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, 
 Iago set him on." 
 
 Roderigo's last words were thus evidently devoted 
 to exposing Iago, and Lodovico now sternly addresses 
 Othello, once a champion and now a criminal in 
 Venetian estimation : 
 
 " You must forsake this room, and go with us : 
 Your power and your command is taken off, 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus." 
 
 He intimates torture and death for Iago, and again 
 says to Othello : 
 
 " You shall close prisoner rest, 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 To the Venetian State. Come, bring away." 
 
1 68 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Othello, without again noticing Iago, makes his last 
 speech to the Venetians, in which his private grief and 
 public services are briefly noticed. He evidently 
 intends these words to be his last, and though over- 
 come by mental sorrow, he is still resolved to vindicate 
 his high reputation as a faithful soldier to Venice, and 
 this vindication he utters in words probably never 
 forgotten by those who heard them. He exclaims, at 
 first with forced calmness, which yields to passionate 
 weeping : 
 
 " Soft you ! a word or two before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they know it ; 
 No more of that ; I pray you in your letters, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
 Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice ; then must you speak 
 Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well ; 
 Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, 
 Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away, 
 Richer than all his tribe." 
 
 Then evidently bursting into floods of tears at 
 remembering Desdemona, he proceeds, describing 
 
 himself : 
 
 "Of one whose subdu'd eyes, 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their med'cinable gum. Set you down this." 
 
 Again he resumes his calmness while sending- his 
 last message to the Venetian Senate, as a final proof 
 of his respect and devotion to their country's honour : 
 
 " And say besides that in Aleppo once, 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk, 
 
"Othello" 169 
 
 Beat a Venetian and traduc'd the state, 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 
 And smote him — thus." 
 
 Imitating the probably fatal stab he inflicted on the 
 insolent Mohammedan, Othello with these words stabs 
 himself, to the amazement of Lodovico and Gratiano, 
 and falling on Desdemona, exclaims, as he dies : 
 
 " I kiss'd thee ere I killed thee — no way but this, 
 Killing myself to die upon a kiss." 
 
 Cassio, who, except I ago, knows Othello's nature 
 better than any one, exclaims in real sympathy for the 
 dead Moor : 
 
 " This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon ; 
 For he was great of heart." 
 
 Lodovico, finally addressing the guilty, mute Iago 
 exclaims in natural indignation : 
 
 " O Spartan dog, 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; 
 This is thy work." 
 
 Then addressing his Venetian friend : 
 
 " Gratiano, keep the house, 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
 For they succeed on you." 
 
 Then to Cassio he says : 
 
 " To you, lord governor, 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
 
 . . . O enforce it ! 
 Myself will straight aboard and to the state, 
 This heavy act with heavy heart relate." 
 
170 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 These words end this fearful and affecting tragedy. 
 Its fame both in Britain and on the Continent has 
 always been extraordinary, though Macaulay's praise 
 as to its being " perhaps the greatest work in the 
 world " may be exaggerated. Yet actors and singers 
 have vied with each other in presenting it before the 
 most intelligent audiences. The charms of eloquence, 
 declamation, music and painting have been alike 
 liberally devoted to its illustration, in all those attrac- 
 tive forms of art. In the Italian opera it has been 
 represented with all the power and beauty of musical 
 expression. Rossini and Verdi have each written 
 an opera on it, and the famous "jealousy duets" 
 between Othello and Iago, " Non m'inganno " by the 
 former and " Desdemona rea" by the latter composer, 
 will likely be always remembered with pleasure by 
 their hearers. In Rossini's musical version of the 
 terrible scene between Othello and his deceiver, the 
 surprise and anxiety of the former and the subtle 
 insinuations of the latter finally lead to a burst of fury, 
 in which the feelings of the enraged dupe and the 
 triumph of the vindictive Iago are vocally expressed 
 with the full genius of the great composer. In Verdi's 
 duet describing the same passage, the instrumental 
 accompaniment expresses perhaps more than the 
 voices the vehemence and passion of the scene, ending 
 with the almost realistic sound of a fatal stab dealt by 
 a murderous hand. Evidently Rossini and Verdi 
 alike succeeded through their different styles in ex- 
 pressing the true meaning of the terrible scene by the 
 attractive medium of their delightful art. In review- 
 
"Othello" 171 
 
 ing this great work, however, the fact of only one 
 villain being in it, with no confidant or confederate, 
 who is loved or trusted by all he knows, and yet 
 wilfully destroys or ruins most of the chief persons in 
 it, renders this play unlike the rest of Shakespeare's 
 tragedies. In " Richard III.," that King is obeyed by 
 thousands of devoted followers after his crimes are 
 known, yet who die for him on the battlefield. In 
 " Henry VIII.," that extraordinary, unscrupulous King 
 was popular to the last among many admiring, 
 obedient subjects. In " King Lear," the chief villain, 
 Edmund, is beloved by the Duke of Cornwall and 
 by the rival Princesses, Goneril and Regan, who fully 
 participate in his crimes. King John, despite his 
 dangerous and odious character, evidently had some 
 friendly adherents to the last. But Iago, in private 
 life, stands alone, trusted by nearly all who know 
 him, yet trusting none himself. Whether his conduct 
 throughout is consistent with the calm shrewdness 
 Othello describes, of one "who knows all qualities 
 with a learned spirit of human dealings," may surely 
 be doubted. Though his plots succeed, they in- 
 volve also his own ruin, and, besides, his dis- 
 covering that he had never the least reason to take 
 revenge on any one. All around him are really 
 friends to him. He has no enemy to hate or dread 
 throughout ; his two alleged wrongs are Cassio being 
 promoted before him, and his own wife's suspected 
 intimacy with Othello. The first grievance is of 
 slight importance. Iago is much more confidential 
 with Othello than Cassio, who, on his part, always 
 
172 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 admires and likes Iago. Indeed, Cassio's weak, mild 
 character and drunken habits would scarcely have 
 allowed his being long even in nominal authority over 
 such a man as Iago. A "mere suspicion" of his 
 wife Emilia's infidelity seems inconsistent with Iago's 
 common sense to act upon. The very fact of 
 her devotion to Desdemona, and the latter's love 
 for her, might almost have convinced a man of the 
 world like Iago that his jealousy was groundless. 
 Had Emilia ever been Othello's mistress, of which 
 Iago owns he had no proof, she could scarcely 
 have loved her rival in the Moor's love, nor been 
 beloved and trusted by Desdemona in return. Their 
 firm and mutual attachment was surely almost as 
 decisive a proof as could be of Emilia's innocence. 
 Yet Iago risks all his future fortunes for the sake of 
 avenging a supposed wrong about which he owns he 
 is not certain. He must indeed have been convinced 
 of his error when seeinor Desdemona and Emilia both 
 dead before him through his means, directly and 
 indirectly. 
 
 His last emphatic declaration that he will never 
 again "speak word" evinces neither triumph nor 
 repentance, despite the complete and fatal success of 
 his malignant powers. Iago's last words seem rather 
 to denote a strong mind stunned, or secretly con- 
 founded, by all that has happened, and especially by 
 his wife's brave devotion to her mistress, which 
 apparently takes him altogether by surprise. He had, 
 moreover, left no loophole for his own escape ; he has 
 no firm ally or confederate when finally detected. 
 
"Othello" 173 
 
 He merely " runs out," but is, of course, immediately 
 arrested, sentenced to death by torture, and left in the 
 power of men who all know his guilt and abhor him 
 accordingly. His wickedness, however, is so great, 
 so successful, and so remorseless, that his own suicidal 
 folly is seldom noticed. His consistent language 
 seems practically that of a shrewd, self-reliant man 
 with great knowledge of human nature ; yet, when his 
 actual conduct is calmly examined, it is more like that 
 of a reckless, as well as vindictive, desperado. When 
 he owns to Roderigo that in his experience of life 
 he never knew the man who could love himself, it 
 might be expected that he would never injure or de- 
 stroy friends and benefactors without at least some 
 plausible plan for his own advantage. His assumed 
 knowledge of human nature also may seem exagger- 
 ated when the characters of those he deals with are 
 carefully remembered. In all Venice he could hardly 
 have found three men more easily guided, influenced, 
 or persuaded than Othello, Cassio and Roderigo, who 
 all admire and trust him from the first, while in his 
 wife Emilia he is evidently completely mistaken. He 
 believes neither in her faithfulness to him nor in her 
 personal heroism ; hence his crimes are chiefly caused 
 by his distrust of the former, while his final detection 
 is mainly caused by his ignorance of the latter. Iago 
 can hardly be thought a triumphant villain, despite the 
 immediate success of his deceit ; his malignant course 
 is undertaken and followed under a delusion of his 
 own suspicious nature, and its result is practically 
 more terrible to himself than to any of his trustful, 
 
174 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 innocent victims. When Desdemona and Emilia are 
 compared, the latter is perhaps as worthy of general 
 admiration as the former. Desdemona secretly 
 deserted her loving father and married Othello, the 
 man of her choice, without ever hinting her intention 
 to Brabantio. His grief at the elopement of his only 
 child hastens, perhaps even causes, his death. Yet 
 she is never represented as caring about him or 
 making any inquiry after him. Her devotion to 
 Othello and her friendship for the giddy, kind-hearted 
 Cassio are certainly pleasing traits, but she never 
 shows, and, indeed, never has occasion to show, the 
 self-sacrificing courage of Emilia. The weak, in- 
 temperate Cassio and the passionate, excitable 
 Roderigo are alike deceived by Iago ; while his wife, 
 though loving him, as proved by her wishing "to 
 please his fantasy," evidently does her duty both to 
 him and to her mistress with consistent fidelity to the 
 last ; yet Emilia is sometimes regarded as a minor 
 character in this tragedy, of which she is really and 
 practically the true heroine. 
 
II 
 
 "MACBETH" (A.D. 1039) 
 
 THIS play seems a good deal founded on fact 
 yet more in the events than in its characters. 
 Shakespeare closely follows the account of Holinshed, 
 while Sir Walter Scott gives a rather different version 
 of the events on which the tragedy is founded. King 
 Duncan, his son and successor, Malcolm III., 
 Macbeth himself, his wife, and Macduff, were real 
 persons, but it may be doubted if Banquo and 
 Fleance ever existed. The scene is almost entirely 
 in Scotland, but none of the personages, except 
 in name, have any Scottish characteristics. It has 
 indeed been remarked l that Banquo rather re- 
 sembles a "canny Scot," but neither he nor any 
 of the subordinate persons speak with a Scottish 
 accent, though Shakespeare was acquainted with it. 2 
 The ancient Gaelic language is not mentioned ; the 
 plaid dress of the country and its old weapons, dirks 
 and claymores, are never introduced, and but for the 
 
 1 Mr. Furnivall's Introduction to the " Royal Shakespeare." 
 
 2 See " King Henry V." 
 
 175 
 
176 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 historical incidents and a few Scottish names the 
 characters and events of this play might be imagined 
 in England. The first act introduces the three 
 witches who take such an important part in the 
 tragedy. Evidently knowing the state of Scotland, 
 they allude to a real battle being fought against the 
 King, whose forces are commanded by Macbeth. In 
 reality Macbeth saw them in a dream, or may have 
 met three artful women, 1 who, knowing the prevailing 
 Scottish belief in witchcraft, made money by telling 
 fortunes, and were everywhere believed and dreaded. 2 
 They vanish after a few words announcing their 
 coming interview with Macbeth, and the next scene 
 introduces King Duncan, with his sons and officers, 
 who hear from a wounded captain, and also from 
 Lord Rosse, about the bravery of his two generals, 
 Macbeth and Banquo, in quelling the revolt of the 
 Macdonalds, allied with Norwegian invaders, aided 
 by the Lord of Cawdor, who in another part of 
 Scotland rebelled against Duncan, but was captured 
 and executed. 
 
 The King now declares that his loyal general, 
 Macbeth, shall obtain all the titles and property 
 belonging to the treacherous Lord of Cawdor, and 
 the next scene re-introduces the witches on a heath 
 
 1 See Scott's " History of Scotland," vol. i. 
 
 2 " It has been observed that while, according to the old English 
 creed, the witch was a miserable decrepit hag, the slave rather than 
 the mistress of the demons which haunted her, she in Scotland 
 rose to the dignity of a potent sorceress, who mastered the evil spirit 
 and, forcing it to do her will, spread among the people a far deeper 
 and more lasting terror." — Buckle's " History of Civilisation," vol. iii. 
 
" Macbeth " 177 
 
 during a thunderstorm. 1 These beings, in the dream 
 or excited fancy of the real Macbeth, were of lofty 
 stature and great beauty, 2 but the vague legends 
 which Shakespeare follows describe them as "withered 
 and weird " in appearance, with beards, said to be the 
 sure sign of a witch 3 — otherwise they resembled 
 women, probably, in voice and dress. These three, 
 in their first conversation together, reveal malignant 
 hatred to the human race, as well as their great, 
 yet strangely limited power, and also their complete 
 union in design and thought. One of the witches 
 relates having been refused some chestnuts by a 
 sailor's wife, and vindictively discloses her plan of 
 revenge on the husband, regretfully admitting her 
 limited powers of mischief, which enable her to 
 torment the luckless sailor for a certain time, but 
 not to destroy his vessel : 
 
 " Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : •* 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail, 
 
 1 Buckle thinks that the Scottish climate and scenery greatly 
 strengthened belief in witchcraft, mentioning " the storms and the 
 mists ; the darkened sky flashed by frequent lightning ; the peals of 
 thunder reverberating from mountain to mountain, and echoing on 
 every side," &c, as marked contrasts to the milder climate and less 
 romantic scenery of England ("History of Civilisation," vol. iii.). 
 Shakespeare, certainly, associates thunder and storms, mists and 
 heath-covered mountains, with these witches, as if such were their 
 natural surroundings. 
 
 2 Scott's "History of Scotland," vol. i. 
 
 3 Staunton's notes to "Macbeth." 
 
 4 "Sir W. C. Trevelyan has noted that in Hakluyt's 'Voyages' there 
 are several letters and journals of a voyage made to Aleppo in the ship 
 
178 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 And like a rat without a tail, 
 I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
 
 2ND Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 
 ist Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3RD Witch. And I another. 
 
 ist Witch. I myself have all the other, 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 All the quarters that they know, 
 I' the shipman's card, 
 I will drain him dry as hay : 
 Sleep shall neither night nor day 
 Hang upon his penthouse lid ; 
 He shall live a man forbid : 
 Weary sev'n nights, nine times nine ; 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
 Look what I have. 
 
 2nd Witch. Show me, show me. 
 
 ist Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. 
 
 (Drum without) 
 
 3RD Witch. A drum, a drum ! 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 They all three then exclaim together of themselves : 
 
 "The weird 1 sisters, hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 Thus do go about, about ; 
 Thrice to thine and thrice to mine, 
 And thrice again to make up nine : — 
 Peace ! — the charm's wound up." 
 
 Macbeth and Banquo then appear on the heath, 
 perceive and wonder at the three witches, who, dis- 
 regarding the latter, never speak till their future dupe, 
 
 Tiger of London, in the year 1583" (Staunton's notes). It is probable 
 therefore that this allusion would have interested or amused a London 
 theatrical audience. 
 
 1 " Weird signifies fatal, or prophetic." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"Macbeth" 179 
 
 Macbeth, addresses them, when they severally greet 
 him as Lord of Glamis, Lord of Cawdor, and future 
 King of Scotland. 1 Macbeth starts, and shows fear 
 at these words, while Banquo boldly asks about his 
 own fortunes. They mysteriously answer that his 
 descendants, not he, shall reign in Scotland, and seem 
 moving away, for Macbeth entreats them to stay and 
 tell more ; but they vanish, leaving the astonished 
 generals to discuss and ponder over their vague 
 intimations. 2 iUpon Macbeth they make immediate 
 impression, but little, if any, upon Banquo, who is 
 throughout a calm, practical, brave officer, without 
 
 1 "It is probable that Shakespeare — it is certain that the immense 
 majority even of his most highly-educated and gifted contemporaries 
 — believed with an unfaltering faith in the reality of witchcraft. 
 Shakespeare was, therefore, perfectly justified in introducing into 
 his plays personages who were of all others most fitted to enhance 
 the grandeur and the solemnity of tragedy, when they faithfully 
 reflected the belief of the audience." — Lecky's "Rationalism," vol. i. 
 
 2 "For many centuries after Macbeth's period, the power and 
 influence of pretended witches prevailed in Scotland, even among 
 people of comparative education. Witchcraft and demonology, 
 even during the reign of George II. were believed in by almost 
 all ranks." — Scott's " Heart of Midlothian," chap. ix. In the " Bride 
 of LammermoQr," Scott introduces a malevolent hag, called Ailsie 
 Gourlay, stating that she was a historical character, and was charged 
 with having, "by the aids and delusions of Satan, shown to a young 
 person of quality, in a mirror-glass, a gentleman, then abroad, 
 
 % to whom the said person was betrothed, and who appeared in the 
 mirror to be bestowing his hand upon another lady" (chap. xxxi.). 
 This unfortunate impostor was tried and executed by the Scottish 
 Privy Council for alleged witchcraft. Scott adds : " Notwithstanding 
 the dreadful punishments inflicted upon the supposed crime of 
 witchcraft, there wanted not those who, steeled by want and bitter- 
 ness of spirit, were willing to adopt the hateful and dangerous 
 character for the sake of the influence which its terrors enabled 
 them to exercise in the vicinity, and the wretched emolument which 
 they could extract, by the practice of their supposed art." 
 
180 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 either the ambition or imagination of Macbeth. The 
 latter is soon after saluted by Duncan's messengers, 
 proclaiming him Lord of Cawdor, thus confirming in 
 his anxious mind a part of the witches' prophecy. 
 The two generals then meet their old sovereign, who, 
 welcoming them as loyal, valiant subjects, greets them 
 with thanks and compliments, while announcing his 
 approaching visit to Macbeth 's castle. 
 
 Before they arrive, Lady Macbeth hears both of 
 the coming royal visit, and also of the appearance 
 and words of the three witches. Although a bold, 
 ambitious, worldly woman, she from the first believes 
 them, implicit faith in witchcraft and magic being 
 evidently general, if not universal, in Scotland at 
 this period. 1 She has all her husband's ambition, 
 without a particle of his loyalty to the King, which 
 prevents his following her counsels as speedily and 
 eagerly as she wishes. Directly she hears of the 
 King's visit, she resolves in her own mind that he 
 shall never leave Macbeth's castle alive. For she 
 thoroughly believes the witches' prediction about her 
 husband's becoming king, and, though they never 
 suggested crime as necessary to confirm their 
 prophecy, she resolves to persuade Macbeth to re- 
 move every obstacle to its fulfilment. 
 
 She reads in her husband's castle a letter from him 
 announcing his strange meeting with the witches, 
 
 1 " The high pretensions of Scotch witchcraft never degenerated, 
 as in other countries, into a mere attempt at deception, but always 
 remained a sturdy and deep-rooted belief." — Buckle's "Civilisation," 
 vol. iii. 
 
"Macbeth" 181 
 
 their telling him he will become King of Scotland 
 and be previously made Lord of Cawdor. The title 
 of Glamis he possessed before, but he and she now 
 foresee or expect the two future distinctions, and she 
 therefore exclaims eagerly to herself, as if addressing 
 him : 
 
 " Glamis thou art, and Cawdor." 
 
 This last title she might likely expect for Macbeth owing 
 to the rebellion of its unfortunate owner, who was of 
 course proclaimed a traitor. But the sovereignty 
 of Scotland, though Macbeth is related to the King, 
 is a delightful astonishment to her, as King Duncan 
 has two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, both loyal 
 to their reigning father. She therefore proceeds with 
 some doubt, yet determined : — 
 
 " And shalt be, 
 What thou art promis'd : yet do I fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full of the milk of human kindness, 
 To catch the nearest way. . . . 
 
 Hie thee hither, 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
 Which fate and metaphysical * aid doth seem 
 To have thee crowned withal." 
 
 It is, perhaps, strange that the idea never occurs 
 to her superstitious mind that probably Duncan and 
 his sons were alike fated to die before Macbeth, 
 which would ensure his lawful as well as predicted 
 
 1 " Supernatural." — Staunton's notes. 
 
1 82 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 accession to the Scottish throne. This hope appa- 
 rently occurred to Macbeth himself, on first hearing 
 the prophecy, when he exclaimed : 
 
 " If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir." 
 
 But Lady Macbeth, more relentless as well as more 
 ambitious than her husband, immediately conceives 
 the horrible idea of murdering her royal guest, which 
 she urges upon Macbeth, against his will, with the 
 most ruthless determination. Such a crime, involving 
 deliberate regicide, with the most fearful violation 
 of the duties of hospitality, the real Lady Macbeth 
 never contemplated, though a resolute woman, and 
 personally hostile to King Duncan. 1 
 
 On Macbeth's arrival home, soon after his wife 
 hears of the royal visit, she congratulates him on his 
 new dignity and promised royalty, immediately 
 suggesting to his agitated, unwilling mind the murder 
 of their guest and sovereign. 2 She is a thoroughly 
 hardened, ambitious woman, resolute and utterly 
 unscrupulous. Her love for Macbeth, upon which so 
 much stress has been laid, seems, when considered in 
 reference to her worldly position and interests, worthy 
 
 1 Scott's "History of Scotland." 
 
 2 Mrs. Jameson truly says that Lady Macbeth bears less resem- 
 blance to her historical prototype than Cleopatra and Octavia to 
 theirs, and is, therefore, more of Shakespeare's own creation. "She 
 revels, she luxuriates in her dream of power" ("Characteristics of 
 Women "). Mrs. Jameson thinks that her ambition is more for her 
 husband's sake than her own ; yet her words and conduct scarcely 
 warrant this assumption. 
 
"Macbeth" 183 
 
 of little, if any, commendation. She knows her 
 fortunes are now linked with his, and that with his 
 increasing power her own will rise proportionately, 
 owing to her influence over him. Shakespeare's 
 noble language alone gives an apparent dignity to 
 a base, shameless character, whose ambition is selfish 
 and worldly. The language with which this hateful 
 woman persuades her brave yet weak husband to slay 
 the King is in Shakespeare's grandest style. She 
 exclaims joyfully, at meeting and congratulating him 
 on his new distinctions in due course — 
 
 " Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor ! 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the instant." 
 
 He replies 
 
 " My dearest love, 
 Duncan comes here to-night." 
 
 She asks an important, dangerous question, the secret 
 meaning of which he very likely apprehends at once, 
 or guesses : 
 
 " And when goes hence ? " 
 
 He replies, as if hesitating : 
 
 "To-morrow as he purposes." 
 She promptly if not vehemently rejoins: 
 
184 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "O never 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters." 
 
 She proceeds to give him certainly able instructions 
 in her odious designs asrainst the trustful King : 
 
 " To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my dispatch, 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom." 
 
 To this prospect of the somewhat doubtful joys and 
 delights of royalty, Macbeth at first makes a rather 
 cold or disappointing reply : 
 
 " We will speak further." 
 
 And she boldly if not enthusiastically rejoins, noticing 
 his depressed look : 
 
 " Only look up clear ; 
 To alter favour J ever is to fear : 
 Leave all the rest to me." 
 
 The same ideas, methods, and designs expressed in 
 common parlance would surely excite only horror and 
 disgust, with a laudable desire to punish both the 
 temptress and tempted. For there is really nothing 
 redeeming in their thoughts ; nothing palliating in 
 their circumstances ; nothing, in short, to arouse the 
 
 1 Feature. 
 
"Macbeth" 185 
 
 least sympathy for their conduct in any way. Were 
 they suffering from any sense of real or supposed 
 injustice, or had they any object whatever beyond 
 their ambition and the worldly pleasures expected 
 from its gratification, there would be some reason, 
 even if morally insufficient, for the deep interest, 
 resembling compassion, if not sympathy, with which 
 the Macbeths have been often regarded. But if their 
 expressed thoughts are carefully examined, apart from 
 Shakespeare's splendid language, they are merely a 
 cruel, ungrateful, selfish couple, "choked with ambi- 
 tion of the meaner sort," I who commit crime after 
 crime without the least provocation, and only for the 
 mean object of obtaining power and wealth, with their 
 attendant pleasures. Yet Lady Macbeth has been 
 represented both on the stage and in essays with a 
 dignity and grandeur almost worthy of Catherine of 
 Aragon, Joan of Arc, or Margaret of Anjou. In 
 truth, she ought to be ranked with Goneril and 
 Regan, the wicked daughters of King Lear ; as, 
 except in her love for Macbeth, with whom her 
 worldly interests are completely involved, she never 
 evinces an unselfish feeling, never utters a single 
 noble sentiment, and seems never inspired by a single 
 generous motive. 
 
 Perhaps the most morally affecting scene in the 
 whole play is where Macbeth, while still innocent and 
 not ungrateful to his kind sovereign, almost begs his 
 wife to let him abandon the assassination scheme. 
 But she is thoroughly determined, using her influence 
 1 "Henry VI." 
 
1 86 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 over him with far more fiendish purpose and success 
 than the witches had attempted to do. For, even 
 after his interview with them, he retains some touch 
 of right feeling, of which she never shows the least 
 sign ; and he gradually yields completely to her 
 wishes and persuasion. 
 
 " Macbeth. We will proceed no further in this business : 
 He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Was the hope drunk, 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely ? From this time, 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour, 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem ? " 
 
 These and many other such high-sounding words, 
 when spoken by Mrs. Siddons and other great 
 actresses, have apparently invested Lady Macbeth 
 with a grandeur and interest of which her character 
 and conduct are quite undeserving. They might well 
 become a heroine inspiring some craven ally with 
 courage to attempt a daring exploit. In this case, 
 a cruel, hardened woman is urging a brave, ambitious, 
 but not yet thoroughly unscrupulous husband to 
 murder an old, helpless man — their benefactor — while 
 asleep in their house, for the purpose of obtaining his 
 kingdom and possessions. 
 
 Lady Macbeth s courage is often mentioned; but, 
 considering the many artful precautions she and her 
 
"Macbeth" 187 
 
 husband take while committing murder in their own 
 castle, surrounded by adherents, and without giving 
 their helpless victims the least chance either of 
 defence or flight, it is not easy to see where they 
 display any courage, except in braving possible con- 
 sequences. Had not Macbeth's troubled conscience 
 beset him, which his wife always dreaded, but could 
 not entirely foresee, his usurpation of the Scottish 
 throne might have been a permanent success. The 
 young Princes had fled the country. Macbeth was 
 both powerful and popular with the army, and all 
 Scotland acknowledged his rule. When tormented 
 not only by his conscience, but by the ghosts of his 
 victims, he was, of course, confounded, amazed, and 
 unable to refute the suspicions which his own nervous 
 fears aroused. Had he been as hardened as his wife, 
 and not troubled by ghosts, his enterprise promised as 
 good a chance of success as any bold usurper would 
 have wished, or at least expected. But neither in the 
 successive murders of King Duncan, his two servants, 
 Banquo, Lady Macduff and her children, is the least 
 sign of courage shown by either Macbeth or his wife. 
 In each case, their safety is nearly as well secured as 
 they could have desired. The old King is slain 
 asleep, while his two attendants, having been drugged 
 into heavy slumber, are also killed, when all three are 
 helpless and unconscious. The gallant Banquo is 
 murdered by two hired armed ruffians, who, had they 
 failed, would never have been believed, if Macbeth 
 disavowed employing them. Lastly, Lady Macduff, 
 a helpless woman, in her husband's absence, with her 
 
1 88 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 children, are also slain by hired assassins. Through- 
 out these cowardly atrocities, Macbeth and his wife 
 are exposed to no risk, and yet they exhort, praise, 
 and animate each other, in grand language worthy 
 of a true hero and heroine, which is entirely owing 
 to Shakespeare's genius and fancy, their acts and 
 designs being alike incompatible with true courage or 
 heroic sentiment of any kind. When planning the 
 King's murder, and after its commission, this wicked 
 pair never say a word about the state of Scotland, or 
 express any idea of advancing its prosperity. 1 
 
 Many assassinations and other crimes have been 
 committed with a vague idea of doing evil that good 
 might ensue. In Macbeth 's position, had he or his 
 wife possessed redeeming qualities, they might have 
 believed, or tried to believe, that King Duncan, 
 though their benefactor, yet oppressed or misgoverned 
 their country, and that they would rule the kingdom 
 better. No such idea is ever mentioned : they have 
 no object whatever but to seize the government of 
 Scotland, with its accompanying advantages and 
 anticipated pleasures. For this purpose, Macbeth, 
 though at first reluctant, is induced by his wife to slay 
 the King. He also kills two servants, when asleep ; 
 after which Lady Macbeth stains them with blood, 
 she and her husband pretending that these attendants 
 were induced by Prince Malcolm to kill his father, 
 and that Macbeth slew them, when he discovered 
 
 1 " The real Macbeth killed his sovereign Duncan in battle, and 
 not in his own castle, and was a just and equitable ruler." — Scott's 
 " History of Scotland," vol. i. 
 
"Macbeth" 189 
 
 they had murdered the King. Shakespeare vividly 
 describes Macbeth as conscience-stricken and horri- 
 fied before and after the murder. This account is 
 imaginary, as history represents him quite a different 
 man ; while Holinshed's legends, which are chiefly 
 followed in the play, scarcely mention his state of 
 mind. Before the King's murder Macbeth's excited 
 fancy makes him believe himself tempted to commit 
 the crime by an invisible evil spirit, and he apprehen- 
 sively exclaims : 
 
 " Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : — 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
 . . . There's no such thing." 
 
 Macbeth's reluctance and his wife's desire to commit 
 this murder are described in Shakespeare's most 
 powerful language. He feebly protests against the 
 crime, but his wife, after scornfully ridiculing his 
 reluctance, which she thinks a sort of cowardice, 
 arranges the assassination in her own way, and thus 
 reveals her plan : 
 
 " When Duncan is asleep 
 (Whereto the rather shall his hard day's journey 
 Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convince, 
 That memory, the warder of the brain, 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only ; when in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 
190 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
 His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell ? " 
 
 Shakespeare's Macbeth seems hardly a natural 
 character, and we know he was different from the 
 real one. He is a brave, loyal officer, who a short 
 time before this scene had risked his life in King 
 Duncan's service, and been richly rewarded for his 
 merits. Yet now, on hearing this not only cruel, but 
 thoroughly base and treacherous plot proposed, he 
 apparently thinks it a proof of his wife's courage, for 
 he rejoins, in a sort of admiring ecstasy : 
 
 " Bring forth men-children only, 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males," 
 
 and completely yields to her guidance, exclaiming 
 firmly, yet in great agitation : 
 
 " I am settled, and bend up 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat ; 
 Away and mock the time with fairest show : 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth know." 
 
 But there is surely nothing "undaunted" in her 
 designs ; for she takes every precaution against the 
 least possible risk both to herself and to Macbeth. 
 She is evidently meant to be a person of great spirit 
 and daring, but her plot against the King is worthy of 
 the most cowardly assassin who was ever deservedly 
 executed. Shakespeare makes Lady Macbeth confess 
 that, had not Duncan resembled her own father when 
 
"Macbeth" 191 
 
 asleep, she would have slain him herself. This very 
 slight touch of human feeling has been much com- 
 mented on, as if it were rather redeeming, yet, if 
 examined, it is surely of very little consequence. 
 She was about to commit a deliberate murder, but 
 fancied the intended victim resembled one of her own 
 family, so preferred to have him killed by another, 
 while fully resolved on his death. Had he resembled 
 any one else, she would have murdered him herself 
 without scruple. Immediately after Duncan's murder, 
 Macbeth's nervousness and his wife's utter callousness 
 of spirit are contrasted in Shakespeare's most ex- 
 pressive language : 
 
 " Macbeth. Methought I heard a voice cry, ' Sleep no more^ ! 
 Macbeth doth murder sleep,' — the innocent sleep, 
 Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast, — 
 
 Lady Macbeth. What do you mean ? 
 
 Macbeth. Still it cried, ' Sleep no more ! '" . 
 
 She then scornfully bids him return to the apartment 
 of the slain King, and to stain the attendant grooms 
 with blood. Macbeth, like a terrified child, replies : 
 
 " I'll go no more ; 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on't again I dare not. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers ; the sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; 
 For it must seem their guilt. [Exit.]" 
 
192 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 While she is thus employed Macbeth exclaims, in 
 bewildered horror at his crimes : 
 
 " Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
 Making the green one red." 
 
 After the King's assassination, the Princes Mal- 
 colm and Donalbain escape to England and Ireland, 
 Macduff returning to Fife, while Banquo, once in- 
 timate with Macbeth, remains in his castle, though 
 no longer in his confidence. On the flight of the 
 Princes, Macbeth is proclaimed King, or assumes the 
 title, though it is not clearly shown in the play why 
 the prior rights of Malcolm and Donalbain are not 
 immediately advocated by some of the Scottish 
 chieftains. 
 
 Macbeth and Banquo now distrust each other, the 
 latter suspecting the truth ; and the newly-crowned 
 King and Queen, guessing his thoughts, resolve to 
 destroy him also. Macbeth, however, accomplishes 
 Banquo's murder without his wife's assistance, by 
 bribing two murderers to slay both him and his son 
 Fleance. These ruffians kill Banquo, but Fleance 
 escapes to England, and there rejoins Prince Malcolm. 
 Macbeth, in full power and unopposed, takes more 
 trouble to effect Banquo's murder than many chiefs 
 equally powerful and unscrupulous would have done. 
 Instead of employing devoted adherents to himself — 
 Highland bravos, bullies, or " boys of the belt," as 
 Scott calls them — he summons, addresses, and bribes 
 
" Macbeth " 193 
 
 two strangers, personally hostile to Banquo, who are 
 very poor, unfortunate, and desperate, but not 
 particularly attached to him, and whom he has appa- 
 rently seen only once before. 
 
 "'2ND Murderer. I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what 
 I do, to spite the world. 
 
 1ST Murderer. And I another, 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on 't. 
 
 King Macbeth. Both of you 
 
 Know Banquo was your enemy. 
 
 2nd Murderer. True, my lord." 
 
 After Banquo's death, Macbeth gives an entertain- 
 ment to his adherents and followers. At this feast 
 Banquo's ghost appears, visible to him only. He is 
 so terrified that his wife, though herself quite composed, 
 has to send away the guests, wondering at Macbeth's 
 frightened looks and words. Hitherto Lady Macbeth 
 has never shown the least remorse for any of the 
 murders of which she has been either the chief insti- 
 gator or fullv cognizant. But from the first she has 
 been apprehensive about her husband's remorseful 
 terrors, and now becomes utterly confounded at being 
 unable to inspire him with her own consistent hardi- 
 hood. He recovers spirit, however, when alone with 
 her, and they both remark Macduff's absence from the 
 feast, Macbeth avowing that he has spies employed 
 about the house of every important person. He 
 declares that he will see the witches next day, and 
 apparently guesses where to find them ; but his wife 
 
 J 4 
 
194- Shakespeare Studied 
 
 expresses no desire to accompany him, and they retire 
 to rest. 
 
 The next scene is again on the witches' heath, where 
 Hecate, their queen, reproves her three subordinates 
 for trafficking with Macbeth 
 
 " In riddles and affairs of death " 
 
 during her absence. She then departs, ordering them 
 to meet her next morning at the pit of Acheron, and 
 to have all their spells and charms ready, for Macbeth 
 will certainly visit them then and there, to know his 
 destiny. 1 She then flies off in a cloud, and the witches, 
 having heard her rebuke in silence, hasten to obey, in 
 evident fear of her superior powers. Why Hecate 
 should rebuke them, and why they are not quite 
 agreed, is unexplained ; but the three have apparently 
 first met Macbeth of their own accord, without asking 
 
 the terrible 
 
 " Mistress of their charms, 
 The close contriver of all harms, 
 
 ... to bear her part, 
 Or show the glory of their art." 
 
 Yet the influence they obtained over Macbeth with- 
 out Hecate's assistance was apparently complete. 
 
 The next scene introduces two Scottish lords, 
 evidently perplexed and alarmed at all the recent 
 
 1 Gibbon states that firm belief in magic and witchcraft " reigned 
 in every climate of the globe, and adhered to every system of religious 
 opinion," even since Christianity, and that the nations of the Roman 
 world " dreaded the mysterious power of spells and incantations, of 
 potent herbs and execrable rites, which could extinguish or recall life, 
 inflame the passions of the soul, blast the works of Creation, and 
 extort from the reluctant demons the secret of futurity" ("Decline and 
 Fall," chap. xxix.). 
 
"Macbeth" 195 
 
 horrors in their country, and hardly daring to utter 
 suspicions of the successful usurper, which they intimate 
 rather than avow. They state that Macduff, rejecting 
 Macbeth's late invitation to the palace, where he 
 would probably have met the fate of Banquo, has fled 
 to England, where, with Prince Malcolm, at King 
 Edward's Court, he intends seeking the active assist- 
 ance of Lord Northumberland — " warlike Siward," a 
 powerful nobleman — for the invasion, or rather libera- 
 tion, of Scotland. 1 
 
 After this short but important allusion to real history, 
 the fourth act opens with the grandest imaginative 
 scene of the whole play. The three witches, now in 
 accord with Hecate, are in a dark cave, around their 
 boiling cauldron, while thunder is heard. They fill it 
 with poisonous herbs, limbs of snakes, toads, and 
 lizards ; also with the liver, nose, and lips of Jews, 
 Tartars, and Turks, while repeating thrice in unison 
 the words. 
 
 " Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." 
 
 Although so utterly malignant — even fiendish — in 
 mind and conduct, these hags evince a nominal 
 Christianity, by terming Jews blasphemers, and it 
 seems uncertain if they call them so in mere mockery, 
 or in accordance with the Christian ideas of the period, 
 for of all unchristian nations the Jews were, even in 
 
 1 Hume states that old Siward's daughter had been married to the 
 murdered King Duncan. By order of his sovereign, Edward the 
 Confessor, " he marched an army into Scotland, defeated and killed 
 Macbeth in battle, and restored Malcolm to the throne of his 
 ancestors " (" History of England," chap. hi.). 
 
96 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Shakespeare's time, viewed with the most peculiar and 
 prejudiced dislike. The witches, after boiling their 
 cauldron, pronounce their charm " firm and good," 
 when Hecate appears. She now praises their dili- 
 gence, telling them to sing round the cauldron, and, 
 promising some indefinite reward, vanishes ; and 
 Macbeth alone enters the cavern, again confronting 
 the three temptresses for the second and last time in 
 his doomed life. 1 
 
 Macbeth, in this last scene with the witches, likewise 
 acknowledges their malignant power over winds, corn 
 crops, trees and castles, but not over human life. 
 They are now more communicative and triumphant 
 than when they had first met him on the blasted heath 
 of Forres, as their prediction about his being king is 
 so unexpectedly and rapidly fulfilled. ' For he is now 
 King of Scotland, and, though threatened with English 
 invasion and domestic revolution, his present rule 
 within Scotland is undisputed. His faith in the 
 witches being thoroughly confirmed, he entreats them 
 in desperate language to reveal more of his future 
 fortunes. 
 
 " Macbeth. I conjure you, by that which you profess 
 (Howe'er you come to know it), answer me : 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches : though the yesty waves 
 
 1 For many centuries after Macbeth's period, belief in witches and 
 witchcraft existed even among the most learned and pious Europeans. 
 In 1484, Pope Innocent VIII. declared that these beings "destroy 
 the births of women and the increase of cattle ; they blast the corn 
 on the ground, the grapes in the vineyards, the fruits of the trees, 
 and the grass and herbs of the field." — Draper's " Intellectual 
 Development of Europe," chap. iv. 
 
"Macbeth" 197 
 
 Confound and swallow navigation up : 
 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down : 
 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads : 
 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 
 Their heads to their foundation : though the treasure 
 
 Of nature's germins tumble altogether, 
 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 
 To what I ask you." 
 
 They ask him, perhaps in mockery, if he had 
 rather be informed by them or by their masters. He 
 chooses the latter, and immediately three apparitions — 
 of an armed man's head, and then two children — the 
 first stained with blood, the second wearing- a crown, 
 and with a tree in its hand — address him by name. 
 The first warns him against Macduff, who, since 
 Banquo's death, has often been in Macbeth's mind as 
 his greatest foe. The others console him by declaring 
 severally that none " born of woman " shall harm him, 
 and that he shall never be vanquished till Birnam 
 wood comes to Dunsinane hill. He knows both 
 places well, and, reassured by these promises, fully 
 believes he will die a peaceful death, and probably 
 after a long and prosperous reign. Still, his jealous 
 fear of the murdered Banquo, increased by the terror 
 inspired by the victim's ghost, disturbs his mind, and 
 he asks if Banquo's descendants will ever rule Scotland. 
 His anxiety upon this point appears strange, for 
 Malcolm and Donalbain are young ; they have a right 
 to the crown before both himself and Banquo, so there 
 is every chance of themselves or their descendants 
 claiming, if not obtaining, their ancestral rights before 
 Banquo's family. The real Macbeth had one son, 1 
 1 Scott's " History of Scotland." 
 
198 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 but he is never introduced in the play, nor do the 
 Macbeths ever say who is the person they wish to 
 be their heir. The witches, in reply to Macbeth's 
 question about Banquo's posterity, for the first time 
 seem hostile to his wishes. They tell him to ask no 
 more, while the cauldron sinks into the ground. 
 Macbeth angrily persists, and the witches, then speak- 
 ing together, summon the figures of eight kings, who 
 silently pass in order before them. 
 
 " Witches. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
 Come like shadows, so depart." 
 
 After the last figure enters Banquo, who smiles 
 triumphantly at his murderer, while the eighth king 
 carries a glass, in which Macbeth sees many following 
 kings, and some bearing treble sceptres, indicative of 
 the future union of England, Scotland, and Ireland 
 under one monarch. Macbeth is in bewilderment, 
 while the mocking witches dance round him, vanish, 
 and never appear again. They have, indeed, done 
 their work, and, with a power somewhat like that of 
 Mephistopheles over Faust, have turned a brave, loyal 
 general into a murderous usurper, or rather, have first 
 inclined him to become such, for his final and more 
 wicked temptress is his wife. 1 To her the witches never 
 appear ; yet she is practically under their influence 
 far more than her husband is. From the moment she 
 
 1 " Macbeth is excitably imaginative, and his imagination alter- 
 nately stimulates and enfeebles him. With Lady Macbeth to 
 perceive is forthwith to decide ; to decide is to act." — Dowden's 
 " Shakespeare : His Mind and Art." 
 
 
"Macbeth" 199 
 
 hears of their prophecy on Forres heath, she believes 
 it, urging Macbeth with all the ardour of her resolute 
 spirit to commit a succession of crimes which she 
 thinks necessary for its thorough fulfilment. The 
 witches, though odious and malevolent, hating the 
 whole human race, never suggested murder, or, indeed, 
 any actual crime, to Macbeth's mind ; but he has now 
 become so reckless, hardened, and unscrupulous that 
 each subsequent atrocity seems easier than the last. 
 Accordingly, when the witches vanish, and he hears 
 of Macduff's flight to England, he resolves to slay 
 Lady Macduff and her children. This horrid massacre 
 is thus committed by his direct orders. The hapless 
 lady is only once introduced with her eldest son, a 
 bold, spirited lad, the first of the doomed family, who 
 is slain by hired assassins. For committing this 
 wholesale atrocity there seems little inducement, even 
 to such a villain as Macbeth has now become : and 
 there is no historical foundation for it in Holinshed's 
 legends. It seems entirely Shakespeare's invention, 
 who thus "on horror's head horrors accumulates." 
 Macduff's children are young — some, probably, girls — 
 yet neither they nor their mother are spared. 
 
 After this dreadful event, Shakespeare changes the 
 scene to England, describing a long conversation 
 between Prince Malcolm and Macduff, the latter just 
 arrived. This scene is taken almost literally from 
 Holinshed's account, and, therefore, can hardly be 
 considered Shakespeare's composition. 1 Malcolm, for 
 some reason which he does not explain, describes 
 
 1 Howard Staunton's notes to the "Illustrated Shakespeare." 
 
200 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 himself to Macduff as the most profligate, evil 
 character possible, and then asks if such a person 
 would be fit to rule. Macduff, evidently a brave, 
 straightforward man, not particularly shrewd, believes 
 Malcolm, and passionately bewails the fate of Scotland, 
 thus claimed by a murderous usurper and the self- 
 accusing young Prince beside him. In horrified in- 
 dignation, Macduff then renounces allegiance to the 
 son of his late sovereign, and contemplates abandoning 
 Scotland, when Malcolm retracts his words, declaring 
 he never meant what he said, and assures his faithful 
 but shocked general that he will follow his guidance, 
 adding that "devilish Macbeth" had often tried in 
 former years to corrupt him. This statement is made 
 by Holinshed, and is once mentioned by Shakespeare, 
 but there is no allusion in the beginning of the play 
 to any such conduct on Macbeth's part. It seems, 
 indeed, inconsistent with his previous character — 
 which was that of a brave and trusted officer of 
 Duncan — to be all the time trying secretly to corrupt 
 the mind of his young heir. 
 
 While Macduff is perplexed at Malcolm's sudden 
 retractation of his self-description, a physician, belong- 
 ing, probably, to King Edward's Court, tells Malcolm 
 that many sick people are waiting to be cured by the 
 touch of the excellent English monarch called Edward 
 the Saint and Confessor. 1 The beautiful description 
 which Malcolm gives of this virtuous sovereign to 
 
 1 " Edward, to whom the monks gave the title of Saint and Con- 
 fessor, was the first that touched for the king's evil ; the opinion of 
 his sanctity procured belief to this cure among the people." — Hume's 
 " History," chap. iii. 
 
" Macbeth" 201 
 
 the astonished Macduff is, indeed, a pleasing change 
 from the guilt and mental misery of this terrible 
 tragedy. 
 
 " Malcolm. A most miraculous work in this good King : 
 Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
 Himself best knows : but strangely-visited people, 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
 Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
 Put on with holy prayers : and 'tis spoken, 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
 He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
 That speak him full of grace." z 
 
 Macduff has just heard it, when the dreadful massacre 
 of his family is announced to him by his cousin, Lord 
 Rosse. He is, of course, horrified and infuriated. 
 Malcolm tries to console him, and, now thoroughly 
 agreeing, the Prince and his two generals repair to 
 King Edward, who, both in the play and in history, 
 gave them practical assistance in liberating Scotland 
 from the usurper. 
 
 The next act reverts in Scotland, to Dunsinane 
 Castle, where the guilty Macbeths are preparing to 
 resist the combined invading forces of Malcolm and 
 Siward — the former commanding Scottish troops with 
 Macduff, the latter heading the English. Lady 
 
 1 " His eyes were always fixed on the ground. There was a kind 
 of magical charm in his thin white hands and his long transparent 
 fingers which not unnaturally led to the belief that there resided in 
 them a healing power of stroking away the diseases of his subjects." 
 — Stanley's " Westminster Abbey," chap. i. 
 
202 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Macbeth's resolute mind has now given way, owing to 
 bodily illness, caused by mental anxiety and intense 
 disappointment. Had Macbeth been from the first 
 as determined and remorseless as herself, she would 
 probably have retained her naturally firm, hardened 
 spirit to the last. But he is her only weak point, and 
 she knew it. 
 
 " Yet I do fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness," 
 
 she had exclaimed, after her joy at hearing the witches' 
 prophecy. Ever since the first murder — even just 
 before it — Macbeth had suffered from fits of horror 
 and remorse, of which, while health remained, she 
 appeared incapable. In the interval between the 
 deaths of the King and Banquo, Macbeth reveals his 
 remorse when alone with his wife, who never shares 
 this feeling. Always trying to rouse him from de- 
 pression, she asks : 
 
 "How now, my lord? Why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 With them they think on ? . . . 
 What's done is done." 
 
 Macbeth, tormented by his conscience and knowing 
 that the slain King has lawful sons and faithful 
 subjects to revenge his murder, replies : 
 
 " We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it, 
 
 But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep 
 
" Macbeth " 203 
 
 In the affliction of those terrible dreams, 
 That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead 
 Whom we to gain our place have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie, 
 In restless ecstasy." 
 
 He then recalls with hopeless remorse his late 
 sovereign and benefactor : 
 
 " Duncan is in his grave. 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
 Treason has done his worst, nor steel, nor poison, 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
 Can touch him further ! " 
 
 Lady Macbeth rejoins, trying to cheer or rouse him : 
 
 " Come on ; 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks." 
 
 She had vainly tried, after Duncan's murder, which 
 she herself instigated, to inspire Macbeth with her 
 own callousness of feeling. He obeyed her directions, 
 followed her guidance, and promoted her views with 
 almost frantic energy ; but his nature, as she had 
 herself apprehended, he could not make like hers. 
 He was haunted by terrors, anxieties, and fancies, 
 which, while in bodily health, she altogether defied. 
 The result was that his agitated mind soon became 
 unfit to maintain his dangerous position as a suc- 
 cessful usurper. Even in his brief time of peaceful 
 triumph, his mind was tormented by the remembrance 
 of Duncan's murder, and by the fearful apparition of 
 Banquo. In the midst of his military preparations he 
 owns both to his follower, Lord Seyton, and to himself 
 
204 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 that he is now weary of life, while exerting all his 
 remaining energies of mind and body to defend it. 
 He exclaims : 
 
 " I have liv'd long enough, my way of life 
 Is fallen into the sear and yellow leaf, 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have, but in their stead 
 Curses not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not." 
 
 When now really threatened by armed foes, led by 
 his mortal enemies, Malcolm and Macduff, his bold 
 spirit, though roused by new danger, no longer 
 animates a firm, resolute mind. He has become an 
 altered man — moody, violent, and fearful, yet still 
 relying on the vague assurances of the witches about 
 his own personal safety. To see his hopeless dejec- 
 tion, and the utter failure of all hopes of happiness, in 
 the midst of apparent triumph, is, perhaps, the worst 
 punishment which his hardened wife is capable of 
 feeling. She has apparently neither male nor female 
 confidant ; her disappointment cannot be safely told 
 to any one ; all her energy she has vainly devoted to 
 rouse and animate Macbeth, and, failing in these 
 reiterated attempts, her health and mind give way at 
 last. Even then her hard heart prevents her either 
 repenting or seeking consolation from religion or 
 faithful adherents. She does not consult or trust 
 anybody, and her distracted state of mind is finally 
 revealed in sleep, when, walking through her castle 
 with a lighted taper, watched but not understood by 
 
" Macbeth " 205 
 
 either her nurse or physician, she utters a confused 
 soliloquy, and with sighs and groans retires to rest. 
 Her words, even when unconscious, reveal what has 
 really broken her stern spirit more than anything else 
 could have done. It is evidently Macbeth's weakness, 
 as she considers it — his fear and remorse — which, 
 ruining their enterprise, have affected her reason. 
 Her last words appeal to him, though she is still asleep, 
 while her physician and servant vainly try to guess 
 their real meaning. 
 
 " Lady Macbeth. Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afeard ! What 
 need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to 
 account ? — Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so 
 much blood in him ! The Thane of Fife had a wife ; where is 
 she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? — No more o' 
 that, my lord, no more o' that : you mar all with this starting. . . . 
 Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will 
 not sweeten this little hand.— Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! " 
 
 The physician exclaims, alarmed and wondering : 
 
 " What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely charged " ; 
 
 while the maid naturally enough replies : 
 
 " I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of 
 the whole body." 
 
 Lady Macbeth, still fancying that her and her 
 husband's hands are really as well as metaphorically 
 blood-stained, proceeds : 
 
 " Wash your hands, put on your night-gown ; look not so pale : — I 
 tell you yet again, Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out of his 
 
206 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 grave. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at the gate. Come, 
 come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be 
 undone ; to bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit 
 
 Physician. Foul whisperings are abroad : unnatural deeds 
 
 Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds 
 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 
 More needs she the divine than the physician. 
 
 God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 
 And still keep eyes upon her." 
 
 Not a word of pity for her husband's victims escapes 
 her ; no sign of contrition or of tenderness towards 
 any one, or the least token of religious feeling. Her 
 words convey merely a vague terror at being unable 
 to efface bloodstains from her hands, while dreamily 
 reiterating her previous entreaties to her absent 
 husband to show neither fear, remorse, nor agitation. 
 Her despair at Macbeth's incurable terrors, and at the 
 consequent failure of her ambitious hopes and plans, 
 has finally destroyed her strength of mind, and, with 
 it, her bodily health. She is thenceforth 
 
 " Troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest," 
 
 so her doctor states to Macbeth. The latter briefly 
 urges him to quiet her, if possible ; while he fears that 
 he himself is likewise threatened with a similar state 
 of mental despair, which he has hitherto somewhat 
 resisted, owing to his desperate excitement about the 
 comino- battle. 
 
 *& 
 
 " Macbeth. Cure her of that ; 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd : 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 
" Macbeth " 207 
 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart ? " 
 
 To this passionate appeal — which would perhaps 
 have been more suitably addressed to a clergyman, 
 or trusted friend, than to a medical man — the doctor, 
 who does not pretend to understand the workings of a 
 guilty conscience, calmly replies : 
 
 " Therein the patient 
 Must minister to himself." 
 
 Macbeth's bold spirit, roused if not relieved by the 
 thoughts of immediate battle, fiercely rejoins : 
 
 " Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. — 
 Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff." 
 
 Then, recalling with renewed courage the words of the 
 witches, which he still believes, he exclaims : 
 
 " I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 
 
 Lady Macbeth soon after this scene either commits 
 suicide — as the doctor had before apprehended, and 
 which is vaguely intimated — or dies from the effects 
 of despair. Meanwhile, Macbeth is distracted be- 
 tween his ever-tormenting conscience and his exer- 
 tions to inspirit his army against the advancing foe. 
 He is terribly excited, not trusting his followers — 
 many of whom secretly incline to Prince Malcolm — 
 
20 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and often repeats the encouraging assurances he 
 heard from the apparitions in the witches' cavern. He 
 is told of his wife's death, while preparing to defend 
 his castle against Malcolm. The fatal news has 
 a strange effect on his troubled mind, now perplexed 
 and excited to the last degree, though not yet in 
 despair. He first exclaims : 
 
 " She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word " — 
 
 meaning probably when the coming enemy should 
 have been defeated, which he still expects, and his 
 power confirmed. The fact that her strong spirit 
 is o-one, that her voice will never more animate his 
 courage, or rouse his ambition, plunges his mind into 
 a brief yet wise reflection on the shortness and 
 uncertainty of human life. 
 
 " Macbeth. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing." 
 
 Yet neither his character nor position permits him 
 to indulge long in such reflections. He is now 
 startled by the strange news that his enemies have 
 cut down Birnam wood, and are advancing, with 
 its branches in their hands, upon the castle. He 
 
" Macbeth " 209 
 
 storms at the messenger of this unwelcome news, and 
 begins for the first time to distrust the witches. He 
 exclaims : 
 
 " I pull in resolution and begin, 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
 That lies like truth." 
 
 He recalls their words in fearful anxiety : 
 
 " Fear not till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane, and now a wood, 
 Comes towards Dunsinane ! Arm, arm and out ! 
 If this which he avouches does appear, 
 There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here." 
 
 A brief sadness here assails his guilty mind amidst 
 its fierce excitement, as he adds : 
 
 " I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 And wish the state o' the world were now undone." 
 
 Then, rousing his distracted mind to fearless despera- 
 tion, he wildly exclaims : 
 
 " Ring the alarm bell ! Blow, wind ! Come, wrack ! 
 At least we'll die with harness on our back." 
 
 Still he clings resolutely to his last hope — that none 
 of woman born should vanquish him — and prepares 
 for a desperate defence. 
 
 When attacked by his united English and Scotch 
 foes, he kills Siward, the brave son of Northumber- 
 land, in single fight, thereby strengthening his fond 
 
 15 
 
210 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 belief that no man shall slay him. Macduff vainly 
 seeks him for some time, longing for vengeance on 
 the murderer of his family. Just before they meet, 
 Macbeth for the first time mentions suicide contemp- 
 tuously, his passions being now thoroughly roused by 
 the conflict. He scornfully alludes to the " Roman 
 fools " who have thus ended their lives, and furiously 
 declares that while he sees living foes — 
 
 "... the gashes 
 Do better upon them." 
 
 When uttering these words, Macduff meets and 
 defies him. The furious tyrant at first rather 
 shrinks from the encounter, telling his injured enemy 
 that he himself bears a charmed life, which none 
 born of woman can destroy. Macduff un- 
 dauntedly bids him to distrust his charm, for that 
 he who now challenges him to mortal combat was 
 from his mother's womb "untimely ripp'd." This 
 news for the moment quells Macbeth 's spirit as much, 
 though from a different cause, as when he trembled 
 and grieved after Duncan's murder. He has now no 
 longer his determined wife beside him to animate his 
 courage. His brave foe, however, seeing his despair, 
 and unwilling apparently to take unfair advantage 
 of it, scornfully threatens him with being publicly 
 paraded as a cruel monster, if he yields. This 
 bitter taunt immediately rouses his passions, and 
 Macbeth, in a last access of fury, defies his foe, with a 
 desperate curse on whichever of them should yield. 
 He is slain by his destined conqueror, who bears his 
 
"Macbeth" 21 1 
 
 head — according to the savage custom of the times, 
 and even of more recent ones — to the nominal victor, 
 Prince Malcolm, whom, in the presence of North- 
 umberland and many Scottish noblemen, Macduff 
 proclaims King of Scotland. 
 
 " Hail, King ! for so thou art : behold where stands 
 The usurper's cursed head : the time is free ! 
 I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
 That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine — 
 — Hail, King of Scotland. 
 
 All. Hail, King of Scotland ! " 
 
 It is remarkable that even to the end of this play 
 no one save Macbeth, his wife, and Banquo seem 
 personally to know about the appearance of the 
 witches. The fact of Macbeth's being literally 
 "bewitched" and utterly changed from his former 
 self is seldom mentioned. At the beginning of the 
 play, he is termed "valiant cousin," " worthy gentle- 
 man," "noble Macbeth," &c, by King Duncan, who 
 rewards his loyal bravery with titles and honours : 
 while his son and Macduff soon after have ample 
 reason to term him, " This fiend of Scotland," 
 "Hellhound," "Worse than any name," "This dead 
 butcher and his fiend-like Queen," &c. Yet little 
 surprise is shown by Malcolm or any of the Scottish 
 chiefs at the almost miraculous change in Macbeth's 
 conduct and character. 
 
 King Malcolm's words end this play, inviting all 
 present to his approaching coronation at Scone, and 
 mentioning the rumour, which he apparently believes, 
 
212 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 of Lady Macbeth's suicide. Throughout this tragedy 
 Malcolm is seldom introduced, but all he says and 
 does proclaims him a sensible and virtuous Prince, 
 which his subsequent conduct as King fully proved. 1 
 His friendship with the excellent King of England, 
 Edward the Confessor, and his liking for English 
 ways, manners, and customs — then, probably, more 
 civilised than those of Scotland — raised him far above 
 the fierce, turbulent thanes and chiefs of that country, 
 which he appears to have ruled with justice and 
 success. 
 
 1 Scott's " History of Scotland," chap. iii. 
 
Ill 
 
 "KING JOHN" (a.d. 1 199) 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S earliest yet slight allusion to 
 English history is in Macbeth, when mentioning 
 Edward the Confessor, and rather more than a hundred 
 and fifty years of his country's history had elapsed 
 before the great poet again describes it. During this 
 interval, the Norman rule over England and part of 
 Ireland had commenced and was thoroughly con- 
 firmed. Six French or Norman Kings had reigned 
 and disappeared, and the seventh, King John, was 
 now ruling over England — his mother, Elinor, assisting 
 him with her counsel, favour, and experience. She 
 was, from all accounts, a woman of uncommon spirit 
 and resolution, and her fierce temper instantly resents 
 the haughty language of the French envoy Chatillon 
 when terming her favourite son's regal power " bor- 
 rowed majesty." 
 
 Macaulay writes of this unfortunate King : " Had 
 John inherited the great qualities of his father . . . 
 and had the King of France at the same time been as 
 incapable as all the other successors of Hugh Capet 
 
 had been, the House of Plantagenet must have risen 
 
 213 
 
214 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 to unrivalled ascendancy in Europe. But just at this 
 conjuncture France for the first time since the death 
 of Charlemagne was governed by a prince of great 
 firmness and ability. On the other hand, England, 
 which since the battle of Hastings had been ruled 
 generally by wise statesmen, always by brave soldiers, 
 fell under the dominion of a trifler and a coward " 
 (" History of England," chap. i.). 
 
 John, who, amid all his evil qualities, always loved 
 his mother as much as he was capable of loving any 
 one, begs her to be silent, while he returns a defiant 
 answer to the equally defiant words of King Philip of 
 France. After Chatillon departs, Elinor lays all the 
 blame of Philip's hostility on the ambition of her 
 hated daughter-in-law, Constance, now with her son 
 Arthur at the Court of France. 
 
 " Queen Elinor. What now, my son ? have I not ever said, 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease, 
 Till she had kindled France, and all the world, 
 Upon the right and party of her son ? 
 
 King John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us. 
 
 Elinor. Your strong possession much more than your right ; 
 Or else it must go wrong with you and me : 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear ; 
 Which none but Heaven, and you, and I, shall hear." 
 
 John, while contemplating an attack on France, 
 reveals his plan for plundering the priories and 
 abbeys of England, exclaiming : 
 
 " Our abbeys and our priories shall pay 
 This expedition's charge." 
 
 This scheme, despite great opposition, he strove to 
 accomplish, with the fatal obstinacy of his character. 
 
"King John" 215 
 
 In the next scene there occurs a curious dispute 
 between two half-brothers, which is brought before 
 King John and his mother, who, somewhat like modern 
 judges, hear and decide the case. The disputants 
 bear the name of Faulconbridge. The elder was disin- 
 herited by his supposed father, Sir Robert, who declared 
 his belief to the younger that his brother was a son of 
 the late King Richard Cceur-de-Lion. This case 
 greatly interests Elinor and John, for they recognise 
 in the gallant bearing, noble figure, and frank manner 
 of Philip Faulconbridge their late son and brother, to 
 whom John had every reason to be grateful for 
 unmerited generosity. They well know that no 
 danger to their power could arise from an illegitimate 
 relative ; that the bar sinister prevents the least 
 chance of rivalry more than perhaps anything else 
 could do ; and yet Richard I. in many ways again 
 stands before them — young, respectful, and completely 
 devoted to their interests. Such a valuable friend 
 and adherent is, indeed, precious at this time, when 
 they are threatened by the chivalrous French King 
 espousing the rightful cause of the injured Prince 
 Arthur. Accordingly, John knights Philip Faulcon- 
 bridge by the name of Sir Richard Plantagenet, while 
 Elinor, greeting him yet more eagerly, calls herself 
 his grandmother, and asks him to call her so. 
 
 "Queen Elinor. I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so. 
 
 Bastard. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: what though? 
 Something about, a little from the right, 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch." 
 
 The young knight thus respectfully demurs, with the 
 
216 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 singular modesty and frankness which mark his 
 peculiarly interesting character, and prepares to 
 accompany the King and Queen-mother to France, 
 while cheerfully congratulating his younger brother 
 on obtaining his father's lands, which was the cause 
 of their dispute ; for the bastard is now a " landless 
 knight," while his brother is a "landed squire." 
 
 The newly-made knight when alone amusingly 
 mentions his new dignity : 
 
 " A foot of honour better than I was, 
 But many a foot of land the worse. 
 Well now can I make any Joan a lady." 
 
 Then, imitating some future greeting to himself, and 
 his own proud answer : 
 
 " Gooa-den, Sir Richard, — God- a- mercy, fellow I 
 And if his name be George ril call him Peter, 
 For new made honour doth forget men's names, 
 'Tis too respective ' and too sociable 
 For your conversion." 
 
 He then announces this change to his mother, 
 Lady Faulconbridge, who, on hearing it, admits that 
 he is her son by the late King. 
 
 When she hears that he has " denied himself a 
 Falconbridge " before Queen Elinor and King John, 
 she confesses what may have been her misfortune 
 more than her fault, considering the arbitrary power 
 of Richard I. and the semi-barbarism of the time : 
 
 1 Considerate." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" King John " 217 
 
 " King Richard Coeur-de-Lion was thy father. 
 By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd. . . . 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! 
 Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 
 Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence." 
 
 He replies, doubtless full of new ambitions, hopes, 
 and thoughts : 
 
 " Madam, I would not wish a better father, 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours : your fault was not your folly ; 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love, 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The aweless lion would not wage the fight, 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
 He that perforce robs lions of their hearts, 
 May easily win a woman's." 
 
 Act II. changes to France, where King Philip 
 II., allied with the Archduke of Austria, and 
 accompanied by his son, the Dauphin Lewis, are 
 assembled, together with the Princess Constance and 
 her son Arthur. These three foreign Princes now 
 unite in hatred to King John, and in the wish to 
 obtain for Arthur his royal rights. 1 It is certain, 
 however, that Philip's own interests chiefly incline him 
 to this policy ; for then John ruled several French 
 provinces, some — perhaps all — of which the former 
 would probably claim and receive from Arthur, in 
 return for his assistance in case of success. Philip is 
 
 1 Bishop Wordsworth, in his notes to " Shakespeare's Historical 
 Plays," says that King John was not considered a usurper of his 
 nephew's rights at this period; and adds, "John was bad enough, 
 without having to bear the blame of faults which were not his." 
 
218 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 throughout a chivalrous, yet very politic prince, and 
 was, indeed, one of the wisest kings who ever 
 occupied the French throne. 1 His envoy, Chatillon, 
 announces the landing of John, with the undaunted 
 Queen-mother, her niece the Princess Blanche, and 
 also the newly-knighted Richard Plantagenet, with 
 other English noblemen and officers, whom he calls 
 
 " Rash, inconsiderate, fiery volunteers." 
 
 The two Kings, with their respective allies, relations, 
 and adherents, then meet, exchanging angry defiances, 
 during which Philip again charges John with usurping 
 Arthur's rights. The rival Queen and Princess, Elinor 
 and Constance — both proud, ambitious, and devoted 
 to their respective sons' conflicting interests — reproach 
 each other bitterly, the bastard Richard rather divert- 
 ing himself by ridiculing and taunting the proud, dull 
 Austrian Archduke. In this scene, Queen Elinor 
 mentions having a will, which she declares would bar 
 Arthur's right of succession, and this Constance 
 scornfully denies. 
 
 " Queen Elinor. Come to thy grandame, child. 
 
 Constance. Do, child ; go to it grandame, child ; 
 Give grandame kingdom, and it grandame will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
 There's a good grandame. 
 
 Prince Arthur. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 1 "No prince comparable to him in systematic ambition and 
 military enterprise had reigned in France since Charlemagne. From 
 his reign the French monarchy dates the recovery of its lustre." — 
 Hallam's " Middle Ages," vol. i. 
 
" King John " 219 
 
 I would that I were low laid in my grave ; 
 I am not worth this coil that's made for me. 
 
 Elinor. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 
 
 Constance. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no ! 
 His grandame's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
 Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, 
 Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 
 Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 Elinor. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth ! 
 
 Constance. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou and thine, usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights 
 Of this oppressed boy. 
 
 Elinor. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will, that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Constance. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked will ; 
 A woman's will ; a cankered grandame's will ! 
 
 King Philip. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more temperate." 
 
 This document, however, was probably the late King 
 Richard's first will, who appears to have desired 
 John's succession in preference to his nephew, 
 though surely he had no more right than any other 
 English monarch to name a successor contrary to 
 law. 1 
 
 The angry language which Elinor and Constance 
 use, though coarse and abusive, seems consistent 
 enough with the fierce, violent temper of the old 
 Queen ; while history says little about Constance, 
 whose injurious reproaches Elinor seems to have 
 
 1 Hume states that Richard I. made two wills — the first declaring 
 Arthur his heir, the second naming John instead, which change he 
 considers was probably caused by Queen Elinor, who really hated 
 Constance as vehemently as represented in this play. Hume adds : 
 "The authority of a testament was great in that age, even where 
 the succession to a kingdom was concerned " (" History of 
 England," vol. i., chap. i.). 
 
220 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 somewhat deserved, though peculiarly irritating to 
 hear from her own daughter-in-law. 1 Philip silences 
 them, in words rather too abrupt and rude for a 
 polished French monarch — 
 
 " Women and fools break off your conference " — 
 
 and a battle begins between the French and 
 English armies, when John's devoted Norman 
 follower, Hubert de Burgh, proposes a peace, by- 
 marrying the Dauphin Louis to the Princess 
 Blanche, daughter to the King of Castile, and 
 niece to King John, the latter agreeing to create 
 Arthur Duke of Bretagne, and to give him French 
 territory now held by England. This plan, which, 
 perhaps, might, under the circumstances, have been 
 a happy one, is warmly denounced by Constance 
 (Act II.), who will be satisfied with nothing less 
 than the restitution of her son's rights, and the 
 consequent deposition of the reigning English King. 
 In vain Philip of France tries to reconcile her to the 
 
 1 According to Hume, Queen Elinor's antecedents were little 
 fitted to bear severe handling. She was married when very young 
 to Louis VII. of France, and went on a crusade with him to Syria, 
 where, being suspected of " gallantry with a handsome Saracen," 
 Lewis divorced her, and she then, about six weeks after, married 
 Prince Henry of England, afterwards Henry II., though much older 
 than he. She " who had disgusted her first husband by her 
 gallantries was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy, and 
 after this manner carried to extremity, in the different periods of 
 her life, every circumstance of female weakness " (" History of 
 England," vol. i.). Shakespeare's account of her rather agrees with 
 history. Her strong affection for her son John, however, was 
 constant, and sincerely returned by him, during his troubled reign, 
 while living together in perpetual danger and insecure power. 
 
" King John" 22 1 
 
 project. She wildly appeals to his sense of honour, 
 while scornfully reproaching the Austrian Archduke 
 for, as she thinks, abandoning her son's cause. 
 
 In the midst of this violent scene, a new personage 
 appears, destined to take a very decided part both 
 in history and in the play. This is Cardinal Pandulf, 
 sent by Pope Innocent III. to insist upon King 
 John's allowing Stephen Langton to be installed 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. 1 Pandulf, evidently a 
 resolute and conscientious man, occupies, amid these 
 fierce kings and their warlike followers, a singularly 
 grand position. 2 Yet his imperious demand irritates 
 John more than all the passionate reproaches of 
 Constance, and he replies by angrily denouncing not 
 only the Pope's right to appoint bishops in England, 
 but also his spiritual supremacy generally. This 
 language John probably neither used nor wished to 
 use, and in his position, unassisted by theologians 
 
 1 Both Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Green, in their recent English 
 histories, agree with Hume in praising this excellent prelate, 
 whose high character and attainments were evidently appreciated 
 by Pope Innocent, but were no recommendations to King John's 
 favour. 
 
 2 Macaulay's remarks, though probably intended for previous 
 reigns to that of King John, seem still applicable to his period : 
 " The childhood of the European nations was passed under the 
 tutelage of the clergy. The ascendancy of the sacerdotal order 
 was long the ascendancy which naturally and properly belongs to 
 intellectual superiority. The priests, with all their faults, were 
 by far the wisest portion of society. It was, therefore, on the 
 whole, good that they should be respected and obeyed " 
 (Macaulay's " History of England," vol. i.). Mr. Green makes 
 similar remarks respecting English public feeling during King 
 John's reign, which he says decidedly supported Pandulf in his 
 conduct to John (" History of the English People," vol. i.). 
 
222 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and unsupported by public opinion, it would have 
 been to no purpose ; for at this time few, if any, in 
 England would have sanctioned his words, except 
 the Jews, to whom he certainly never thought of 
 appealing, save to obtain money, occasionally by 
 force or torture. The French King, shrewd and 
 politic, is shocked at the words of his royal brother ; 
 while Pandulf, without condescending to argument, 
 threatens John with excommunication. In this 
 menace he is eagerly joined by the vehement 
 Constance, who passionately declares that unless 
 her wrongs are considered — 
 
 "No tongue hath power to curse him right." 
 
 The Cardinal, rather embarrassed, if not scandalised, 
 at the vehemence of this eager ally, gravely assures 
 her that 
 
 " There is law and warrant " 
 
 for his curse, thus drawing a marked, important 
 distinction between the Papal malediction he pro- 
 nounces in due form and the violent wrath of this 
 enraged Princess. The Pope apparently had no 
 idea of denying John's right to the English Crown, 
 or of acknowledging Prince Arthur, which, perhaps, 
 was a great disappointment to Constance, and a 
 surprise to the French King. However, John's 
 obstinacy in resisting the Pope's authority immediately 
 renews war between France and England, Pandulf 
 all the time denouncing John, while carefully abstain- 
 
" King John " 223 
 
 ing from openly favouring Arthur's claims. The 
 King, after his defiance of the Pope, proceeds, author- 
 ising his newly-knighted nephew to plunder the 
 English monasteries and abbeys in these decisive 
 words, and his conduct, if not his language, is con- 
 firmed by history. While yet in France he exclaims 
 to Falconbridge : 
 
 " Cousin, away for England ; haste before, 
 And ere our coming see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots . . . 
 
 Use our commission in his utmost force." 
 
 His loyal but reckless adherent, delighted at this 
 unscrupulous order, and likely foreseeing some gain 
 to himself in its execution, eagerly replies : 
 
 " Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, 
 When gold and silver beck me to come on." 
 
 During this war, Arthur is captured by John, who 
 commits him to the charge of Hubert de Burgh. 
 This man — brave, trusty, and quite devoted to him 
 — John resolves shall be the instrument for 
 destroying his nephew, and, accordingly, has a 
 private interview with this adherent, in which he 
 states his fears of the Prince, and suggests his 
 murder with nervous eagerness. 
 
 " King John. Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine 
 eye 
 On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend, 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread 
 
224 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He lies before me : dost thou understand me - 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 H : i 111 keep him so, 
 
 it he shall not offend your Majesty 
 
 Kin J nam Death. 
 
 Hvsert. My lord? 
 
 Kin : J : h n A grave. 
 
 H 17.7 He shall not 
 
 K I H J : H x En ough. 
 
 I could b: — erry ■_::-■■ : Hurer:. I live thee. 
 
 . I .'. r.c: s.ay vrhat I intend for thee : 
 Rerr.err .- 
 
 John evidently longs for Arthur's death, yet hesitates 
 as to how he could be safely disposed of. he himself 
 being most unpopular in England ; for nobles, clergy. 
 and people dislike him. and he knows it. ! If. 
 therefore, it were known that Arthur was murdered 
 bv him. the result mio-ht be as dangerous to him as the 
 Prince's escape. History and Shakespeare apparently 
 gree in this, for though Arthur was supposed to 
 be slain by John's own hand. 2 yet his fate was never 
 known for certain : while Shakespeare makes the 
 unscrupulous King tempt Hubert to slay him with 
 eager, nervous, yet artful entreaties, appealing alike 
 to his love, gratitude, and self-interest.-' Hubert. 
 
 "King John trusted no man, and no man trusted hi m — 
 Stubbs's " Constitutional History," vol. i. Ye: Shakespeare makes 
 him place great confidence in his illegitimate nephew, Richard 
 Plan tage net ; but for this there appears no historical foundation. 
 
 H:me : s "' History." vol. L 
 
 " He trembles lest he should have said too much : he trembles 
 
 r.e should not have said enough ; at last the nearer fear prevails, 
 and the words, 'Death,' 'A grave,' form themselves upon his 
 lips. Having touched a spring which will produce assassination, 
 he furtively withdraws himself from the mechanism of crime. — 
 Dowden's " Shakespeare's Mind and Art," chap 
 
Ck King John " 225 
 
 ...-.-.tinec by John's confidence, listens respectfully. 
 and satisfies the anxious King that his young rival 
 shall "not live, without actually naming assassina- 
 tion. 
 
 The next scene introduces the unfortunate Con- 
 stance, grieving for her captured child before King 
 Philip and Cardinal Pandulf. She evidently expects 
 the worst, for she never solicits the French monarch's 
 power nor the Cardinal's influence in behalf of her 
 son. but considers him already dead, and despairingly 
 declares she shall never see him again. Though 
 Constance, in utter despair, wishes herself dead, she 
 never hints at suicide, which some people have 
 committed from less mental misery than she wildly 
 expresses. The Cardinal, who has doubtless beheld 
 deep sorrow in many forms during his ecclesiastical 
 life, and often known it to lead to religious seclusion, 
 is evidently surprised at her frantic language, and 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Lady, you u::e: madness, and not sorrow. 
 
 Ccn?7a.ncz.. Th:u ur: no: holy :o belie rr.e so : 
 I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
 My nur. e is C:::s:ar.ce : I was Geo 5: ey's wife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost ; 
 I am not mac ; — I would ::■ heaven I "«ere ' 
 For then 'tis like I should forget myself : 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget ) — 
 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calormry." 
 
 Then, when Pandulf calmly observes : 
 
 " You hold too heinous a respect of griefi" 
 
 16 
 
226 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 the bereaved mother almost proudly replies : 
 " He talks to me that never had a son." 
 
 Neither Philip nor Pandulf can offer much con- 
 solation, though the former attempts it ; while the 
 Cardinal soon after has a remarkable interview with 
 the Dauphin Louis, who loves the Princess Blanche, 
 and is beloved by her. 
 
 This French Prince is described as both a senti- 
 mental and an irritable young man, and the secret 
 comments of the frank, open Faulconbridge on his 
 high-flown language would likely much amuse an 
 English audience. When asked by his father, King 
 Philip, to 
 
 " Look in the lady's face," 
 
 he enthusiastically replies : 
 
 " I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 
 A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
 The shadows of myself form'd in her eye, 
 Which being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow. 
 I do protest, I never lov'd myself, 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself 
 Drawn in the flattering table 1 of her eye ! " 
 
 Upon these fantastic words Faulconbridge makes 
 private and sarcastic remarks : 
 
 " Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow ; 
 And quarter'd in her heart ! — he doth espy 
 
 1 "Picture." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" King John " 227 
 
 Himself love's traitor : this is pity now, 
 
 That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd, there should be 
 
 In such a love, so vile a lout as he." 
 
 The observant Cardinal foresees Arthur's death by 
 the order of John, with whom all the clergy are 
 more displeased than ever, since he empowered his 
 reckless nephew, Richard, to plunder the English 
 abbeys and monasteries. This strange commission 
 Richard was executing with the eager impetuosity 
 of his fiery nature ; but it was in every way a most 
 impolitic act, as it irritated the clergy, without appa- 
 rently conciliating or pleasing any section of the 
 King's subjects. Pandulf, knowing the popular dis- 
 content, urges Louis to invade England with a 
 French force, believing he would soon be joined by 
 numbers of John's disaffected subjects. In this belief 
 he was right, for at present the Normans, now para- 
 mount in England, considered themselves almost 
 Frenchmen, despising the subjected Saxons, who, 
 in their turn, hated John's Norman origin as well 
 as his character. 1 
 
 1 " It is certain that when John became King, the distinction 
 between Saxon and Norman was strongly marked, and that 
 before the end of the reign of his grandson it had almost dis- 
 appeared. In the time of Richard I., the ordinary imprecation 
 of a Norman gentleman was, ' May I become an Englishman ! ' 
 His ordinary form of indignant denial was, ' Do you take me for 
 an Englishman ? ' The descendant of such a gentleman, a hundred 
 years later, was proud of the English name." — Macaulay's " History 
 of England," vol. i., chap. i. This passage well explains the different 
 position of the French in this play from what they occupy in 
 Shakespeare's other historical plays, describing a later period, as 
 more than the century which Macaulay mentions elapsed between 
 King John's death and Richard II. 's accession, whose reign is the 
 next that Shakespeare presents in historical course. 
 
228 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The Cardinal asks Louis, after the capture of 
 Prince Arthur by King John : 
 
 " Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner ? " 
 
 The French prince humanely answers : 
 
 " As heartily as he is glad he hath him." 
 
 The Cardinal proceeds, evidently well informed about 
 the present state of England, as the future proved : 
 
 " Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit. 
 
 John hath seized Arthur ; and it cannot be 
 That whiles warm life plays in the infant's veins 
 The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. 
 
 That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall." 
 The Dauphin asks : 
 
 " But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall ? " 
 
 and Pandulf replies : 
 
 " You in the right of Lady Blanche, your wife, 
 May then make all the claim that Arthur did 
 
 John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you ; — 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood, 
 Shall find but bloody safety and untrue." 
 
 Then Pandulf, alluding to the certainty of Prince 
 
" King John" 229 
 
 Arthur's approaching murder by King John, proceeds 
 with truth : 
 
 " This act so evilly borne shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth 
 To check his reign but they will cherish it." 
 
 Then, describing English superstitions about John's 
 unfortunate reign : 
 
 "No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 No scope of nature, no distemper'd day, 
 No common wind, no customed event, 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause, 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, 
 Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven, 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John." 
 
 Finally, referring to the plunder of the Church's 
 property, which Pandulf views with extreme and 
 natural indignation, he continues : 
 
 " The bastard Falconbridge 
 Is now in England ransacking the church, 
 Offending charity. If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side." 
 
 Louis agrees to this proposal, and they then 
 consult King Philip, who was, indeed, well qualified 
 both in character and position to direct any such 
 enterprise. 
 
 The fourth act opens, perhaps, with the most 
 pathetic scene in the whole play. It has, however, 
 no historical foundation, though Arthur's mysterious 
 disappearance might well cause, if not justify, any 
 
230 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 sad story about him. Hubert de Burgh, with two 
 attendants, tells the little captive that he has orders 
 to blind him, while Arthur, represented as a quiet, 
 melancholy child, entreats him to forbear. Hubert 
 shows him a warrant, apparently for this horrid 
 object, but it was never mentioned by John in his 
 interview with the former, though the King, indeed, 
 clearly intimated that nothing short of the Prince's 
 death would serve his purpose or make his throne 
 secure. Arthur, however, pleads so eloquently that 
 Hubert relents, and does him no injury, despite his 
 srateful attachment to the Kin?;. 
 
 The following scene introduces John being 
 crowned a second time before several dissatisfied, 
 murmuring English noblemen, who, uneasy at 
 Arthur's imprisonment, now demand his liberation. 
 John is forced to answer them more mildly than he 
 wishes, owing to the general discontent, which, 
 with a threatened French invasion, makes his rule 
 very insecure. He promises to release Arthur, when 
 Hubert, entering secretly, informs him of the Prince's 
 death, which John then announces to the indignant 
 noblemen, some of whom vaguely hint at insur- 
 rection, and leave his presence. John, not having 
 the courage of his brave family, and knowing his 
 unpopularity with clergy, nobility, and commons, 
 suddenly regrets authorising Arthur's death, not 
 from humanity, but from fears for his own life, 
 which he now thinks would be safer had the 
 prince been kept in close captivity or well guarded. 
 While he is in great agitation, news is brought of the 
 
" King John" 231 
 
 coming invasion, headed by the Dauphin Louis. He 
 eagerly asks after his mother, Elinor, who had 
 remained in France, representing his power and 
 devoted to his interests, but hears of her unexpected 
 death. 
 
 " King John. Where is my mother's care, 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of it ? 
 
 Messenger. My liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopped with dust ; the first of April, died 
 Your noble mother. . . . 
 
 King John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! 
 O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
 My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead ? 
 How wildly, then, walks my estate in France ! " 
 
 His dismay is at his height, for Elinor seemed to 
 combine in herself the courage of his elder brother, 
 Cceur-de-Lion, with a shrewdness which neither 
 Richard nor he possessed, and these qualities she, 
 even in old age, devoted to his cause. 1 
 
 John suffers at this moment from as much sorrow 
 and regret as his hardened nature is capable of feeling, 
 but these emotions never soften his heart, for, while 
 still grieving at the fatal news, his nephew, Richard, 
 brings him, as a prisoner, a certain eccentric hermit, 
 called Peter of Pomfret, who, perhaps reckoning on 
 John's unpopularity as well as upon his quarrel with 
 the Pope, had rashly foretold that on next Ascension 
 Day the King should yield up his crown. John, in 
 
 1 " King John had in his mother, Queen Elinor, though near 
 eighty, a counsellor of much experience in continental politics, of 
 great energy, and devoted faithfulness." — Stubbs's " Constitutional 
 History," vol. i. 
 
232 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 vicious anger, apparently unchecked by law or remon- 
 strance, orders his faithful officer, Hubert, to have 
 Peter executed on the very day he had named, and 
 to keep him imprisoned till these cruel orders were 
 carried out. 1 Richard then tells John of the secret 
 suspicions now rife among the nobility about Arthur's 
 death by his order, and the perplexed King instantly 
 sends him with soothing messages to them, being 
 dismayed at the double dangers impending — of 
 domestic revolt and foreign invasion. Hubert has 
 a private interview with his distracted, guilty 
 sovereign, in which he describes the increasing 
 anger of the people, and their indignation at the 
 suspected murder of Arthur. Shakespeare, instead 
 of introducing a scene among the lower classes — 
 which he could have done so admirably, and would 
 have been an interesting change — makes Hubert 
 describe them with a graphic power that effectually 
 terrifies the nervous King. 
 
 " Hubert. Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear ; 
 And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
 Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I saw a smith stand with a hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news, 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet), 
 
 1 Hume's "History," vol. i. 
 
" King John" 233 
 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embattled and rank'd in Kent : 
 Another lean unwashed artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 King John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? " 
 
 John's stern yet sensitive nature is curiously revealed 
 in this scene. He believes that Hubert has already 
 slain Arthur by his orders, and, completely over- 
 come by grief and terror — the former caused by his 
 mother's death, the latter by his own perils — he 
 tries, in nervous, petulant anger, more like that of 
 a fretful child than a man, to lay the blame of 
 Arthur's supposed murder on Hubert's too eager 
 obedience to his vague intimations. 1 
 
 Hubert's personal appearance was evidently what 
 is commonly called "against him," or, as Charles 
 Dickens wittily remarks of an imaginary person, 
 "he might have brought an action against his face 
 for defamation of character, and recovered heavy 
 damages." John, knowing that Hubert is wholly 
 
 1 Macaulay terms John " a trifler and a coward " (" History of 
 England," chap, i.), and in this scene he certainly merits both appella- 
 tions, yet during his eventful life he displayed considerable energy. 
 Shakespeare's account of him in age — moody, suspicious, fearful, 
 and violent by turns — resembles Scott's description in " Ivanhoe," 
 when a petulant young prince, "flushing with the pride of a spoilt 
 child," tempting, flattering, and irritating his best friends, and thus 
 often losing all influence over them. Hume's account (vol. i.) is, 
 if possible, more odious and contemptible than that of the poet 
 or the novelist. A more recent historian, however, declares that, 
 "with all his vices, he yet possessed all the quickness, vivacity, 
 cleverness, good-humour, and social charm which distinguished his 
 House," and that he was the ablest prince of his family (Green's 
 " History of the English People," chap. i.). 
 
234 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 in his power, owing to his devotion to himself, and 
 having doubtless made many enemies in conse- 
 quence, has the final meanness to reproach him 
 for it, having previously tried to lay all the blame 
 of Arthur's suspected assassination upon him. 
 
 " King John. Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had a mighty 
 cause 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 
 Hubert. No had, my lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? 
 
 King John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
 By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life ; 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law." 
 
 Then Hubert, with steady calmness, shows the guilty 
 monarch his "hand and seal." The sight of this 
 apparently forgotten document completes, for the 
 moment, John's mental prostration. 
 
 " King John. O, when the last account 'twixt Heaven and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes ill deeds done ! Hadst thou not been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind : 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 
 Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince." 
 
 Yet even then the fiery spirit of his family soon 
 rouses him from depression to rage, and he orders 
 Hubert away at once, which touches with compassion, 
 
"King John" 235 
 
 instead of irritating, his faithful adherent, who is, 
 indeed, worthy of a better king. Hubert hears 
 John's vehement — even foolish — reproaches with the 
 steady self-control of one devotedly loyal to the 
 noble Plantagenet family, and personally grateful to 
 its present unworthy representative. For in the 
 conscience-struck prince before him, Hubert still 
 sees the incarnate majesty of England, though 
 surrounded by dangers menacing the whole kingdom 
 with himself. Hubert, with calm dignity, and having, 
 as it were, justly punished his wicked tempter by 
 letting him believe his cruel orders were executed, 
 now declares that Arthur is alive. John, who before 
 had so eagerly desired his nephew's death, hears the 
 news with relief, hastily apologises for his words to 
 Hubert, and sends him to announce Arthur's safety to 
 the "discontented peers." 
 
 The next scene describes the unfortunate prince 
 escaping from his prison, and killed by a fall from 
 the walls. This account is Shakespeare's invention, 
 nor does he say if Hubert, in whose charge he is, 
 has furnished the " ship-boy's dress " in which he 
 tries to escape ; but he has evidently had assistance. 
 His body is found by some English noblemen, and 
 also by Richard Plantagenet, who, with Lord 
 Salisbury, fiercely charges his keeper with having 
 slain Arthur. Hubert eagerly defends himself, and 
 is at last believed, after having been sternly 
 reproached by Sir Richard, who at first suspects him 
 "grievously." Richard's conduct about Arthur is 
 not very consistent ; for Shakespeare makes him 
 
236 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 nearly as devoted as Hubert to King John, and 
 yet to have the sincerest respect, as well as pity, for 
 his victim. Both he and Hubert are, indeed, brave, 
 patriotic, honest Englishmen, yet strangely obedient 
 to a mean-spirited, yet in some respects energetic 
 sovereign, whose character and motives, were he not 
 their King, they would surely abhor and despise to the 
 last degree. 
 
 Act V. introduces, in Shakespeare's brilliant style, 
 the historical episode of John's humiliation before 
 Cardinal Pandulf, the able, resolute representative of 
 Pope Innocent III. 1 The part which Pandulf plays 
 at this time is very remarkable, both in history and 
 in this tragedy. He mingles with quarrelling kings, 
 fierce nobles, and their armed retainers, as if bearing 
 a charmed life — fearless, observant, determined, and 
 exacting, or unwillingly obtaining, the respect of all. 
 Yet he is always labouring for the interests of the 
 Church he represents, and never for private purposes. 
 He compels John to yield up the English Crown, 
 which he returns to him, observing that he now 
 holds it by the Pope's authority. John, no longer 
 defiant, entreats him to use his potent influence to 
 stop the French invasion ; for, being now recognised 
 
 1 "John came into the legate's presence, who was seated on a 
 throne ; he flung himself on his knees before him ; he lifted up his 
 joined hands and put them within those of Pandulf; he swore 
 fealty to the Pope ; and he paid part of the tribute which he owed 
 for his kingdom as the patrimony of St. Peter. The legate, elated 
 by this supreme triumph of sacerdotal power, could not forbear 
 discovering extravagant symptoms of joy and exultation. He 
 trampled on the money which was laid at his feet as an earnest of 
 the subjection of the kingdom." — Hume's " History," vol. i. 
 
" King John " 237 
 
 as King by the Pope, John naturally reckons upon 
 the Church's assistance to maintain his power. 
 
 " King John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the French ; 
 And from his holiness use all your power 
 To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. 
 Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
 To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
 This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
 Rests by you only to be qualified. 
 
 Pandulf. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope : 
 But, since you are a gentle convertite, 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension Day, remember well, 
 Upon your oath of service to the Pope, 
 Go I to make the French lay down their arms." 
 
 Pandulf agrees, telling John to remember this 
 Ascension Day, when he had publicly submitted to 
 the Pope's authority. The King now recollects and 
 believes the prophecy of the luckless Peter of 
 Pomfret, but that unfortunate hermit was nevertheless 
 executed, without either priest or layman apparently 
 making any effort to save him. 1 During this im- 
 portant scene, Pandulf probably calls to mind the 
 former contests between the Plantagenet Kings and 
 the clergy, and the murder of Thomas a'Becket by 
 the instigation, if not orders, of John's father. But 
 having now brought the obstinate, yet nervous King 
 completely under the Pope's rule, the zealous Cardinal 
 
 1 " Though the man pleaded that his prophecy was fulfilled, the 
 defence was supposed to aggravate his guilt." — Hume's " History," 
 vol. i. 
 
238 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 has no wish to see him dethroned by the invading 
 French Dauphin. On the contrary, he resolves to 
 do all he can to preserve John's power, now that 
 it is restrained by the Pope's supreme authority. 1 
 He thus leaves the King, promising to make peace 
 between France and England, or, rather, between 
 the French, allied with many of the English, with 
 those who still adhere to John ; and after he has 
 gone, Sir Richard enters. This warlike gentleman 
 has perhaps less respect for Pandulf than the other 
 personages manifest ; but they never dispute, or a 
 stormy scene would doubtless ensue. Richard, now 
 excited by war and irritated at the French invasion, 
 earnestly counsels John in almost peremptory language 
 to have no treaty with the enemy, and to resist them 
 to the last. The King, whose secret wishes are 
 perhaps with him, hears his energetic language, 
 without, however, sharing any of its animation. He 
 seems, indeed, so completely overwhelmed by the 
 dangers around him, and by the recent agitation 
 
 1 " In after times men believed that England thrilled at the news 
 with a sense of national shame, such as she had never felt before. 
 ' He has become the Pope's man,' the whole country was said to 
 have murmured ; ' he has forfeited the very name of king ; from a 
 free man he has degraded himself into a serf.' But this was the 
 belief of a time still to come, when the rapid growth of national 
 feeling, which this step and its issues did more than anything to 
 foster, made men look back on the scene between John and Pandulf 
 as a national dishonour. We see little trace of such a feeling 
 in the contemporary accounts of the time. All seem rather 
 to have regarded it as a complete settlement of the difficulties 
 in which King and kingdom were involved. As a political measure, 
 its success was immediate and complete. The French army at once 
 broke up in impotent rage." — Green's " History of the English 
 People," book iii. 
 
" King John " 239 
 
 caused by his mother's death, that he hears his 
 reckless young adviser with a sort of feeble admira- 
 tion. In him he doubtless perceives and remembers 
 the dauntless character of his heroic brother of the 
 "lion heart," so different from his own nervous, if 
 not craven spirit. That very same fearless heroism, 
 which in the late King had been the obstacle to John's 
 ambition and check to his hopes, was now in the 
 bastard nephew devoted heart and soul to his service. 
 He merely answers : 
 
 " Have thou the ordering of this present time," 
 
 but those few words reveal both his own dejection 
 and his admiring confidence in young Richard, in 
 whom he recognises, perhaps with feelings of personal 
 shame, the high spirit of their gallant race. 
 
 The next scenes describe important conferences 
 between the ambitious Dauphin Louis and his 
 English ally, Lord Salisbury, and also with Pandulf, 
 who insists on the war being abandoned and John's 
 authority acknowledged, owing to his peace with the 
 Pope. Louis, disappointed and vexed at being thus 
 suddenly stopped in what promises to be a successful 
 war, for some time resists and almost defies the 
 Cardinal. 
 
 " Pandulf. King John hath reconcil'd 
 
 Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy Church, 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
 Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; 
 That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
 
240 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace, 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Louis. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
 Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself, 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
 And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
 You taught me how to know the face of right, 
 Acquainted me with interest to this land. 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
 And come you now to tell me John hath made 
 His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ? 
 I by the honour of my marriage-bed, 
 After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
 And now it is half-conquer'd, must I back, 
 Because that John has made his peace with Rome ? 
 Am I Rome's slave ? " 
 
 Then, knowing how King John is detested through- 
 out England and is therefore unsupported by many 
 of his subjects, the ambitious and now disappointed 
 French prince exclaims : 
 
 " Have I not heard these islanders shout out 
 Vive h Roy ! 
 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game 
 To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set ? 
 No, no ! on my soul it never shall be said." 
 
 Pandulf hears the angry youth with the same calm, 
 steady resolution he evinces with everybody — with 
 the obstinate, unruly John, the eager, passionate 
 Constance, and the politic, astute Philip. The 
 Church, her interests, authority, and dignity alone 
 rule his mind, and, firmly adhering to what he be- 
 lieves his sacred duty, he never yields to any one, 
 nor deviates from the most invincible consistency. 
 While Louis warmly, almost boyishly, opposes him — 
 
" King John" 241 
 
 declaring that his invasion of England was at first 
 encouraged by the Pope, that it is in a fair way of 
 success, and that after Prince Arthur he is heir to the 
 English Crown, through his marriage with the Princess 
 Blanche, ignoring, however, the claims of John's son, 
 Prince Henry — Pandulf listens without the least 
 emotion, and calmly replies : 
 
 " You look but on the outside of this work." 
 
 This brief remark well expresses the spirit of the 
 zealous Churchman of the period. What signified 
 French or English triumphs, or any earthly success 
 and disappointment, to him, when compared to the 
 Church's interests ! Those interests being now 
 secured by John's submission to Pope Innocent, 
 the Dauphin Louis immediately sinks, in Pandulfs 
 estimation, from a useful champion into a petulant 
 obstacle. 1 
 
 Yet the future French King is not to be rebuked 
 very severely, for he is heir to the eldest son of the 
 Church, and hitherto has acted in conformity with 
 her wishes. In the midst of Louis's vexation, Sir 
 
 1 " It must be acknowledged that the influence of the prelates and 
 the clergy was often of great service to the public. It served to 
 unite together a body of men who had great sway over the people, 
 and who kept the community from falling to pieces by the factious 
 and independent power of the nobles ; and, what was of great 
 importance, it threw a mighty authority into the hands of men who, 
 by their profession, were averse to arms and violence, who tempered 
 by their mediation the general disposition towards military enterprises, 
 and who still maintained, even amidst the shock of arms, those 
 secret links without which it is impossible for human society to 
 subsist." — Hume's " History," chap. xii. 
 
 17 
 
2\2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Richard enters, coming from King John, and asks 
 if peace is yet made. His warlike mind is delighted 
 at finding it is not, and Pandulf, thus placed between 
 these fiery spirits, for the present is unable to obtain 
 a hearing. A battle seems now inevitable between 
 armed forces, headed by such impetuous leaders, when 
 news comes of John's sudden illness, for he is reported 
 to be poisoned by a monk. 
 
 Many of the English under Richard Plantagenet 
 were at this time drowned by unexpected floods. 
 Hubert de Burgh and Richard exchange their disas- 
 trous news of John's illness and the loss of the 
 flower of the English army in the Lincolnshire 
 " washes," and apprehend the certain triumph of the 
 French in consequence. Hubert and Richard, in 
 their manly devotion to England — their bravery and 
 straightforwardness — have much in common ; but, 
 under such an odious sovereign as John, neither 
 their characters nor abilities can much benefit their 
 distracted country. Their loyal devotion to the un- 
 worthy King, whose evil qualities they never discuss 
 or even mention, is a remarkable proof of the strength 
 of loyal principles at this historical period. Such a 
 character as John — nervous, obstinate, and ungrateful 
 — both these men would have despised in a comrade, 
 opposed in a relation, and distrusted in a follower ; 
 yet being their sovereign he is only met by respectful 
 remonstrance. T 
 
 1 "The character of King John is nothing but a complication 
 of vices equally mean and odious, and alike ruinous to himself 
 and destructive to his people. Cowardice, inactivity, folly, levity, 
 
" King John " 243 
 
 The next scene ends the play. Prince Henry, 
 eldest son of the King and the future Henry III., 
 with Lord Salisbury and Bigot, Earl of Norfolk, are 
 in the orchard of Swinstead Abbey. The prince, 
 anticipating his father's death, though whether by 
 poison or not appears doubtful, exclaims in real 
 compassion : 
 
 " It is too late, the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly : and his pure brain 
 (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) 
 Doth by the idle comments that it makes 
 Foretell the ending of mortality." 
 
 Hearing that the invalid monarch wishes for the 
 
 open air, he orders him to be brought into the 
 
 orchard, and, asking after him, hears from Lord 
 
 Pembroke : 
 
 " He is more patient 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung." 
 
 The prince, surprised at hearing this, yet even at 
 his early age showing the devout, compassionate 
 spirit which distinguished his long reign, exclaims : 
 
 " O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes 
 In their continuance will not feel themselves. 
 Death having prey'd upon the outward parts 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
 With many legions of strange fantasies, 
 
 licentiousness, ingratitude, treachery, tyranny, and cruelty — all these 
 qualities appear too evidently in the several incidents of his life 
 to give us room to suspect that the disagreeable picture has been 
 any wise overcharged by the prejudices of the ancient historians." 
 — Hume's " History," vol. i. 
 
244 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Which in their throng and press to that last hold 
 Confound themselves. Tis strange that death should sing ! 
 I am the cygnet to this pale, faint swan, 1 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 
 And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest." 
 
 Lord Salisbury, who like all acquainted with the 
 Court, well knows the difference between the wicked, 
 unfortunate King who has nearly ruined England and 
 his virtuous, promising successor, exclaims, doubtless 
 expressing the thoughts and hopes of the English 
 nation generally at this time : 
 
 " Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are born 
 To set a form upon that indigest, 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude." 
 
 King John is then brought in a chair into the 
 orchard. He declares to his son he believes himself 
 poisoned, longing for cold winds and waters to cool 
 his burning frame. Prince Henry, who already 
 evinces the amiable character he afterwards displayed 
 as King, shows an affection for his wretched father 
 which that sovereign never felt towards his own 
 father, nor perhaps for any one, and asks : 
 
 1 " Powers of song have been often attributed to it, and as 
 often denied. It is, however, perfectly true that this bird has a 
 soft, low voice, rather plaintive, and with little variety." — Yarrell's 
 " British Birds," vol. iii. 
 
 " The mute swan has obtained the character, though contradicted 
 by its name, of being a bird of song. It has especially had as- 
 signed to it the office of singing before it dies — a dirge at its own 
 departure — the echoes of which die away over the form that has 
 then ceased to utter it." — Morris's "British Birds," vol. v. 
 
" King John " 245 
 
 " Prince Henry. How fares your majesty? 
 
 King John. Poisoned — ill-fare ; — dead, forsook, cast off : 
 And none of you will bid the winter come, 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
 And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, 
 I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait, 
 And so ungrateful, you deny me that. 
 
 Prince Henry. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, 
 That might relieve you. 
 
 King John. The salt in them is hot. 
 
 Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannise 
 On unreprievable condemned blood." 
 
 It is only in this last scene that the future King 
 is introduced, but his few words denote almost as 
 amiable a disposition as the sketch of Prince Arthur. 1 
 Yet the unfortunate John apparently derives no com- 
 fort from him, nor does he show any paternal affection 
 or interest in the Prince. His conscience and illness 
 now alike beset him, and, while bitterly complaining 
 that none around afford him any relief, the impetuous 
 Richard rushes to his presence, hastily announcing the 
 loss of the greater part of his army. In this fiery 
 young man — so like John's warlike brother — Shake- 
 speare makes the King repose a trust and confidence 
 which he places in no one else. Richard's frank 
 manner, high spirit, and unflinching courage remind 
 John of his gallant family ; while his illegitimacy pre- 
 vents all feelings of jealousy. He is, in fact, just 
 
 1 Hume says of Prince Henry : — " Of all men, Nature seemed to 
 have least fitted him for being a tyrant " (" History of England," 
 chap. xii.). 
 
246 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 the man who, by character and situation, seems 
 fitted to cheer a prince of John's moody, sensitive, 
 and suspicious nature. But, though a brave soldier, 
 true friend, and loyal subject, Richard has neither 
 prudence nor sound judgment. His rash counsels 
 have prolonged the war with France up to this 
 moment, despite the exertions of Pandulf and the 
 expressed wishes of the invalid King. Yet, in his latest 
 moments, John apparently feels some relief at seeing 
 him, though Richard has only disasters to announce. 
 John foresees his own death from the despairing 
 excitement which the fatal news is sure to cause 
 in his weak state, and he expires while hearing 
 from his brave but reckless nephew of his army's 
 destruction by the Lincolnshire floods. 
 
 Richard eagerly exclaims, and though too brave 
 to be personally frightened, yet evidently in great 
 excitement and alarm : 
 
 " O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty.' 
 
 King John replies with his last words : 
 
 " King John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt ; 
 And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
 Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be uttered ; 
 And then all this thou seest is but a clod, 
 And module of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bastard. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward : 
 Where, heaven he knows how we shall answer him : 
 For, in a night, the best part of my power, 
 
" King John " 247 
 
 As I upon advantage did remove, 
 Were in the washes, all unwarily, 
 Devour'd by the unexpected flood. \The King dies" 
 
 The bold Richard, grieved yet undismayed by the 
 King's death, which appals Prince Henry, Lord Salis- 
 bury, and others, demands more aid against the 
 advancing French, when Salisbury declares he has 
 even later news than Richard has announced, which 
 he never told to the late King. For Cardinal Pandulf, 
 Salisbury says, has just brought terms of honourable 
 peace from the Dauphin, obtained, indeed, through 
 that energetic prelate's influence. Thus with King 
 John's life disappears all present danger to England, 
 which now acknowledges Henry III. as lawful 
 King. The spirited Richard Faulconbridge, equally 
 loyal to both John and Henry in due course of royal 
 succession, addresses the new King, in words evidently 
 expressing English feeling at this time : 
 
 " And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
 To whom with all submission on my knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services, 
 And true subjection everlastingly." 
 
 Salisbury says to the same effect, speaking for 
 himself and Norfolk : 
 
 " And the like tender of our love we make, 
 To rest without a spot for evermore." 
 
 And the young King replies, with true and natural 
 amiability : 
 
 " I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, 
 And knows not how to do it but with tears." 
 
248 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Richard rejoins in noble words, expressing indeed 
 "the very spirit of Plantagenet," and well worthy 
 of that gallant race : 
 
 " O let us pay the time but needful woe, 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs." 
 
 He thus intimates that England has little cause to 
 mourn the death of King John, and proceeds, with 
 bright hopes for its future : 
 
 " This England never did, nor never shall, 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 But when it first did help to wound itself." 
 
 Anticipating truly that the new monarch will resemble 
 some of his noble ancestry rather than his degenerate, 
 unfortunate father, he concludes in heroic words : 
 
 " Now these princes are come home again, 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms 
 And we shall shock them. Naught shall make us rue, 
 If England to itself do rest but true." 
 
 The young monarch, in a few touching words, ex- 
 presses his grateful love and confidence in Richard, 
 Salisbury, and the other ministers around him. Thus 
 ends this tragedy, which, though chiefly founded on an 
 older play of the same name, and departing from facts 
 in some particulars, yet represents John, Elinor, Philip, 
 Prince Henry, Cardinal Pandulf, and Hubert de Burgh 
 in accordance with history ; while the characters of 
 Constance, Arthur, and Richard seem more derived 
 from the poet's fancy than from historical record. 
 The few words which Shakespeare ascribes to Prince 
 
" King John " 249 
 
 Henry manifest that pleasing promise which his 
 amiable disposition and long reign of fifty-six years 
 fully justified. Henry III. was indeed different from 
 his wicked father in every respect ; and the last page 
 of this noble yet gloomy play is brightened by the 
 devout spirit this prince shows while very young, 
 and which history states that he really possessed. 1 
 
 1 " He would not be content with less than three masses a day, 
 and held fast to the priest's hand during the service. With this 
 English and devotional sentiment the King (Henry III.) combined 
 a passionate addiction to art in all its forms, which carried him 
 far beyond the limits of his own country." — Stanley's " Westminster 
 Abbey," chap. iii. 
 
IV 
 
 "KING RICHARD 11." (a.d. 1377) 
 
 ABOUT a hundred and sixty years elapsed 
 between King John's death and Richard II.'s 
 accession, and during that time four Kings had 
 reigned in England. It seems uncertain if Shake- 
 speare wrote about any of these four, for, though 
 the play of "Edward III." is attributed to him 
 by some, it is not always reckoned among his 
 works. But "Richard II." is undoubtedly his own 
 composition, comprising, however, only the last two 
 years of this luckless sovereign's reign, and seems 
 chiefly founded on Holinshed's " Chronicles." x It is 
 observed by an able French statesman that Shake- 
 speare's later historical plays adhere more and more 
 strictly to history as they approach nearer the poet's 
 own time; 2 and even "Richard II." seems, on the 
 whole, more founded on fact, and less on vague 
 tradition, than " King John." The first scene intro- 
 duces at once the two chief characters in the drama 
 — the weak, excitable, imprudent King, occasionally 
 displaying high spirit, but usually indolent, nervous, 
 
 1 Staunton's Preface to " Richard II." 
 
 2 Guizot's " Criticism on Shakespeare's Historical Plays." 
 
 25° 
 
 
utejjBj 
 lent 
 :ejJ 
 ing 
 
 " King Richard II." 251 
 
 and often fanciful ; while the brave, shrewd, resolute,, 
 Bolingbroke appears in many respects a fine specimen' 
 of the English character — daring, fearless, and entej 
 prising when young ; cautious, wise, and reflectii 
 when in middle age. 1 They are now both young 
 men, in the full vigour of early manhood. But 
 Richard has already begun to waste time and money 
 among mean, worthless favourites, apparently disre- 
 garding the many perils which encompass his throne. 2 
 He, indeed, occupied a dangerous position — not so 
 much from its own importance as from the numerous 
 ambitious kinsmen, old and young, who surrounded 
 him. 3 His uncles, John of Gaunt and the Duke of jg 
 York, are both vexed at his reckless conduct, andV / 
 probably suspect his having had some share in the 
 mysterious death of their brother, the Duke of 
 Gloster.4 Richard's strange position amid so many 
 
 1 " The new Duke of Lancaster had acquired, by his conduct and 
 abilities, the esteem of the public ; he had joined to his other 
 praises those of piety and valour. The people, who found nothing 
 in the King's person which they could love or revere, and were even 
 disgusted with many parts of his conduct, easily transferred to Henry 
 that attachment which the death of the Duke of Gloster had left 
 without any fixed direction." — Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
 2 " Indolent, profuse, addicted to low pleasures, he spent his 
 whole time in feasting and jollity, and dissipated, in idle show or 
 in bounties to favourites of no reputation, that revenue which the 
 people expected to see him employ in enterprises directed to public 
 honour and advantage. He forgot his rank by admitting all men to 
 his familiarity." — Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
 3 "Richard II. was a peaceful monarch, thwarted at every turn 
 by ambitious kinsmen." — Stubbs's " Constitutional History," vol. ii. 
 
 4 Hume inclines to believe, though not positive on the subject, 
 that Richard had been privy to Gloster's murder, yet Gloster was, 
 however, generally suspected of treasonable designs against the 
 young King (vol. ii.). 
 
252 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 hostile kinsmen was probably caused by Gloster's death, 
 and partly explains why this Prince, distrusting most 
 of his relatives, placed his confidence in favourites of 
 comparatively low rank — Sir John Bushy, Sir Henry 
 Green, &c. — who, like most of their class, having "no 
 friends, "were all the more obedient to their royal patron. 
 In the first scene, Richard, after vainly trying to 
 make peace between Bolingbroke and Norfolk, 
 appoints a day for their mortal combat in his presence, 
 at Coventry. 1 Between John of Gaunt and his brave 
 son there is evidently a strong affection, and probably 
 a thorough confidence. Norfolk, while trying to repel 
 Bolingbroke's charges, appeals to Gaunt as 
 
 " The honourable father of my foe " ; 
 
 but that powerful nobleman, called "time-honoured 
 Lancaster," never answers, but, in obedience to King 
 Richard, he also vainly tries to make peace between 
 his son and Norfolk. • It is evident, from the next 
 scene between the widowed Duchess of Gloster and 
 Gaunt, her brother-in-law, what deep indignation 
 Gloster's supposed murder has caused among the 
 royal family. 
 
 " Duchess. But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster — 
 One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
 One flourishing branch of Edward's royal root, 
 Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
 Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
 By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah, Gaunt ! his blood was thine." 
 
 1 Sir James Stephen says that " trial by combat was introduced 
 by William the Conqueror; " adding, that it was " only private war 
 under regulations " (" English Criminal Law," chap. hi.). 
 
" King Richard II." 253 
 
 The Duchess vaguely urges Gaunt to avenge Gloster's 
 death, without positively accusing the King ; but it is 
 clear that she and all her husband's kinsfolk dislike 
 and distrust him, viewing Bolingbroke as their 
 champion. Gaunt tries to soothe his sister-in-law, 
 telling her to seek religious consolation, and intimating 
 that even if Richard had instigated Gloster's murder, 
 he would never rebel against him. 
 
 " Duchess. In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
 Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. 
 What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, 
 The best way is to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
 
 Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's substitute, 
 His deputy anointed in His sight, 
 Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully, 
 Let Heaven revenge ; for I may never lift 
 An angry arm against His minister. 
 
 Duchess. Where, then, alas ! may I complain myself ? 
 
 Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence. 
 
 Duchess. Why, then, I will." 
 
 But he dearly loves his spirited son, Bolingbroke, 
 whose talents and popularity are gradually making 
 him more formidable to Richard and his adherents. 
 In loyalty to the King, the brothers Gaunt and York, 
 though men of such different characters, resemble 
 each other. They refuse to aid any revolt, yet both 
 blame Richard's conduct, and detest his favourites ; 
 while their respective sons, the gallant Bolingbroke 
 and the mean, treacherous Aumerle, contemplate a 
 future rebellion. The Duchess of Gloster, while 
 hating Norfolk, and wishing success to Bolingbroke 
 in the coming fight, speaks kindly of her other 
 
254 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 brother-in-law, York, who, throughout this play, as 
 in history, seems a strange, flighty, peculiar man, 
 placed in a highly-important position. His son, 
 Aumerle, the Duchess does not name, though he 
 was suspected of having had some share in Gloster's 
 death, and was very differently disposed from his 
 father. The widowed Duchess, in deep dejection, 
 parts from Gaunt, after a touching interview, and 
 never appears again. 
 
 The next scene is at Coventry, where the com- 
 batants appear, armed and eager for their encounter, 
 before the King and Court. John of Gaunt wishes all 
 good fortune to his son in the coming duel ; while 
 Richard speaks kindly to both parties, apparently 
 sympathising most with Norfolk, though his subse- 
 quent conduct towards him does not bear out his 
 words. He says to Bolingbroke : 
 
 1 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
 So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! " 
 
 And to Norfolk : 
 
 " Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
 Virtue with valour couched in thine eye." 
 
 Yet he immediately afterwards forbids the combat, 
 banishing Norfolk for life and Bolingbroke for six 
 years. Both combatants warmly complain of this 
 sentence, which Richard seems to pronounce without 
 the advice of any one, unless, indeed, it was secretly 
 suggested by some of his many favourites. Norfolk, 
 in leaving England, utters prophetic words about 
 
" King Richard II." 255 
 
 Bolingbroke, which no one notices at this time, but 
 were probably remembered by all who heard them. 
 Bolingbroke haughtily asks him to confess the truth 
 of the charges against him before he leaves the King 
 for ever, and Norfolk boldly replies : 
 
 " No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, 
 My name be blotted from the Book of Life, 
 And I from heaven banished, as from thence ! 
 But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know ; 
 And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. 
 Farewell, my liege." 
 
 Richard at this moment seems in a most singular 
 position. He banishes for life one whom he believes 
 loyal, and, as if wishing to appease hostile kinsmen, 
 shortens Bolingbroke's banishment from ten to six 
 years, for the sake of Gaunt, who, with cold thanks, 
 however, observes that this change will make no 
 difference to him, as his old age will never permit 
 him to see his son again. It seems historically true 
 that Bolingbroke's banishment greatly offended the 
 King's relatives, among whom, indeed, the latter does 
 not seem to have had any real friend. Richard is irri- 
 tated at finding Gaunt so grieved at his son's compara- 
 tively short banishment, and, his suspicions of both 
 being apparently excited or increased, he insists on 
 the sentence being enforced, leaving the father and 
 son together with their nephew and cousin, Aumerle, 
 and their friend, the Lord Marshal. Bolingbroke 
 warmly expresses his grief at being banished ,' his 
 father vainly tries to console him, while the others 
 show strong sympathy, for young Bolingbroke is 
 already very popular at Court and in England. 
 
256 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not the King did banish thee, 
 But thou the King. 
 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st : 
 
 Suppose the singing birds musicians ; 
 
 The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd ; 
 
 The flowers, fair ladies, and thy steps no more 
 
 Than a delightful measure or a dance. 
 
 For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
 
 The man that mocks at it, and sets it light." 
 
 To these rather imaginative or fanciful consolations, 
 Bolingbroke, always a most practical prince, naturally 
 replies in words which his father cannot deny : 
 
 " Bolingbroke. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow, 
 By thinking on fantastic Summer's heat ? 
 O, no ! the apprehension of the good 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. 
 
 Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way ; 
 Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 
 
 Bolingbroke. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet soil, 
 adieu ; 
 My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
 Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman." ' 
 
 1 "As Henry Bolingbroke left London, the streets were crowded 
 with people weeping for his fate ; some followed him even to the 
 coast. His withdrawal removed the last check on Richard's 
 despotism. He forced on every tenant of the Crown an oath to 
 recognise the acts of his committee as valid, and to oppose any 
 attempts to alter or revoke them." — Green's " History of the English 
 People," book iv. 
 
" King Richard II." 257 
 
 The next scene is the first that mentions the deceit 
 of Aumerle, who, after condoling with Bolingbroke 
 while in his presence and in that of his father, Gaunt, 
 now assures Richard that he has no affection for him. 
 The King openly expresses distrust of his banished 
 cousin, even owning to Aumerle that both he and 
 his three followers — Bushy, Green, and Bagot — have 
 
 " Observed his courtship to the common people," 
 
 and already suspect his having designs upon the 
 throne. The three favourites thoroughly share 
 Richard's views, who announces his intention of going 
 to Ireland, when he is summoned to the death-bed of his 
 uncle, Gaunt. Richard, with heartless levity, scarcely 
 consistent with his not unamiable character, avowedly 
 wishes Gaunt dead, that he may seize his money 
 and spend it on the Irish war. It is evident that 
 Richard, who, in the beginning of his reign, had 
 shown both energy and good feeling, became more 
 and more frivolous, reckless, and unjust, perhaps owing 
 partly to the influence of Bushy, Green, and others, 
 whom he trusted and consulted more than any other 
 advisers. 1 These obsequious courtiers, with Aumerle, 
 accompany the King to John of Gaunt's house. Pre- 
 vious to their arrival, the dying Duke of Lancaster 
 has a remarkable conference with his brother, York. 
 
 1 " Richard II. was a man of considerable talents ; but his ordinary 
 conduct belied the abilities which on rare occasions shone forth. 
 Extreme pride and violence, with an inordinate partiality for the 
 most worthless favourites, were his predominant characteristics." 
 — Hallam's " Middle Ages," chap. viii. 
 
 18 
 
258 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 These two princes, though firm allies, are great contrasts 
 in character. Gaunt is brave, resolute, patriotic, 
 with a high sense of duty to the sovereign whom he 
 cannot help despising, and a strong affection for his 
 banished son, whose secret ambition he does not 
 apparently encourage. York is weak, excitable, and 
 hesitating ; he has no confidence in Richard, and 
 abhors the favourites ; yet has no idea of raising 
 a rebellion against him. 1 The dying Gaunt, in a 
 noble speech to his sympathising brother, deplores 
 the present misgovernment of England, and foresees 
 additional disasters from the reckless conduct of the 
 young King. He pathetically exclaims : 
 
 " This royal throne of kings, this sceptr'd isle, 
 This fortress, built by Nature for herself, 
 Against infection and the hand of war ; 
 This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall ; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world, 
 Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it) 
 Like to a tenement, or pelting 2 farm : 
 England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; 
 
 1 "In a single year, the whole colour of Richard's government 
 had changed. He had revenged himself on the men who had once 
 held him down, and his revenge was hardly taken before he dis- 
 closed a plan of absolute government. . . . Forced loans, the 
 outlawry of seven counties at once, on the plea that they had 
 supported his enemies, and must purchase pardon — a reckless inter- 
 ference with the course of justice — roused into new life the existing 
 discontents." — Green's " History of the English People," vol. i. 
 
 2 Paltry. 
 
" King Richard II." 259 
 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself : 
 O, would that scandal vanish with my life, 
 How happy then were my ensuing death ! " 
 
 Hume is surprised that Shakespeare did not make 
 Gaunt mention English civil laws and liberty in this 
 grand speech. 1 But Shakespeare probably thought 
 that, although English princes might bravely defend 
 and sincerely love their country, yet in those times 
 the privileges or liberty of subjects from royal control 
 were to them rather causes for jealous apprehension 
 than pride or satisfaction. Hume admits that in 
 "Shakespeare's historical plays, the manners, charac- 
 ters, and even the transactions of the several reigns 
 are exactly copied." This is valuable praise from the 
 learned historian, who yet surely underrates Shake- 
 speare's genius in writing for the stage. 2 
 
 He finishes speaking as Richard enters with the 
 Queen, Aumerle, and the three favourites. Gaunt, 
 indignant at the Kind's conduct, and knowing- he has 
 only a short time to live, no longer speaks respect- 
 fully, but earnestly reproaches him, declaring he 
 is surrounded by flatterers, and that he is ruining 
 both his kingdom and his relatives. This orand 
 scene never occurred, 3 yet it apparently displays the 
 real feelings of the royal family, represented by 
 Gaunt, about the King's conduct and policy. Richard, 
 instead of being softened by his dying uncle's warning, 
 is roused to fury, and declares that were he not a near 
 
 1 " History of England," vol. i., Appendix iii. 
 
 2 Appendix to " Reign of James I." 
 
 3 See Mr. Furnivall's Preface to " Richard II." 
 
260 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 relative, he would have had him beheaded before 
 he had spoken so far. This violent language rouses 
 the high-spirited Gaunt to reproach Richard with his 
 suspected share in his late uncle Gloster's murder, 
 with which no one had yet openly charged him. 
 
 " King Richard. Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, 
 This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head, 
 Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 
 
 Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, 
 For that I was his father Edward's son. 
 
 My brother Gloster, plain, well-meaning soul, 
 May be a precedent and witness good, 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood : 
 Join with the present sickness that I have : 
 And thy unkindness be like crooked age, 
 To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! " 
 
 On this occasion, the Duke of York strongly dis- 
 plays the utter want of judgment which marks his 
 flighty, strange character throughout. He must know 
 that the banished Henry Bolingbroke (Lord Hereford) 
 cannot be friendly to Richard, even if he does not 
 openly rival him ; while Gaunt, though indignant 
 with the King, has never been suspected of disloyalty 
 by Richard's most faithful adherents. Yet, in an 
 awkward attempt to soothe the King, York foolishly 
 declares that Gaunt is as loyal to Richard as his 
 ambitious son is. To this unlucky exclamation Richard 
 makes a sarcastic reply — one of the few occasions that 
 his passionate, giddy temper resorts to irony of any 
 sort — and evidently the talkative, frivolous York feels 
 confounded, for he attempts no rejoinder. 
 
"King Richard II." 261 
 
 " York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
 He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
 As Harry, Duke of Hereford, were he here. 
 
 King Richard. Right ; you say true : as Hereford's love, so 
 his; 
 As theirs, so mine : and all be as it is." 
 
 The Duke of Lancaster is then borne out of the room, 
 and dies ; his brother York and Northumberland an- 
 nouncing the news to Richard, who immediately 
 declares that he will confiscate Gaunt's property. York 
 indignantly remonstrates against this wild injustice, 
 reminding his royal nephew of the cruel injury this act 
 would inflict on Bolingbroke, now Duke of Lancaster. 
 Richard hears his uncle with utter contempt, yet feels 
 sure of his loyalty, for he intends leaving him to 
 govern England during his own approaching absence 
 in Ireland. Whether Richard was induced by the 
 cunning Aumerle to so trust his father, or why he 
 had so much more confidence in York's loyalty than 
 in his judgment, does not appear ; but the thoughtless 
 King goes to Ireland, while several English nobles, 
 with the crafty Earl of Northumberland, express 
 deep indignation at Richard's conduct, and their 
 warmest sympathy for the illegally disinherited Duke 
 of Lancaster. Northumberland, seeing his com- 
 panions sufficiently angry with the King, informs them 
 that Bolingbroke is already on his way home from 
 France, attended by several English gentlemen, who are 
 as disgusted as they are with Richard's government. 1 
 
 1 " Richard seized the Lancastrian estates. Archbishop Arundel 
 hastened to Paris, and pressed the Duke of Lancaster to return to 
 England, telling him how all men there looked for it, especially the 
 
262 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 This prelate is only once mentioned, and not intro- 
 duced in this play. 
 
 Evidently, an insurrection is now approaching, and 
 so the young Queen fears in the next scene, where she 
 owns to Bushy and Bagot her uneasiness about the 
 King's affairs. Her apprehensions are then confirmed 
 by Green's entrance, announcing that the revolution 
 has actually broken out, headed by Bolingbroke, and 
 supported by the Northumberland family. The Queen, 
 who was very much attached to Richard, entreats 
 York, who enters soon after Green, to comfort her. 
 But this the Duke cannot do ; he himself is now 
 old, and his nervous mind is agitated by conflicting 
 emotions. He pities the King and Queen ; knows he 
 is left in a responsible position by Richard, whom 
 he represents, and to whom, according to the strict 
 monarchical ideas of the time, he is conscientiously 
 loyal ; yet every other feeling, wish, and sentiment 
 urge him to side with the advancing Lancaster. 1 He 
 is therefore quite perplexed, and, though he tried to 
 rally the royal forces, was unable to do so. While 
 pitying the Queen, he evidently sympathises more with 
 his wronged nephew, Lancaster, than his own loyal 
 instincts approve. 
 
 Londoners, who loved him a hundred times more than they loved 
 the King. For a while, Henry Bolingbroke remained buried in 
 thought, ' leaning on a window overlooking a garden,' but Arundel's 
 pressure at last prevailed." — Green's "History of the English People." 
 1 "The Duke of York was left guardian of the realm — a place to 
 which his birth entitled him, but which both his slender abilities and 
 his natural connections with the Duke of Lancaster rendered him 
 utterly incapable of filling in such a dangerous emergency." — 
 Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
"King Richard II." 263 
 
 " York. If I know how, or which way, to order these affairs, 
 Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, 
 Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; — 
 The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 
 And duty bids defend ; the other again 
 Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 
 All is uneven, 
 And everything is left at six and seven." 
 
 After the Queen and he leave the room, the three 
 favourites — Bushy, Bagot, and Green — have an anxious 
 conference together. These unlucky men foresee the 
 end of their power, and, in their position, they know 
 that loss of life is its probable accompaniment. They 
 apparently have no military talent or influence ; are 
 hated both by nobles and people, their only friend 
 being the absent King, whose dangers are rapidly 
 increasing. Bagot goes to Ireland to rejoin the 
 King, while the others remain in England ; but they 
 evidently believe themselves doomed, as they never 
 mention escape to the Continent, which alone might 
 have saved their lives. 
 
 " Bushy. For us to levy power, 
 
 Proportionable to the enemy, 
 Is impossible. 
 
 Green. Besides, our nearness to the King in love, 
 Is near the hate of those love not the King. 
 
 Bushy. For little office 
 
 Will the hateful commons perform for us : 
 Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces. 
 
 Bagot. Farewell, if heart's presages be not vain, 
 We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. 
 Green. Alas, poor Duke ! the task he undertakes 
 
264 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Is numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry : 
 Where one on his side rights, thousands will fly. 
 
 Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and ever. 
 
 Green. Well, we may meet again. 
 
 Bagot. I fear me, never." 
 
 The next scene changes to Gloucestershire, where 
 Bolingbroke, joined by Northumberland, is at the 
 head of an increasing force, advancing steadily on 
 London. These two leaders are just the men likely 
 to conduct a successful insurrection, being alike brave, 
 cautious, and determined. Northumberland is much 
 older — perhaps more of a statesman than a warrior ; 
 while Bolingbroke, even when a young man, was 
 distinguished in both capacities. In the present enter- 
 prise, however, their great qualities are little needed, 
 for nearly all England declares for them, and revolts 
 from Richard at first as unanimously as, nearly three 
 centuries later, the whole country abandoned James II. 
 in favour of the invading Prince of Orange, without a 
 single battle. 1 In this scene, Northumberland's brave 
 son, Harry Percy — surnamed Hotspur — makes his 
 first appearance, now quite a youth. He at first does 
 not recognise Bolingbroke, and waits for his father 
 to introduce him, who presents him to his future 
 sovereign. 
 
 "Northumberland. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, 
 
 boy? 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot 
 
 1 " Richard's government for nearly two years [the period com- 
 prised in this play] was altogether tyrannical, and, upon the same 
 principles that cost James II. his throne, it was unquestionably far 
 more necessary, unless our fathers would have abandoned all 
 thoughts of liberty, to expel Richard II." — Hallam's "Middle Ages," 
 chap. viii. 
 
"King Richard II." 265 
 
 Which ne'er I did remember ; to my knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. 
 
 Northumberland. Then learn to know him now ; this is the 
 Duke. 
 
 Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
 Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
 To more approved service and desert. 
 
 Bolingbroke. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy 
 As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends ; 
 And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
 My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it." 
 
 This first meeting between the calm Bolingbroke and 
 the dashing, fiery youth, Harry Percy, was probably 
 long remembered, when, in after years, they were des- 
 tined to become mortal foes. At this time Bolingbroke 
 — now styled Duke of Lancaster — is already far more 
 shrewd and cautious than when fiercely challenging 
 Norfolk, about two years before, with an impetuous 
 courage like that of young Percy himself. The bold 
 daring of his youth is being now gradually succeeded 
 by the firm energy of early manhood ; while Harry 
 Percy resembles what he was in dauntless courage, 
 but has none of that steady sense and coolness which 
 Bolingbroke always possessed. Between these two 
 brave spirits the crafty Northumberland acts as 
 introducer, presenting his fiery son to the ambitious 
 Prince, whom he now considers King, and supports 
 with all his power, yet who was fated, in a few years, 
 to destroy both him and his family. Bolingbroke is 
 evidently pleased at the ready, frank loyalty of the 
 bold youth before him, who, sharing his father's views, 
 or obeying his wishes, is yet rather a contrast to him, 
 
266 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 being as eager and impetuous as Northumberland is 
 cautious and designing. At this time of their lives, 
 Bolinebroke seems to unite in himself much of 
 Northumberland's calm prudence with Hotspur's 
 daring bravery ; and this distinguished trio are now 
 in complete alliance. They are soon joined by more 
 nobles, with their adherents, and at last the Duke of 
 York, nominal governor of England, meets the suc- 
 cessful and unopposed insurgents. He at first, with 
 the loyal spirit of the times, sharply reproaches his 
 ambitious nephew for even returning to England 
 while under legal sentence of banishment. To this 
 reproach Bolingbroke makes a dignified, touching 
 reply, which is specially calculated to impress his 
 uncle, who hears it with assumed indifference. 
 
 " Bolingbroke. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford : 
 But as I come, I come for Lancaster, 
 And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, 
 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye : 
 You are my father, for methinks in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father ! 
 Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
 A wand'ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
 To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? 
 If that my cousin King be King of England, 
 It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. 
 You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
 Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
 To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
 My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; 
 And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
 What would you have me do? I am a subject, 
 And I challenge law : attorneys are denied me ; 
 And therefore personally I lay claim 
 To my inheritance of free descent."" 
 
" King Richard II." 267 
 
 York sees, however, that resistance on his part is 
 hopeless, and coldly invites his formidable nephew to 
 Berkeley Castle — perhaps not sorry that he has no 
 alternative. Bolingbroke, who, all his life, showed 
 great knowledge of human nature, then succeeds in 
 rousing York's anger against the King, by skilfully 
 alluding to the detested trio, "the upstart unthrifts " 
 — Bushy, Bagot, and Green — whom he terms 
 
 " The caterpillars of the commonwealth," 
 
 whom he has 
 
 " Sworn to weed and pluck away." 
 
 Immediately York's excitable temper is aroused, and 
 he declares he will join Bolingbroke ; then partly 
 recalls his words. 
 
 " York. It may be I will go with you : — but yet I'll pause ; 
 For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
 Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
 Things past redress are now with me past care." 
 
 This almost childish hesitation between his feelings 
 and his duty doubtless amused and gratified the crafty 
 Northumberland and many of Bolingbroke's followers. 
 For though York was a prince of little ability, he was 
 yet the nominal ruler in Richard's absence, eldest 
 member of the royal family, and the only surviving 
 brother of the late King. His alliance, or even 
 neutrality, was therefore very valuable, and Boling- 
 broke's success from this time was rapid and complete. 
 Still, some noblemen — Lord Salisbury, Lord Wiltshire, 
 
268 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Sir Stephen Scroop, the Bishop of Carlisle, &c. — 
 adhered to Richard, but could not delay the trium- 
 phant advance of Bolingbroke, who soon captured and 
 executed two of the unhappy favourites — Bushy and 
 Green — apparently without any trial. He sentences 
 them in presence of York, who never intercedes for 
 them ; while Northumberland and his son, Percy, are 
 also beside him, and see his orders executed. 
 
 " Bolingbroke. Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls 
 (Since presently your souls must part your bodies) 
 With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
 For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
 From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
 You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
 By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 1 
 Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 
 Near to the King in blood ; and near in love, 
 Till you did make him misinterpret me, — 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment ; 
 While you have fed upon my seignories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods ; 
 From mine own windows torn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign — 
 Save men's opinions, and my living blood — 
 To show the world I a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 
 Condemns you to the death. 
 My Lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd." 
 
 To which request that zealous, unscrupulous nobleman 
 makes no objection, though most of their offences 
 were committed by the will of Richard II. Boling- 
 broke then sends a cautious message to the captured 
 
 1 Completely. 
 
" King Richard II." 269 
 
 Queen, who is at the Duke of York's house, assuring 
 her of respectful treatment, and prepares to encounter 
 the Welsh chief, Owen Glendower, who had shown 
 some signs of resistance in behalf of the King. 
 
 The next scene describes Richard's return to 
 England, attended by his faithful adherent, the Bishop 
 of Carlisle, and by his cousin, the deceitful Aumerle. 
 Richard, in this important scene, reveals more of his 
 peculiar character than has yet appeared. He is at 
 first delighted at returning to England, and confident 
 that directly his arrival is known, all rebellion will 
 cease. He speaks, therefore, in high-flown, exag- 
 gerated language, but his excitable spirit is soon 
 depressed by Salisbury's arrival, telling him that a 
 large part of his army has already joined Bolingbroke. 1 
 Sir Stephen Scroop follows, with yet more disastrous 
 news of Bolingbroke's complete success throughout 
 England. Richard, amazed, asks about Lord Wilt- 
 shire, Bushy, Green, &c, and now losing confidence 
 in every one, suspects they have also "made peace" 
 with his enemy. Scroop gravely replies that they 
 have, indeed, "made their peace" with him, which 
 Richard mistakes for their treachery. He utters 
 furious reproaches against his late favourites, for whom 
 he had always, perhaps, more liking than esteem ; but 
 
 1 " Richard alternates between abject despondency and an airy, 
 unreal confidence. There is in Richard, as Coleridge has finely 
 observed, ' a constant overflow of emotions, from a total incapability 
 of controlling them, and thence a waste of that energy which 
 should have been reserved for actions, in the passion and effort of 
 mere resolves and menaces.'" — Dowden's "Shakespeare's Mind 
 and Art." 
 
270 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 his rage turns to despair at hearing of their oeing exe- 
 cuted by Bolingbroke's order. Bagot, however, was not 
 executed, and Scroop does not name him. Richard's 
 despair is now complete ; he sees nothing but treason, 
 desertion, and ruin before him. 
 
 " King Richard. Of comfort no man speak : 
 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
 And yet not so — for what can we bequeath, 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's, 
 And nothing can we call our own but death. 
 
 For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
 How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd : 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
 All murder'd : — for within the hollow crown 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
 Keeps Death his court ; and there the antic sits, 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp — 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
 To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit — 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 Were brass impregnable — and, humour'd thus, 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king ! " 
 
 The Bishop of Carlisle tries to console and rouse 
 him, and is apparently succeeding, when the final news 
 of the Duke of York's defection arrives. This intelli- 
 gence probably depresses Richard's advisers as much 
 as himself, for no word of hope or encouragement is 
 uttered after its announcement. The King dismisses 
 
" King Richard II." 271 
 
 his remaining followers, repairing to Flint Castle, 
 there to await his triumphant foe, whose prisoner he 
 already considers himself, and against whom he 
 abandons all idea of resistance. 1 
 
 The next scene brings Bolingbroke, with York, 
 Northumberland, young Hotspur, &c, before the 
 walls of Flint Castle, where Richard, with the Bishop 
 of Carlisle, Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, and Sir Stephen 
 Scroop, are helplessly awaiting their fate. Aumerle, 
 however, is in little danger, owing to his father York's 
 influence, who is treated with the highest respect by 
 Bolingbroke. York's present position as an elderly, 
 whimsical Prince, surrounded by ambitious, fiery young 
 men and crafty old ones, is embarrassing, yet almost 
 ludicrous. He pettishly reproves Northumberland, 
 even at this crisis, for naming Richard without his 
 kingly title, for which omission the ambitious Earl, 
 probably laughing to himself, offers a slight apology. 
 York even comforts his own vexed spirit and uneasy 
 conscience by slightly reprimanding his triumphant 
 nephew, who hears him with politic calmness, but, 
 doubtless, secret impatience. 
 
 " York. It would become the Lord Northumberland 
 To say King Richard. 
 
 Northumberland. Your grace mistakes ; only to be brief, 
 Left I his title out. 
 
 York. The time hath been, 
 
 1 " The sincere concurrence which most of the prelates and 
 nobility, with the mass of the people, gave to changes, which would 
 not otherwise have been effected by one so unprovided with foreign 
 support as Henry Bolingbroke, proves this revolution (1399) to 
 have been, if not an indispensable, yet a national act." — Hallam's 
 " Middle Ages," chap. viii. 
 
272 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 
 
 Bolingbroke. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you should. 
 
 York. Take not, good cousin, farther than you should, 
 Lest you mistake : the heavens are o'er our heads. 
 
 Bolingbroke. I know it, uncle, and oppose not myselr 
 Against their will." 
 
 He now summons the unfortunate King, through 
 Northumberland, to surrender. Richard reproaches 
 the latter, then bewails his misfortunes, and finally 
 surrenders to Bolingbroke. 
 
 " King Richard. What must the King do now ? Must he 
 submit ? 
 The King shall do it. Must he be depos'd ? 
 The King shall be contented : Must he lose 
 The name of King ? o' God's name let it go : 
 I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads ; 
 My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ; 
 My gay apparel, for an almsman's gown ; 
 My sceptre, for a palmer's walking staff ; 
 My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ; 
 And my large kingdom, for a little grave, 
 A little, little grave, an obscure grave : — 
 Or I'll be buried in the King's highway, 
 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : 
 For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live ; 
 And buried once, why not upon my head ? " 
 
 Bolingbroke preserves a respectful manner to his 
 royal prisoner, which never comforts Richard, who, 
 without either defying him or showing personal fear, 
 apparently finds a morbid relief in describing and 
 exaggerating his own humiliation. Although his 
 grand language is Shakespeare's invention, the feel- 
 ings it expresses agree with historical records of both 
 
"King Richard II." 273 
 
 his disposition and state of mind. 1 Aumerle, however, 
 is represented more steadily faithful to Richard than 
 he really was, and, indeed, Shakespeare's sketch ot 
 him is not very clear or satisfactory. He seems 
 trusted by Richard in extremity, and yet he accuses 
 the King's unfortunate favourite, Bagot, when a 
 prisoner in the presence of Bolingbroke. 
 
 Previous to this scene, Shakespeare introduces one 
 entirely of his own invention, where the young Queen 
 Isabella is staying at her uncle the Duke of York's 
 country residence. In his garden, she, with her 
 attendant, hears the gardeners talking over public 
 affairs, and professionally comparing her husband's 
 executed favourites to "weeds plucked up by the 
 roots." They have heard that Bolingbroke has 
 actually captured the King, of which the Queen was 
 not hitherto aware. In angry impatience, she asks the 
 gardeners if their news is true, and, when convinced 
 of it, rather petulantly hopes that their plants may 
 never grow, and then hastens to London, to meet, if 
 possible, her captive husband. 
 
 The next scene describes, amid a large assemblage 
 of influential men, the fallen favourite Bagot — now 
 a prisoner before Bolingbroke — accusing Aumerle of 
 a share in the Duke of Gloster's murder, many years 
 before. Bagot's subsequent fate is not mentioned, 
 but he probably escaped that of his luckless friends, 
 Bushy and Green. 2 Aumerle, however, boldly denies 
 
 1 Hume's "History"; also Hallam's. 
 
 2 "It appears from a petition of 1400 that one Bagot had been 
 impeached by the Commons of ' many horrible acts and misprisions.' 
 He was put to answer before the Lords, and produced ' a charter of 
 
 19 
 
274 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 this charge, and is then challenged by several 
 noblemen, who believe him guilty, to single combat. 
 Even Hotspur, though only a youth, eagerly offers to 
 fight him, already showing that fiery spirit which 
 made him so remarkable even in that fierce age. 
 
 " Aumerle. Princes and noble lords, 
 
 What answer shall I make to this base man ? 
 
 There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
 That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest, 
 And will maintain what thou hast said is false, 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
 
 Bolingbroke. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take it up. 
 
 Fitzwater. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, 
 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
 I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
 That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest ; 
 And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
 Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aumerle. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see the day. 
 
 Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true, 
 In this appeal, as thou art all unjust : 
 And, that thou art so, there I'll throw my gage, 
 To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing : seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aumerle. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
 And never brandish more revengeful steel 
 Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! " 
 
 Bolingbroke, as brave as any of them, but with 
 more sagacity, well fitted to be their chief, listens to 
 their eager defiances with calm interest, perhaps 
 remembering the time when he, young like them, was 
 
 general pardon,' on which the Lords considered ' that the said 
 Monsieur William ought not to be prevented making a reply through 
 the law.' " — Stephen's " English Criminal Law," chap. v. Perhaps, 
 therefore, Bagot was more fortunate than Bushy and Green. 
 
"King Richard II." 275 
 
 equally impetuous in defying the Duke of Norfolk. 1 
 He resolves, however, on having Aumerle tried, and 
 on recalling his old enemy, Norfolk, from banishment, 
 and restoring him his property, when he regretfully 
 hears of his death from the Bishop of Carlisle, the 
 steady adherent of Richard, and who evidently 
 believes in Norfolk's innocence of the many mysterious 
 charges against him. 
 
 Bolingbroke, having postponed Aumerle's trial, now 
 hears from York that Richard consents to name him 
 his heir, and to yield up the crown. With unwonted 
 eagerness he exclaims : 
 
 " In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne," 
 
 when the Bishop of Carlisle interposes, remon- 
 strating with courageous eloquence, though in 
 exaggerated terms, against such a proceeding. 
 Northumberland, furious at this interruption, wants 
 to arrest him for treason, although against an 
 unacknowledged king ; but Bolingbroke, with his 
 usual calmness, refuses to sanction this proposal, 
 and orders the captive monarch to be brought before 
 them all. York then conducts the unfortunate Richard 
 to the presence of his successful foe, now surrounded 
 by powerful adherents, and really King of England 
 already, by the submission, if not will of the nation. 2 
 
 1 " Bolingbroke utters a few words in 'Richard II.,' yet we feel 
 that from the first the chief force centres in him. He is dauntless, 
 but his courage is under the control of his judgment. All his 
 faculties are well organised, and help one another." — Dowden's 
 " Shakespeare's Mind and Art." 
 
 2 " In this revolution of 1399 there was as remarkable an attention 
 shown to the formalities of the constitution — allowance made for 
 
276 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Richard again, as when he landed in England, and 
 when surrendering to Bolingbroke, for the third 
 time, reveals his saddened mind by dwelling on 
 and exaggerating every circumstance of his humilia- 
 tion. He is apparently broken-hearted, neither de- 
 fending his past conduct nor accusing his enemies, 
 but making long speeches, addressed more to his 
 own agitated mind than to any one present ; yet 
 heard by all, and, of course, with much interest. As 
 if acting a scene on the stage, he asks Bolingbroke 
 to hold the crown upon one side, while he supports it 
 on the other, and while in this strange attitude, resigns 
 it to his victorious cousin. 1 
 
 " King Richard. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 That owes two buckets filling one another ; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 
 the men and the times — as in that of 1688 [the accession of William 
 and Mary in place of James II.]. Upon the cession of the King, as 
 upon his death, the Parliament was no more. Yet Henry Boling- 
 broke was too well pleased with his friends to part with them so 
 readily, and he had much to effect before the fervour of their spirits 
 should abate. Hence an expedient was devised of issuing writs for 
 a new Parliament, returnable in six days. These neither were, nor 
 could be, complied with, but the same members as had deposed 
 Richard sat in the new Parliament, which was regularly opened by 
 Henry's commissioners, as if they had been duly elected." — Hallam's 
 " Middle Ages," chap. viii. 
 
 1 " Without any of true kingly strength or dignity, Richard has 
 a fine feeling /or the royal situation. Instead of comprehending 
 things as they are, and achieving heroic deeds, he satiates his heart 
 with the grace, the tenderness, or the pathos of situations . . . 
 Richard is, as it were, fading out of existence. Bolingbroke seems 
 not only to have robbed him of his authority, but to have encroached 
 upon his very personality, and to have usurped his understanding 
 and his will." — Dowden's "Shakespeare's Mind and Art." 
 
"King Richard II." 277 
 
 That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Bolingbroke. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 
 
 King Richard. Ay, no ; — no ay ; — for I must nothing be : 
 Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. 
 Now mark me how I will undo myself: — 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
 And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, 
 The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown." 
 
 He again expatiates upon all he surrenders — crown, 
 sceptre, rents, revenues, manors, &c. — annuls in 
 word all his acts, decrees, and laws ; wishes himself 
 dead, and Bolingbroke long life as King. But all 
 this extraordinary language he utters in mingled 
 grief and confusion, perhaps with some lingering hope 
 that detailing his misfortunes and losses will yet 
 arouse sympathy ; and in this idea he was not 
 altogether mistaken, as the sequel proved ; but no 
 feeling for him is openly shown by any one in this 
 scene. Bolingbroke is quite master of the situation, 
 and his eager adherent, Northumberland, not satisfied 
 with Richard's humiliating resignation, insists on his 
 reading a list of charges against both himself and his 
 followers, and acknowledging their truth. 1 This list of 
 accusations against the captive King is in the play 
 shown to him. In reality he apparently never saw it, 
 
 1 " Bolingbroke purposed to have Richard solemnly deposed in 
 Parliament for his pretended tyranny and misconduct. A charge of 
 thirty-three articles was accordingly drawn up against him, and 
 presented to that assembly . . . The greater part of these grievances 
 imputed to Richard seems to be the exertion of arbitrary prero- 
 gatives." — Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
278 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 though it was publicly presented to the Parliament. 
 This last insult rouses the unfortunate King from 
 utter despondency to violent, though despairing rage. 
 Perhaps being so insulted by his former subject, 
 Northumberland, or recollecting his dead favourites, 
 whose offences, probably exaggerated, are now thrust 
 before his eyes, arouses some of the spirit of his race, 
 even at this moment of public shame : 
 
 " King Richard. What more remains ? 
 
 Northumberland. No more, but that you read [offering a 
 paper ■.] 
 These accusations, and these grievous crimes, 
 Committed by your person, and your followers, 
 Against the state and profit of this land ; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
 
 King Richard. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
 My weav'd-up follies ! Gentle Northumberland, 
 If thy offences were upon record, 
 Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, 
 To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst, 
 There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the Book of Heaven." 
 
 After vehemently reproaching Northumberland and 
 others for treason, he blames himself for having 
 resigned the crown. He asks for a looking-glass, 
 and, gazing at it, exclaims, seeing his own agitated 
 features : 
 
 "King Richard. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck 
 So many blows upon this face of mine, 
 And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glass, 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 
"King Richard II." 279 
 
 Thou dost beguile me ! l Was this face the face 
 
 That every day under his household roof 
 
 Did keep ten thousand men ? 
 
 Was this the face that fac'd so many follies, 
 
 And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ? 
 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
 
 As brittle as the glory is the face. 2 
 
 [Dashes the glass to the ground. 
 For there it is cracked in an hundred shivers." 
 
 Then with hidden meaning, as if foreseeing his own 
 speedy death, he addresses his triumphant rival, who 
 keenly watches this extraordinary scene in composed 
 but observant silence : 
 
 " Mark, silent King, the moral of this sport, 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face." 
 
 Bolingbroke calmly and practically answers his 
 captive cousin : 
 
 " The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd 
 The shadow of your face." 
 
 1 " His portrait long remained in the Abbey. It is the oldest 
 contemporary representation of any English sovereign, an un- 
 questionable likeness of the fatal and (as believed at the time,) 
 unparalleled beauty which turned Richard's feeble brain. . . . The 
 curling masses of auburn hair, the large heavy eyes, the long thin 
 nose, the short tufted hair under his smooth chin, the soft and 
 melancholy expression, which suits at once the Richard of history 
 and of Shakespeare." — Stanley's " Memorials of Westminster 
 Abbey," chap. hi. 
 
 2 Shakespeare follows history here, for Hume writes : — " Richard's 
 household consisted of ten thousand persons ; he had three hundred 
 in his kitchen. . . . Such prodigality was probably one chief reason 
 of the public discontents " (" History of England," vol. ii.). 
 
280 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Richard, whose intensely sensitive nature seems to 
 often leave him at the mercy of others, rejoins : 
 
 " Say that again. 
 The shadow of my sorrow ? " 
 
 Bolingbroke does not repeat as requested, and Richard 
 proceeds, with pathetic sarcasm : 
 
 " Ha ! let's see :— 
 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within, 
 And these external manners of laments 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
 That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul : 
 There lies the substance, and I thank thee, King, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause." 
 
 He then asks permission to leave this trying scene, 
 and Bolingbroke calmly orders his conveyance to the 
 Tower of London, still preserving, in language and 
 manner, the same studied deference to the captive 
 monarch which he has done throughout, yet which 
 never propitiates or in any way consoles Richard. 1 
 When he is gone, Bolingbroke announces his ap- 
 proaching coronation, and also retires with his 
 courtiers, leaving three malcontents — the Abbot of 
 Westminster, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Lord 
 
 1 Hume differs from Hallam in thinking that this revolution 
 resembled that against James II. in 1688. He says that the latter 
 movement " deliberately vindicated established privileges," but that 
 the deposing of Richard II. "was the act of a turbulent and 
 barbarous aristocracy, plunging headlong from the extremes of one 
 faction into those of another" ("History of England," vol. ii.). 
 Shakespeare seems to favour Hume's view, but Hallam, having great 
 literary advantages, considering his enlightened times, may be the 
 best authority. 
 
"King Richard II." 281 
 
 Aumerle — together. They are shocked at the late 
 sad, humiliating scene, and the Abbot hints at some 
 coming opposition to the new King without giving 
 particulars ; but several noblemen — Lords Salisbury 
 and Spencer among them — though they were unable 
 or unwilling to prevent Bolingbroke's invasion of 
 England, are indignant at his rapid elevation to the 
 throne. To these men the Abbot probably alludes, 
 and they withdraw to consult and determine on what 
 course to follow. 
 
 Act V. opens with a scene probably of Shakespeare's 
 invention — the meeting and parting of Richard and 
 the Queen. The King, with the same morbid melan- 
 choly which he has shown ever since his misfortunes, 
 partly relieves and partly indulges grief by dwelling 
 with pathetic minuteness upon their sorrow. He tells 
 her, instead of suggesting either consolation or digni- 
 fied resignation, to spend the long winter evenings in 
 future in describing his dethronement, and to try to 
 elicit the tearful sympathy of her listeners. 
 
 " King Richard. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire 
 With good old folks : and let them tell thee tales 
 Of woful ages, long ago betid : 
 And, ere thou bid good-night, to quit their grief, 
 Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds." 
 
 This meeting is not recorded in history, though, had 
 the Queen been older, much of the conversation 
 attributed to them might naturally have occurred. 1 
 
 1 " The young Queen, daughter of the French King, returned to 
 France soon after the revolution, and was not allowed, even had she 
 
282 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Northumberland, the new King's most zealous subject, 
 separates them, announcing that his master's mind is 
 changed — he orders Richard to Pomfret Castle, and 
 the Queen to return immediately to France. Richard 
 then bitterly reproaches Northumberland — who, of all 
 his subjects, has been the most insolent — and foretells 
 a dangerous quarrel between him and the new King — 
 a prediction which was fatally verified. 
 
 " King Richard. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 
 Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
 It is too little, helping him to all : 
 He shall think that thou, which knowest the way 
 To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
 Being ne'er so little urg'd another way, 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne." 
 
 Northumberland, however, listens incredulously, and 
 hurries off the King and Queen in different directions. 
 This scene, though Shakespeare's invention, probably 
 well describes the real feelings of the unfortunate 
 Richard and of his rebellious subject, Northumber- 
 land, whose whole object now is to fulfil the new 
 King's wishes and to confirm his power. 
 
 The next scene is in the Duke of York's palace, 
 where he describes to his wife, with mixed feelings 
 
 wished, to share her deposed husband's imprisonment." — Hume's 
 " History," vol. ii. She seems to have been amiable and popular, 
 from Mr. Staunton's account in his notes to the " Illustrated Shake- 
 speare " ; but no detail of her parting from Richard is apparently 
 recorded. 
 
" King Richard II." 283 
 
 of regret and admiration, the public triumph and 
 disgrace of his rival nephews, in their late procession 
 through London. 
 
 " York. The Duke, great Bolingbroke, 
 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, 
 With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried, "God save thee, Bolingbroke !" 
 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus : " I thank you, countrymen : " 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 
 Duchess. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ? 
 
 York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, "God save him ! " 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
 The badges of his grief and patience, 
 That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But Heaven hath a hand in these events ; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke we are sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 
 
 Duchess. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
 
 York. Aumerle that was ; 
 
 But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
 I am in Parliament pledge for his truth, 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made King.' 
 
 York — an excitable and singular man — deeply pities 
 Richard, yet greatly admires Bolingbroke; the Duchess 
 
284 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 sympathises entirely with the deposed King, and shows 
 no admiration for the new monarch, when their son 
 Aumerle enters. This young man, created Duke of 
 Albemarle, or Aumerle, as Shakespeare prefers to call 
 him, by Richard, was deprived of this title by the new 
 government, and styled Earl of Rutland. His con- 
 duct during this civil war is somewhat differently 
 described by Shakespeare and Hume — the former 
 representing him faithful to Richard ; the latter, with 
 probably more truth, as being treacherous to both his 
 contending cousins. He is now, however, plotting in 
 Richard's behalf, which his father suspects ; and, find- 
 ing a treasonable letter on him, York, despite his wife's 
 entreaties and his son's terror, declares he will reveal 
 all to the new sovereign, whom he has formally 
 acknowledged. York probably feels that it is now 
 hopeless to attempt any revolution in Richard's favour, 
 the new King having the strength of England on his 
 side ; and that an insurrection now would only ruin 
 the insurgents and injure the country. He resolves, 
 therefore, to tell all to Bolingbroke, and to trust in 
 his mercy ; for he well knows that the new sovereign 
 has no desire to punish him or any of the royal family, 
 but may be induced to do so, and perhaps execute his 
 rebellious cousin, if pressed by Northumberland, and 
 other zealous adherents, to crush all rebellion in the 
 blood of its leaders. Aumerle, whose previous adher- 
 ence to Richard has apparently been excused by 
 Bolingbroke, also hastens to him, arriving at the 
 palace shortly before his father. Previous to his 
 entrance, the new King (Henry IV.) had revealed 
 
" King Richard II." 285 
 
 his first disappointment during his present complete 
 triumph. He had asked about his " unthrifty son," 
 Prince Henry — his heir, the hope, and yet the future 
 vexation, of his troubled life. The inquiry had been 
 provokingly answered by young Hotspur — a youth 
 rather older than Prince Henry, but who, unlike him, 
 assists his father, Northumberland, with all the spirited 
 eagerness of his ardent character. 
 
 " Bolingbroke. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 
 'Tis full three months since I did see him last : 
 If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
 I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
 With unrestrained, loose companions." 
 
 It seems strange that Bolingbroke should so openly 
 censure his son before a youth like Percy and the 
 other lords ; but he has now little time to lament his 
 son's misconduct. He deplores it for a moment, yet 
 foresees his future amendment, when Aumerle hastily 
 enters his presence. Bolingbroke, having no idea of 
 his treachery, receives him, with some surprise at his 
 hurried manner, admitting him to a private conference 
 with closed doors. 
 
 York now arrives, and, with perhaps assumed or 
 exaggerated indignation, confesses to Bolingbroke his 
 son Aumerle's treason, showing him the letter, which 
 reveals some secret plot. Bolingbroke is perplexed at 
 this discovery, and by his strange position between his 
 eager, accusing uncle and his guilty, terrified, supplica- 
 ting cousin. York warmly requests him not to pardon 
 
286 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 his son, when the Duchess arrives, eagerly pleading 
 for Aumerle, while York apparently opposes them 
 both. 1 Bolingbroke hears them all three attentively — 
 perhaps with derision. He doubtless knows that, 
 despite York's apparent eagerness to have Aumerle 
 punished, his hitherto reluctant loyalty will be greatly 
 strengthened by extending unasked clemency to his 
 son and heir. While speaking affectionately to his 
 aunt, the Duchess, he freely pardons Aumerle, but 
 resolves to punish the rest of the conspirators. 
 
 " Bolingbroke. With all my heart 
 
 I pardon him. 
 
 Duchess. A god on earth thou art. 
 
 Bolingbroke. Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
 They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
 But I shall have them, if I once know where. 
 Uncle, farewell — and cousin too, adieu : 
 Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true." 
 
 Throughout this trying scene, Bolingbroke maintains 
 the same shrewdness and self-control he always dis- 
 played, and which, indeed, made him well worthy of 
 
 1 "The scene is ill-conceived, and worse executed throughout, but 
 one line is both atrocious and contemptible. The Duchess having 
 dwelt on the word pardon, and urged the King to let her hear it 
 from his lips, York takes her up with this stupid quibble : ' Speak it 
 in French, King : say, Pardonnez mot* " — Hallam's " Literary His- 
 tory," vol. iii., chap. vi. Mr. Ilallam, usually so cool and judicious, is 
 perhaps, hardly fair to Shakespeare here. The quibble, indeed, may 
 be, as he says, stupid and contemptible, yet consistent enough with 
 the character of the eccentric, flighty, trifling York, " the madcap 
 Duke" ("Henry IV."), whom Shakespeare had to represent. It 
 possibly, if not probably, amused the King, who had shown signs of 
 relenting before it was uttered, and it apparently produced the desired 
 effect. 
 
" King Richard II." 287 
 
 the throne he had acquired. All through this play, 
 wherever he appears, he is evidently the wisest man 
 among either friends or foes. He possesses a daring 
 courage, fully equal to all the fiery, warlike spirits 
 around him, uniting with that splendid gift a firmness 
 of which none can boast in the same degree. He is, 
 perhaps, as a warrior, statesman, and ruler, as grand a 
 specimen of the English character of his unsettled 
 period as could be conceived. When Bolingbroke 
 and his relatives leave the apartment, a certain Sir 
 Pierce of Exton enters it, with an attendant. Exton 
 asks : 
 
 ' Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake ? 
 Have I no friend will rid vie of this living fear ? 
 
 And urg'd it twice together, did he not ? 
 Attend. He did." 
 
 Exton proceeds : 
 
 " And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me 
 As who should say, 1 I would thou wert the man, 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart ; 
 Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go, 
 I am the King's friend, and will rid 2 his foe." 
 
 Exton then declares that he will obey his sovereign's 
 supposed wishes, and starts for Pomfret with avowedly 
 murderous intent, for which even this unscrupulous 
 man cannot say he has sufficient warrant. 
 
 The next scene is in Pomfret Castle, where the 
 
 1 "As one who should say." — Staunton's notes. 
 ■ "Get rid of."— Ibid. 
 
288 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 imprisoned King bewails to himself all his griefs, in 
 the same strange manner he had previously done 
 before his own followers, his triumphant foe, and 
 lastly before his Queen. He is now alone, and, with- 
 out showing either manly resignation or any religious 
 feeling, indulges gloomy thoughts by expressing them 
 in a vague style, revealing a state of mind which 
 might probably have led to insanity, had his prison 
 life been much prolonged. 
 
 " King Richard. I have been studying how I may compare 
 This prison, where I live, unto the world : 
 And, for because the world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 I cannot do it ; — yet I'll hammer it out. 
 
 Sometimes am I King ; 
 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, 
 And so I am : then crushing penury 
 Persuades me I was better when a king ; 
 Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by, 
 Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
 And straight am nothing." 
 
 His strange reflections, however, are interrupted by a 
 groom's entrance. This man, formerly in Richard's 
 service, greatly pities his luckless master, to whom he 
 has somehow obtained access. He tells the deposed 
 King that on Bolingbroke's coronation-day the new 
 sovereign had ridden one of Richard's horses, which 
 he, as groom in the royal stable, had often harnessed 
 and "dress'd " for his use. 
 
 " King Richard. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, 
 How went he under him ? 
 
 Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. 
 
" King Richard II." 289 
 
 King Richard. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back ! 
 That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
 This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
 Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down 
 (Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck 
 Of that proud man that did usurp his back ? 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
 Wast born to bear ? " 
 
 This news interests and irritates Richard, when a 
 jailer enters, bringing his food, and orders the groom 
 away, who departs in suspicious terror. This jailer 
 refuses to taste the food first, as he had done pre- 
 viously, saying that orders from the new King have 
 forbade him doing so. Richard, probably suspecting 
 poison, strikes the jailer, who calls for help, and 
 Exton, with armed followers, enter. Richard kills 
 or wounds two of them, when Exton and the others 
 strike him down, mortally wounded. He dies uttering 
 a few noble words, worthy, indeed, of a greater 
 man. 
 
 " King Richard. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
 That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
 Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land. 
 Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ! 
 Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies.] " 
 
 Exton, gazing at the dead King, feels momentary 
 remorse, but resolves to bear the body to the new 
 monarch, hoping for and expecting approval of his 
 dreadful deed. This account of Richard's fate, though 
 believed by many, is doubted by Hume and some 
 other historians, for what caused Richard's death was 
 
 20 
 
290 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 never known. 1 He certainly died in Pomfret Castle, 
 and, his death being a political advantage, as well as 
 a mental relief to the new monarch, it was suspected 
 that Richard's end was hastened by his direct orders 
 or secret intimations. Yet Bolingbroke was by no 
 means cruel or unscrupulous during the most trying 
 period of his life, and it seems inconsistent with his 
 character to have sullied his triumph by so base a 
 crime as the murder of a prisoner. If Richard were 
 actually assassinated, he might have been poisoned by 
 some zealous adherent of the new King, without any 
 warrant from that monarch himself. 2 Evidently, there 
 was a report of his murder, which the new King tried 
 to refute by the only means in his power ; but it does 
 not seem unlikely that Richard died of a broken heart, 
 considering his position and state of mind ; and in 
 this case the fatal workings of "the tortured soul," to 
 use his own words (Act IV.), would not be visible to 
 mortal eye. 
 
 The last scene is at Windsor Castle. Bolinofbroke 
 
 o 
 
 — now styled Henry IV. — with his uncle York, is 
 surrounded by ministers and adherents. He is in 
 full triumph, hearing from different messengers the 
 welcome news of the speedy, complete suppression 
 of the revolt raised in behalf of the captive Richard. 
 Northumberland enters, announcing, with his usual 
 zeal, that he has sent to London the heads of Lords 
 
 1 Staunton's notes to the " Illustrated Shakespeare." 
 
 2 " It is more probable that he was starved to death in prison. . . . 
 This account is more consistent with the story that his body was 
 exposed in public, and that no marks of violence were found upon 
 it."— Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
" King Richard II." 291 
 
 Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent, giving in a 
 paper particulars of their capture ; for they were not 
 slain in battle, but deliberately executed. King 
 Henry thanks Northumberland, and then hears from 
 another eager adherent, Lord Fitzwater, of the exe- 
 cution of two more "traitors," Brocas and Sir Bennet 
 Seely. These men never really engaged the King's 
 forces, but were betrayed by Aumerle — now called 
 Earl of Rutland — who, anxious to show gratitude 
 for his late pardon, eagerly delivered up his unlucky 
 confederates. 1 The King having also thanked Fitz- 
 water, and promised him reward, next receives the 
 gallant Percy, who, instead of presenting the head, 
 or announcing the execution of some prisoner, brino-s 
 as a captive the Bishop of Carlisle — the most faithful 
 of Richard's adherents. Shakespeare makes Henry 
 generously pardon and praise his venerable foe, in 
 words worthy of his position ; yet Hume states that 
 he was imprisoned. When the captive Bishop is 
 before him, Bolingbroke says : 
 
 " Carlisle, this is your doom, — 
 Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
 More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life: 
 So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
 High sparks of honour in thee have I seen." 
 
 1 " Rutland appeared carrying on a pole the head of Lord Spencer, 
 his brother-in-law, which he presented in triumph to Henry IV., as 
 a testimony of his loyalty." — Hume's " History," vol. ii. Hume calls 
 Rutland an " infamous man — treacherous to all parties, yet keeping 
 himself on the safe side." 
 
292 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Probably, however, he was soon after liberated and 
 pardoned, as there is no record of his trial or punish- 
 ment for certain hostility to the new monarch. Lastly 
 Sir Pierce of Exton enters, with attendants bearing 
 Richard's body under a covering. Exton announces 
 having brought Henry his " buried fear," saying : 
 
 " Herein all breathless lies 
 The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
 Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought." 
 
 Bolingbroke, shocked, or pretending to be so, replies 
 in sorrowful indignation : 
 
 " Exton, I thank thee not. For thou hast wrought 
 A deed of slander with thy fatal hand, 
 Upon my head and all this famous land." 
 
 Exton retorts : 
 
 " From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed," 
 
 and Bolingbroke replies, whether sincerely or not 
 is impossible to say for certain : 
 
 " They love not poison that do poison need, 
 Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead, 
 I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
 The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
 But neither my good word nor princely favour : 
 With Cain go wander through the shades of night, 
 And never shew thy head by day nor light." 
 
 Then, addressing the assembled Court, he exclaims, 
 perhaps with mixed feelings of excitement and 
 
"King Richard II." 293 
 
 regret, yet perhaps not without a suppressed sense 
 of personal relief, as his life was in constant danger 
 while Richard lived his prisoner : 
 
 " Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, 
 That blood should water me to make me grow 
 Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, 
 And put on sullen black incontinent : 
 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
 To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : * 
 March sadly after : grace my mournings here, 
 In weeping after this untimely bier." 
 
 Yet Historians seem doubtful about Henry's inno- 
 cence in the matter. Even those most friendly to 
 him cannot deny that the circumstances were 
 suspicious ; while his life was certainly in danger, 
 from the murderous plots of his imprisoned rival's 
 adherents. Nevertheless, the King himself was evi- 
 dently more merciful, just, and moderate than either 
 his friends or foes were, for in many ways he was 
 worthy of a better age. 2 
 
 1 " Henry IV. had been filled with the thought of expiating his 
 usurpation by a Crusade." — Stanley's " Memorials of Westminster 
 Abbey." 
 
 2 " Henry had shown little taste for bloodshed in his conduct of 
 the revolution. Though a deputation of lords, with Archbishop 
 Arundel at their head, pressed him to take Richard's life, he steadily 
 refused, and kept him a prisoner at Pomfret. The judgments against 
 Gloster, Warwick, and Arundel were reversed, but the lords who had 
 appealed to the Duke were only punished by the loss of the dignities 
 which they had received as a reward. In spite of a stormy scene 
 among the lords in Parliament, Henry refused to exact further 
 punishment; and his real temper was shown in a statute which for- 
 bade all such appeals, and left treason to be dealt with by ordinary 
 process of law. But the times were too rough for mercy such as this. 
 
294 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The triumph of the house of Lancaster was now 
 complete. On the English throne sat the illustrious 
 son of the noble John of Gaunt — a prince worthy 
 in many ways of his high position, though, from 
 policy or necessity, often forced to reward men 
 and applaud acts which in better times he would 
 probably have gladly disavowed. 1 Thus Richard's 
 many follies, errors, and weaknesses had ended in 
 dethronement and untimely death. From the first, 
 surrounded by ambitious, fierce, and often hostile 
 kinsmen, this sovereign was in a very difficult posi- 
 tion, though, had he shown firmness and prudence, 
 his uncles Gaunt and York might never have been 
 alienated. But his own pride being equal to theirs, 
 he scorned their opinions, distrusted their motives, 
 and placed entire confidence in favourites, who, 
 however faithful to him from interest or duty, were 
 utterly unable to oppose the offended royal family, 
 when allied with the nobles, by influencing the nation 
 at large. In fact, Princes, lords, commons, and people 
 alike resented Richard's partiality to these men, 
 whose destruction was thus an inevitable conse- 
 
 Clouds no sooner gathered round the new King than the degraded 
 lords leagued with Salisbury and the deposed Bishop of Carlisle to 
 release Richard and to murder Henry." — Green's " History of the 
 English People," vol. i., chap. v. 
 
 1 " A great council, held after the suppression of the revolt, prayed 
 ' that if Richard, the late King, be alive, as some suppose he is, it be 
 ordained that he be well and securely guarded ; but if he be dead, 
 that he be openly showed to the people.' The ominous words were 
 soon followed by news of Richard's death in prison. His body was 
 brought to St. Paul's, Henry himself, with the Princes of the blood 
 royal, bearing the pall."— Green's "History of the English People," 
 vol. i. 
 
" King Richard II." 295 
 
 quence ; and in their downfall was involved that of 
 their imprudent and ultimately friendless patron. 1 
 
 1 " At the end of this King's reign it was enacted ' that every one 
 should be guilty of treason which compasseth the death of the King 
 or to depose him, or to render up his homage or liege, or he that 
 riseth against the King to make war within his realm.' Nothing is said 
 of any overt act. The trial was to be in Parliament. It is difficult 
 to understand the object of this statute, unless it was to convert into 
 treason mere words, or indeed anything whatever which could be 
 considered to indicate in any way hostility to the King. The Act 
 was passed in 1397, when Richard was, no doubt, fully aware of the 
 dangers which were gathering round him, and which in 1399 led to 
 his deposition. It was repealed ten years afterwards by Henry IV." 
 — Stephen's " English Criminal Law," chap, xxiii. 
 
V 
 
 -FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV." (a.d. 1399) 
 
 THE first scene describes^Kin^_Henry gladly_ 
 hearing of Hotspur's victories over Glendower 
 and his Scottish ally, Earl Douglas. This war, as 
 described by Hume and Shakespeare, caused not 
 only much bloodshed, but occasioned singular alli- 
 ances between opposing parties. Hotspur, the brave 
 son of Northumberland, the most zealous adherent 
 of Henry IV., after defeating the King's enemies, 
 thought, as did his uncle Worcester and his father, 
 that owing to their great services to Henry they 
 should have more power than that sagacious Prince 
 was willing to grant to them. The discontent of 
 the older men is fully shared by the younger one, 
 and rouses him into fury, ife^not only refuses to 
 deliver up his prisoners to Henry, which, by his 
 allegiance, he was bound to do, 1 but quarrels with 
 the King because the latter would not "ransom home" 
 his captured brother-in-law, Edmund Mortimer. 2 
 
 1 Hume's " History." 
 
 '•' Mr. Staunton (notes to the " Illustrated Shakespeare ") states 
 that Hotspur was justified by the law of arms in retaining the 
 prisoners, but this may have been a disputed point. 
 
 296 
 
"First Parr of King Henry IV." 297 
 
 This man — Glendower's captive, and afterwards 
 son-in-law — Henry IV. dreads and distrusts, keeping 
 Mortimer's nephew, Lord March, in prison, knowing 
 their claims to the throne, both by legitimate descent 
 and-by the express wish of the late King. Amid 
 so much excitement and warfare, Henry's observant x^P 
 mind perceives the high qualities of his brave young 
 officer and future fog, Hotspur, who first perilled 
 his life in his cause, and soon after was ready to 
 risk it against him. v Henry sadly compares this 
 youthful hero to his own dissolute son, whom neither 
 his firm will, example, nor regal power can influence 
 in the least, cordially wishing he could exchange 
 his incorrigible heir for his brave young subject. 
 He evidently feels how thankful he should be could 
 he reckon upon Hotspur's courage, intelligence, and 
 devotion in a dutiful child, instead of in the son of 
 the ambitious, discontented Northumberland, who, 
 as Richard had foreseen, now expected, together 
 with his brother Worcester, an amount of power 
 in return for their services which probably no 
 mojiarch could safely grant. Hearing from West- 
 moreland of Hotspur's victories in his cause, Henry 
 exclaims : 
 
 ' Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin 
 In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
 Should be the father of so blest a son : 
 A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
 Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
 Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd 
 
298 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 • That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
 In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 
 And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine." 
 
 The formidable discontents of his former adherents 
 forced Henry to seek new friends in Lord West- 
 moreland, Sir W. Blunt, and others — and to postpone 
 his journey to the Holy Land, which, indeed, he 
 never made, being menaced with fresh revolts, now 
 headed by the Percy family, instead of by hereditary 
 opponents. The King has scarcely ceased admir- 
 ing Hotspur's bravery, however, when he complains 
 of his unruly conduct to Westmoreland, his cousin, 
 foreseeing the troubles that jnay yet arise__from 
 the powerful house of Percy, hitherto his ardent 
 supporters. — 
 
 " King Henry. What think you, coz', 
 
 Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners 
 Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd,. 
 To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
 I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. 
 
 Westmoreland. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
 Malevolent to you in all respects ; 
 Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 King Henry. But I have sent for him to answer this : 
 And for this cause, awhile we must neglect . 
 Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
 Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor : and so inform the lords ; 
 But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
 For more is to be said, and to be done, 
 Than out of anger can be uttered." 
 
 The second scene introduces^rrince Henry, with 
 his favourite associate, S[r John Falstaff, in a London 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 299 
 
 tavern. This witty old unscrupulous debauchee not 
 only amuses and influences the Prince of Wales, but 
 maintains a sort of ascendancy over his yet more 
 desperate companions — Poins, Peto, and Bardolph. 
 Although these fellows often ridicule his constant 
 boasting and alleged cowardice, he not only partici- 
 pates in all their pranks and robberies, but contrives 
 to obtain more profit and run less risk than any of 
 them. 1 (He is both their jester and chief instigator, 
 Prince Henry deriving an amusement from his wit, 
 joking, and effrontery not to be found in the rest of 
 the gang. Of his early history nothing is said by 
 himself or his associates. He appears in the play 
 as an old, very fat, white-bearded man ; when 
 hurried or fatigued, almost helpless, from his un- 
 wieldy corpulence. Yet his constant wit, fun, and 
 coarse gaiety make him as light-hearted as the Prince 
 himself, and infinitely more merry and diverting 
 than any of his roguish companions. He occupies 
 a sort of middle position between the Prince and 
 his comrades, for though they all laugh at him, he 
 is more familiar with Prince Henry than they are. 
 He is also supposed to have the most influence 
 over the heir apparent, while he is far less venturous, 
 if not less courageous, than any of his companions. 
 He never shows a really good quality from first to 
 last, being a compound of self-indulgence, falsehood, 
 
 1 [" Falstaff s effrontery is inimitable. He is neither a coward no r 
 courageous. He only asks which will pay best — righting or runnin g 
 ""away — and acts accordingly. He evidently had a reputation as a 
 soldier, and was a professed one ; was sought out, and got a com- 
 mission. '{ — Furnivall's Introduction to the "Royal Shakespeare." 
 

 
 300 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 licentiousness, and shameless roguery. He has 
 neither a friend nor a bitter enemy, nor apparently 
 does he wish to be either to any one. He knows 
 how to please the Prince, without either flattering 
 or coaxing ; while Poins, Peto, &c, satisfied to see 
 how their comrade amuses the Prince of Wales, 
 doubtless believe themselves all the more secure 
 from either justice or poverty. FalstafT, however, 
 often mentions the much-desired future, when his 
 "sweet wag, Hal," shall be King, and, in half-jest, 
 half-earnest, wishes to know how he and his friends 
 will then be considered and treated under the new 
 rdgime, when their young patron must be, of course, 
 at the head not only of the military and naval 
 forces, but also of the judicial power in the realm. 
 
 "Falstaff. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art King, let not 
 us that are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's 
 beauty ; let us be — Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, 
 minions of the moon : and let men say, we be men of good 
 government : being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste 
 mistress the moon, under whose countenance we — steal. 
 
 Prince Henry. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too : for 
 the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow 
 like the sea ; being governed as the sea is by the moon. As for 
 proof, now, a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday 
 night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning : got with 
 swearing — lay by ; and spent with crying — bring in : now, in as 
 low an ebb as the foot of the ladder ; and, by and by, in as high 
 a flow as the ridge of the gallows." 
 
 There is great cunning in these hints of Falstaff, but 
 
 ./Prince Henry, with a shrewdness not unworthy of his 
 
 cau tious father^ always evades the subject, usually 
 
 talking of present times with as much wild recklessness 
 
 as his knavish associates can wish, but preserving 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 301 
 
 a. steady silence about his and their own future 
 positions. Thus, throughout all their gay conversa- 
 tions from first to last, the Prince never makes Falstaff 
 or his friends the least promise of future favour, or 
 even protection, while diverting himself with their 
 wit and profligacy to the fullest extent. In this first 
 scene he asks Falstaff when they shall attempt their^ 
 next robbery; calls him and Poins "Jack" and 
 " Ned," and is called by the former " Hal," and "sweet 
 wag," in return. Poins, the boldest of the party, ^ 
 proposes, chiefly to amuse the Prince, to incite FalstafLv 
 and his comrades to waylay and rob some peaceful 
 travellers, who, he knows, will be on the high road 
 near Rochester early next morning ; and that after 
 this the Prince and he should despoil their associates, 
 though not apparently to repay the plundered people. 
 Henry eagerly agrees, and they first resolve to 
 amuse themselves at the expense both of the travellers 
 and of their own comrades. 
 
 When the Prince is alone, after Poins leaves him/*^; 
 he utters a remarkable soliloquy, which Shakespeare 
 introduces to explain the wonderful change which 
 really came over the wild young man in after life. 
 
 "Prince Henry. I. know you all, and will awhile uphold 
 The unyok'd humour of your idleness ; 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
 Who doth permit the base, contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
 
# 
 
 302 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
 And like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off." 
 
 From historical record, the change in him seems 
 to have been chiefly caused by the last words of 
 his father as well as by his altered position, when 
 monarch, immediately on hearing them. 1 | Yet though 
 constantly associating with Falstaff and his set, he 
 never shows the least shame or disgust either at their 
 licentious talk, profligacy, or dishonesty, all of which 
 he indeed encourages, by free participation or by 
 jeering applause.V Although his speech to himself 
 sounds grand — even noble — in Shakespeare's splendid 
 words, yet, when considered in relation both to his 
 conduct and position, it surely deserves neither praise 
 nor indulgence.* Satisfying his too easy conscience 
 by purposing reformation, \ he never considers the vile 
 example every hour of his life sets even to his younger 
 brothers — none of whom, happily, follow it — nor the 
 
 1 According to Hume, Henry IV., through jealousy, excluded his 
 heir from all share in public business, and " was even displeased to 
 see him at the head of armies, where his martial talents might prove 
 dangerous to his own authority. The active spirit of young Henry, 
 restrained from its proper exercise, broke out into extravagancies of 
 every kind . . . There even remains a tradition that, when heated 
 with liquor and jollity, he scrupled not to accompany his riotous 
 associates in attacking the passengers on the streets and highways, 
 and despoiling them of their goods, and he found an amusement in 
 the incidents which the; terror and regret of these defenceless people 
 produced on such occasions." — " History of England," chap. xix. 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 303 
 
 grief and shame, if not danger, which it causes to his 
 toil-worn father, to whose sense and energy he owes 
 alike his present position and high expectations. He 
 flatters himself that the more dissolute he now is the 
 more noble will his altered conduct make him appear 
 in future, forgetting that he might die at any moment, 
 leaving a reputation disgraceful and even dangerous 
 to his family and the nation. / 
 
 JPrince Henry, however, at this wild time of his life, 
 probably never felt the emotions ascribed to him. 
 All his conduct as recorded both in history and the 
 play proves that while Prince of Wales, without real 
 power, yet the certain heir to the crown, he indulged 
 his spirits and exuberant energies, which were checked 
 by his cautious father, in wild excess and with dissolute 
 companions. He fortunately, however, never seemed 
 to wish either his brothers or any of the young nobility 
 to join him in his wild way of life. He somehow 
 found out or was introduced to Falstaff, Poins, &c, 
 and, taking them as they were, threw himself headlong 
 into their society, talked like them, acted with them, 
 and lived chiefly among them, thus avoiding both his 
 father's friends and enemies. Doubtless had he, like 
 some heirs apparent, complained of his father's harsh- 
 ness or jealousy, he would soon have found many 
 dissatisfied, cunning statesmen ready and willing to 
 encourage his discontent and flatter his pride, for the 
 sake of possible future favour. Prince Henry does 
 nothing of the sort. Jrle leaves his father's Court and 
 council-chamber, entirely devoting his time and corn- 
 pany to a set of companions far too contemptible 
 
304 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and- despised to endanger the King's authority in 
 any way. 
 
 Yet both in history and in the play he showed, 
 even when a youth, great military talents, which the 
 formidable rebellions against his father soon called 
 into action ; (for the ne\t scene introduces the memor- 
 able and predicted quarrel between Henry IV. and 
 the Percy family— \the " ladder," as Richard II. called 
 them, by which he had ascended the throne. The 
 Earls of Worcester and Northumberland come before 
 him with their son and nephew, Hotspur. The King 
 sternly declares that henceforth he will make them 
 vjfear him, to which /Worcester bitterly replies that 
 owing to their assistance he is now on the throne. 
 The irritated King makes no reply, save by dismissing 
 Worcester instantly from his presence. 
 
 " Worcester. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
 And that same greatness too which our own hands 
 Have help to make so portly. 
 
 King Henry. Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see 
 Danger and disobedience in thine eye. 
 
 You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
 Your use and counsel we shall send for you." 
 
 ta Northumberland says little, being evidently confounded 
 at this breach between his family and the King, for 
 whom they had done so much. Hotspur, with the 
 
 y^rash boldness of his nature, now vindicates himself 
 "for withholding the prisoners. He sharply ridicules 
 the royal messenger who had demanded their sur- 
 render, and Henry, who hears his spirited speech, 
 perceives no sign of submission in it. 
 
 \ 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 305 
 
 " Hotspur. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd. 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 
 He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded 
 
 My prisoners, in your Majesty's behalf. 
 
 I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 
 
 To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 
 Answer' d neglectingly, I know not what ; 
 
 He should, or should not ; — for he made me mad, 
 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman 
 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark ! ) ; 
 
 . . . . And, but for these vile guns 
 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 
 This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 
 I answered indirectly, as I said ; 
 
 And, I beseech you, let not his report 
 
 Come current for an accusation, 
 
 Betwixt my love and your high Majesty." 
 
 Henry, irritated at his boldness, sternly refuses 
 Hotspur's previous request that his brother-in-law, 
 Mortimer, now Glendower's captive, should be 
 "ransomed home," in return for obtaining Hotspur's 
 prisoners. /Henry even accuses Mortimer of treasonw^) 
 against him, knowing the claims of his family to the 
 throne, although Mortimer was captured while fighting 
 in his service against GlendowerJ Hotspur instantly 
 and vehemently repudiates this charge of treason 
 against Mortimer, praising him highly, when the 
 incensed King forbids him ever to mention Mortimer 
 
 21 
 
306 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 again, thus revealing his secret fear of that personage, 
 and angrily leaves the apartment with his courtiers. 
 
 " King Henry. I shall never hold that man my friend 
 Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
 To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 
 
 Hotspur. Revolted Mortimer ! 
 He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
 But by the chance of war j — To prove that true 
 Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, 
 Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
 In single opposition, hand to hand, 
 He did confound the best part of an hour 
 In changing hardiment with great Glendower. 
 
 Never did base and rotten policy 
 
 Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
 
 Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
 
 Receive so many, and all willingly : 
 
 Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 
 
 King Henry. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost 
 belie him, 
 He never did encounter with Glendower. 
 
 Art thou not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
 
 Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
 
 Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 
 As will displease you. — My Lord Northumberland, 
 
 We license your departure with your son : — 
 
 Send us your prisoners or you'll hear of it. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry and train. 
 Hotspur. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
 I will not send them." 
 
 Northumberland and his son are now joined by- 
 Worcester. (These chiefs of the Percy family own how 
 different the reigning Henry IV. has become from the 
 disinherited invader Bolingbroke, whom they had so 
 zealously supported up to the present moment. On 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 307 
 
 the other hand, it might be said that no English King 
 could endure the dictation, or satisfy the demands, 
 of such ambitious subjects, with honour to himself or 
 safety to the realm. In this remarkable scene the 
 older men are calm, thoughtful, and sad — Northumber- 
 land especially ; while Hotspur denounces the King 
 with a vehemence which neither father nor uncle can 
 restrain, though they both attempt it. 
 
 " Hotspur. But shall it be that you, that set the crown 
 Upon the head of this forgetful man, 
 And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
 Of murd'rous subornation — shall it be, 
 That you a world of curses undergo ? 
 
 Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
 Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power 
 Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf — 
 As both of you, God pardon it ! have done — 
 To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
 And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, 
 That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
 By him for whom these shames ye underwent ? 
 No, yet time serves wherein you may redeem 
 Your banish'd honour and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again." 
 
 After thus blaming his father and uncle for having 
 deposed Richard and supported Bolingbroke — to 
 which reproach his saddened relatives listen for some 
 time in repentant silence — the fiery young man con- 
 tinues to abuse the King so eagerly that he cannot-^ 
 even listen to a new plot against him, which the crafty- 
 Worcester already devises. Northumberland urges 
 him to be patient, and hear his uncle, when his 
 
308 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 impatient son exclaims, alluding to Bolingbroke's 
 last words to him : 
 
 " He said he would not ransom Mortimer : 
 Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer." 
 
 Then in almost comic anger, yet in bold defiance and 
 quite sincerely, the impetuous Hotspur proceeds : 
 
 " But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
 And in his ear I'll holloa — ' Mortimer I ' 
 Nay, I'll have a starling shalt be taught to speak * 
 Nothing but ' Mortimer ' and give it him, 
 To keep his anger still in motion." 
 
 His uncle Worcester, after vainly trying to get the 
 passionate Hotspur to hear him, exclaims : 
 
 " Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you 
 When you are better temper'd to attend," 
 
 while his father, Northumberland, attempts to reason 
 with him, exclaiming truly : 
 
 " Why, what a wasp- stung and impatient fool 
 Art thou to break into this woman's mood, 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own " ; 
 
 while his son vehemently proceeds: 
 
 " Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, 
 Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
 Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
 In Richard's time — what do you call the place ? 
 
 ' Writing on the starling, Mr. Yarrell says : " The males are often 
 kept in confinement, where they learn to whistle tunes and imitate 
 some of the various sounds of the human voice with facility and 
 correctness" ("British Birds," vol. ii.). 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 309 
 
 A plague upon 't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; 
 
 'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept ; 
 
 His uncle York ; where I first bowed my knee 
 
 Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke — 's blood ! — 
 
 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 
 
 Northumberland. At Berkley Castle. 
 
 Hotspur. You say true : — 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
 Look — when his infant for time came to age, » •. 
 
 And, gentle Harry Percy — and, kind cousin — ^ 
 
 O, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me 1-=^, 
 Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done." 
 
 ( Worcester is now the most crafty, if not/the most 
 eager plotter, Hotspur being too angry to* talk about 
 anything coolly ; while Northumberland, once so 
 zealous and vehement, says little, and perhaps can 
 hardly yet fully realise the fact of this complete breach 
 between them and the Prince whom they have raised 
 to the throne. For their past conduct they are 
 reproached warmly, yet respectfully, by Hotspur, in 
 ardent language, which they cannot refute, and which 
 evidently produces its silent, yet powerful effect ; as 
 Worcester interrupts him with his plot against the 
 King, which his nephew is too excited to hear. When 
 he cools, he highly praises Worcester's plan of a future 
 insurrection ; while Northumberland agrees with them 
 only in a few words, being evidently overcome by 
 disappointment and regret. 
 •• The Percy family then part company, resolved 
 ^ upon declaring war against Henry and allying them- 
 selves with Glendower, Mortimer, Earl Douglas, and 
 the Archbishop of York, whose brother, Sir Stephen 
 Scroop, being lately executed for treason, joins the 
 
310 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 more eagerly in the plot against the King. The 
 fiery spirit of Hotspur, the craft of Worcester, and the 
 sad decision of the once active, zealous Northumber- 
 land, are strikingly contrasted in this important scene, 
 clearly indicating a coming storm. 
 
 "Worcester. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
 To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
 The King will always think him in our debt ; 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
 Till he hath found a time to pay us home. 
 And see already how he doth begin 
 To make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 
 Hotspur. He does, he does; we'll be revenged on him. 
 
 Worcester. Cousin, farewell ; — no further go in this 
 Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
 When time is ripe (which will be suddenly), 
 I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer ; 
 Where you and Douglas and our powers at once, 
 As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, 
 To bear our fortunes in our strong arms, 
 Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 
 
 Northumberland. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, 
 I trust. 
 
 Hotspur. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short, 
 Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport ! " 
 
 ^ Richard II.'s prediction is now fully verified, and 
 henceforth the King and his earliest adherents, the 
 Percies, are implacable and, indeed, mortal foes. 
 ^ Act 1 1. Changes to Rochester, where Prince Henry, 
 Falstaff, Poins, Gadshill, Peto and Bardolph meet 
 together. The Prince and Poins, by pre-arrangement, 
 conceal and disguise themselves, while Falstaff and 
 the others rob some luckless travellers, who make no 
 resistance, and the thieves' hope to divide the booty 
 among themselves. 
 
 i 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 3 1 1 
 
 When attacked, the poor travellers, probably un- 
 armed or helpless people, exclaim in real terror, though 
 their lives are in no danger : 
 
 " O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever," 
 
 and Falstaff, longing to plunder them, replies, pretend- 
 ing to frighten them and believing them to be rich : 
 
 " Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, 1 are ye undone ? No, ye fat chuffs, 
 I would your store were here ! On, bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ! 
 young men must live ; you are grandjurors are ye ? We'll jure ye, 
 i' faith ! " [Exeunt Falstaff, and others, driving them out. 
 
 The Prince, always amused with Falstaff, exclaims to 
 Poins, evidently enjoying the scene : 
 
 " The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I 
 rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for 
 a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever." 
 
 The Prince and Poins retire, when the thieves 
 re-enter. 
 
 " Falstaff. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse 
 before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, 
 there's no equity stirring : there's no more valour in that Poins than 
 in a wild-duck. 
 
 Prince Henry and Poins {rushing out upon them). Your 
 money ! 
 
 Poins. Villains ! 
 
 [They all run away, and Falstaff, after a bloiv 
 or two, runs away too, leaving the booty 
 behind them.] 
 Prince Henry. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse : 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 
 1 " Pot-bellied."— Staunton's notes. 
 
312 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along ; 
 Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! " 
 
 Thus while Falstaff and the others were about to share 
 
 their booty, the Prince and Poins, having far more 
 
 courage than the rest, attack them, and seize it. 
 
 Falstaff and the others, not knowing them, run off as 
 
 fast as the fat knight can, leaving the Prince and Poins 
 
 — te-enjoy the-success-oX-dieir. trick^ 
 
 t >W^ cl »The next scene is in Hotspur's castle, whence he 
 
 is actively corresponding with the other leaders of the 
 
 coming revolt. He hints that York secretly favours 
 
 his enterprise against the King, but this may not be 
 
 historically true. H otspur reads extracts from a let ter 
 
 Q of some prudent or timid ally x x making amusing, 
 
 angry comments which .well .display his impatient, 
 
 daring character : 
 
 "' The purpose you undertake is dangerous" Why, that's certain; 
 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink, but I tell you, my 
 lord fool, out of this nettle danger we pluck the flower safety. ' The 
 friends you have named uncertain ; the time itself unsorted, and your 
 whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition^ Say 
 you so ? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind. 
 ... By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our 
 friends true and constant, ... an excellent plot, very good friends ! 
 Why, my lord of York commends the plot. ... Is there not my 
 father, my uncle and myself? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of 
 York and Owen Glendower ? . . . What a pagan rascal is this ! 
 . . . Ha ! you shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart 
 will he to the King and lay open all our proceedings. . . . Hang 
 him ! let him tell the King. We are prepared ; I will set forward 
 to-night." 
 
 1 " Supposed to be the Earl of March." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 313 
 
 The leaders are his uncle Worcester, Glendower, and 
 Mortimer — who, though captured by Glendower, is 
 now his friend and son-in-law — aided by Earl Douglas 
 with some Scottish troops ; while Northumberland, 
 though favouring the revolt, does not take the field. 
 Hotspur's wife, Lady Percy, vainly tries to discover (® 
 her warlike husband's designs, but he gently, yet 
 firmly refuses to disclose them, being evidently uneasy 
 about his chance of success, though hisjntrepid nature 
 is incapable of fear. 
 
 " Lady Percy. V faith, 
 
 I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. 
 I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
 About his title ; and hath sent for you." 
 
 Hotspur persists in concealing his plans, at length 
 
 exclaiming :. 
 
 "But hark you, Kate ; 
 I must not have you henceforth question me 
 Whither I go, nor reason whereabout ; 
 Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
 This evening I must leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise ; but yet no further wise 
 Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are, 
 But yet a woman : and for secrecy, 
 No lady closer : for I well believe 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know." 
 
 He sets off to Wales immediately, his wife agreeing 
 to follow him next day, his high spirit and ardentrj) 
 mind being now devoted to the cause of the " down- 
 trod Mortimer," his brother-in-law, whose nephew, 
 Lord March, is a prisoner in the King's power. This 
 Prince had been named by Richard II. as his heir, 
 yet the Percies apparently never thought of his claims 
 
314 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 till their own quarrel with the King, whose usurpation 
 thev had so zealously supported^ 
 S^Atter this slight glance at the stirring history of 
 the times, Shakespeare describes fresh scenes in the 
 London tavern at Eastcheap, where are assembled 
 the Prince and his dissolute companions. The former 
 and Poins now expect much amusement from Falstaff 
 at being deserted, as he thinks, by them, and thereby 
 losing his booty, which he believes has been stolen 
 by some bolder thieves than those who compose 
 his gang. He accordingly enters the tavern where 
 they usually assemble, sulky and fretful, accusing 
 the Prince and Poins of deserting him and the others 
 m just as they had secured a rich prize. 
 
 " Falstaff. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too ! 
 marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. ... A plague of 
 all cowards, I say, still. 
 
 Prince Henry. Why, you round man, what's the matter ? 
 
 Falstaff. Are not you a coward ? answer me to that ; and 
 Poins there? 
 
 Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an' ye call me coward, by the 
 Lord, I'll stab thee. 
 
 Falstaff. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damned ere I call 
 thee coward : but I would give a thousand pound I could run as 
 fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you 
 care not who sees your back : Call you that backing of your friends? 
 A plague upon such backing ! give me them that will face me. 
 Give me a cup of sack : — I am a rogue if I drunk to-day. 
 
 Prince Henry. O, villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou 
 drunk'st last. 
 
 Falstaff. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still 
 say I." 
 
 In assumed ignorance, Prince Henry asks how he 
 lost the booty, and Falstaff invents a story, first of 
 two robbers attacking him, and, increasing the number, 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 315 
 
 as he apparently thinks himself believed, ends by- 
 declaring that not less than eleven men, in buckram 
 suits, seized the plunder he had just secured, and that 
 he had no chance against so many, though he slew 
 several before he ran for his life. These absurd lies 
 highly amuse the listeners, and even Falstaff is 
 evidently gratified, despite his disappointment, at 
 seeing; the Prince and his comrades so diverted at 
 such wonderful effrontery. The Prince, however,, 
 after hearing his version, tells the truth, confirmed ^ 
 by Poins, about his running away, jeeringly asking <? 
 what excuse he can now make for undeniable 
 cowardice. At this question, Falstaff, never taken 
 aback by any one, immediately declares that he knew 
 the Prince was one of his despoilers, and, of course, 
 never thought of resisting him, but loyally ran away. 
 
 " Prince Henry. Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you 
 down. — Then did we two set on you four : and with a word, out- 
 faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, and can show it you 
 here in the house : — and, Falstaff, you carried yourself away as 
 nimbly, and with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still 
 ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou to 
 hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and then say, it was in fight ! 
 What trick, what device, what starting- hole, canst thou now find 
 out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ? 
 
 Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack : What trick hast thou now ? 
 
 Falstaff. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as He that made ye. 
 Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for me to kill the heir apparent ? 
 Should I turn upon the true Prince ? Why, thou knowest I am as 
 valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct ; the lion will not touch 
 the true Prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I was a coward on 
 instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my 
 life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, lads, I 
 am glad you have the money. — Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch 
 to-night, pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all 
 
a 
 
 % 
 
 316 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall we be 
 merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? 
 
 Prince Henry. Content ; and the argument shall be, thy 
 running away. 
 
 Falstaff. Ah ! no more 0' that, Hal, an' thou lovest me." 
 
 In the midst of all this merriment, a messenger 
 comes from the Court, asking to see the Prince, who 
 sends Falstaff to speak to him, while he jests and 
 laughs with his companions about Sir John's boasting 
 and cowardice, he being their constant subject for 
 merriment, and occasional practical jokes. Falstaff 
 soon re-enters with political news about the sudden 
 rebellion of Worcester and Northumberland, who, 
 with Hotspur, are now allied with Douglas and 
 Glendower, against the King. Prince Henry, who is 
 brave as a lion, hears all this news, and also the likeli- 
 hood of his soon having to head the royal troops, 
 with perfect coolness, still amusing himself with 
 Falstaff, who now pretends to speak like the King, 
 and reproves the Prince, advising him to leave all 
 his wild companions except himself. The other 
 thieves say little, but probably watch this strange 
 scene with more interest than amusement. Prince 
 Henry then pretends to be his father, and censures 
 Falstaff — who, in turn, personates the Prince — for 
 associating with such an old sinner, on which the 
 old knight comically defends himself at the expense 
 of his less witty comrades, who hear all this perform- 
 ance without speaking. 
 
 " Prince Henry. Now, Harry ? whence come ye ? 
 Falstaff. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 317 
 
 Prince Henry. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. 
 
 Falstaff. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, I'll tickle ye 
 for a young prince, faith. 
 
 Prince Henry. Swearest thou, ungracious boy ? henceforth 
 ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace : 
 there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man. . . . 
 Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it ? wherein cunning, 
 but in craft ? wherein crafty, but in villainy ? wherein villainous, but 
 in all things ? wherein worthy, but in nothing ? 
 
 Falstaff. I would your grace would take me with you. Whom 
 mean your grace ? 
 
 Prince Henry. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, 
 Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 
 
 Falstaff. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 Prince Henry. I know thou dost. 
 
 Falstaff. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, 
 were to say more than I know. . . . No, my good lord ; banish 
 Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins ; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, 
 kind Tack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and 
 therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not 
 him thy Harry's company ; banish plump Jack, and banish all the 
 world." 
 
 Suddenly, however, they are all startled by the 
 entrance of Mrs. Quickly, their hostess, announcing/^ 
 that the sheriff and his men are at the door, meaning^ 
 to search the house, at which news Falstaff and the 
 others hide themselves, leaving the Prince and Peto 
 to receive the unwelcome official. The Prince hears 
 that he seeks a man of Falstaff's description, on 
 account of the late robbery near Rochester. Henry 
 equivocates by declaring that Falstaff is not there, 
 and thus prevents the house being searched. He 
 promises the sheriff, however, that he will send Sir 
 John to him next day, and meantime asks him to 
 depart, which he does, leaving the Prince and Peto 
 together, while Falstaff has fallen 
 
 " Fast asleep behind the arras." 
 

 
 318 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 They rifle his pockets, and laugh over the bills 
 which they find there ; after which the Prince, 
 thinking of graver matters, declares he will go to 
 the Court next day, for all must take part in the 
 coming civil war; that he will procure an infantry 
 command for Falstaff ; and that the stolen money 
 ♦must be returned to the claiming travellers.^ (Thus 
 ends this extraordinary scene, in which the heir to 
 the English Crown jests, laughs, and enjoys himself 
 with reckless, dissolute companions, encouraging all 
 their revelry by his presence and participation, but 
 without making to any of them the least promise of 
 future favour or even safety. Yet they must all know 
 that their liberties, if not their lives, are in constant 
 danger, even from the irregular and ill-administered 
 laws of the period. The Prince diverts his active 
 mind and restless spirit with these unworthy asso- 
 ciates, as if resolved not to trouble his jealous father 
 by interfering in public affairs, as the King, though 
 often regretting his wildness, never really allowed 
 him to assist in the government, j 
 
 The next scene introduces the insurgent leaders — 
 
 Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower. 
 
 These four, though in league against Henry IV., 
 
 .are none of them his equals in combined valour and 
 
 I politic wisdom. In personal courage Hotspur is 
 
 unsurpassed, but is too impetuous to be as formidable 
 
 as he would otherwise have been. Worcester is more 
 
 of a wily politician than a soldier. Edmund Mortimer 
 
 was more known as a warrior than as a statesman, 
 
 1 Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 319 
 
 while Owen Glendower, though brave, energetic, and 
 persevering, was unfitted for power over Englishmen, 
 of whom Hotspur was in many respects a fine 
 specimen. The Welsh chief somewhat resembled 
 the Celtic princes in Ossian's poems — fanciful and 
 superstitious, with absurd notions of his own super- 
 natural powers, derived from faithful adherents, and 
 imbibed from songs and local traditions. His ideas, --^ 
 therefore, are keenly ridiculed by the practical \J,' 
 Hotspur, as they would have been doubtless by many 
 of the youth of England, though perhaps not generally 
 with such blunt, even insolent impatience. 
 
 " Glendower. At my nativity, 
 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery cressets : and, at my birth, 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hotspur. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if 
 your mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been 
 born. 
 
 Glendower. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 
 
 Hotspur. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glendower. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. 
 
 Hotspur. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 
 Glendower. Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again — that at my birth, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary : 
 And all the courses of my life do show 
 I am not in the roll of common men. 
 
 Hotspur. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh : I will 
 to dinner. 
 
 Mortimer. Peace, cousin Percy : you will make him mad. 
 
 Glendower. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 

 320 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Hotspur. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
 But will they come when you do call for them ? 
 
 Glendower. Why, I can teach thee, cousin, to command 
 The devil. 
 
 Hotspur. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, 
 By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
 If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
 And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence. 
 O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil." 
 
 These singular allies soon quarrel about the 
 Q\ practical subject of territorial divisions in England 
 ^ and Wales between themselves, should they overcome 
 the existing government. Glendower, evidently used 
 to great respect, if not adulation, from his Welsh 
 followers, is irritated at Hotspur's contempt for him ; 
 while the latter despises the chieftain with all the 
 fiery scorn of his impetuous temper. The Welsh chief 
 proudly boasts, in answer to Hotspur's taunt, that he 
 cannot speak good English, of having been " trained 
 up" at Richard II.'s Court, which was historically 
 true, 1 and he was ever after devoted to the deposed 
 monarch. For, unlike Worcester and Northumber- 
 land, he had never acknowledged Henry IV.'s usur- 
 pation, being his consistent foe, but now finds himself 
 strangely allied with the new King's former adherents. 
 
 " Glendower. For I was train'd up in the English Court : 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
 A virtue that was never seen in you. 
 
 Hotspur. Marry, 
 
 And I'm glad of it with all my heart : 
 I had rather be a kitten and cry Mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers." 
 
 1 Staunton's notes to the " Illustrated Shakespeare." 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 321 
 
 Worcester and Mortimer, both less vehement than 
 the others, make peace between them ; while Glen- 
 dower's daughter, Lady Mortimer, and Hotspur's 
 wife, Lady Percy, Mortimer's sister, soothe and 
 entertain their anxious relatives with music, for which 
 the blunt, fiery Hotspur has neither taste nor talent. 
 
 The next scene describes an interview between ^ 
 
 Henry IV. and the Prince of Wales, in London, (M" 
 founded on fact, though expressed in Shakespeare's J)^. 
 noble language. Henry reproaches his son, more in \ 
 sorrow than in anger, about his habits, tastes, ancfij 
 society ; tells him that his younger brothers have to 
 take his place in the council, and frankly reveals how 
 he himself, when a young man about the Prince's 
 age, had acquired popularity throughout the nation. 
 Prince Henry, to calm his agitated father, promises 
 reformation, which, however, he does not intend at 
 present, Falstaffs society still having a charm for 
 him, and he never alters during his father's life. 
 The King, whose observant mind keenly examines 
 friends and foes, then tells his son that his conduct 
 reminds him of his reckless predecessor, Richard II. 
 It must have been peculiarly galling to this wise 
 sovereign to perceive, when in middle age and op- 
 pressed with endless cares, similar faults and follies > 
 in his own son, of which his superior mind had taken • 
 such advantage when triumphing over his former 
 rival. He seems, indeed, to apprehend in this re- 
 semblance a sort of retributive justice. 
 
 " King Henry. For all the world, 
 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, 
 22 
 
\ 
 
 322 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
 And even as I was then is Percy now. 
 Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
 Than thou the shadow of succession. 
 
 And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, 
 
 The Archbishop's Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 
 
 Capitulate against us, and are up. 
 
 But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 
 
 Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
 
 Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 
 
 Thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
 Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd 
 For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven 
 To punish my mistreadings." 
 
 While blaming and exhorting his son with all his 
 energy, he reveals no idea of attempting to effect his 
 disinheritance. Yet for this course he has many in- 
 ducements, his three other sons being all dutiful 
 contrasts to the eldest, never joining in his wild life, 
 but devoted to their father's interests and their own. 
 King Henry acknowledges the Prince's rights firmly, 
 though with anxiety, grief, and apprehension, as his 
 heir's faults are peculiarly difficult and painful for him 
 to deal with. 1 For the Prince never shows a mutinous 
 spirit against his father ; never encourages, by word 
 or deed, any disaffection — a course only too common 
 for heirs apparent to follow, as the troubled King well 
 knows. Henry, therefore, cannot reasonably suspect 
 
 1 "The King saw in his son's behaviour the same neglect of 
 decency, the same attachment to low company, which had degraded 
 the personal character of Richard II., and which, more than all 
 his errors in government, had tended to overturn his throne." — 
 Hume's "History," chap. xix. 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 323 
 
 him of treason or active enmity. It is the future 
 disgrace and misery of England which his son's con- 
 duct and character hitherto cause all men to appre- 
 hend, and which the courageous King dreads more 
 than any of his numerous and powerful foes. This 
 constant fear, indeed, both in history and the play, is a 
 greater affliction to the vigorous mind of Henry IV. 
 than any other grief, trial, or danger could have, been 
 to a spirit so firm and self-reliant. During thjs con- 
 versation, however, Prince Henry, roused by the 
 exciting perils of the time, and really inheriting all the 
 martial spirit of his family, satisfies and even gratifies , 
 his father more than he had ever done. The idea of- 
 warfare, i ndeed , both in his youth and prime, surpassed 
 all other attractions for Henry. In times of peace, 
 his reckless love of dissipation resembled that of his 
 remote successor, Charles II., though, whereas the 
 latter revelled and jested among profligate courtiers- 
 and ladies of ennobled rank, Prince Henry preferred 
 the society of a witty rogue like Falstaff, and coarse, 
 boasting desperadoes like Poins, Peto, &c. War, - 
 however, diverted hinLironLall^such company , for a 
 short time, even while Prince of Wales, but perman- 
 ently when King: of England. On this occasion, he 
 again promises his father not only reformation, but 
 active assistance, the King believing what he says, and 
 trusting that the promised change may be permanent. 
 The father and son, now quite agreed, decide upon 
 the plan of the campaign, and are for a time sincerely 
 reconciled, owing chiefly to the common danger which 
 besets them. 
 
324 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The next scene reverts to Mrs. Quickly's Boar's 
 'Y^ Head Tavern, where Falstaff declares he has lost his 
 u purse, upon which the hostess reproaches him for not 
 
 l v jonly slandering her house, but owing her money. 
 
 "Hostess. The tithe of a hair was never lost in my house 
 before. 
 
 Falstaff. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost 
 many a hair : and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked : go to, you 
 are a woman, go. 
 
 Hostess. Who, I ? I defy thee : I was never called so in mine 
 own house before. 
 
 Falstaff. Go to, I know you well enough. 
 
 Hostess. No, Sir John ; you do not know me, Sir John : I 
 know you, Sir John ; you owe me money, Sir John, and now you 
 pick a quarrel to beguile me of it : I bought a dozen shirts to 
 your back. 
 
 Falstaff. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them away to 
 bakers' wives, and they have made bolters • of them. 
 
 Hostess. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings 
 an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and 
 by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pounds. 
 
 Falstaff. He [Bardolph] had his part of it, let him pay. 
 
 Hostess. He ? alas, he is poor ! he hath nothing. 
 
 Falstaff. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; what call you 
 rich ? let him coin his nose, let him coin his cheeks ; I'll not pay 
 a denier." 
 
 This woman constantly quarrels with Falstaff, who 
 usually gets the best of the argument. Their lan- 
 guage, like that of Poins, Peto, &c, is alike coarse 
 and odious, when not relieved by Falstaffs extraordi- 
 nary wit, cunning, and quaint remarks. It is he whose 
 influence over, or rather attraction for, the Prince 
 maintains this anything but respectable party in the 
 tavern ; for Mrs. Quickly, though distrusting them all, 
 and equally scorned by them in return, is naturally 
 
 1 Bolters are sieves, nothing could better express the coarseness 
 of their texture. — Staunton's notes. 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 325 
 
 proud of the Prince's patronising presence, and, while 
 often disputing with Falstaff, has no wish to lose him 
 or any of the party as customers in her premises. 
 The Prince hears all their quarrelling and joking 
 with evident amusement, his presence always pre- 
 venting any actual violence among them, which would 
 otherwise have probably occurred. 
 
 " Prince Henry. What didst thou lose, Jack? 
 
 Falstaff. Wilt thou believe me, Hal ? three or four bonds of 
 forty pounds apiece, and a seal of my grandfather's. 
 
 Prince Henry. A trifle, some eightpenny matter. 
 
 Hostess. So I told him, my lord ; and I said I heard your grace 
 say so : and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul- 
 mouthed man as he is ; and said he would cudgel you. 
 
 Prince Henry. What ! he did not ? 
 
 Hostess. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me 
 else. 
 
 Falstaff. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune ; 
 nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn fox." 
 
 The Prince never brings either a courtier or servant 
 with him to this tavern, but mingles with these coarse, 
 disreputable rogues, male and female, on strange 
 terms of contemptuous familiarity. They probably 
 deem themselves safe, at least during his life, from 
 any severe legal penalty ; while he prefers their coarse 
 jests and habits to all the gaiety, pleasure, or dissipa- 
 tion of the Court. He tells Falstaff, before Mrs/£\ 
 Quickly, that he himself had searched his pockets, 
 and found nothing but tavern reckonings, and having 
 pacified and sent off the hostess, informs Sir John 
 that he has got a military command for him in the 
 ensuing campaign. Falstaff, though now an idle volup- 
 tuary, has been, and still is, a soldier. He enjoys 
 
326 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 ease in time of peace, yet jests and cheers both himself 
 and others in the present time of impending danger. 
 
 " Falstaff. Now, Hal, to the news at Court : for the robbery, 
 lad — how is that answered ? 
 
 Prince Henry. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to 
 thee : — the money is paid back again. 
 
 Falstaff. I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. 
 
 Prince Henry. I am good friends with my father, and may do 
 anything. 
 
 Falstaff. Rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou dost, and 
 do it with unwashed hands too. 1 
 
 Bardolph. Do, my lord. 
 
 Prince Henry. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. 
 
 Falstaff. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find 
 one that can steal well ? O, for a fine thief, of two and twenty, or 
 thereabouts ! " 
 
 , . Prince Henry also presses Poins, Bardolph, and all 
 \/)his associates to enter the royal army, and they 
 prepare to leave London for a campaign against the 
 insurgents. 
 
 Act IV. introduces Hotspur, Worcester, and their 
 V^ Scottish ally, Douglas, in their camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Letters are brought to Hotspur from his father, the 
 crafty Northumberland, who is now ill, or feigns to be 
 so, while fully approving his son's enterprise, and 
 wishing all success to the rebellion. They do not, 
 however, at present proclaim another King, but inveigh 
 bitterly against Henry IV.'s ingratitude and hostility 
 to those who had " helped him to the throne." 
 Shakespeare seems to follow history closely in these 
 particulars, ascribing to King, royalists, and insurgents 
 the ideas which their conduct revealed, though ex- 
 
 1 Do it without repentance, without " that paying back." — 
 Staunton's notes. 
 
"First Part of King Henry IV." 327 
 
 pressed in his own grand language. 1 Hotspur, though 
 loving his father, hears of his illness with impatience, 
 if not incredulity, exclaiming : 
 
 " Hath he leisure to be sick now ? " 
 
 while the plotting Worcester much regrets his brother's 
 absence ; but the fiery Douglas agrees with Hotspur 
 in wishing to engage the foe at once. 
 
 Sir Richard Vernon, an ally and cousin of Hotspur's, 
 now announces that part of the royal army approaches, 
 commanded by Henry IV. 's younger son, Prince John 
 of Lancaster, and the remainder, headed by the King 
 and Prince of Wales, are following. He gives a fine 
 martial description of the wild Prince, whom Hotspur 
 mentions with natural contempt, as " the mad-cap 
 prince," but whom he now longs to engage in single 
 combat. 
 
 " Vernon. I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
 His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, 
 Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 
 4 
 
 1 "The obligations which Henry IV. had owed to Northumber- 
 land were of a kind the most likely to produce ingratitude on the 
 one side and discontent on the other. The sovereign naturally 
 became jealous of that power which had advanced him to the 
 throne, and the subject was not easily satisfied in the returns which 
 he thought so great a favour merited. The impatient spirit of Henry 
 Percy, and the factious disposition of Worcester, younger brother of 
 Northumberland, inflamed the discontents of that nobleman. He 
 entered into a correspondence with Glendower. He made an 
 alliance with the Earl of Douglas. He roused up all his partisans 
 to arms, and such unlimited authority at that time belonged to the 
 great families that the same men whom, a few years before, he had 
 conducted against Richard II. now followed his standard against 
 Henry." — Hume's " History," vol. ii. 
 
328 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat 
 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship, 
 
 Hotspur. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in 
 March, 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come. 
 
 I am on fire, 
 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 
 
 And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse, 
 
 Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales : 
 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. 
 
 O that Glendower were come." 
 
 Neither Glendower, with his Welshmen, nor North- 
 umberland have yet joined Hotspur, Worcester, and 
 Douglas ; but these three leaders — one cautious and 
 reluctant, the others bold and impetuous — resolve to 
 •isk a battle without their allies. 
 )Q) The next scene introduces Falstaff and Bardolph, 
 the former styled a captain, now in marching order, 
 with the royal army, Sir John having enlisted some 
 miserable recruits, whom he describes and ridicules, 
 first to himself, and then to Prince Henry, who, with 
 Westmoreland, are surprised to see such followers. 
 
 " Falstaff. There's but a shirt and a half in all my company ; 
 and the half shirt is two napkins tied together, and thrown over the 
 shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves ; and the shirt, to say 
 the truth, stolen from my host at St. Alban's, or the red-nosed inn- 
 keeper at Daventry : but that's all one ; they'll find linen enough on 
 every hedge. 
 
 [Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland.] 
 
 Prince Henry. Tell me, Jack; what fellows are these that 
 come after? 
 
 Falstaff. Mine, Hal, mine. 
 
 Prince Henry. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 
 
 Falstaff. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss : food for powder, 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 329 
 
 food for powder ; they'll fill a pit as well as better ; tush, man, 
 mortal men, mortal men." 
 
 Had any other officer enlisted them, he might have 
 been severely reprimanded ; but Falstaff is evidently a 
 standing joke with the Prince, and no one censures 
 him, though Westmoreland expresses some discontent. 
 Falstaff hears him with witty contempt, while Prince 
 Henry, after jesting with his old favourite, announces 
 that Hotspur is already in the field, which Falstaff 
 hears without dismay, though certainly preferring 
 his former times of peace in the Boar's Head 
 •Tavern. 
 
 / After this fanciful comic scene, Shakespeare reverts 
 jM> history, again describing Hotspur, Worcester, and.—, 
 ., Douglas in the camp at Shrewsbury, resolved to fight ^^ 
 / the royal forces immediately, when Sir Walter Blunt c3^ 
 arrives as a messenger from the King, to ask the 
 cause of their sudden rebellion, while acknowledging; 
 their previous services to his cause. Hotspur replies£jT) 
 with angry complaints of Henry IV. 's ingratitude, in 
 words which doubtless express his father's and uncle's 
 feelings, as well as his own. 
 
 " Hotspur. The King is kind ; and, well we know, the King 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father, and my uncle, and myself, 
 Did give him that same royalty he wears : 
 And, when he was not six and twenty strong, 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, 
 My father gave him welcome to the shore. 
 
 In short time after, he depos'd the King ; 
 
/ 
 
 33o Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ; 
 And, in the neck of that, task'd * the whole state : 
 To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March 
 (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, > 
 Indeed, his King) to be engag'd in Wales, 
 There without ransom to be forfeited : 
 Disgrac'd me in my happy victories ; 
 Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 
 In rage dismiss'd my father from the Court ; 
 Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong : 
 And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
 This head of safety ; and, withal to pry 
 Into his title, the which we find 
 Too indirect for long continuance." 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt returns to the royal camp, having ' 
 heard this answer ; but Hotspur has not yet decided 
 y\) upon actual battle, and suggests an interview between 
 the King- and his uncle Worcester before an eng-age- 
 i ment. With this proposal Blunt returns to the King, 
 and the next scene is in York, at Archbishop Scroop's 
 palace. This prelate — brother to Lord Wiltshire, 
 Richard II. 's adherent, who was executed, like Bushy 
 and Green, by the new government — was the deter- 
 mined foe of Henry IV. Evidently a man of great 
 resolution and energy, though, of course, no warrior, 
 he actively co-operates with Northumberland and the 
 other malcontents. How far his political conduct was 
 approved by the Pope or the English clergy does not 
 appear in history. He seems, however, to have been 
 the only prelate who actually took the field against 
 the reigning King, though others, like the Bishop of 
 Carlisle, who had opposed Henry's usurpation in 
 Richard's lifetime, probably wished him dethroned, 
 
 1 Taxed. 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 331 
 
 and the house of Mortimer in his place. At present 
 the Archbishop is merely corresponding with the 
 other insurgent leaders, using all his influence on their 
 behalf, though later he himself took the field, and 
 was among the most resolute and determined of the 
 King's foes. 
 
 Act V- describes the King, with the Princes Henry 
 ^aiid John of Lancaster, and their officers, including 
 Falstaff, at the royal camp, near Shrewsbury. It is 
 here that Henry IV. receives Lord Worcester and 
 Sir Richard Vernon, who come to discuss terms, CV 
 and sternly reproaches Worcester for heading this 
 rebellion against him. 
 
 " King Henry. How now, my Lord of Worcester ? 'tis not well, 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet : You have deceiv'd our trust ; 
 And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
 What say you to it ? will you again unknit 
 This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? 
 And move in that obedient orb again, 
 Where you did give a fair and natural light ? 
 
 Worcester. It pleas'd your majesty to turn your looks 
 Of favour from myself, and all our house ; 
 And yet I must remember you, my lord, 
 We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
 For you, my staff of office did I break 
 In Richard's time ; and posted day and night, 
 To meet you in the way, and kiss your hand. 
 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son 
 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 
 The danger of the time." 
 
 Worcester, who was among the first to desert Richard 
 and join Henry's standard, while his brother Northum- 
 
332 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 berland headed the English nobility in placing him on 
 the throne, is now before him, an avowed enemy, in 
 armed rebellion against his authority. .He therefore 
 makes bitter complaints in reply to the King's reproach, 
 though less vehement than those of his nephew 
 Hotspur, about Henry's ingratitude to his family, 
 and his arbitrary conduct generally. The offended 
 King and the equally offended subject upbraid each 
 j other, when Prince Henry, addressing Worcester, 
 
 (^stends his personal challenge to Hotspur, whom he 
 longs to encounter in single fight. After this defiant 
 message, the King dismisses Worcester, promising, 
 
 /^however, free pardon, and even hope of favour, to all 
 sV-' in arms, without exception, if they return to their 
 
 s allegiance. 
 fy Worcester and Vernon then return, and in the next 
 scene the former declares that he will not tell his 
 
 I nephew Hotspur of the King's offer of peace, which he 
 himself admits to be 
 
 " Liberal and kind." 
 
 Vernon regrets his resolution, but Worcester, ever sus- 
 picious and crafty, fancies Henry will never really par- 
 don his family*, and that no peace with him is therefore 
 desirable. . He resolves to conceal the King's offer of 
 terms from Hotspur, which, as Shakespeare represents, 
 was a dishonourable act ; but it seems rather doubtful 
 what Worcester's real conduct was on this important 
 occasion. 1 ^He therefore invents a proud, insulting 
 
 1 Mr. Staunton says that Henry IV. and Hotspur might have made 
 peace, and avoided the battle, but that Worcester, who had an inter- 
 
 A 
 
\ 
 
 " First Part of King Henry IV." 333 
 
 reply from the King, while Vernon reports the Prince's 
 challenge to Hotspur, who, with the warlike Douglas, 
 now longs for a battle. They then prepare for a 
 resolute encounter ; the royal forces attack them, and 
 the contest rages for some time with desperate fury. 1 
 In reality, the brave Hotspur was slain "by an 
 unknown hand," but Shakespeare invents a personal 
 encounter between him and Prince Henry, who slays 
 him in presence of Falstaff. 
 
 He then describes a succession of single combats, -,, 
 in one of which the Prince puts Earl Douglas to flight, [/ ) 
 who had attacked the King. This seems a strange 
 idea, for Douglas's bravery was owned by all, even by 
 Shakespeare, who yet makes him fly from an encounter 
 with the Prince of Wales. The Scottish Earl, however, 
 soon reappears. He longs to slay the King, and has 
 already killed some brave warriors who personate 
 Henry IV. in the field, to ensure that monarch's 
 safety, when he encounters Falstaff, who, falling down, 
 feigns to be dead, thereby not only deceiving his foe, 
 
 view with the King at his nephew's request, " so misinterpreted the 
 conversation between them " that war was inevitable (notes to the 
 " Illustrated Shakespeare "). Worcester's duplicity in this case is not 
 recorded by Hume, though it is not unlikely, under the circumstances, 
 considering the mutual distrust between him and the King. 
 
 1 " We shall scarcely find any battle in those ages where the shock 
 was more terrible and more constant. Henry exposed his person in 
 the thickest of the fight. His gallant son, Prince Henry, whose 
 military achievements were afterwards so renowned, and who here 
 performed his noviciate in arms, signalised himself on his father's 
 footsteps. Percy [Hotspur] supported that fame which he had 
 acquired in many a bloody combat. Earl Douglas performed feats 
 of valour which are almost incredible. He seemed determined that 
 the King of England should fall by his arm ; he sought him all over 
 the field of battle." — Hume's " History," vol. ii., chap, xviii. 
 
334 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 who immediately leaves him, but also Prince Henry, 
 who expresses real sorrow at seeing, as he thinks, the 
 dead body of his amusing old companion. 
 
 " Prince Henry. What ! old acquaintance ; could not all this 
 flesh 
 Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 I could have better spared a better man. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
 Though many dearer, in this bloody fray : — 
 EmbowelPd will I see thee by and by : 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 
 Falstaff {rising slowly). Embowell'd ! if thou embowel me to- 
 day, I'll give you leave to powder me and eat me too to-morrow. 
 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had 
 paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit ? I lie, I am no counter- 
 feit : for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of 
 a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be 
 no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The 
 better part of valour is discretion ; in the which better part I have 
 saved my life." 
 
 FalstafT's comic wit on this occasion, and, indeed, all 
 he says and does throughout, present a most comic, 
 cheerful contrast to the tremendous events, as well as 
 to the many heroic characters, amid which this witty 
 old profligate is so strangely involved. No one 
 resembles him at all ; he has apparently no relative, 
 intimate friend, or connection of any kind. He is 
 thus a puzzle to every one, patronised by Prince 
 Henry, and wondered at by his own companions, but 
 evidently not acquainted with the other young princes. 
 When the Prince leaves him, Falstaff takes up the 
 rVbody of the gallant Hotspur, after stabbing it, to make 
 sure that his noble burthen is really lifeless, and 
 intends declaring himself his slayer, when the royal 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 335 
 
 brothers Henry and John of Lancaster meet him. 
 Falstaff, alone before these young men, thinks he can 
 / say what he likes, and boldly declares that he has slain 
 Hotspur, while Prince Henry steadily maintains that 
 he himself has killed him. 
 
 " Falstaff. There is Percy : if your father will do me any honour, 
 so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either 
 earl or duke, I can assure you. 
 
 •Prince Henry. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
 dead. 
 
 Falstaff. Didst thou ? — Lord, Lord, how this world is given to 
 lying ! — I grant you I was down, and out of breath : and so was he : 
 but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury 
 clock. 
 
 Prince John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 
 
 Prince Henry. This is the strangest fellow, brother John." 
 
 His grave, practical younger brother never laughs at 
 Falstaff or his jokes. He resembles his politic father 
 in caution, but, though equally brave, is his inferior \ 
 both in shrewdness and knowledge of character. ' ' 
 Prince Henry, never angry with Falstaff, hears his 
 
 \ falsehoods with the utmost good humour, and departs 
 with his brother, bidding Falstaff follow with Hotspur's 
 body. 
 
 jL^^The last scene describes Henry IV., with his sons 
 Henry and John, surrounded by ministers and generals, 
 while his captured foes, Worcester and Vernon, are 
 brought before him. Earl Douglas was also captured© 
 and liberated, not being an English subject ; but the 
 King has somehow discovered Worcester's deceit in not p 
 conveying his offers of peace, and, after reproaching ^ 
 him for his conduct, sentences him and Vernon to 
 execution. In sentencing them as rebels, the new 
 
336 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 King, only made so himself by rebellion, has no wish 
 to see his own successful example followed, and rather 
 strangely exclaims, considering his present position 
 and history : 
 
 " Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke." 
 
 Except these, no prisoners were executed, though 
 Henry had many captives ; and, considering the 
 harsh laws and fierce spirit of the time, it is 
 evident that the King was thought to have made 
 a m^jxifilLuse^of his triumph. 1 
 
 The battle of Srn^wsburyends the first part of this 
 play, but the rebellion or civil war is not yet over, 
 though this crushing defeat has destroyed all hope of 
 its success. The harassed King, who, alike before 
 and after his accession to the throne, was beset with 
 enemies and dangers, prepares resolutely to continue 
 the struggle till all opposition is over. The Welsh 
 chief Glendower, the Archbishop of York, North- 
 umberland, and some other noblemen still defy his 
 authority, though Glendower is the only man among 
 them of much military genius or experience. Yet the 
 wealth, high position, and craft of Northumberland, 
 and the Archbishop's influence, rendered them rather 
 formidable ; while Glendower, in the Welsh mountains, 
 though more inaccessible, was perhaps less likely to 
 rouse other English subjects against the government. 
 The King has now his sons to depend on, having lived 
 to see his most zealous adherents become his mortal 
 foes. Prince Henry, when once amid the excitement 
 
 1 Hume's " History." 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 337 
 
 of warfare, assists his father to the utmost, and for a 
 time seems a different man from the dissipated " sweet 
 wag, Hal," in the Boar's Head Tavern ; while 
 Prince John, whose remarkable character is more 
 developed in the second part of this divided play, 
 firmly supports his family's interests with the steady 
 consistency of his resolute spirit. 
 
 In this play Hotspur is the chief hero. He appears 
 in " Richard II." as a spirited, promising youth. He 
 is here, in early manhood, the pride of the English 
 nation, as even the King admits, and the hope and 
 glory of his distinguished family. Unfortunately for 
 them, however, his impetuous spirit and eager appeals 
 incline both his admiring father and uncle to follow his 
 guidance in open rebellion, whereas those shrewd old 
 statesmen, though angry with the King, might never 
 have declared open war but for their fiery young 
 relative, whose high courage and great popularity 
 doubtless inspired them with reasonable hopes of 
 success. It appears from both history and the play, 
 however, that peace might have been made, and the 
 Shrewsbury battle avoided, had not Worcester's 
 duplicity, or, rather, deep distrust of the King, made 
 him doubtful, if not of pardon, at least of any future 
 favour or benefit to himself and his family. 1 For 
 
 1 "No house had played a greater part in the overthrow of 
 Richard II., or had been more richly rewarded by the new King. 
 But old grudges existed between the house of Percy and the house 
 of Lancaster. Northumberland had been at bitter variance with 
 John of Gaunt, and, though a common dread of Richard's enmity 
 had thrown the Percies and Henry together, the new King and his 
 powerful subjects were soon parted again." — Green's " History of the 
 English People," chap. v. 
 
 23 
 
338 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Henry IV., despite his many great qualities, seems not 
 \to have possessed much power of conciliation. It was 
 his fate, during an eventful career, to make mortal 
 \^ enemies of nearly all his most distinguished subjects. 
 The end of "Richard II." left Henry rewarding 
 the Percy family for defeating or executing Lords 
 Salisbury, Spencer, and others, in his behalf; and 
 the end of this play leaves him ordering the execution 
 of his former adherents, Worcester and Vernon, after 
 slaying their relative Hotspur, and also preparing for 
 a final campaign against Northumberland and the 
 Archbishop of York, now his implacable foes. In 
 these proceedings, the dramatic description is sup- 
 ported in all chief events by historical record. 1 It 
 does not seem, however, very clear, either in the play 
 or in history, what new government these distinguished 
 insurgents really wished to establish, though their 
 desire to dethrone the King is sufficiently evident. 
 The imprisoned young Earl of March and his uncle, 
 Sir Edmund Mortimer, who remained with the chief 
 Glendower, had prior claims to the crown, but neither 
 seems to have been proclaimed King by the insur- 
 gents, nor was the formal deposition of Henry IV. 
 publicly advocated or proposed. 2 
 
 This civil war or rebellion apparently first arose 
 
 f Hume's " History." 
 
 * " Henry Percy [Hotspur] became the centre of a great con- 
 spiracy to place the' Earl of March upon the throne. His father 
 Northumberland and his uncle Worcester joined in the plot. Sir 
 Edmund Mortimer negotiated for aid from Glendower. Earl 
 Douglas threw in his fortunes with the confederates." — Green's 
 " History of the English People," chap. v. Still there seems to have 
 
" First Part of King Henry IV." 339 
 
 chiefly from the great irritation and disappointment of 
 the new King's former adherents, who allied themselves 
 with Glendower and Sir Edmund Mortimer, and, had 
 they succeeded, would doubtless have deposed Henry, 
 and crowned Mortimer or his nephew March, for 
 which, indeed, they had the sanction of the late 
 King Richard, who had named the latter his heir. 1 
 King Henry was now in middle age, supported by 
 brave and loyal sons. He was far less dependent 
 than before on either ambitious statesmen or warriors 
 to secure the stability of his throne. The end of this 
 play, therefore, leaves the sagacious King and his war- 
 like sons in complete triumph — more united, indeed, 
 during warfare than in peace, and though still opposed 
 by some influential subjects, yet with every prospect 
 of success before them. 
 
 been no actual proclamation of young March as King by the rebel 
 leaders, though they doubtless intended to make him so. 
 
 1 " Henry IV. detained Lord March in honourable custody at 
 Windsor Castle, but he had reason to dread that, in proportion as 
 that nobleman grew to man's estate, he would draw to him the 
 attachment of the people, and make them reflect on the fraud, 
 violence, and injustice by which he had been excluded from the 
 throne." — Hume's "History," chap, xviii. 
 
 . 
 
 I 
 
V — continued 
 "SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV." 
 
 AT this exciting period in England, when there 
 were no newspapers, it was indeed a time - 
 for rumours of all sorts to spread uncontradicted. 
 Shakespeare therefore makes the spirit of Rumour 
 appear before Northumberland's castle at Warkworth. 
 This nobleman being more of a statesman than a 
 soldier, excuses himself from taking the field, while 
 carefully watching events. Rumour is here supposed 
 to address a listening world : 
 
 " Open your ears, for which of you will stop 
 The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks ? 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth, 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
 The which in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity 
 Under the smile of safety wounds the world." 
 
 Contradictory news is brought Northumberland by 
 his adherents, Morton and Travers, first of his son's 
 victory, then of his defeat and death. The old Earl 
 
 34° 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 341 
 
 is at first incredulous, but, when convinced of the 
 fatal news, he utters almost frantic language of 
 defiance against the King. 
 
 " Morton. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet : 
 But, for my lord your son 
 
 Northumberland. Why, he is dead. 
 
 See what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
 He that but fears the thing he would not know, 
 Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, 
 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton ; 
 Tell thou thy Earl his divination lies. 
 
 Morton. You are too great to be by me gainsaid : 
 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
 
 Northumberland. For this I shall have time enough to mourn, 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news, 
 Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well. 
 .... Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch ; 
 A scaly gaun' r let now, with joints of steel, 
 Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly coif, 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 Now bind my brows with iron : and approach 
 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, 
 To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland ! " 
 
 He is now placed in an extraordinary position, and, 
 once Henry IV.'s chief adherent, has become his chief 
 enemy. His son and brother are slain and captured 
 by that monarch — the former killed in battle, the 
 latter sentenced to perish on the scaffold, and he 
 himself is almost sure to be exposed to either the one 
 fate or the other. His personal hatred to the King, 
 therefore, probably exceeds that of any other foe. 
 But Northumberland is both old and careworn. His 
 brave son was evidently the hope, as well as the pride 
 
3^2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 of his advanced age. 1 He at this moment alone 
 represents the Percy family, now menaced with ruin 
 and extirpation. He soon hears from Morton and 
 Travers that his son's ally, the Archbishop, is in the 
 field, striving to give the checked, yet not quelled, 
 rebellion the character of a holy war. 2 Yet Henry, 
 when known as Bolingbroke, was most popular, and 
 apparently encouraged by the nation generally in his 
 aspiration to the throne. His celebrated triumphal 
 procession through London, leading Richard captive 
 amid enthusiastic applause, together with his first 
 unopposed triumph over the King's forces, proved 
 that his accession was generally expected and de- 
 sired. But Archbishop Scroop was evidently a man 
 of high courage, and his hatred to Henry, owing to 
 his brother Lord Wiltshire's execution, was more 
 consistent, if less vehement, than the sudden ani- 
 mosity of Northumberland against that monarch. 
 Shakespeare mentions, probably from some tradition, 
 that this prelate had even shown Richard II.'s blood 
 
 1 Hume states that Northumberland submitted to the King, and 
 was pardoned, after Hotspur's death — which Shakespeare does not 
 state — but that he again rose in rebellion, and joined the Archbishop 
 of York and Lord Nottingham, who, " though they had remained 
 quiet while Henry Percy was in the field, still hated the King, and 
 determined, with Northumberland, to seek revenge against him " 
 (chap, xviii.). 
 
 2 Hume states that when the English people calmly reflected on 
 the many illegal acts which attended Henry IV.'s accession, the 
 deposition and suspected murder of Richard II., and the imprison- 
 ment of Lord March, the heir to the crown, "These enormities 
 sanctified all the rebellions against him, and made the executions, 
 though not remarkably severe, which he found necessary for the 
 maintenance of his authority, appear cruel as well as iniquitous to 
 the people " (chap, xviii.). 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 343 
 
 to the people to excite them all the more against his 
 reigning foe. For Morton tells Northumberland : 
 
 " The gentle Archbishop of York is up 
 With well-appointed powers ; he is a man 
 Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
 
 Turns insurrection to religion : 
 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, 
 
 He is follow'd both with body and with mind ; 
 
 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
 
 Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones." 
 
 Northumberland, whose energy, pride, and anger, 
 all of them thoroughly aroused, struggle against the 
 depressing effects of age and grief, resolves to join 
 the Archbishop in a last desperate attempt against 
 the new King, whom he was the first to make such, 
 yet to whom he now attributes the ruin of his family. 
 The next scene is in London, where Sir John 
 Falstaff has returned, in evident high spirits, after 
 his campaign, in which, if not very distinguished, he 
 certainly suffered from no bodily injury or mental 
 sorrow. He returns to town all the prouder, if not 
 the richer, for he speaks of new satin for his cloak, 
 though the tailor naturally tells his servant-lad that he 
 must have better security than that of his roguish 
 comrade Bardolph. While Falstaff is walking 
 through the streets of London, and railing at this 
 disobliging tailor, he is addressed by Chief Justice 
 Gascoigne, who knows him well, and grieves at his 
 influence over the Prince of Wales. This man was 
 the celebrated judge who, on a former occasion, had 
 
344 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 sent the wild Prince to prison for assaulting or 
 threatening him when trying one of his riotous 
 companions. This very short imprisonment of the 
 heir apparent caused immense sensation at the time, 
 and has been much noticed in subsequent history ; 
 yet, considering the Prince's lawless and even out- 
 rageous conduct, in robbing, or encouraging others 
 to rob, his father's subjects, which was generally 
 believed, and which had been continued so long with 
 impunity, this penalty was, indeed, but very slight. 
 Falstaff, though his wit and effrontery are invincible, 
 is yet rather uneasy before the judge, who has both 
 the right and the will, but not the power, to punish 
 him, and who certainly does not appreciate his jokes. 
 Sir John, therefore, tries to avoid him, but Gascoigne 
 persists in reproving him — vainly, as he might have 
 well known, except to gratify his own vexed spirit, 
 by telling him the truth. He rightly accuses him 
 of misleading the Prince — perhaps, in his mind, the 
 most heinous of Falstaff's offences, as being the most 
 dangerous to the future welfare of England ; for 
 doubtless he and all the chief lawyers, with other 
 loyal subjects, viewed the heir apparent's present 
 and probable future conduct with the utmost disgust 
 and apprehension. 
 
 " Chief Justice. Sir John, you live in great infamy. 
 
 Falstaff. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. 
 
 Chief Justice. Your means are very slender, and your waste is 
 great. 
 
 Falstaff. I would it were otherwise : I would my means were 
 greater and my waist slenderer. 
 
 Chief Justice. You have misled the youthful Prince. 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 345 
 
 Falstaff. The youthful Prince hath misled me. 
 
 Chief Justice. You follow the young Prince up and down, like 
 his ill angel. 
 
 Falstaff. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is light ; but, I hope, 
 he that looks upon me will take me without weighing. . . . For 
 the box o' the ear that the young Prince gave you, he gave it like 
 a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked 
 him for it ; and the young lion repents : marry, not in ashes and 
 sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. 
 
 Chief Justice. Well, God send the Prince a better companion. 
 
 Falstaff. God send the companion a better Prince ! I cannot 
 rid my hands of him." 
 
 The witty jests of Falstaff and his friends afford, 
 indeed, no amusement to them, but only display the 
 bold, insolent mockery of mischievous, unpunished 
 rogues, who were becoming more and more dangerous 
 to the peace of the community. Falstaff's wit, 
 however, has amused generations of delighted 
 Englishmen ; even the moral Dr. Johnson is enthu- 
 siastic in admiration, yet, had he known Falstaff, 
 or witnessed this scene between him and Gascoigne, 
 besides many others in which Sir John distinguished 
 himself, he would probably have viewed the dishonest, 
 shameless old profligate with unmitigated aversion. 1 
 Falstaffs ready wit and constant effrontery, so 
 
 1 "Falstaff, unimitated, inimitable Falstaff! how shall I describe 
 thee ? Thou compound of sense and vice — of sense which may 
 be admired, but not esteemed; of vice which may be despised, 
 but hardly detested. . . . He is stained with no enormous or 
 sanguinary crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but 
 that it may be borne with for his mirth." — Johnson's " Notes to 
 Henry IV." Yet, had Johnson really known Falstaff personally, 
 his " licentiousness," shown in a life of dishonest profligacy, would 
 have probably shocked the strict moralist far more than such 
 "mirth" as his would have amused him. 
 
346 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 amusing to hear in Shakespeare's language, would, 
 in a living corruptor of youth and associate of rogues, 
 have been most provoking. The Chief Justice 
 dislikes, distrusts, and probably longs to punish him, 
 but keeps his temper, which is sorely tried by the 
 insolent banter of the shrewd old sinner. He tells 
 Falstaff, however, that the King has " severed " him 
 from the Prince for a time, ordering him to march 
 against the insurgents with Prince John ; while the 
 Kino- and his eldest son are to attack Glendower in 
 Wales. This arrangement does not please Sir John, 
 who would much prefer to be with Prince Henry 
 than with his stern, grave younger brother ; but he 
 has no choice in the matter. 
 
 The next scene is at York, where Archbishop 
 Scroop, with Lords Hastings and Mowbray, and 
 other insurgent leaders, are discussing their plans. 
 Since Hotspur's death, this prelate was the most 
 resolute of all Henry IV.'s enemies, except North- 
 umberland, whose age and misfortunes render his 
 great energy less formidable. Scroop never forgot 
 either his brother Lord Wiltshire's execution, or 
 the death of the late King, to whom his family 
 were devotedly attached. He again recalls the tri- 
 umphal procession of Henry IV. through London, 
 the humiliation of the unfortunate Richard on that 
 day, which, perhaps, he witnessed, and imagines that 
 the English are as dissatisfied with the new Kinsr as 
 they were with his predecessor. 
 
 "Archbishop. Let us on ; 
 
 And publish the occasion of our arms. 
 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 347 
 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own choice. 
 
 They that when Richard liv'd, would have him die, 
 Are now become enamoured of his grave : 
 They that threw dust upon his goodly head, 
 When through proud London he came sighing on 
 After the admir'd heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry now, ' O earth, yield up that King again, 
 And take thou this ! ' " 
 
 But in this idea he and the other insurgents were 
 mistaken, for though the new King had indeed made 
 many enemies among his more influential subjects, 
 and lost much of his popularity, the public seem 
 generally to have favoured and supported him during 
 his whole career. 1 
 
 Act II. is again in London, where Falstaff's hostess, 
 Mrs. Quickly, wants him arrested for his debt to her, 
 before he leaves town for another campaign. She 
 employs two constables — Fang and Snare — to seize 
 him, but Falstaff, with Bardolph, draw their swords, 
 and a scuffle is beginning, when Gascoigne appears, 
 orders all to keep the peace, and inquires about the 
 dispute. Mrs. Quickly eagerly assures him that Fal- 
 staff has not only 
 
 " Eat her out of house and home," 
 
 and owes her money, but has also promised to 
 marry her. 
 
 1 "After a few years, the government of Henry IV. became 
 extremely unpopular. Perhaps Jiis dissension with the great Percy 
 family, which had placed him on the throne, and was regarded with 
 partiality by the people, chiefly contributed to this alteration of 
 their attachment." — Hallam's " Middle Ages," chap. viii. 
 
348 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Chief Justice. Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow 
 to so rough a course to come by her own ? 
 
 Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 
 
 Hostess. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the 
 money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, 
 sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal 
 fire, upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the Prince broke 
 thy head for liking his father to a singing-man at Windsor; thou 
 didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry 
 me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did 
 not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then, and call 
 me gossip Quickly ? . . . . And didst thou not, when she was 
 gone downstairs, desire me to be no more so familiar with such 
 poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? 
 And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty 
 shillings ? I put thee now to thy book-oath : deny it, if thou canst. 
 
 Falstaff. My lord, this is a poor mad soul : and she says, 
 up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you : she hath 
 been in good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her." 
 
 Gascoigne, who abhors Falstaff, befriends this woman, 
 perhaps more than she deserves, as Sir John perceives, 
 and calls her aside, while a messenger from the Court 
 to the judge diverts his thoughts from the worthy- 
 couple for a short time. Falstaff succeeds in coaxing 
 and pacifying Mrs. Quickly ; sending his comrade 
 Bardolph away with her, promising to sup at her 
 tavern, and there meet a certain Doll Tearsheet. 
 This woman is a young ally of the hostess, and 
 Falstaff s favourite ; for, while he is intimate with 
 the Prince, and induces him to visit her house, Mrs. 
 Quickly tries to make it as pleasant as she can for 
 the old profligate, though often quarrelling with 
 him, through fear of losing money by his wasteful 
 extravagance. 
 
 The next scene is in one of the London streets, 
 where Prince Henry and Poins, his most constant 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 349 
 
 associate, except Falstaff, are together. They discuss 
 the news of the King's illness, which evidently gratifies 
 Poins, but not the Prince, who, while allowing this 
 worthless fellow to be familiar, in reality neither 
 trusts him nor any of his comrades. 
 
 "Prince Henry. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, 
 that my father is so sick : and keeping such vile company as thou i 
 art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. 
 
 Poins. The reason ? 
 
 Prince Henry. What wouldst thou think of me if I should 
 weep ? 
 
 Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. 
 
 Prince Henry. It would be every man's thought." 
 
 Falstaff's servant-lad, a sharp-witted little fellow, 
 not improved by his new master, now brings the 
 Prince a note from him, which the latter, after reading, 
 shows to Poins. In this epistle, Falstaff, perhaps half 
 in joke, declares that Poins wishes the Prince to marry 
 his sister, and warns him against that worthy. Poins 
 is enraged, while the Prince is amused. They both 
 ask if Falstaff sups that night in Eastcheap, and 
 hearing that he will do so, also that Mrs. Quickly 
 and Doll will be with him, they resolve to go in 
 disguise to the same place, and have another wild, 
 dissipated revel there. 
 
 "Prince Henry. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed at 
 the old frank ? 
 
 Bardolph. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 
 
 Prince Henry. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Page. None, my lord, but Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll 
 Tearsheet. 
 
 Prince Henry. What pagan may that be ? 
 
 Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my 
 master's. 
 
350 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Prince Henry. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper ? 
 
 Poms. I am your shadow, my lord : I'll follow you. 
 
 Prince Henry. Sirrah, you boy — and Bardolph ; — no word 
 to your master that I am yet come to town : There's for your 
 silence. 
 
 Bardolph. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 And the page equally if not more knowing replies : 
 
 And for mine, sir — I will govern it. 
 
 Prince Henry. Fare ye well : go. \Exeunt Bardolph and 
 Page.] How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his 
 true colours, and not ourselves be seen ? 
 
 Poins. Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and wait upon 
 him at his table as drawers. 
 
 Prince Henry. From a prince to a prentice? a low transfor- 
 mation ! that shall be mine : for, in everything, the purpose must 
 weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned." 
 
 The next scene reverts to Warkworth Castle, where 
 the heart-broken Northumberland, with his wife and 
 daughter-in-law, Hotspur's widow, are lamenting over 
 their own condition as well as that of England. At 
 this time, perhaps Northumberland, of all his fellow- 
 countrymen, has most reason to be in profound grief 
 and dejection. During the last years of the late reign, 
 and for a short time after Henry's accession, this 
 restless, energetic nobleman's ambition had not only 
 irritated but actually hastened the ruin of the King 
 he had helped to depose, while it had offended and 
 alienated the new monarch whom he was the first 
 to acknowledge. Richard II.'s adherents well remem- 
 bered his vehement hostility to that unfortunate sove- 
 reign on behalf of the Prince who, having slain 
 his son and brother, now contemplates his own death 
 or exile. The old Earl's high spirit and family pride 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 351 
 
 still animate him, despite alike his age and his grief, 
 for he longs to join the Archbishop and the remaining 
 insurgents, but is persuaded by his wife and Lady 
 Percy — who dread losing their remaining male rela- 
 tive — to "fly to Scotland" for the present, and there 
 await events. They doubtless know that a statesman 
 of his advanced age would be of no service on the 
 battlefield, while his mental distress would, for the 
 present at least, render him of little use in counsel. 
 He at last follows their advice, and escapes from 
 England as a fugitive from the wrath of that King 
 for aiding whose accession so zealously he had incurred 
 a " world of curses," as his brave son Hotspur truly 
 told him. Hume and Shakespeare in their accounts 
 of Northumberland's career agree on the whole ; 
 but the historian (chap, xviii.) states that he was 
 pardoned after the battle of Shrewsbury, and fled 
 to Scotland on the capture of Archbishop Scroop, 
 but subsequently heading another rebellion, was 
 slain in battle. His sudden yet implacable hatred 
 to Henry IV. is thus historically proved, confirming 
 Richard II.'s prediction that these his two chief 
 enemies would turn against each other that fierce 
 energy they both possessed, and which, in rebellious 
 alliance, had easily effected his own destruction. 1 
 
 Northumberland, though again mentioned, never 
 reappears in the play. His triumph in the last 
 
 1 Hallam states (" Middle Ages," chap, viii.) that the House of 
 Commons thanked the King for pardoning Northumberland ; but, 
 on the other hand, it is evident that this ambitious old adherent 
 never forgave his offended, but, as he thought, most ungrateful 
 sovereign. 
 
352 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 days of the late King had been apparently as com- 
 plete as the most ambitious English rebel could 
 desire. The last act of " Richard II.," which in this 
 instance strictly follows history, leaves him praised, 
 rewarded, and exultant by the throne of the new 
 Kinsf, alike his first adherent and most honoured 
 subject. The play of " Henry IV.," equally true to 
 history, describes him moody, disappointed, and 
 finally incited by his bold son to open rebellion. 
 And now, in the " Second Part of Henry IV.," Shake- 
 speare, still relying on history, describes him escaping 
 for his life to Scotland, mourning for his son and 
 brother, both slain, the one in battle, the other on 
 the scaffold, by his enraged sovereign. Yet the 
 King's anger was not more deep or implacable than 
 his own against Henry, and thus their mutual hatred 
 and disappointment — as the King's triumph never 
 made him a happy man — fully verified the prophecy 
 of their luckless victim, Richard II. 1 
 
 The next scene is in the Boar's Head, where 
 Mrs. Quickly and Doll receive Falstaff, and spend 
 what they think a pleasant evening. The hostess 
 apparently knows that her own charms, whatever 
 they once were, have lost their attractions ; for, 
 though formerly wooed by Falstaff, as she declares, 
 she now much prefers his money to his love, and is 
 content to see her young friend Doll inherit all 
 
 1 " Although Henry IV. was a great King, and the founder 
 of a dynasty, the labour and sorrow of his task was ever more 
 present to his mind than the solid success which his son was to 
 inherit."— Stubbs's " Constitutional History of England." 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 353 
 
 the endearments of which she was once the alleged 
 recipient. Doll, however, has another admirer in 
 a certain swaggering bravo called Pistol, who follows 
 her to the tavern, where he is alike unwelcome to 
 the hostess, FalstafT, and Doll. Bardolph and the 
 page, who both obey Falstaff, probably owing to his 
 supposed influence with the Prince, enter the tavern 
 with Pistol, but the latter soon finds himself terribly 
 out of favour with Doll, who angrily scolds him 
 for following her, and a violent quarrel ensues among 
 this excellent company. Pistol is now quite con- 
 founded, Doll utterly scorning him, and fondling 
 old Falstaff, to the delight of Mrs. Quickly, Bardolph, 
 and the page. 
 
 " Doll. For God's sake, thrust him downstairs ; I cannot 
 endure such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Falstaff. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shovel-groat 
 shilling : nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be 
 nothing here. 
 
 Bardolph. Come, get you downstairs. 
 
 Pistol. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we imbrue. 
 [Snatching zip his sword.] 
 
 Hostess. Here's goodly stuff indeed ! 
 
 Falstaff. Give me my rapier, boy. 
 
 Doll. I prithee, Jack, I prithee, do not draw. 
 
 Falstaff. Get you downstairs. [Drawing.'] 
 
 Hostess. Here's a goodly tumult ! I'll forswear keeping house, 
 afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So ; murder, I warrant now. 
 Alas, alas ! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. 
 
 [Exeunt Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Doll. I prithee, Jack, be quiet ; the rascal is gone. 
 
 Hostess. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought he made a 
 shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph. 
 
 Falstaff. Have you turned him out of doors ? 
 Bardolph. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk : you have hurt him, 
 sir, in the shoulder. 
 
 24 
 
354 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Falstaff. A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! " 
 
 Pistol is thus expelled the premises by general 
 consent, while the rest of the party enjoy themselves 
 as usual, drinking and jesting, when Prince Henry 
 and Poins enter, disguised as drawers or waiters. 
 They hear Falstaff describe them both to the 
 inquisitive Doll with tolerable accuracy. 
 
 " Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of? 
 
 Falstaff. A good shallow young fellow : he would have made 
 a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well. 
 
 Doll. They say Poins hath a good wit. 
 
 Falstaff. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit is as 
 thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more conceit in him than 
 in a mallet. 
 
 Doll. Why doth the Prince love him so, then ? 
 
 Falstaff. Because their legs are both of a bigness : and he 
 plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and fennel ; and jumps upon 
 joint-stools ; and swears with a good grace ; and wears his boots 
 very smooth, like unto the skin of the leg ; and breeds no bate 
 with telling of discreet stories ; and such other gambol faculties he 
 hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, for which the 
 Prince admits him : for the Prince himself is such another ; the 
 weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois. 
 
 Prince Henry. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears 
 cutoff?" 
 
 and Poins cheerfully suggests a pleasing penalty : 
 " Let's beat him." 
 
 When Henry reveals himself, to the general surprise, 
 Doll, perhaps with a vague hope of pleasing the 
 Prince, or fearing he is offended, turns sharply on 
 Falstaff, exclaiming : 
 
 " You fat fool, I scorn you," 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV.' 1 355 
 
 while Henry and Poins question, scold, and ridicule 
 Falstaff, who ably defends himself with his usual 
 ready wit. 
 
 " Prince Henry. How vilely did you speak of me even now, 
 before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ! 
 
 Hostess. God's blessing of your good heart ! and so she is, by 
 my troth. 
 
 Falstaff. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 Prince Henry. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when you 
 ran away by Gadshill : you knew I was at your back ; and spoke 
 it on purpose, to try my patience. 
 
 Falstaff. No, no, no, not so ; I did not think thou wast within 
 hearing. 
 
 Prince Henry. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful 
 abuse ; and then I know how to handle you. 
 
 Falstaff. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. 
 
 Prince Henry. Not ! to dispraise me ; and call me "pantler," 
 and " bread-chipper," and I know not what ? 
 
 Falstaff. No abuse, Hal. 
 
 Poins. No abuse ! 
 
 Falstaff. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, none. I 
 dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in 
 love with him :— in which doing I have done the part of a careful 
 friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for 
 it. No abuse, Hal ;— none, Ned, none ! no, boys, none." 
 
 He has pacified the Prince, who, perhaps, was 
 never really angry with him, when Peto arrives, 
 with news from the Court. Prince Henry and Falstaff 
 are required to march against the remaining insur- 
 gents, and the former leaves the tavern immediately. 
 Doll then reluctantly parts from Falstaff, who 
 promises to see her again, to the delight of Mrs. 
 Quickly, who wishes to increase this intimacy, 
 hoping that they, with the Prince, may be frequent 
 guests at her house. Apparently Prince Henry's 
 presence and patronage chiefly maintain this strange 
 
356 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 establishment, for his previous short imprisonment 
 by Judge Gascoigne has hitherto produced no per- 
 manent effect on the royal scapegrace, who, never 
 considering the mischievous example he sets to all 
 the youth of England, frequents the Boar's Head 
 Tavern with Falstaff whenever he can spare time 
 from his military duties, in which, however, he 
 always delighted. No courtier, friend, or relative 
 accompanies him to this place from first to last. 
 He associates alone with low, profligate companions, 
 male and female, utterly despising his anxious 
 father's remonstrances, who, having overcome all 
 his most dangerous foes, now finds himself practically 
 and constantly disobeyed by his eldest son and 
 lawful successor. 
 
 Act III. represents the invalid King, sleepless and 
 care-worn, perhaps, in his weak state, exaggerating 
 the diminished dangers which still threaten him. 
 He summons his new counsellors, Lords Surrey 
 and Warwick, to read some despatches, and, before 
 they come, utters a thoughtful, sad soliloquy about 
 his own agitated mind and the comparative happiness 
 and peace of his subjects. 
 
 " King Henry. How many of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
 Why rather sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 
 Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 357 
 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 
 O, thou dull god ; why liest thou with the vile 
 
 In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch 
 
 A watch case, or a common 'larum bell ? 
 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 
 With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, 
 
 That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? 
 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, 
 
 And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 
 Deny it to a king ? Then happy low, lie down ! 
 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown ! 
 
 Henry though the reverse of a timid or ner- 
 vous man, usually showed a very thoughtful dis- 
 position, often recalling the past ; and his serious 
 mind, when not engaged in matters of war or 
 politics, inclines more to melancholy reflection than 
 to pleasure, triumph, or self-congratulation. 1 
 
 When his ministers come, they rather cheer him 
 about the news, for they know that, since the Shrews- 
 bury defeat, the insurgents have lost all chance of 
 success, and that Northumberland, as Warwick 
 sarcastically observes — 
 
 " Will soon be cooled " — 
 
 meaning by death or captivity. This allusion to his 
 
 1 " The inquietude with which Henry IV. possessed his envied 
 greatness, and the remorses with which it was said he was con- 
 tinually haunted, render him an object of our pity, even when 
 seated upon the throne." — Hume's " History," chap, xviii. 
 
358 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 former most zealous adherent affects the weak King 
 deeply. He instantly recalls the memorable day when 
 Richard II., 
 
 "Checked and rated by Northumberland," 
 
 had prophesied that his insulting, powerful subject 
 would become an equally dangerous rebel to his 
 triumphant foe. 
 
 " King Henry. O God, ! that one might read the book of fate, 
 And see the revolution of the times. 
 
 The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 'Tis not ten years gone, 
 
 Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, 
 Did feast together, and, in two years after, 
 Were they at wars : it is but eight years since 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 Who like a brother toil'd at my affairs, 
 And laid his love and life under my foot ; 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimful of tears 
 Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy ? 
 ' Northumberland, thou ladder, by the ivhich 
 My cousin Boli?igbroke ascends my throne ; ' 
 
 ' The time shall come? thus did he follow it, 
 ' The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption ; ' — so went on 
 Foretelling this same time's condition, 
 And the division of our amity." 
 
 Had Henry been in his usual health, he might, when 
 mentioning Northumberland, have severely blamed 
 him before his ministers, and justified his own conduct 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 359 
 
 towards him. But now he names him without the 
 least anger, his oppressed mind recalling the past 
 with more interest and animation than he apparently 
 feels about the present. He mentions, however, 
 though evidently with surprise, a report that fifty 
 thousand insurgents are under Northumberland and 
 Scroop, whom he erroneously thinks are together ; but 
 Warwick contradicts the rumour, knowing that the foe 
 is not so numerous, and has no longer a chance against 
 the King's forces. He also reports the death of the 
 brave Welsh chief Glendower, the last military leader 
 among the malcontents who possessed any ability. 
 Henry is too weak, or too sad, to make any reply, 
 except that he will follow Warwick's counsel, and 
 postpone his journey to the Holy Land. This project 
 he seems to have steadily entertained since the death 
 of Richard II., but the many troubles of his reign, 
 and perhaps the opposition of his ministers, always 
 prevented its accomplishment. 
 
 The next scene Shakespeare lays in Gloucester- 
 shire, at the house of a certain Justice Shallow, who, 
 as his name indicates, is a silly, talkative boaster. 
 Another magistrate, Justice Silence, is with him, 
 likewise described by his name, being a silent and 
 also a dull personage, but a patient listener to his 
 chattering friend. They now await Sir John Falstaff, 
 and have chosen some luckless peasants as recruits 
 for him, the fat old knight being again in the field 
 against the King's enemies. When joined by Falstaff 
 and Bardolph, the two country justices call some 
 of these recruits before them. They are five in 
 
3 6o 
 
 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 number — Mouldy, Shadow, Bull-calf, Wart, and 
 Feeble. Shallow, after exhibiting them in turn to 
 Falstaff, who is quite satisfied with them, amuses 
 himself, but rather bores Sir John, by remembering 
 or inventing several incidents when they were both 
 young men and well acquainted, though probably they 
 were never very intimate. When the recruits are 
 left alone with Bardolph, Mouldy and Bull-calf try 
 to bribe him to get them excused from military 
 service. On Falstaff's return with the justices, Bar- 
 dolph secretly tells him of the bribe, which he at once 
 accepts, and frees the two men. Shallow is surprised 
 at the best of the five recruits being rejected, knowing 
 nothing of the bribe, but Sir John has no trouble 
 in deceiving him. 
 
 " Shallow. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself such wrong ; 
 they are thy likeliest men, and I would have you served with the 
 best. 
 
 Falstaff. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a 
 man ? Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big 
 assemblance of a man ! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. — 
 Here's Wart : — you see what a ragged appearance it is : he shall 
 charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of a pewterer's 
 hammer. And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow — give me this 
 man ; he presents no mark to the enemy ; the foeman may with 
 as great aim level at the edge of a penknife : And, for a retreat — 
 how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off? O, give 
 me the spare men, and spare me the great ones." 
 
 Shallow and Falstaff are apparently about the same 
 age, and form most amusing contrasts, but the gay old 
 London libertine finds the chattering, silly country 
 justice a tiresome companion, and probably wishes 
 himself again in the Boar's Head Tavern, amid more 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 361 
 
 congenial society. It is difficult to understand how 
 two such utter simpletons as Shallow and Silence 
 could have administered justice, or exercised any 
 authority, without getting themselves as well as others 
 into constant trouble. They are even far inferior 
 to many of their successors some two centuries later, 
 whom Lord Macaulay, perhaps too unfavourably, 
 describes. 1 
 
 Shallow, who probably knows of Falstaffs intimacy 
 with the Prince, hopes he may some day go to Court 
 with his witty old acquaintance, and Sir John makes 
 a civil reply, but in reality has no wish to see him in 
 London or anywhere else. 
 
 " Falstaff. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt Shallow 
 and Silence.] Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice 
 of lying ! This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate 
 to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about 
 Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid to the 
 hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's 
 Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese paring : when he 
 was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a 
 head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. And now . . . 
 become a squire and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he 
 had been sworn brother to him, and I'll be sworn he never saw him, 
 but once in the tilt yard, and then he burst 2 his head, for crowding 
 among the marshal's men. 
 
 The shrewd knight, however, seldom offends people 
 if he can help it, so, despite his licentiousness and 
 
 1 Macaulay, when describing an English country squire of the 
 seventeenth century, says : — "He was a magistrate, and as such ad- 
 ministered gratuitously to those who dwelt around him a rude, 
 patriarchal justice, which, in spite of innumerable blunders, and of 
 occasional acts of tyranny, was yet better than no justice at all " 
 (" History of England," vol. L). 
 
 2 " Broke." — Staunton's notes. 
 
362 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 constant falsehoods, he has scarcely an enemy except 
 Chief Justice Gascoigne, who has both public and 
 private reasons for dreading his future influence with 
 the Prince. 
 
 The fourth act introduces Archbishop Scroop, Lord 
 Mowbray, and other insurgent leaders. Mowbray is 
 son and heir to King Henry's old enemy, the Duke 
 of Norfolk, whom he had challenged in presence of 
 Richard II. Both the prelate and he are much dis- 
 appointed at hearing from their former ally North- 
 umberland, in Scotland, that he cannot join them, 
 though cordially wishing their complete success. 
 While they are depressed at this news, Lord 
 Westmoreland comes from the King's forces, now 
 commanded by Prince John, to remonstrate with them 
 — Scroop especially — for exciting insurrection. The 
 prelate defends his conduct, and he and Westmoreland 
 argue for some time together, when Mowbray, 
 apparently a bold, hot-headed young man, angrily 
 answers Westmoreland, who reminds him that Henry 
 IV. had restored to him all his late father's confiscated 
 rights and property. Mowbray, however, expresses 
 no gratitude for this restitution, declaring it was 
 originally the King's doing, when known as Boling- 
 broke, that his father had been despoiled and banished. 
 He rashly believes, or pretends to believe, that had 
 his father been allowed to fisfht Bolino-broke, he would 
 certainly have slain him, and thus saved England 
 from his usurpation. 
 
 " Mowbray. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, 
 That need to be reviv'd and breathed in me ? 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 363 
 
 The King, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, 
 Was force perforce compell'd to banish him : 
 And then, that Harry Bolingbroke, and he, 
 Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, 
 Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 
 Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
 Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, 
 And the loud trumpet blowing them together ; 
 Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke — 
 O, when the King did throw his warder down 
 (His own life hung upon the staff he threw), 
 Then threw he down himself ; and all their lives, 
 That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, 
 Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke." 
 
 To this spirited speech Westmoreland truly replies 
 that Bolingbroke, or Hereford, as he was then often 
 called, was well known as "a most valiant gentleman," 
 and quite as likely to have slain Norfolk. Mowbray, 
 however, continues obstinate and defiant ; but Scroop 
 and Lord Hastings, probably men of better judgment, 
 are more anxious for peace, and, giving Westmoreland 
 a list of their alleged grievances, declare that, if these 
 are redressed, they will lay down their arms. West- 
 moreland returns to Prince John with their statements, 
 and soon after the Prince has a conference with them. 
 This fierce boy, though so young, already shows not 
 only a steady courage, firmness, and gravity, but also 
 a deep dissimulation far beyond his years. He civilly 
 enough greets both the Archbishop and Mowbray, but 
 gravely reproves the former for heading the insur- 
 gents with almost the dignity of a superior prelate. 
 
 " Prince John. My lord of York, it better show'd with you, 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
 Encircled you, to hear with reverence 
 
364 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Your exposition on the holy text, 
 Than now to see you here an iron man, 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 
 You have taken up, 
 
 Under the counterfeited seal of God, 
 The subjects of His substitute, my father ; 
 And, both against the peace of heaven and him, 
 Have here up-swarmed them." 
 
 The Archbishop defends his conduct, while Mow- 
 bray and Hastings use bolder language, and John, 
 after examining their proposals, declares he approves 
 of them all, and will do what he can to have the 
 alleged grievances redressed, provided that the rebel 
 leaders discharge their followers and surrender their 
 arms. Scroop and Hastings gladly consent, while 
 Mowbray is unwilling, but overruled. The insurgents 
 then disarm and disband, when immediately their 
 leaders are arrested by the treacherous Prince, and 
 sentenced to execution. 1 
 
 The Archbishop and Mowbray vainly remonstrate 
 with the relentless youth, who, after scornfully 
 ridiculing them, both for their rebellion and their 
 credulity, orders them to be beheaded. 
 
 u Mowbray. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? 
 
 Archbishop. Will you thus break your faith ? 
 
 Prince John. I pawn'd thee none. 
 
 I promised you redress of these same grievances 
 Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour, 
 
 1 " Holinshed's account of the insurrection does not, perhaps, 
 directly implicate Prince John in this unparalleled breach of faith 
 and honour ; but it cannot be forgotten that the Earl Westmoreland 
 [who presided at the executions] was acting under the orders of his 
 general " [Prince John].— Staunton's comments on " Henry IV." 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 365 
 
 I will perform with a most Christian care. 
 But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours." 
 
 In reality the Archbishop's execution was so 
 generally condemned that even Judge Gascoigne, 
 despite his loyalty to the King, refused to sentence 
 him ; but another judge, more compliant, was found, 
 who passed the fatal sentence without any previous 
 indictment or trial. 1 
 
 Although Gascoigne, in common doubtless with 
 other learned and influential men, disapproved of 
 Scroop's execution, his fate did not apparently elicit 
 either the express censure or remonstrance of the 
 Pope. Probably, when a churchman abandoned his 
 religious duties, and took the field as an armed 
 rebel, or heading other armed rebels against an 
 acknowledged king, he thereby forfeited the protec- 
 tion, if not the sympathy, of his spiritual chief and 
 fellow-ecclesiastics. The Archbishop, besides, had 
 not joined this rebellion for any religious object. 
 The execution of his brother, Lord Wiltshire, by 
 Henry IV. was the chief cause of his desperate 
 animosity towards him ; for the King, like most 
 prudent or conscientious sovereigns, was always 
 careful to be on good terms with the clergy. 2 
 
 1 " This was the first instance in England of a capital punishment 
 inflicted on a bishop, whence the clergy of that rank might learn that 
 their crimes were not, more than those of laics, to pass with 
 
 mpunity." — Hume's " History," chap, xviii. 
 
 2 "Throughout Henry IV.'s career he is consistently devout, pure 
 in life, temperate, and careful to avoid offence ; faithful to the church 
 and clergy." — Stubbs's " Constitutional History," vol. ii. 
 
2 66 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Scroop's fate, therefore, though doubtless con- 
 demned and lamented by many, yet excited less 
 apparent pity or indignation than might have been 
 expected. 
 
 Prince John, after ordering this prelate's execution, 
 and those of Mowbray and Hastings, meets FalstafT, 
 who has just captured a brave rebel leader — Sir John 
 Colevile — without any trouble ; for this unlucky 
 gentleman, knowing that all his fellow-insurgents 
 are dispersed and disarmed, naturally despairs of 
 further resistance. John reproaches, or rather scolds 
 FalstafT, with the stern sharpness of his character, 
 which is peculiarly disconcerting to the old knight, 
 accustomed to such different language from the 
 Prince's wild, merry elder brother. Before this 
 grave, determined boy, FalstafT is utterly confounded. 
 He can neither defy, flatter, nor amuse him, and 
 almost, for the first time in the play, seems at a 
 loss what to say or how to answer. 
 
 "Prince John. Now, FalstafT, where have you been all this 
 while ? 
 When everything is ended then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Falstaff. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus ; I 
 never knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do 
 you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor 
 and old motion, the expedition of thought ? I have speeded hither 
 with the very extremist inch of possibility : and here, travel-tainted 
 as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John 
 Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy : 
 But what of that ? he saw me, and yielded ; that I may say, with the 
 hook-nosed fellow of Rome [Julius Caesar], I came, saw, and 
 overcame." 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 367 
 
 Prince John, without the least merriment, coldly 
 replies, utterly unmoved by the wit of Falstaff: 
 
 "It was more of his courtesy than your deserving." 
 
 This relentless youth then orders the luckless Cole- 
 vile's execution, and, being rejoined by Westmoreland, 
 one of the King's new and chief adherents, bids a 
 cold farewell to Falstaff, whom he perhaps wishes to 
 punish, but has not the power to do so. He probably 
 dislikes Sir John all the more for being his elder 
 brother's evil genius and disreputable associate in 
 London, which he well knows has caused such 
 grief to his father, to whom he is enthusiastically 
 and steadily dutiful. Falstaff, though he would 
 gladly please him if he could, is far more discomfited 
 by this stern boy than by the dignified Chief Justice 
 Gascoigne. He slyly ridicules the latter under a 
 show of respect, but before young John of Lancaster 
 all his wit and effrontery alike fail him. For the 
 artful old man, though shrewd and shameless as 
 ever, is both checked and puzzled by this grave 
 youth, and perhaps seldom, if ever, felt so 
 disconcerted by any one or at any time before. 
 
 " Falstaff. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
 Through Gloucestershire : and when you come to Court, 
 Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 
 
 Prince John. Fare you well, Falstaff : I, in my condition, 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 
 
 Falstaff. I would you had but the wit: 'twere better than your 
 dukedom. — Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not 
 love me : nor a man cannot make him laugh ; but that's no marvel, 
 he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come 
 to any proof." 
 
368 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The next scene is in London, where the invalid 
 KingrcoTTstantly fretting about his wild heir apparent, 
 yet blames his other son, Thomas of Clarence, for not 
 being more with Prince Henry, which probably young 
 Clarence could scarcely have been, without associa- 
 ting with the inmates of the Boar's Head. The King 
 hears with erief that his elder son is still in some 
 part of London, with Poins and other wild com- 
 panions ; for directly the campaign was over, and 
 the monarch and his son were relieved of military 
 duties, the former fell ill, and the latter again returned 
 to his dissipated way of life, despite his previous 
 promises and even signs of amendment. While 
 the invalid sovereign is still grieving about his 
 troublesome son, news is brought him of the final 
 defeat of the last opponents to his authority. 
 These were the old Lord Northumberland and 
 Lord Bardolph, who, even after Scroop's execution, 
 had left Scotland, and made a desperate attempt 
 at insurrection in the north of England. 1 
 
 In this engagement Northumberland was slain, 
 but his death is not told to the King. Perhaps his 
 ministers fear lest his feelings of triumph might be 
 mingled with sadder emotions at hearing of the 
 death, while in open rebellion, of his first zealous 
 adherent. Henry is too weak to express exultation 
 
 1 " It was the effect either of Henry's vigilance or good fortune, 
 or of the narrow genius of his enemies, that no proper concert was 
 ever formed among them. They rose in rebellion one after another, 
 and thereby afforded him an opportunity of suppressing these insur- 
 rections, which, had they been united, might have proved fatal to 
 his authority." — Hume's " History," chap, xviii. 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 369 
 
 or even relief at the news of this victory, but it 
 evidently agitates him, and he swoons. When he 
 partially recovers, he is placed on a bed by his 
 sorrowing younger son and the courtiers, and left 
 alone, when Prince Henry enters the chamber as 
 the others leave it, and sees the King lying insensible 
 on the bed, the crown being on his pillow, placed there 
 by his own express order. For the ensuing, most 
 affecting scene, there may have been some historical 
 foundation. It was well known that the King, 
 especially during his last illness, often reproached 
 the Prince for his wild conduct, and deplored the 
 probable future state of England under his rule. 
 These remonstrances, so long practically unheeded, 
 at last prevailed, though no amendment was shown 
 by young Henry till after his father's death, when 
 he appeared a changed man. Shakespeare describes 
 Prince Henry seated by his father's bedside, and 
 addressing the insensible crown, wishing, indeed, to 
 wear it as King, and longing, with the eagerness of 
 his ardent nature, to accept all the cares, duties, 
 and troubles of his future position, together with its 
 attractions, pleasures, and glories. While exciting 
 his mind with these thoughts, he really imagines that 
 his unconscious father is dead ; for the King neither 
 moves nor apparently breathes, and his look, while 
 in sickly sleep or trance, has the appearance of death. 
 The Prince, after vainly trying to rouse or wake 
 him, places the coveted crown upon his own head, 
 and leaves the room with it. His father awakinpf, 
 first misses the crown, upon which his thoughts are 
 
 25 
 
370 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 also constantly dwelling, especially in his last illness. 
 He calls his attendants, who tell him they left Prince 
 Henry alone with him while he was asleep. He 
 immediately suspects the truth, that the Prince has 
 taken away the crown, believing him already dead. 
 He sends for his son instantly, and, on his entrance, 
 orders every one to withdraw, and leave him alone 
 with his heir. 1 
 
 Then ensues the grandest and most affecting scene 
 in the whole play. The feeble King, knowing his 
 end is near, rouses all the remaining force and 
 energy of his powerful mind for a last exhortation 
 to his dissolute, reckless, and hitherto disobedient 
 son. He first reproaches him for taking the crown, 
 and being apparently willing to believe in his death. 
 As he proceeds in his impassioned appeal, the awful 
 importance of the moment both to his own conscience 
 and to the welfare of the kingdom inspires a new, 
 irresistible eloquence. As his noble father, John 
 of Gaunt, had exclaimed at a similar moment : 
 
 " The words of dying men 
 Enforce attention like deep harmony," 
 
 so the illustrious son, when in his turn about 
 to pay the debt of nature, finally adjures, convinces, 
 
 1 " His illness had grown upon him during the last years of his life, 
 so as to render him a burden to himself and to those around him. 
 . . . His son's removal of the crown, which Shakespeare has 
 immortalised, is rendered probable by the frequent discussions which 
 had been raised in Henry's last years as to the necessity of his resign- 
 ing the crown." — Stanley's "Memorials of Westminster Abbey," 
 chap. v. 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 371 
 
 and improves his hitherto incorrigible heir. Henry 
 had often before vainly appealed to the Prince's 
 pride of birth and regard for hjs own dignity, as 
 well as to his sense of public and private duty. 
 Hitherto his remonstrances were naturally mingled 
 with feelings of anger and scorn ; they are now 
 accompanied by a very different emotion — that of 
 actual terror. The dying sovereign reasonably appre- 
 hends, like most of his thoughtful subjects, the coming 
 degradation and perhaps ruin of his kingdom, as 
 well as of his family. This dreadful idea, supported, 
 indeed, by every sign of probability, he expresses in 
 the powerful language of a noble yet excited mind, 
 near the last moment of earthly existence. 
 
 " King Henry. For now a time is come to mock at form. 
 Harry the Fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity ! 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
 And to the English Court assemble now, 
 From every region, apes of idleness ! 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : 
 Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, 
 Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt : 
 England shall give him office, honour, might : 
 For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 O, my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
 What wilt thou do when riot is thy care ? 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! " 
 
 Prince Henry might have heard the sternest re- 
 
372 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 proaches, the most impassioned appeals, with com- 
 parative indifference ; but the sight of his dying 
 father, who had never feared the bravest foes, show- 
 ing actual terror about his own future life and con- 
 duct was a spectacle he had never witnessed — perhaps 
 never thought possible — and it apparently had great 
 effect in producing that wonderful change in his 
 character which amazed and gratified all England. 
 He answers his father in the words and with the 
 manner of perfect sincerity, promising future amend- 
 ment. The King, despite his weakness, perceives his 
 sincerity, and believes him, and thus his last moments 
 are consoled. 
 
 After this final reconciliation, Prince John, the 
 King's favourite son, enters the room, and almost 
 the last words of his father are addressed to him 
 with a pathos which probably the young man never 
 foreot. 
 
 " Prince John. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father ! 
 
 King Henry. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John ! 
 But health, alas ! with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare, withered trunk : upon thy sight, 
 My worldly business makes a period." 
 
 The King is then borne into another apartment, 
 
 called the Jerusalem Chamber, 1 where his eventful 
 
 life ends in peace, though his death is not described. 
 
 Act V. is partly comic, partly serious. The first 
 
 1 " Deriving the name of Jerusalem probably from tapestries or 
 pictures of the history of Jerusalem ; it was certainly the scene of 
 his death."— Stanley's " Westminster Abbey," chap. v. 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 373 
 
 scene is in Gloucestershire, where Justice Shallow is 
 entertaining Falstaff with his attendants, Bardolph 
 and the page. Shallow is much hurried and flurried, 
 between acting as host to Falstaff, whom he wants to 
 please, and his magisterial business. His name well 
 expresses his weak, silly character, of which his 
 roguish servant Davy takes advantage by inducing 
 him to befriend a well-known rascal named Visor, in 
 a coming trial. Davy, with an impudent effrontery, 
 like Falstaff on a small scale, easily induces Shallow 
 to promise favour towards his roguish friend. 
 
 " Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance Visor of Wincot 
 against Clement Perkes of the hill. 
 
 Shallow. There are many complaints, Davy, against that 
 Visor ; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. 
 
 Davy. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir : but yet, 
 God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his 
 friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, 
 when a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, this 
 eight years ; and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a 
 knave against an honest man, I have but very little credit with your 
 worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir ; therefore, I beseech 
 your worship, let him be countenanced. 
 
 Shallow. Go to ; I say, he shall have no wrong." 
 
 Shakespeare, by this sketch, probably means to give 
 an amusing caricature of how the law was occasionally 
 administered in country districts at this time. 1 While, 
 
 1 "Justices of the Peace were first instituted in 1326. Their 
 duties were described in the most general terms. They were 
 ' assigned to keep the peace,' and empowered ' to take and arrest 
 all those they may find by indictment or suspicion and put them 
 in prison.'" — Stephen's "History of the English Criminal Law," 
 chap. vii. 
 
374 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 however, Shallow is trying to please Falstaff, the 
 latter worthy is observing the justice's many follies, 
 for the sake of ridiculing him to Prince Henry when 
 he returns to town, as he admits to himself. 
 
 " Falstaff. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow to 
 keep Prince Henry in continual laughter." 
 
 He evidently believes his influence with the Prince to 
 be much greater than it ever was before, and has no 
 idea that it is already over. 
 
 The next scene reverts to the palace in London, 
 immediately after the King's death, where his younger 
 sons, Judge Gascoigne, and other ministers are 
 assembled. They are all mournful and apprehensive 
 about the future conduct of the new King, who has 
 apparently concealed his real character and intentions 
 from his own brothers as completely as if they had 
 been utter strangers. No one of them seems to 
 understand him more than another, and their ignorance 
 is strange, considering their ages and positions. His 
 wild life hitherto has evidently inspired every one 
 — relatives, courtiers, and ministers — with the same 
 complete distrust ; yet the idea of his being dis- 
 inherited is never hinted at by any of them. His 
 younger brothers, Chief Justice Gascoigne, and the 
 ministers, Westmoreland and Warwick, discuss their 
 future prospects with deep dejection, expressing 
 sincere grief at the King's death, and equally sincere 
 apprehension about the conduct of their new sovereign. 
 The Princes frankly sympathise with Gascoigne, openly 
 fearing that he may now suffer for having formerly 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 375 
 
 committed their brother to prison. The judge is 
 evidently prepared for the worst ; while the young 
 Prince Thomas of Clarence even advises him to 
 appease Falstaff if possible, whom they all think 
 will soon have real power or influence in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 " Gascoigne. Alas ! I fear all will be overturned. 
 
 Prince John. Though no man be assured what grace to find, 
 You stand in coldest expectation : 
 I am the sorrier ; would 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Clarence. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair. 
 
 Judge Gascoigne. Sweet Princes, what I did I did in honour, 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
 If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I'll to the King my master that is dead, 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him." 
 
 It is clear, from the words of the Princes, that their 
 elder brother was on very distant terms with them, 
 while associating familiarly with Falstaff, Poins, &c. ; 
 and that they are almost like strangers to him. When 
 the youthful King joins this disconsolate assemblage, 
 he immediately reassures his brothers, saying he is 
 an English, not a Turkish prince, and observes with 
 surprise that they "look strangely" on him. He 
 then pretends to rebuke the Chief Justice for having 
 imprisoned him, and thus elicits a long and dignified 
 defence from the judge, which is what the young 
 monarch evidently wishes to hear, and at its con- 
 clusion completely satisfies the old man, praising his 
 firmness, and declaring he will follow his father's 
 policy, by surrounding himself with his most trusted 
 ministers. 
 
376 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " King Henry V. The tide of blood in me 
 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
 And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of Parliament : 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In equal rank with the best govern'd nation. 
 
 No Prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say, 
 Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day." 
 
 This important announcement, which has the effect 
 of a proclamation, is heard by all present with admir- 
 ing, thankful attention ; and the next scene is again in 
 Justice Shallow's Gloucestershire abode. He and his 
 friend Silence entertain Falstaff at one table, while 
 Davy entertains Falstaffs servants, Bardolph and the 
 page, at another. All these country people know 
 something of Falstaffs strange intimacy with Prince 
 Henry, and Davy, like his master, hopes to see 
 London, and be well received there by Bardolph. 
 While the whole party are thus enjoying themselves 
 — Silence singing, and Falstaff, the most honoured 
 guest, listening graciously — the bravo Pistol arrives 
 with London news. This man, though a swaggering, 
 quarrelsome boaster, like Poins and Peto, always talks 
 in a curious, fantastic style, rather like the Euphuists 
 in Queen Elizabeth's reign. He has now ridden in 
 hot haste from London, longing to be the first to 
 announce the welcome news of the accession of 
 Henry V. Though he is overjoyed, expecting happy 
 times of future dissipation and impunity, in common 
 
"Second Part of King Henry IV." 377 
 
 with the Prince's former companions, he still, amid his 
 
 delight, preserves his vague, fanciful way of talking, 
 
 which provokes Falstaffs earnest request to tell his 
 
 news 
 
 "Like a man of this world." 
 
 Pistol then speaks plainly, and Falstaff immediately 
 breaks forth into wild exultation. He may, perhaps, 
 by this time have drunk too freely of Justice 
 Shallow's wine, otherwise the shrewd old knight 
 would hardly have lost his self-control so com- 
 pletely in vehement rejoicing. But the young King 
 has practically deceived associates, friends, foes, 
 and relatives alike, almost as thoroughly as the 
 most artful hypocrite could have done. Falstaff and 
 his party, accordingly, are as thoroughly mistaken in 
 the young monarch as his brothers and ministers are. 
 Sir John, now nearly frantic with delight, hastens 
 immediately to London, after making vague promises 
 to Shallow, and wildly boasting of his own imaginary 
 influence. 
 
 "Falstaff. What ! is the old King dead? 
 
 Pistol. As nail in door : the things I speak are just. 
 
 Falstaff. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master Robert 
 Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, 
 I will double-charge thee with dignities. 
 
 Bardolph. O joyful day ! — 
 I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. 
 
 Pistol. What ! I do bring good news? 
 
 Falstaff. Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, 
 I am fortune's steward. Get on thy boots : we'll ride all night : — 
 O, sweet Pistol ! — Away, Bardolph. ... I know the young King 
 is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ; the laws of England 
 are at my commandment. Happy are they which have been my 
 friends, and woe unto my Lord Chief Justice ! " 
 
378 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The next scene is very short, partly comic, partly 
 painful, describing the two women, Mrs. Quickly and 
 Doll, roughly dragged to prison by some beadles, 
 who then performed, probably with great harshness, 
 the duties of modern policemen. 1 These hapless 
 women, both probably drunk, abuse and revile their 
 captors, who hint that there have been lives lost 
 lately in the Boar's Head, and that Pistol was one of 
 the homicides or murderers. It is likely that Mrs. 
 Quickly's establishment, in the absence of Prince 
 Henry and Falstaff, became the scene of more 
 dangerous revels than before, when the rank of the 
 former, and the shrewd wit of the latter, were no 
 longer there to inspire awe or preserve good-humour. 
 Nothing, however, transpires about the alleged fray, 
 and the women, longing for Falstaff to rescue them, 
 are taken to jail, scolding and threatening the beadles, 
 with much the same coarse, spiteful mockery still 
 sometimes displayed in police courts. 
 
 " Hostess. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might die that I 
 might have thee hanged : thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. 
 
 ist Beadle. The constables have delivered her over to me : 
 and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. . . . 
 Come, I charge you both go with me ; for the man is dead that you 
 and Pistol beat among you. 
 
 Doll. I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue- 
 bottled rogue ! you filthy famished correctioner ; if you be not 
 swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles. 
 
 1 " From the earliest times to our own days there were two 
 bodies of police in England, namely, the parish and high constables, 
 and the watchmen in cities and boroughs. Nothing could exceed 
 the inefficiency of the constables and watchmen." — Stephen's 
 " English Criminal Law," chap. vii. 
 
u Second Part of King Henry IV." 379 
 
 Beadle. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 
 Hostess. O, that right should thus overcome might ! 
 Doll. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a justice. 
 Hostess. Yes ; come, you starved bloodhound. 
 Doll. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal. 
 Beadle. Very well." 
 
 The last scene returns to London, where Falstaff, 
 Shallow, Pistol, and Bardolph are assembled in a 
 public place near Westminster Abbey, which the King 
 is about to pass in a state procession. Falstaff feels 
 sure that 'the young sovereign will recognise and 
 welcome him. He places Pistol behind him, while 
 Shallow is beside him, Bardolph and the page being 
 near, when the King approaches, attended by many 
 courtiers, and also by Chief Justice Gascoigne. 
 Falstaff instantly addresses his former young patron, 
 and calls him 
 
 " My royal Hal." 
 
 Pistol also greets him as 
 
 " Most royal imp of fame ! " 
 
 The King first tells Gascoigne to answer, but the 
 judge is so shocked at Falstaff's freedom that he 
 can only ask him if he is in his senses, and 
 knows what he says. Falstaff takes no notice of 
 him, but persists in addressing the King, who then 
 replies with stern gravity, bids him fall to his 
 prayers, and no longer to think him the same man 
 he was, for that he has turned away his former self, 
 and also his previous company. He even banishes 
 
380 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Sir John from his presence, forbidding him, on pain 
 of death, to approach him nearer than ten miles. 
 Then, perhaps remembering Falstaffs desperate cir- 
 cumstances, and that he will now lose all credit after 
 being thus cast off, and probably be ruined, he 
 promises him an unearned 
 
 "Competence of life, . . . 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil," 
 
 and directs Gascoigne 
 
 " To see performed the tenor of our word," 
 
 though that judge is probably the least likely of a!l 
 people to recommend liberality to Falstaff. 
 
 The King then passes on, and Shallow, who, with 
 Falstaffs other companions, is grievously disappointed 
 at this reception, now asks the poor old knight to 
 repay a thousand pounds he had lent him. Falstaff, 
 though doubtless amazed, like the rest, at the King's 
 words, has yet too much buoyancy and self-confidence 
 to believe himself really abandoned to the mercies of 
 Judge Gascoigne, and flatters himself that Henry will 
 send for him at night, having merely assumed this 
 new manner towards him for some reasons of state 
 Shallow, however, despite his simplicity, is alarmed 
 about his money, and begs for half of it, which 
 Falstaff is apparently unable to pay. Sir John then 
 asks both Shallow and Pistol to dine with him that 
 evening, still persuading himself that he will yet be 
 summoned at night to the palace, when enter his two 
 
" Second Part of King Henry IV." 381 
 
 chief enemies, young and old, Prince John and Judge 
 Gascoigne, neither of whom his wit could ever amuse 
 or his effrontery deceive. Gascoigne immediately 
 orders Falstaff and all his company to be conveyed to 
 the Fleet Prison. Sir John attempts a remonstrance, 
 but is removed a prisoner with his companions — an 
 act for which there appears little or no reason at that 
 moment. 1 For the Prince could hardly have expected 
 FalstafPs reformation, were such a thing ever possible, 
 to commence precisely at the same time as his own. 
 Prince John, however, intimates to Gascoigne that all 
 the imprisoned party will be "provided for," but that 
 
 "All are banished till their conversations 
 Appear more wise and modest to the world." 
 
 Falstaff's imprisonment probably was only meant to 
 be a short one, to convince him and others that his 
 influence with the King was over. 2 
 
 1 Dr. Johnson thinks Falstaff's imprisonment an act of cruelty. 
 Messrs. Dowden and Furnivall apparently think the young King 
 was right. The former says : — " As no terms of half-acquaintance 
 are possible with the fat knight, Henry must become to Falstaff 
 an absolute stranger. Henry has been stern to his former self; 
 therefore he can be stern to Falstaff." Mr. Furnivall writes : — 
 " What other reception could Henry, in the midst of his new state, 
 give in public to the debauched old sinner ? . . . His end here 
 is imprisonment for a time." 
 
 2 As Shakespeare had no wish to represent the young monarch 
 unfairly, it is evident that Henry only intended a slight punishment 
 for Falstaff, — as Hume writes : " Henry V. called together his 
 former companions, acquainted them with his intended reformation, 
 exhorted them to imitate his example, but strictly inhibited them, 
 till they had given proofs of their sincerity in this particular, from 
 appearing any more in his presence, and he then dismissed them, 
 with liberal presents" (" History of England," chap. xix.). 
 
382 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Prince John and Gascoigne are now the men 
 highest in the King's confidence, and in the last lines 
 of this play John anticipates a war with France, 
 which soon ensues. The play thus leaves Henry V. 
 newly crowned, and surrounded by the late King's 
 most trusted ministers. His former wild associates 
 are either banished from his presence or imprisoned. 
 The peaceful and respectable of his subjects are thus 
 soon convinced of their young sovereign's thorough 
 reformation, for he certainly behaved thenceforth as if 
 the admonishing spirit of his illustrious father inspired 
 his thoughts and directed his actions. 
 
VI 
 "THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR" 
 
 IN this lively, cheerful play, one of the most 
 amusing of Shakespeare's creations, Sir John 
 Falstaff reappears, not so martial as before, but as 
 witty, confident, and boastful as ever. 1 The old idea 
 that Queen Elizabeth desired this play to be written 
 to describe Falstaff in love, though not proved true, 
 is yet apparently believed or to some extent trusted 
 by two of the ablest Shakespearian scholars of the 
 nineteenth century. Mr. Howard Staunton 2 says: 
 " We can by no means afford to part with this 
 tradition ; it accounts for the many evidences of haste 
 observable in the first draft of the piece, and recon- 
 ciles all the difficulties which are experienced in 
 attempting to determine whether the incidents are to 
 be taken as occurring before the historical plays of 
 ' Henry IV.,' Parts ist and 2nd, of ' Henry V.,' or 
 between any two of them, or after the whole." Mr. 
 Furnivall writes: "As the order was given, Shake- 
 speare had to carry it out." He adds of this play : 
 
 1 " It is Shakespeare's only play of contemporary manners and 
 direct sketch of middle-class English life." — Furnivall's notes to the 
 " Royal Shakespeare," 1883. 2 1858. 
 
 383 
 
384 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " There are no grandees in it, though we have 
 reflections of the Court ; the use of Windsor traditions 
 in it points to a performance of the play at Windsor." 
 Once only does this interesting play appear as 
 describing a time after the reign of Henry IV., in 
 Act III., Scene 2, where "the wild Prince and 
 Poins " are named as existing before its time. The 
 first scene reintroduces old Justice Shallow, whose 
 character is indicated by his name, and two new 
 personages, Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh parson, and 
 Mr. Slender, a young cousin of Shallow, and nearly, 
 if not quite, as simple or silly as his old relative. 
 The scene is at Windsor, and their talk is about Sir 
 John Falstaff. Shallow, indignant and full of self- 
 importance, exclaims to Evans, who is evidently trying 
 to pacify or restrain him : 
 
 " Sir Hugh, persuade me not ... if he were twenty Sir John 
 Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, Esquire." 
 
 The irritated, silly old Justice tries to magnify his 
 quarrel with Falstaff into an important case to lay 
 before the Star Chamber, while his yet more foolish 
 young relative, Abraham Slender, apparently wishing 
 to puff up Shallow's vanity, boasts of his little 
 distinctions, adding to that of esquire : 
 
 " In the county of Gloucester, Justice of the Peace and coram.'" 
 
 Old Shallow continues : 
 
 "Aye, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum." l 
 
 1 " Correctly, Shallow's designation was Justice of the Peace and 
 of the Quorum and Custos Rotulorum." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 1 385 
 
 Slender, as vain as his old relative, proceeds, 
 addressing Evans, while sometimes mispronouncing 
 Latin words : 
 
 " Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman born, master parson, 
 who writes himself armigero in any bill, warrant, quittance, or 
 obligation, armigero" 
 
 Shallow, more proud of his ancestry than they would 
 likely have been of him, rejoins : 
 
 "Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three hundred 
 years." 
 
 Slender proceeds in the same silly style, while Evans 
 seems to listen patiently : 
 
 "All his successors gone before him hath done 't ; and all his 
 ancestors that come after him may." 
 
 Evans, sympathising with Shallow in an eccentric 
 way, though neither is a match for Falstaff in wit or 
 shrewdness, says, coming to the point : 
 
 " If Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I 
 am of the church, and will be glad to do my penevolence to make 
 atonements and compromises between you." 
 
 Shallow, resenting what he considers Falstaffs insults 
 to him, exclaims : 
 
 " The Council shall hear it : it is a riot." 
 
 Evans, a simple, or rather blundering, man, always 
 well-meaning and pacific, remarks : 
 
 " It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there is no fear of Got 
 in a riot ; the Council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got 
 and not to hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that." 
 
 26 
 
386 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Shakespeare usually makes Evans speak in a broad 
 Welsh accent, while he seldom, if ever, makes 
 Londoners speak in their peculiar or " Cockney " 
 style, and misplace their A's ; though he was likely 
 well acquainted with it. Sir Hugh Evans now tries 
 to pacify his old friend Shallow, who, apparently 
 recalling the days of his youth, irritably exclaims : 
 
 " Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again the sword should end it." 
 
 The peaceful Welsh parson replies : 
 
 " It is petter that friends is the sword and end it, and there is 
 also another device in my prain which peradventure prings goot 
 discretions with it. There is Anne Page, which is daughter to 
 Master George Page, which is pretty virginity." 
 
 Slender, who evidently knows her by sight, exclaims : 
 " She has brown hair, and speaks small, like a woman." 
 
 Evans declares she is rich and would be a o-ood match 
 for Slender, adding, in a practical spirit : 
 
 " It were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles and prabbles and 
 desire a marriage between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne 
 Page." 
 
 This idea pleases old Shallow, who wishes to see 
 Anne's father and hears that Falstaff is now in Pace's 
 house. Evans, as becomes a pacifying clergyman, 
 exhorts the irritated Shallow to keep his temper 
 when meeting Falstaff; Page enters admitting that 
 Falstaff is in his house, and, like Evans, wishes to be 
 
'^The Merry Wives of Windsor" 387 
 
 a peacemaker ; while, after thanking Shallow for a 
 present of venison, says, alluding to Falstaff: 
 
 " I would I could do a good office between you." 
 Evans observes : 
 
 " It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak," 
 and Shallow, still offended with Falstaff, exclaims : 
 
 " He hath wronged me, Master Page." 
 
 The other replies that Falstaff confesses it, and 
 Shallow retorts : 
 
 " If it be confessed, it is not redressed, is not that so, Master 
 Page ? He hath wronged me, indeed he hath, at a word he hath ; 
 believe me, Robert Shallow, Esquire, saith he is wronged." 
 
 Shallow, as if sinking into dotage, or something like 
 it, is full of vanity, yet by his position, and perhaps by 
 his previous character, retains some apparent influence 
 over both Evans and Page, who never ridicule him. 
 Falstaff now enters with his three wild followers, 
 Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. He evidently well knows 
 Shallow's character or state of mind, diverting himself 
 and his followers by asking the silly old Justice, with 
 all the provoking calmness of his rare sarcastic 
 powers : 
 
 " Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the King ? " 
 
 But which King Falstaff means is not stated here, 
 whether the shrewd Henry IV. or his wild son, 
 
^>88 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Henry V. ; probably the latter, with whom Falstaff was 
 formerly so familiar. Yet the witty old rogue seems 
 as confident as ever, still attended by the same 
 unscrupulous followers, and apparently quite un- 
 changed by the stern censure which the young 
 King, Henry V., had passed upon him on ascending 
 the English throne. Perhaps knowing that Shallow 
 is now almost doting or utterly foolish, and more 
 ridiculed than feared or believed, Falstaff feels sure he 
 has little to dread from his deceived old friend's 
 present confused anger with him. Shallow, however, 
 as if provoked by Falstaff's calm manner, now sums 
 up his grievances, exclaiming : 
 
 " Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke 
 open my lodge." 
 
 To these charges Falstaff, perhaps alluding to some 
 plain woman in Shallow's service, replies : 
 
 " But not kissed your keeper's daughter ! " 
 
 Shallow, as if puzzled at such provoking coolness, 
 replies hastily : 
 
 "Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered." 
 
 Falstaff, ever ready with a sharp retort, replies : 
 
 " I will answer it straight : I have done all this. That is now 
 answered." 
 
 Shallow angrily continues : 
 
 "The Council shall know this." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 389 
 
 Falstaff, quibbling with the word, scornfully answers : 
 
 " 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel : : you'll be 
 laughed at." 
 
 Evans, anxious for peace, interposes : 
 
 " Pauca verba, Sir John, good worts." 
 Falstaff, often ridiculing the Welsh accent, retorts : 
 
 " Good worts 2 — good cabbage." 
 
 Then, scornfully addressing the simple, or rather 
 nervous, Slender, he asks : 
 
 " Slender, I broke your head ; what matter have you against 
 me?" 
 
 Slender indignantly replies : 
 
 " Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you and against 
 your coney-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol." 
 
 He proceeds in detail, likely to the amusement of the 
 three listening rogues : 
 
 "They carried me to the tavern and made me drunk, and after- 
 wards picked my pocket." 
 
 Bardolph, like his two associates, utterly scorns the 
 simple complainant, exclaiming : 
 
 1 You Banbury cheese ! " 3 
 
 1 " In secrecy." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " Coleworts." — Ibid. 
 
 3 "A soft, thin cream cheese." — Ibid. 
 
390 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Slender petulantly or timidly answers : 
 " Ay, it is no matter," 
 
 while the bully Pistol calls him " Mephistopheles," 
 which apparently shows that Shakespeare had heard 
 of the old German legend of Dr. Faust and his 
 fiendish tempter. The name, however, was sometimes 
 applied to a thin or lanthorn-jawed fellow, 1 which 
 Slender probably was. Nym also defies Slender, 
 but Evans, as becoming his profession, tries to make 
 peace, but in a pompous way, exclaiming : 
 
 " Peace, I pray you ! Now let us understand : there is three 
 umpires in this matter as I understand : that is — Master Page, 
 fidelicet Master Page, and there is myself, fidelicet myself and the 
 three party is lastly and finally, mine Host of the Garter." 
 
 Page assents, and Evans, in his Welsh accent, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Fery goot, I will make a prief of it in my note-book. . . ." 
 
 Falstaff, apparently quite at his ease among this 
 company, and likely secretly laughing at them, 
 addresses his wild adherent, Pistol, and his impudent 
 follower smartly replies of himself : 
 
 "He hears with ears." 
 
 Evans, as if irritated at this fellow's coolness, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is this, ' He hears with ear ? ' 
 Why, it is affectations." 
 
 1 Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 391 
 
 Falstaff calmly continues questioning his follower : 
 " Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse ? " 
 
 Slender eagerly repeats the accusation : 
 
 "Ay, by these gloves did he," 
 
 and then mentions various sums of money which 
 he. believes Pistol has robbed from him. Falstaff 
 again asks : 
 
 " Is this true, Pistol ? " 
 
 while Evans interposes : 
 
 " No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse." 
 
 Pistol, now getting quarrelsome, replies to the 
 Welshman : 
 
 " Ha, thou mountain foreigner ! Sir John and master mine, 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. l 
 Word of denial in thy labras 2 here ; 
 Word of denial, froth and scum, thou liest." 
 
 Slender, as if roused by these insults, retorts, 
 perhaps now accusing Nym : 
 
 " By these gloves, then 'twas he." 
 
 Nym scornfully replies : 
 
 " Be advised, sir, and pass good humours ; I will say marry trap 
 
 " A sword wanting both edge and temper." — Staunton's notes. 
 " Lips." 
 
392 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 with you if you run the nuthook's humour on me : ■ that is the very 
 note of it." 
 
 Slender, as if now inclined to suspect Bardolph, 
 exclaims with comic frankness : 
 
 " By this hat, then, he in the red face had it, for though I cannot 
 remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not 
 altogether an ass." 
 
 Falstaff asks Bardolph about the matter, who, 
 availing himself of Slenders intemperance, replies : 
 
 " Why, sir, for my part I say, the gentleman had drunk himself 
 out of his five sentences." 
 
 Evans, who, despite his Welsh accent, knows 
 English better than Bardolph, exclaims : 
 
 " It is his five senses ; fie, what the ignorance is ! " 
 
 Bardolph, thoroughly shameless and despising the 
 foolish Slender, proceeds in his pretended excuse to 
 Falstaff : 
 
 "And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered." 2 
 
 Slender, however, too late perceiving that he is no 
 match for the three rogues in cunning or in impudence, 
 finally exclaims, as if trying to combine his weakness 
 for drink with some idea of respectability : 
 
 1 " Nuthook was the slang title of a catch-pole. Nym threatens 
 poor Slender with the marry trap if he comes the co?istable over him 
 by charging him with theft." — Staunton's notes. 
 " Being drunk was cleared out." — Ibid. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 393 
 
 " Ay, you spoke in Latin then, too ; but 'tis no matter, I'll ne'er 
 be drunk while I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for 
 this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the 
 fear of God, and not with drunken knaves." 
 
 Evans, with some sympathy, as if wishing to make 
 the best of him, adds : 
 
 " So, Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind," 
 
 while Falstaff coolly observes to all around, with his 
 usual calm effrontery : 
 
 " You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen ; you hear it." 
 
 This they certainly do, but neither Evans nor Slender 
 can get redress from the bravoes, Nym, Bardolph, 
 and Pistol, over whom at present Falstaff has con- 
 siderable though not absolute influence. Anne Paq-e 
 now enters with her mother and Mrs. Ford, while 
 Page himself, evidently an easygoing, hospitable 
 man, invites all this strange company to his house 
 to enjoy a " hot venison pasty," a meat likely often 
 obtainable in the neighbourhood of Windsor forest, 
 adding: 
 
 " I hope we shall drink down all unkindness." 
 
 Slender, in love with Miss Page, remains a short 
 time with Shallow and Evans after the others have 
 left, regretting in a silly way that he had not his 
 book of songs and sonnets with him, to captivate 
 Anne. His servant, Simple, described by his name, 
 enters, and his equally silly master, longing to make 
 
394 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 himself agreeable, asks if he has not the " Book 
 of Riddles " with him, when Simple provokingly 
 answers : 
 
 " Book of Riddles I Why, did you not lend it to Alice 
 Shortcake ? " 
 
 probably .some lover of Slender, not introduced in 
 the play. Evans and Shallow now both try to 
 persuade Slender to make love to Anne Page. And 
 Slender, after some nervous hesitation, often mis- 
 placing his words, definitely answers Shallow : 
 
 " I will marry her, sir, at your request, but if there be no great 
 love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better 
 acquaintance when we are married and have more occasion to know 
 one another : I hope upon familiarity will grow more contempt, but 
 if you say marry her, I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved 
 and dissolutely." 
 
 Evans, wishing to encourage the timid, half-silly 
 Slender, observes with qualified approval : 
 
 " It is a fery discretion answer, save the faul is in the 'ort dis- 
 solutely : the 'ort is, according to our meaning, resolutely — his 
 meaning is goot." 
 
 Shallow, who, though foolish himself, cannot help 
 rather despising Slender, exclaims like Evans : 
 
 " Ay, I think my cousin meant well," 
 
 while the simple Slender, knowing he is between two 
 friends, earnestly declares : 
 
 " Ay, or else I would I might be hanged." 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 395 
 
 Anne now re-enters, when old Shallow gallantly 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Would I were young for your sake, Mistress Anne ! " 
 
 Miss Page, equally indifferent to her old and young- 
 admirer, says her father is waiting dinner for them. 
 Shallow and Evans, as if by common consent, depart, 
 leaving Anne Page and Slender, with the latter's 
 servant Simple, together. Anne repeats that her 
 father's dinner is waiting, while Slender, saying he is 
 not hungry, sends away Simple, and then, as if to 
 convince Anne of the comfort or luxury of his home, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " A justice of peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for 
 a man. I keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be 
 dead, but what though? I live like a poor gentleman born." 
 
 Anne, who evidently takes no interest in him or 
 his affairs, again asks him to dinner, observing, to 
 hurry him : 
 
 " I may not go in without your worship : they will not sit till 
 you come." 
 
 Slender, wishing Anne to know he loves her, yet 
 too shy or awkward to speak plainly, declares he can 
 eat nothing, while she again asks him to walk in. 
 Slender then, hoping to interest her, replies : 
 
 " I had rather walk here, I thank you." 
 
 Then, boasting, as if wishing to be thought an able 
 swordsman by Anne, he proceeds : 
 
396 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " I bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword and 
 dagger with a master of fence. T . . . Why do your dogs bark so ? 
 Be there bears in the town ? " 
 
 Anne replies : 
 
 " I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked of." 
 
 Slender, wishing her to think him a man of great 
 courage, replies : 
 
 " I love the sport well," 
 
 meaning probably bear-baiting ; 
 
 " but I shall as soon quarrel at it as any man in England. You are 
 afraid if you see the bear loose, are you not ? " 
 
 Anne truly replies : 
 
 "Ay indeed, sir." 
 
 Slender, pretending to fear nothing or to love 
 danger, exclaims : 
 
 " That's meat and drink to me, now." 
 
 Then, alluding to a well-known oddly-named bear 
 exhibited in Paris at this time, 2 proceeds : 
 
 " I have seen Sackerson loose twenty times and have taken him 
 by the chain, but I warrant you the women have so cried and 
 shrieked at it that it surpassed." 3 
 
 1 " One who had taken his master's degree in the noble science of 
 fencing." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 * Ibid. 3 « Surpassed belief." 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 397 
 
 Then, as if excusing feminine timidity, he adds : 
 
 " But women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favoured, 
 rough things." 
 
 Page now re-enters, impatient of waiting, and 
 asking Slender in to dinner. The latter pretends 
 to have no appetite, and asks Anne to lead the way ; 
 she refuses, and he finally exclaims, as if puzzled what 
 to do : 
 
 " I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome ; you do yourself 
 wrong, indeed," 
 
 and all then enter Page's hospitable abode, where 
 Evans privately tells Simple, Slenders servant, to 
 take a letter to a certain French Dr. Caius's house, 
 and give it to the doctor's housekeeper, Mrs. Quickly, 
 whom he calls — 
 
 " Caius's nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry," 
 
 and proceeds : 
 
 " Give her this letter, for it is a 'oman that altogethers acquaintance 
 with Mistress Anne Page, and the letter is to desire and require her 
 to solicit your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page." 
 
 Simple perhaps hesitates, as Evans continues, re- 
 verting to his Welsh accent and tastes : 
 
 " I pray you pe gone, I'll make an end of my dinner ; there's 
 pippins and cheese to come." 
 
 The next scene is in the Garter Inn, where Fal- 
 staff, his page Robin, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol 
 
398 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 are together, with the lively host of the establish- 
 ment, who, apparently proud of Falstaff's patronage, 
 calls him his " bully-rook," J adding : 
 
 "Speak scholarly and wisely." 
 
 Falstaff, perhaps ashamed of some of his rakish 
 followers, or thinking the host is, declares he must 
 turn them away. The host, as if pleased, replies : 
 
 " Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier ; let them wag ; trot, trot." 
 
 Falstaff, on good terms with his host and wishing to 
 remain so, continues : 
 
 " I sit at ten pounds a week." 
 
 The host, evidently anxious to please his guest, 
 rejoins with compliments : 
 
 " Thou'rt an emperor, Csesar, Keisar and Pheezar." 
 
 Then, as if selecting Falstaff's chief favourite for 
 retention in service, says : 
 
 "I will entertain Bardolph ; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I well, 
 bully Hector?" 
 
 Falstaff approves and the host departs, saying : 
 
 " I have spoke, let him follow. Let me see thee froth and lime : 2 
 I am at a word, follow " ; 
 
 1 "Jolly dog." — Staunton's notes. 
 ■ "A cant term for a tapster." — Ibid. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor ,: 399 
 
 and Falstaff, recommending- Bardolph's new profession, 
 says : 
 
 " Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good trade ; an old cloak 
 n .kes a new jerkin ; a withered serving-man a fresh tapster ; go, 
 ac .eu." 
 
 Bardolph, evidently hopeful and highly pleased, 
 answers : 
 
 " It is a life that I have desired : I will thrive," 
 
 and follows the host. His comrades, Pistol and 
 Nym, are evidently angry, while Falstaff is too shrewd 
 for the whole trio. Pistol, as if envying or scorning 
 Bardolph, exclaims : 
 
 " O base Hungarian wight, wilt thou the spigot wield ? " 
 Nym sullenly adds, in much the same spirit : 
 " His mind is not heroic, and there's the humour of it." 
 
 Falstaff says, affecting to despise the absent Bardolph 
 before his envious comrade : 
 
 " I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box ; his thefts were too 
 open ; his filching was like an unskilled singer ; he kept not time." 
 
 Nym and Pistol, as proud as the Artful Dodger and 
 Charley Bates of their cunning and rather similar 
 profession, alike praise it. Nym exclaims : 
 
 " The good humour is, to steal at a minute's rest." 
 
4.00 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Pistol, more choice in words than his comrade, but 
 the same in principle, exclaims : 
 
 " Convey, the wise call it ; steal ! foh, a fico for the phrase ! " 
 
 Falstaff now deems it time to attend practically to 
 their finances, exclaiming : 
 
 " Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels." 
 
 Pistol comically replies : 
 
 " Why, then, let kibes r ensue." 
 
 Falstaff proceeds : 
 
 " There is no remedy. I must coney-catch ; I must shift." 
 
 Pistol, hearing these words, makes a singular com- 
 parison between himself and Nym, with birds feeding 
 on carrion, exclaiming : 
 
 " Young ravens must have food." 
 
 Falstaff then partly unfolds his future scheme in 
 which he needs their help, which they finally refuse 
 to give, much to their old patron's indignation. 
 Falstaff asks cautiously : 
 
 " Which of you know Ford of this town ? " 
 
 Pistol replies : 
 
 " I ken the wight ; he is ot substance good." 
 
 1 "Chilblains." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor' 401 
 
 Falstaff proceeds, addressing both alike : 
 " My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about." 
 
 Pistol jokingly replies, as if taking FalstafTs measure: 
 
 " Two yards and more," 
 but Falstaff, in no mood for joking, replies : 
 
 " No quips now, Pistol," 
 
 yet, as if almost inclined to make puns, he continues : 
 
 " Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about, but I am now about 
 no waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to 
 Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in her ; she discourses, she gives 
 the leer of invitation. ... I can construe the action of her familiar 
 style, and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be Englished 
 rightly, is, / am Sir John Falstaff' 's." 
 
 Pistol and Nym, eagerly listening, exclaim, as if 
 partly to each other, the former : 
 
 " He hath studied her well, and translated her well : out of 
 honesty into English." 
 
 and Nym observes : 
 
 " The anchor is deep, 1 will that humour pass ? " 
 
 Falstaff, without noticing their words, calmly 
 proceeds : 
 
 " Now the report goes, she has all the rule of her husband's purse ; 
 she hath legions of angels." 
 
 1 "Nym in his fustian language perhaps means that he does not 
 fathom the object of this love to Ford's wife ; when he hears, however, 
 that the ultimate end is to pocket her ' legions of angels,' ' the 
 humour rises, it is good.'" — Staunton's notes. 
 
 27 
 
4.02 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Pistol hearing this eagerly exclaims : 
 
 "To her boy, say I," 
 while Nym, apparently in the same mind, exclaims : 
 
 " The humour rises, it is good : humour me the angels." 
 
 Falstaff deliberately continues : 
 
 " I have writ me a letter to her ; I have another to Page's wife, 
 who even now gave me good eyes too . . . sometimes the beam 
 of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly." 
 
 Pistol here exclaims, perhaps only for Nym to 
 hear : 
 
 " Then did the sun on dunghill shine," 
 
 and Nym replies, as if both secretly rather ridiculed 
 their patron : 
 
 " I thank thee for thy humour." 
 
 Falstaff, however, apparently believing he has 
 attracted Mrs. Page, proceeds in a kind of fanciful 
 vanity : 
 
 " O, she did so course o'er my exteriors . . . that the appetite 
 of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass ! Here's 
 another letter to her ; she bears the purse too ; she is a region in 
 Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheater ' to them both, and 
 they shall be exchequers to me ; they shall be my East and West 
 Indies, and I will trade to them both." 
 
 1 " The popular name for escheaters^ those officers employed to 
 certify to the Exchequer what escheats fall to the Crown through 
 forfeiture." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 403 
 
 Then, singling out his two subordinates, he proceeds, 
 expecting they will be readily obedient : 
 
 " Go, bear thou this letter to Mistress Page, and thou this to 
 Mistress Ford." 
 
 In evident gleeful expectation, the old schemer adds, 
 to encourage his hearers : 
 
 "We will thrive, lads, we will thrive." 
 
 To FalstafT's surprise, probably, his two followers 
 alike refuse to aid him, Nym even rudely exclaiming : 
 
 " I will run no base humour : here, take the humour-letter ; I 
 will keep the 'haviour of reputation." 
 
 Falstaff, for once in his life like Richard III., in 
 employing boys when men fail him, exclaims to his 
 page Robin, a silent hearer of this strange scene : 
 
 "... Bear you these letters tightly : * 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores." 
 
 Then angrily dismissing his followers, though in no 
 worse language than they both richly deserve : 
 
 " Rogues, hence ! avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ! 
 Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! 
 Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, 
 French thrift, you rogues ; myself and skirted page." 2 
 
 So saying Falstaff indignantly departs, closely 
 
 1 " Promptly." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 - " Alluding to the custom then prevalent in France of making 
 a smart page serve the purpose of a tribe of retainers." — Ibid. 
 
404 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 followed by his page Robin. This boy, though 
 witnessing so many funny scenes, takes little part 
 in any of them, and seems rather a dull sample of his 
 age ; many lads with such a master as Falstaff would 
 have learned or imitated some of his wit and humour, 
 of which this youth hardly shows any sign. Falstaff's 
 two discharged followers, when alone, in their turn 
 angrily and coarsely abuse him, but not with actual 
 hatred. Pistol calls him, " Base Phrygian Turk" 
 while Nym, more practical, declares that he will have 
 revenge, saying : 
 
 " I will discuss the humour of this love to Page." 
 Pistol rejoins in the same spirit, but more poetically : 
 
 " And I to Ford shall eke unfold, 
 How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
 And his soft couch defile." 
 
 Nym, perhaps more angry than Pistol, or more plain- 
 spoken, adds : 
 
 " My humour shall not cool ; I will incense Page to deal with 
 poison ; . . . this is my true humour." 
 
 Pistol, admiring and trusting his determined comrade, 
 rejoins : 
 
 " Thou art the Mars of malcontents ; I second that ; troop on," 
 
 and they depart together. 
 
 The next scene is in the Frenchman's, Dr. Caius's 
 house, where his servants, Mrs. Quickly and John 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 1 405 
 
 Rugby, with Slender's man Simple, are together. 
 Mrs. Quickly, who is sharpness itself compared to the 
 other two, addresses Rugby : 
 
 " I pray thee, go to the casement and see if you can see my 
 master, Dr. Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, and find anybody in 
 the house, here will be an old * abusing of God's patience and the 
 King's English." 
 
 Rugby obeys, and Mrs. Quickly, knowing how stupid 
 he is, exclaims after he departs : 
 
 " An honest, willing, kind fellow, and I warrant you no tell-tale.' 
 
 She then asks Simple his name and about his master. 
 Slender describes him as " a tall man of his hands," 
 meaning that he is able or bold, and Mrs. Quickly 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Well, Heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune ! Tell master 
 parson Evans I will do what I can for your master." 
 
 This cunning woman then praises Anne, as Rugby 
 returns, speaking in evident fear that Dr. Caius is 
 coming. Mrs. Quickly, despite her artfulness, is yet 
 afraid of her passionate master, exclaiming : 
 
 " We shall all be shent ; " 2 
 
 then says to Simple : 
 
 " Run in here, good young man," 
 
 (shutting him in the closet) and adds : 
 ' He will not stay long." 
 
 1 " 
 
 Rare." 2 " Undone." — Staunton's notes. 
 
4.06 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then, pretending not to know Caius is coming, she 
 exclaims to Rugby : 
 
 "Go, John, go, inquire for my master; I doubt he be not well 
 that he comes not home," 
 
 and begins to sing as the excitable Caius, who is 
 generally in a passion, enters, asking in the French 
 accent and style, which Shakespeare represents to 
 perfection : 
 
 " Vot is it you sing ? I do not like dese toys ; pray you go and 
 vetch me in my closet un boitier verd ; a box, a green-a box; do 
 intend vat I speak? a green-a box." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, naturally rather afraid of this irritable 
 gentleman, whose temper is probably aggravated by 
 being entirely among English people, many of whom 
 would scarcely resist laughing at him, replies aloud : 
 
 " Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you," 
 
 and says to herself: 
 
 " I am glad he went not in himself; if he had found the young 
 man, he would have been horn-mad." 
 
 Caius exclaims, complaining of the heat in French and 
 broken English : 
 
 " Fe, fe, fe, fe, ma fai, il fait bien chaud," 
 
 and says he must go to the Court about some im- 
 portant matter. He receives the box from Mrs. 
 Quickly, telling her to hurry herself and put it in his 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ,: 407 
 
 pocket, and then orders Rugby to follow him with his 
 rapier, when suddenly he exclaims : 
 
 " Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for de varld I 
 shall leave behind ! " 
 
 Accordingly, to Mrs. Ouickly's terror, he opens the 
 closet and drags out the unlucky and helpless Simple, 
 calling out : 
 
 " O diable, vat is in my closet ? Villainy ! Rugby, my rapier." 
 Mrs. Quickly, fearing violence, exclaims : 
 
 " Good master, be content," 
 while he, in rather reasonable anger, asks , 
 
 " Verefore shall I be content ? " 
 She declares : 
 
 "The young man is an honest man,' 
 when he retorts : 
 
 " Vat shall de honest man do in my closet ? dere is no honest 
 man dat shall come in my closet." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, vainly trying to calm him, perhaps 
 makes matters worse by assuring Caius that Simple 
 has come from Parson Hugh Evans, when Slender 
 foolishly proceeds : 
 
 " To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to speak a good 
 word to Mistress Anne Page for my master in the wa y of marriage." 
 
4_o8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, now despairing of further denial, tries 
 to excuse herself by exclaiming : 
 
 " This is all indeed, but I'll ne'er put my finger in the fire, and 
 need not." 
 
 The enraged Frenchman immediately resolves on a 
 duel and at once silently writes out a challenge to 
 Evans, while Mrs. Quickly, as if relieved and not 
 knowing what he is writing, says to Simple : 
 
 " I am glad he is so quiet ; if he had been thoroughly moved, you 
 should have heard him so loud . . . but notwithstanding, man, I'll 
 do your master what good I can." 
 
 Then, detailing all she does in her not very easy situa- 
 tion, she proceeds : 
 
 " And the very yea and the no is the French doctor, my master 
 — I may call him my master, look you, for I keep his house, and I 
 wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds 
 and do all myself." 
 
 Simple, believing her, naturally exclaims : 
 
 " Tis a great charge, to come under one body's hand." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly confidently continues : 
 
 " You shall find it a great charge, and to be up early and down 
 late." 
 
 Then, as if having boasted or complained enough, she 
 cunningly changes the subject, and proceeds to the 
 listening, credulous Simple : 
 
 " But notwithstanding (to tell you in your ear I would have no 
 words of it) my master himself is in love with Mistress Anne Page, 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 4.09 
 
 but notwithstanding that — I know Anne's mind — that's neither here 
 nor there." 
 
 Caius now, having finished his letter of defiance, ex- 
 claims in his usual vehement way to Simple : 
 
 " You jack-an-ape give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh ; by gar, it is a 
 shallenge ; I vill cut his troat in de park, and I vill teach a scurvy 
 jack-an-ape priest to meddle or make." 
 
 Simple probably stands listening and frightened, so 
 Caius proceeds impatiently : 
 
 " You may be gone, it is not good you tarry here." 
 
 Simple then departs, while Mrs. Quickly, trying to 
 pacify Caius, exclaims, meaning that Evans is only 
 acting for Slender : 
 
 " Alas, he speaks but for his friend " ; 
 Caius, apparently resolved on a duel, replies : 
 
 " It is no matter-a vor dat," 
 then asks her : 
 
 " Do not you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? by 
 gar, I vill kill de Jack priest, and I have appointed mine host of de 
 Jarterre to measure our weapons ; by gar, I vill myself have Anne 
 Page." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, timidly anxious to stand well with 
 everybody while keeping her real mind steadily to 
 herself, again tries to soothe her angry master, 
 assuring him, while knowing otherwise all the time: 
 
 " Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well " ; 
 
zj.io Shakespeare Studied 
 
 then, trying to excuse Simple's talkativeness, adds : 
 " We must give folks leave to prate." 
 
 Caius, still irritated, exclaims to his two frightened 
 servants, perhaps beginning to suspect Mrs. Quickly : 
 
 " Rugby, come to the Court vit me — by gar, if I have not Anne 
 Page I shall turn your head out of my door. Follow my heels, 
 Rugby." 
 
 He departs with his man, and Mrs. Quickly, when 
 alone, ventures to express her real feeling about both 
 Caius and Anne : 
 
 " You shall have An fool's head of your own. No ! I know Anne's 
 mind for that." 
 
 Here Mrs. Quickly, despite her cunning, may rather 
 deceive herself, for Miss Page has hitherto kept her 
 own counsel closely, but the sly woman continues, 
 quite confident in her own shrewdness : 
 
 " Never a woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I 
 do, nor can do more with her, I thank Heaven." 
 
 At this moment Anne's accepted lover, a young 
 Mr. Fenton, enters, kindly greeting Mrs. Quickly, 
 and asking after " pretty Mistress Anne." Evidently 
 believing Mrs. Quickly to be his friend, he asks : 
 
 " Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? Shall I not lose my suit ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, in the style of a pious person, which she 
 is very far from being, replies : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 411 
 
 "Truth, sir, all is in His hands alone, but notwithstanding, Master 
 Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book she loves you." 
 
 She then asks him an odd question : 
 " Have not your worship a wart above your eye ? " 
 
 Fenton, doubtless surprised at this query, replies : 
 " Yes, marry have I, what of that ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quickly rejoins : 
 
 " Well, thereby hangs a tale. . . . We had an hour's talk over 
 that wart — I shall never laugh but in that maid's company ! — But 
 indeed she's given too much to allicholy and musing, but for you — 
 well, go to." 
 
 Fenton, quite trusting as well as bribing the sly 
 woman, replies : 
 
 "Well, I shall see her to-day; hold, there's money for thee; let 
 me have thy voice in my behalf; if thou seest her before me, 
 commend me." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly eagerly interrupts, likely well pleased 
 with his money : 
 
 " Will I ? faith, that we will, and I will tell your worship more ot 
 the wart, the next time we have confidence, and of other wooers." 
 
 He departs, and she says when alone : 
 
 " Truly an honest gentleman, but Anne loves him not ; for I know 
 Anne's mind as well as another does." 
 
 Then, as if remembering what she does not mention, 
 she exclaims : 
 
 " Out upon 't, what have I forgot ! " 
 
a 12 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and departs in an evident hurry. Mrs. Quickly, 
 however, despite her cunning, is mistaken about Anne's 
 not loving Fenton, for Miss Page, while annoyed by 
 her richer or more important suitors, Caius and 
 Slender, each favoured by her different parents, has 
 apparently kept her real feelings hitherto well to 
 herself. 
 
 The next act and scene is at Page's house, 
 introducing his wife with Falstaffs love-letter to her, 
 which seems to amuse and to offend her at the same 
 time. She exclaims to herself, as if suspecting what it 
 contains : 
 
 " What ! have I 'scaped love-letters in the holiday time of my 
 beauty and am I now a subject for them ? Let me see " ; 
 
 and she reads the following amusing mixture of wit, 
 shrewdness, and affected sentimentality : 
 
 " Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love use reason 
 as his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not 
 young, no more am I ; go to, then, there's sympathy ; you are merry, 
 so am I ; ha ! ha ! then there's more sympathy : you love sack and so 
 do I ; would you desire better sympathy ? Let it suffice thee, 
 Mistress Page (at the least if the love of soldier can suffice), that I 
 love thee ; I will not say pity me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase ; but I 
 say, love me. By me, 
 
 " Thine own true knight, 
 By day or night, 
 Or any kind of light, 
 With all his might 
 For thee to fight. 
 
 John Falstaff." 
 
 Mrs. Page, in mingled mirth, surprise, and indigna- 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor 1 413 
 
 tion, exclaims, referring to Scripture for some evil 
 likeness or rival to Falstaff : 
 
 " What a Herod of Jewry is this ? — O wicked, wicked world ! " 
 
 Then, recalling her old admirer's age and appearance 
 to her disgusted mind, she proceeds : 
 
 " One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age, to show himself 
 a young gallant ! . . . Why he hath not been thrice in my company ! 
 — What should I say to him ? " 
 
 A comical idea now occurs to her half-angry, half- 
 amused mind : 
 
 " Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the Parliament for the putting down of 
 fat men." 
 
 Then becoming apparently more indignant, reflecting 
 on the letter, she asks herself : 
 
 " How shall I be revenged on him ? for revenged I will be." 
 
 Mrs. Ford now enters, bringing a similar letter from 
 Falstaff to herself, and exclaiming, after greeting : 
 
 " O Mistress Page, give me some counsel ! " 
 
 Mrs. Page asks what is the matter, and Mrs. Ford, 
 evidently quite confidential with her, says : 
 
 " There, read, read j— perceive how I might be knighted. I shall 
 think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make difference 
 of men's liking. . . . How shall I be revenged on him ? I think the 
 best way were to entertain him with hope. . . . Did you ever hear 
 the like ? " 
 
414 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Page, cordially agreeing with her in being half- 
 angry and half-amused, rejoins : 
 
 " Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and Ford differs ! 
 To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin 
 brother of thy letter, but let thine inherit first, for I protest mine 
 never shall." 
 
 Then, ridiculing and suspecting old FalstafTs conceited, 
 amorous habits, she continues : 
 
 " I warrant he hath a thousand of these letters writ with blank 
 space for different names (sure more), and these are of the second 
 edition ; he will print them out of doubt ; for he cares not what he 
 puts into the press, when he would put us two." 
 
 Mrs. Ford then, comparing their two letters, exclaims : 
 
 " Why this is the very same, the very hand, the very words ; what 
 doth he think of us ? " 
 
 Mrs. Page indignantly replies : 
 
 " Nay, I know not ; it makes me wrangle almost with mine own 
 honesty, ... for unless he knows some strain ' that I know not 
 myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury." 
 
 Mrs. Ford in the same anger rejoins : 
 
 " Boarding call you it ? I'll be sure to keep him above deck." 
 
 Falstaff evidently, despite his much vaunted shrewd- 
 ness, was not only ignorant of the real characters of 
 the two ladies but also of their thorough confidence 
 in each other, which, considering his previous 
 acquaintance with them, seems hardly consistent with 
 
 ' " Tendency." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor' 1 415 
 
 his means of information. Mrs. Page, equally angry, 
 yet amused at the same time, suggests a scheme of 
 mischief: 
 
 " Let's be revenged on him, let's appoint him a meeting ; give him 
 a show of comfort in his suit, and lead him on with a fine-baited 
 delay, 'till he hath pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, as if rivalling her friend in their common 
 indignation against Falstaff, cordially rejoins : 
 
 "Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against him. . . . O that 
 my husband saw this letter ! it would give eternal food to his 
 jealousy." 
 
 Their husbands both approach, when Mrs. Page 
 observes of her "good man": 
 
 He's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him cause, and that 
 I hope is an unmeasurable distance " ; 
 
 while Mrs. Ford, whose suspicious husband is a 
 thorough contrast to worthy Mr. Page, replies, per- 
 haps sadly : 
 
 " You are the happier woman." 
 
 Mrs. Page, now full of plots against Falstaff, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Let's consult together against this knight," 
 
 and they retire for the purpose. Page and Ford now 
 enter, with Falstaff s former followers, Pistol and Nym. 
 These two worthies, offended with Falstaff, though 
 
41 6 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 apparently not for long, have partly revealed the 
 secret intrigues of their former patron to Page and 
 Ford. The former, easy-going and good-natured, 
 little heeds them, but the latter, irritable and suspicious 
 by nature, is easily deceived and no match for the arts 
 of Pistol, who bluntly says : 
 
 "Sir John affects thy wife." 
 
 Ford, at first incredulous, replies : 
 
 " Why, sir, my wife is not young." 
 
 Pistol persists, exaggerating Falstaffs behaviour, 
 rather like Leporello when describing the intrigues 
 of his patron Don Giovanni with ladies of all sorts : 
 
 " He woos both high and low, both rich and poor. Both young 
 and old, one with another, Ford. . . . Take heed, have open eye, 
 for thieves do foot by night." 
 
 Then, leaving it to his comrade Nym to inform Page, 
 and evidently satisfied with having alarmed Ford, 
 Pistol departs, saying to Page, as if recommending 
 Nym : 
 
 " Believe it, Page, he speaks sense." 
 
 Ford, catching the alarm, exclaims : 
 
 " I will be patient, I will find out this," 
 
 while Nym, addressing Page with affected sincerity, 
 bluntly says : 
 
 " I like not the humour of lying," 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 417 
 
 and, alluding to Falstaff, says : 
 
 " He hath wronged me in some humours ; I should have borne 
 the humoured letter to her, but I have a sword, and it shall bite 
 upon my necessity. He loves your wife ; there's the short and the 
 long. My name is Corporal Nym. I speak and I avouch." 
 
 Then firmly repeating his words, as if anxious to 
 convince the somewhat incredulous Page, the informer 
 adds : 
 
 " Tis true — my name is Nym and Falstaff loves your wife, . . . 
 adieu ! " 
 
 Nym departs, without making much impression on 
 the easy-going Mr. Page, but Ford, already excited, 
 exclaims : 
 
 "I will seek out Falstaff!" 
 
 and while Page declares he will not believe such 
 information, their two wives enter. Page merely asks 
 his wife : 
 
 " How now, Meg ? 
 
 while Mrs. Ford, apparently observing some discontent 
 in her good man, affectionately asks : 
 
 " How now, sweet Frank ? why art thou melancholy ? " 
 
 and Ford petulantly answers, partly revealing his 
 jealousy : 
 
 " Melancholy ! I am not melancholy. Get you home, go ! " 
 
 28 
 
^i 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Ford, evidently observing him and now a little 
 suspicious herself, retorts : 
 
 " Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. Will you go, 
 Mistress Page ? " 
 
 The latter replies : 
 
 " Have with you," 
 then says to her husband : 
 
 " You'll come to dinner, George ? 
 
 He makes no answer, when she, perceiving Mrs. 
 Quickly approach, says aside to Mrs. Ford : 
 
 " Look who comes yonder : she shall be our messenger to this 
 paltry knight." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, in full agreement, readily rejoins : 
 "Trust me, I thought on her ; she'll fit it." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly now appears, asking after Anne Page. 
 The two ladies ask her to go with them and see Anne, 
 and the three depart, leaving Ford and Page alone 
 together. Each inquires of the other what he has 
 heard from the informers, and Ford asks if Page thinks 
 there is truth in them, and the other replies he does 
 not think so, adding that those accusing Falstaff 
 
 " are a yoke of his discarded men ; very rogues, now that they be 
 out of service." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor ' ! 419 
 
 Ford was not aware of this, yet, always of a jealous 
 or suspicious nature, replies : 
 
 " I like it never the better for that," 
 
 and asks if Falstaff is now at the Garter Inn. Pao-e 
 replies he is, and adds with merry good humour, 
 which implies thorough confidence in his wife : 
 
 "If he should intend this voyage toward my wife, I would turn 
 her loose to him, and what he gets more of her than sharp words, 
 let it lie on my head." 
 
 Ford takes a very different view of their case, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " A man may be too confident ; I would have nothing lie on my 
 head. I cannot be thus satisfied." 
 
 The host of the Garter now appears, and Page, who 
 knows him well, exclaims to Ford : 
 
 " Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes ; there is either 
 liquor in his pate, or money in his purse, when he looks so merrily. 
 How now, mine host ? " 
 
 This joyous host, followed by old Shallow, enters ; the 
 former addresses Shallow in merry raillery : 
 
 " How now, bully-rook ? * Thou 'rt a gentleman. Cavalero- 
 justice, I say." 
 
 Shallow, after greeting, asks Page to come with them, 
 saying temptingly : 
 
 " We have sport in hand " ; 
 
 "Jolly dog." — Staunton's notes. 
 
4.20 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and then explains that 
 
 " there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh, the Welsh priest, 
 and Caius, the French doctor." 
 
 Ford now calls the host aside, while Shallow, antici- 
 pating the coming duel with an interest if not pleasure 
 more like a lively youth than an old magistrate, asks 
 Page to come and see it with him, exclaiming in 
 evident glee : 
 
 " My merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons, and 
 I think hath appointed them contrary places, for, believe me, I hear 
 the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be." 
 
 He does not, however, explain more at this time, but 
 the host now asks Ford if he has anything to say 
 against Falstaff, whom he professionally calls his 
 "guest-cavalier." Ford replies: 
 
 " None, I protest, but I'll give you a pottle of burnt sack to give 
 me recourse to him and tell him my name is Brook " ; 
 
 then, as if wishing to prevent any suspicion or alarm 
 in the host's mind, he quickly adds : 
 
 " Only for a jest." 
 
 The merry host rejoins, quite believing him : 
 
 " My hand, bully, thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well? 
 and thy name shall be Brook." 
 
 Then, as if thinking Falstaff may be amused by 
 Ford's intended visit, adds : 
 
 " It is a merry knight," 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 421 
 
 and asks Shallow and Page to go with him, evidently 
 to the scene of the duel. They agree, Page observing : 
 
 " I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier." 
 
 This report was likely true, Frenchmen then as now 
 being noted throughout the civilised world for their 
 skill and address in fencing, but old Shallow, who 
 has doubtless seen better days and likes to recall them, 
 rather proudly replies, as if a judge in the science : 
 
 " Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these times you stand 
 on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and I know not what ; 'tis the 
 heart, Master Page, 'tis here, 'tis here ! " 
 
 Then, either recalling or inventing some former 
 triumphs of his own, and knowing none of his hearers 
 wish to contradict him, he declares : 
 
 " I have seen the time, with my long sword, I would have made 
 you four tall fellows skip like rats." 
 
 None of the four present replies, though likely laughing 
 to themselves at the old boaster, whom they probably 
 think no longer capable of either reasoning or fighting. 
 All depart except Ford, while Page, a thorough man 
 of peace both at home and abroad, exclaims about the 
 coming duel, showing more good sense than any of 
 them : 
 
 "I had rather hear them scold than fight." 
 
 Ford, left alone, indulges in a jealous soliloquy, 
 which for the present at least he wishes none to hear, 
 
^.22 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 yet which explains his present feelings and foretells 
 his future conduct : 
 
 " Though Page be a secure fool and stands so firmly on his wife's 
 fealty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily " j 
 
 then begins, as it were, to encourage or arouse his 
 own suspicions about his wife and Falstaff : 
 
 " She was in his company at Page's house, and what they made ' 
 there I know not. Well, I will look further into 't, and I have a 
 disguise to sound Falstaff ; if I find her honest, I lose not my 
 labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed." 
 
 The next scene is at the Garter Inn, where Falstaff 
 and his follower, Pistol, have a curious talk together. 
 This last worthy seems to now rather repent having 
 disobeyed, if not betrayed, his patron, and, likely not 
 for the first time, wants to borrow money from him. 
 Falstaff with scornful contempt says emphatically : 
 
 " I will not lend thee a penny." 
 
 Pistol, as if in pretended desperation, replies boldly : 
 
 " Why, then the world's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open." 
 
 Falstaff firmly repeats : 
 
 " Not a penny," 
 
 and then administers a reproachful lecture to his 
 troublesome follower, in whom, however, he has 
 apparently not lost all confidence, or perhaps thinks 
 
 ■ "Did."— Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 423 
 
 he has nothing serious to fear from this disreputable, 
 if not unscrupulous, adherent. He then addresses 
 him in a style of reproach which sounds almost comic, 
 though uttered quite in earnest : 
 
 " I have been content, sir, you should lay my countenance to 
 pawn ; I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for 
 you and your coach-fellow, Nym ; or else you had looked through 
 the grate, like a geminy of baboons." 
 
 Falstaff's allusion to saving Nym and Pistol from 
 looking like dangerous monkeys confined behind bars 
 is not again mentioned, but likely was true, as he tells 
 a further instance of his protecting them from deserved 
 punishment, owning that he himself was to blame 
 
 " for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, you were good soldiers and 
 tall fellows, and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, 
 I took't upon mine honour thou hadst it not." 
 
 Pistol, who can remember as well as Falstaff, naturally 
 asks in reply : 
 
 " Didst thou not share? hadst not thou fifteen pence ? " 
 Falstaff with admirable effrontery retorts : 
 
 " Reason, you rogue, reason ! Think'st thou I'll endanger my 
 soul gratis?" 
 
 Then, knowing his power over Pistol and that such 
 a scamp will hardly be trusted in any active service, 
 Falstaff scornfully pretends to dismiss him from his, 
 and proceeds : 
 
 "At a word, hang no more about me; I am no gibbet for you, go !" 
 
424 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then, advising Pistol to pursue in future his knaveries 
 with a knife or dagger amid a crowd of people in 
 Pickt-hatch, a notorious low quarter in London, 1 
 Falstaff scolds him for previous disobedience, which 
 has evidently been rankling in his mind ever since : 
 
 " You'll not bear a letter for me, you rogue ! you stand upon your 
 honour ! Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can 
 do to keep the terms of my honour precise." 
 
 Then, favourably comparing himself to his more 
 disreputable-looking follower, he continues : 
 
 " I, I, I myself, sometimes leaving the fear of heaven on the left 
 hand and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to 
 hedge, and to lurch, and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags, 
 your cat-a-mountain looks, your red lattice 2 phrases, and your bold- 
 beating oaths under the shelter of your honour." 
 
 He then brings Pistol to the point again : 
 " You will not do it, you ! " 
 
 Pistol, as if partly overcome by his patron's reproaches, 
 and perhaps fearing for himself if he offends him, 
 replies : 
 
 " I do relent," 3 
 
 and asks : 
 
 " What would thou more of me ? " 
 
 Before Falstaff answers, Mrs. Quickly calls to see 
 him, and is admitted. This artful, intriguing woman 
 
 1 Staunton's notes. 2 Ale-house expressions. — Ibid. 
 
 3 " Repent."— Ibid. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 425 
 
 is far more fitted to deal with the unscrupulous, yet 
 vain old rogue Falstaff than are any of his male fol- 
 lowers. She is now cleverly playing the part of nego- 
 tiator between the two "merry wives " and Sir John, 
 and well knows how to perform it. After stating she 
 is a servant of Dr. Caius, merely naming Mrs. Ford, 
 she asks Falstaff to come aside, as if distrusting 
 Pistol and Falstaffs page, Robin. But Falstaff, 
 evidently fearing neither, confidently says to the 
 suspicious Mrs. Quickly : 
 
 " I warrant thee nobody hears," 
 
 adding, to reassure her : 
 
 "Mine own people, mine own people." 
 
 The woman, who can assume piety and good-will 
 whenever she pleases, meekly replies : 
 
 " Are they so? Heaven bless them and make them his servants." 
 
 Falstaff, his interest being roused at the mere mention 
 of Mrs. Ford, asks : 
 
 " Well, Mistress Ford, what of her? " 
 
 Mrs. Quickly slyly answers, pretending to be a little 
 shocked and amused at the same time : 
 
 " Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord ! Lord ! your worship's 
 a wanton." 
 
 Then, relapsing into assumed propriety, she exclaims : 
 
 " Well, heaven forgive you and all of us, I pray ! " 
 
4.26 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Falstaff, becoming impatient, eagerly exclaims : 
 
 " Mistress Ford — come, Mistress Ford." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, seeing his anxiety, cunningly proceeds 
 to invent and describe Mrs. Ford's liking for the old 
 knight : 
 
 " Marry, this is the short and the long of it; you have brought her 
 into such a canaries, 1 as 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them 
 all when the Court lay at Windsor could never have brought her to 
 such a canary, yet there has been knights, and lords and gentlemen 
 with their coaches, I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after 
 letter, gift after gift, smelling so sweetly (all musk), and so rushling 
 I warrant you in silver and gold and in such alligant terms ; and in 
 such wine and sugar of the best and the fairest that would have 
 won any woman's heart ; and I warrant you, they could never get an 
 eye-wink of her." 
 
 Then, vindicating her own virtue in defiance of all 
 temptation, she proceeds : 
 
 " I had myself twenty angels given me this morning, but I defy 
 all angels (in any such sort, as they say), but in the way of 
 honesty . . . and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
 pensioners, 2 but I warrant you all is one with her." 
 
 Falstaff, evidently believing all this indirect flattery 
 and nonsense, becomes the more eager and asks : 
 
 " But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-Mercury." 
 
 Here Falstaff, like his followers, quotes classic history 
 
 1 " Quandary." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " Gentlemen of the band of Pensioners, whose duty it was to be 
 in immediate attendance on the sovereign, and whose splendid 
 uniform might well induce Mrs. Quickly to rank them above the 
 magnates of the Court." — Ibid. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor r 427 
 
 when associating Mrs. Quickly with Mercury, the 
 messenger god of Jupiter, of which allusion she 
 naturally takes no notice, and probably did not 
 understand. She makes no reply to this classical 
 compliment, but, always ready with her answer, and 
 likely well primed by Mrs. Ford about what to say, 
 and how to say it, replies : 
 
 " Marry, she hath received your letter, for the which she thanks 
 you a thousand times, and she gives you to notify that her husband 
 will be absent from his house between ten and eleven . . . Alas, 
 the sweet woman leads an ill life with him; he's a very jealous man." 
 
 Falstaff, completely taken in and believing all she says, 
 repeats her words : 
 
 " Ten and eleven, woman ; commend me to her, I will not 
 fail her." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, probably much gratified at her success 
 so far, exclaims : 
 
 " Why, you say well," 
 
 and then in due course introduces the name of 
 Mrs. Page, saying : 
 
 " But I have another messenger to your worship. Mistress Page 
 hath her hearty commendations to you, too, — and let me tell you in 
 your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, 
 that will not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in 
 Windsor, whoe'er be the other, and she bade me tell your 
 worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she hopes there 
 will come a time." 
 
 Then, drawing upon her own lively imagination, the 
 flatterino; old intriguer adds : 
 
428 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "I never knew a woman so dote upon a man; surely, I think you 
 have charms, la, yes, in truth." 
 
 Falstaff, whose vanity, despite occasional shrewd- 
 ness, seldom makes him insensible to the grossest 
 personal flattery, replies, evidently pleased : 
 
 " Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction of my good parts 
 aside, I have no other charms." 
 
 He then asks an important, yet amusing question, 
 which shows his present confidence in Mrs. Quickly : 
 
 "Has Ford's wife and Page's wife acquainted each other how 
 they love me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, seeing how readily Falstaff believes her, 
 replies with sly merriment and probably laughing at 
 him all the time : 
 
 " That were a jest indeed .! — they have not so little grace, I 
 hope — that were a trick indeed," 
 
 and she proceeds with more plots and exaggerations : 
 
 " But Mistress Page would desire you to send her your little page 
 of all loves; 1 her husband has a marvellous infection to the little 
 page, and truly, Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in 
 Windsor leads a better life than she does, do what she will, say 
 what she will ; take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, all is as 
 she will ; and truly she deserves it ; for if there be a kind 
 woman in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your page, no 
 remedy." 
 
 Falstaff, perhaps surprised, replies, rather hesitating : 
 " Why, so I will," 
 
 1 "For love's sake." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 429 
 
 and Mrs. Quickly eagerly presses him : 
 
 " Nay, but do so then, and look you, he may come and go 
 between you both." 
 
 Then, assuming a high moral tone, she proceeds : 
 
 "And the boy never need to understand anything, for 'tis not 
 good that children should know any wickedness; old folks, you know, 
 have discretion, as they say, and know the world." 
 
 FalstafT, completely deceived by her cunning and 
 artifice, replies : 
 
 "Fare thee well, commend me to them both ; there's my purse, I 
 am yet thy debtor." 
 
 He then sends off his page Robin with Mrs. Quickly. 
 This lad says nothing here, and throughout does not 
 seem a very sharp or intelligent sample of his age, 
 despite association with such a witty personage as 
 FalstafT, or such bullies and sharpers as Messrs, Pistol 
 and Co. Shakespeare merely makes Robin act like a 
 machine or tool, obeying — or trying to obey — them all, 
 and making little comment. FalstafT exclaims, as Mrs. 
 Quickly and Robin go out, leaving him alone with 
 Pistol, as if bewildered by the woman's cunning : 
 
 " This news distracts me." 
 
 Pistol, who often alludes to classic ideas, which it 
 seems strange that such a man would know, declares 
 that she is one of Cupid's carriers, and, apparently 
 excited by anything like tricks or successful roguery, 
 eagerly exclaims, as if to encourage his rather per- 
 plexed old patron : 
 
4.30 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Clap on more sails, pursue ! up with your fights ; l give fire ! 
 she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all." 
 
 With these cheerful, encouraging words, Pistol departs, 
 and Falstaff, when alone, reveals that singular mixture 
 of unscrupulous cunning and almost childish personal 
 vanity which forms his extraordinary character. He 
 speaks indulgently to and of himself, as if he were his 
 own spoiled child : 
 
 " Say'st thou so, old Jack ? Go thy ways ; I'll make more of 
 thine old body than I have done." 
 
 He then asks himself, in a spirit of sincere yet comic 
 vanity : 
 
 " Will they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the expense of so 
 much money, be now a gainer ? Good body, I thank thee : let 
 them say 'tis grossly done ; so it be fairly done, no matter." 
 
 His follower Bardolph, comrade of Pistol, like him, 
 yet perhaps more intemperate and less boastful, now 
 enters, announcing Ford disguised as Mr. Brook, who, 
 wishing to speak with Falstaff, sends him a present of 
 a morning's draught of sack, Sir John's well-known 
 favourite beverage. Falstaff bids Bardolph admit 
 him, and probably after tasting the sack, when by 
 himself, makes a pun on Brook's name : 
 
 "Such Brooks are welcome to me that o'erflow such liquor." 
 
 Then, as if already inspirited by it, he confidently 
 exclaims : 
 
 1 " The Waste-clothes that hang roundabout the ship in a fight to 
 hinder the men from being seen by the enemy." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor 1 431 
 
 " Ah ! ha ! Mistress Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompassed 
 you ? go to, via ! " 
 
 Ford now enters, introduced by Bardolph, who 
 withdraws, leaving the two together, and Ford, 
 after a brief greeting, begins : 
 
 " Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much ; my name is 
 Brook." 
 
 Falstaff, apparently propitiated by the sack, 
 graciously replies : 
 
 " Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you," 
 
 and Ford, with assumed frankness, says : 
 
 " Good Sir John, I sue for yours, not to charge you, for I must 
 let you understand, I think myself in better plight for a lender 
 than you are, the which hath something emboldened me to this 
 unseasoned intrusion ; for they say if money go before, all ways 
 do lie open." 
 
 Falstaff, apparently pleased and hopeful at the idea 
 of receiving more presents, replies encouragingly : 
 
 " Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on." 
 
 Ford, finding Falstaff as easy to deal with as he 
 could have expected, rejoins cheerfully : 
 
 "Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me ; if you will 
 help me to bear it, Sir John, take half or all for easing me of the 
 carriage." 
 
 Falstaff, rather surprised though gratified at such 
 unexpected words, replies with some caution : 
 
 " Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter." 
 
432 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Ford says he will tell him, and the other bids him 
 proceed. Ford then, after complimenting Sir John 
 on his beino - a scholar of whom he has heard 
 without knowing him, confesses that he is in love 
 with Mrs. Ford, that he has followed her and made 
 her many presents, but all without success, and ends 
 his lamentation by repeating the lines : 
 
 " Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pursues ; 
 Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues." 
 
 Falstaff, calmly listening, asks practically : 
 " Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands ? " 
 
 Ford : 
 
 " Never," 
 
 and Falstaff leisurely proceeds : 
 
 " Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? " 
 
 Ford again replies : 
 
 " Never," 
 
 and Falstaff further asks him the somewhat trying 
 question : 
 
 " Of what quality was your love then ? " 
 
 Ford makes a singular, yet explanatory reply : 
 
 " Like a fair house built upon another man's ground, so that 
 I have lost my edifice, by mistaking the place where I erected it." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 433 
 
 Falstaff, wishing to understand him thoroughly, 
 while apparently inclined to believe all he says, 
 naturally asks : 
 
 " To what purpose have you unfolded this to me ? " 
 
 Ford then vaguely hints that Mrs. Ford is reported 
 no better than she should be, and thus continues : 
 
 " Now, Sir John, here is the heart of my purpose" ; 
 
 he then tries a little personal flattery, which nearly 
 always deceives Falstaff, no matter by whom it is 
 uttered : 
 
 "You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, 
 and of great admittance, 1 generally allowed for your many warlike, 
 court-like, and learned preparations." 
 
 Falstaff, always delighted with compliments, here 
 exclaims, with affected modesty : 
 
 " O, sir ! " 
 
 and Ford, seeing the impression he makes, continues 
 with increased confidence in the same strain : 
 
 " Believe it, for you know it." 
 
 Then, becoming practical, in the most pleasing 
 way, he adds enthusiastically : 
 
 "There is money, spend it, spend it; spend more, spend all 
 I have, only give me so much of your time in exchange for it, as 
 
 1 " Fashion." — Staunton's notes, 
 29 
 
434 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife ; use your 
 art of wooing, win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you 
 may as soon as any." 
 
 Falstaff, though highly gratified, is yet rather 
 surprised, and shrewdly asks and observes, before 
 final agreement : 
 
 " Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection, that 
 I should win what you would enjoy ? Methinks you prescribe to 
 yourself very preposterously." * 
 
 Ford, more and more confident in his being able 
 to deceive Falstaff, eagerly rejoins : 
 
 " O, understand my drift ! she stands so securely on the excel- 
 lency of her honour, that the folly of my soul does not present 
 itself ; she is too bright to be looked against. Now could I come 
 to her with any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and 
 argument to commend themselves, I could drive her then from the 
 ward 2 of her purity, her reputation, her marriage vow, and a 
 thousand other defences, which are now too strongly embattled 
 against me. What say you to't, Sir John ? " 
 
 Falstaff, now quite won over by Ford's words, 
 convinced of his sincerity, and thoroughly gratified 
 by his flattery, warmly rejoins, though with a shrewd 
 eye to the main chance, and resolved that everything 
 should be in proper order : 
 
 " Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money, ne.xt 
 give me your hand, and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you 
 will, enjoy Ford's wife." 
 
 1 : ' Misplacedly." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 "Guard."— Ibid. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 435 
 
 Ford, with pretended delight, eagerly exclaims : 
 
 " Want no money, Sir John, you shall want none." 
 
 Falstaff, with his usual wit, and evidently feeling 
 quite secure, retorts : 
 
 " Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook, you shall want none," 
 
 and then imparts most valuable but altogether unex- 
 pected information to the disguised, jealous husband : 
 
 "I shall be with her (I may tell you) by her own appointment"; 
 
 then, alluding to Mrs. Quickly, adds : 
 
 " Even as you came in to me, her assistant or go-between parted 
 from me : I say, I shall be with her between ten and eleven, for at 
 that time the jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. 
 Come to me at night, you shall know how I speed." 
 
 Ford, amazed, astounded, and with all his worst 
 suspicions aroused, exclaims in mingled rage and 
 astonishment : 
 
 " I am blest in your acquaintance " ; 
 
 then asks, with almost frantic eagerness and curiosity : 
 
 " Do you know Ford, sir ? ' 
 
 Falstaff replies with supreme and utter contempt : 
 
 " Hang him, poor knave ! I know him not, yet I wrong him to 
 call him poor; they say the jealous knave hath masses of money, 
 for the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her 
 as the key of the rogue's coffer ; and there's my harvest home." 
 
4.36 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Ford, almost beside himself with suppressed fury, 
 exclaims, in a way which Falstaff quite misunder- 
 stands : 
 
 " I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him if you 
 saw him." 
 
 Falstaff, as if boasting of his own bodily as well as 
 mental superiority over his supposed dupe, scornfully 
 replies, with unmitigated contempt : 
 
 " Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I will stare him out 
 of his wits, I will awe him with my cudgel, . . . Master Brook, thou 
 shalt know I will predominate over the peasant . . . Come to me 
 soon at night . . . Ford's a knave and I will aggravate his style; 
 thou, Master Brook, shalt know him for knave . . . come to me 
 soon at night "; 
 
 and with these words Falstaff departs, leaving Ford 
 alone, whose worst suspicions about his wife now seem 
 on the point of being realised. He exclaims in per- 
 plexed, vehement, and rather incoherent rage, hardly 
 able to fully comprehend all he has heard : 
 
 " What a d d Epicurean rascal is this ! — My heart is ready to 
 
 crack with impatience. Who says this is improvident jealousy? My 
 wife has sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made." 
 
 Then, in the midst of his excitement, he apparently 
 recalls his hitherto happy married life by asking him- 
 self: 
 
 " Would any man have thought this ? See the hell of having a 
 false woman : my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at. " 
 
 After more bitter fretting he remembers his unsus- 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 437 
 
 picious friend Page with sincere yet sympathetic 
 contempt, exclaiming : 
 
 " Page is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he will not be 
 jealous." 
 
 Ford then betrays his naturally jealous temper, 
 roused now almost to frenzy by FalstafFs cunning and 
 effrontery. He imagines various persons alike ex- 
 posed to temptations, each peculiarly trying to their 
 different natures, and in this excitement he exclaims, 
 with bitter and distinguishing emphasis : 
 
 " I will rather trust a Fleming with my butter, parson Hugh, the 
 Welshman , with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, 
 or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself." 
 
 Shakespeare rarely mentions the Irish in any of his 
 plays, but in this instance likely recalls some intem- 
 perate Irish people he knew or heard of in London, 
 as he was certainly never in Ireland. Ford, quite 
 believing FalstafTs intimations, proceeds, furious in- 
 deed, yet trying to congratulate himself on what 
 he thinks is his own superior intelligence : 
 
 " Heaven be praised for my jealousy ! Eleven o'clock the hour : 
 I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and laugh 
 at Page. I will about it ; better three hours too soon than a minute 
 too late." 
 
 Then, shocked and enraged, he departs, exclaiming, 
 
 " Fie, fie, fie ! " 
 
 The next scene, in Windsor Park, introduces Caius 
 
43 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and his servant Rugby. It may seem strange that 
 this excitable Frenchman, who is usually in a passion 
 during the whole play, should have this thoroughly 
 Roman name. The French physician resembles 
 neither ancient Greeks nor Romans. He is a thorough 
 Frenchman in ways and habits, though, perhaps, 
 an exaggerated specimen. His broken English is so 
 natural and consistent that Shakespeare might seem to 
 have copied it from certain Frenchmen of his acquain- 
 tance. It is chiefly on the stage, or at a good public 
 reading, that his wonderfully fluent distortion of 
 English can be well understood or appreciated. He 
 is now fully prepared for his duel with Evans, impa- 
 tiently asking Rugby the time, and hearing it is past 
 the hour appointed, irritably exclaims : 
 
 " By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come ; he has pray his 
 Pible veil, dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead 
 already, if he be come." 
 
 Rugby, perhaps wishing to flatter his master on his 
 fencing skill, replies : 
 
 " He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship would kill him if he 
 
 came. 
 
 Caius, excited, now boastfully exclaims to his 
 apparently timid servant : 
 
 "Take your rapier, Jack, I will tell you how I will kill him." 
 
 Rugby, evidently not liking to be practised upon, 
 answers : 
 
 "Alas, sir ! I cannot fence," 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 439 
 
 but the eager Frenchman persists, saying angrily : 
 
 " Villainy ! take your rapier," 
 
 but Rugby is spared making a reply by the appear- 
 ance of the host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. These 
 all greet the fiery Caius, who then asks them : 
 
 " Vat be all you one, two, tree, four come for ? " 
 
 The lively host of the Garter, who seems or pretends 
 to know all about fencing, replies : 
 
 " To see thee fight, to see thee foin, 1 to see thee traverse, to see 
 thee here, to see thee there, to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, 
 thy revenge, thy distance." 
 
 As if excited by his own words, or wishing to 
 irritate Caius by pretending that his absent foe is 
 lying vanquished before him, he jeeringly asks : 
 
 " Is he dead, my Ethiopian ? Is he dead, my Francisco ? 
 ha, bully ! " 
 
 Then, as if invoking the Greek god of medicine 
 and a celebrated classic physician : 
 
 " What says my Esculapius ? my Galen ? ... is he dead ? " 
 
 Caius, suspecting that Parson Evans is afraid to meet 
 him, exclaims : 
 
 " By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de vorld, he is not show 
 his face." 
 
 " Make attempt." — Staunton's notes. 
 
44-0 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 The host continues to praise or encourage Caius, 
 perhaps partly in joke, calling him Hector of Greece, 
 while the impatient Frenchman exclaims to all 
 around : 
 
 " I pray you bear witness, that me have stay six or seven, two, 
 tree hours for him, and he is no come." 
 
 Shallow now ventures on a little witticism, saying, 
 to pacify Dr. Caius : 
 
 "He is the wiser man, master doctor ; he is a curer of souls, and 
 you a curer of bodies ; if you should fight you go against the hair of 
 your professions, is it not true, Master Page ? " 
 
 Page, as if amused at Shallow and wishing to hear 
 him boast of his former real or supposed exploits, 
 replies : 
 
 " Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though 
 now a man of peace." 
 
 Shallow proudly tries to vindicate, or likely exag- 
 gerate his former martial reputation, exclaiming : 
 
 " Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old and of the peace, if 
 I see a sword out, my finger itches to make one " ; 
 
 then, as if trying to vindicate himself at the expense 
 of the two intending duellists, the lively old gentleman 
 proceeds : 
 
 "Though we are justices and doctors and churchmen, Master 
 Page, we have some salt of youth in us ; we are the sons of women, 
 Master Page ! " 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 441 
 
 To this undeniable fact, Page answers — 
 
 " Tis true," 
 
 and Shallow, really thinking it his duty to make peace 
 between the combatants, continues : 
 
 " Master Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
 sworn of the peace : you have showed yourself a wise physician, and 
 Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You 
 must go with me, master doctor." 
 
 But here the merry host, who apparently likes to 
 irritate the Frenchman, interposes, saying to Shallow : 
 
 " Pardon, guest justice," 
 
 then to Caius : 
 
 " A word, Monsieur Mock-water," 
 
 and explains to Caius, who asks what he means, that 
 the word signifies valour ; Caius, always boasting of 
 this quality, exclaims : 
 
 " By gar, then I have as much mock-vater as de Englishman," 
 
 and then, as if suddenly believing Parson Evans to 
 be a coward, he adds : 
 
 " Scurvy jack-dog priest ! by gar, me vill cut his ears." 
 
 The host replies, apparently liking to provoke him 
 further : 
 
 " He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully ! " 
 
442 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Caius asks : 
 
 " Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat ? " 
 and the host replies : 
 
 " That is, he will make thee amends," 
 
 and he continues to rather excite Caius ; when ad- 
 dressing the others, he advises them to go through 
 the town to Frogmore, saying that Evans is there, 
 adding : 
 
 " See what humour he is in and I will bring the doctor about by 
 the fields." 
 
 The three — Shallow, Page, and Slender — agree 
 and depart, leaving Caius and the host together. 
 The former then exclaims in his vehement broken 
 English : 
 
 " By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak for a jack-an-ape to 
 Anne Page." 
 
 The lively host, secretly laughing at Caius though 
 seeming to befriend him, replies, alluding to Evans : 
 
 " Let him die ! but first sheathe thy impatience, throw cold water 
 on thy choler, go about the fields with me through Frogmore ; I will 
 bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is at a farm-house a-feasting 
 and thou shalt woo her . . . Said I well ? " 
 
 Caius, delighted with the apparently friendly host, 
 rejoins in practical gratitude : 
 
 " By gar, me tank you vor dat : by gar, I love you, and I shall 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 443 
 
 procure you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, 
 my patients." 
 
 The host, as if knowing that Caius is an imperfect 
 English scholar, replies : 
 
 " For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne Page, said I 
 well ? " 
 
 and the deceived doctor replies : 
 
 "By gar, 'tis good ; veil said." 
 The gay host exclaims : 
 
 " Let us wag, then," 
 
 and Caius, summoning his frightened servant, says : 
 " Come at my heels, Jack Rugby," 
 
 and the three depart for the scene of the expected 
 duel. 
 
 The next scene, beginning the third act, is in a field 
 near Frogmore. Sir Hugh Evans, with Slenders 
 servant, Simple, whose name indicates his character, 
 are together, awaiting Dr. Caius, while Evans is 
 evidently frightened at the expected contest, and 
 expresses his nervousness in his usual Welsh accent : 
 
 " Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind ! 
 — I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How melancholies I am ! 
 . . . Pless my soul " ; 
 
 and trying to rouse his spirits he begins to sing l : 
 
 1 " This couplet, slightly varied by Sir Hugh's trepidation, is 
 from a charming little pastoral once thought to be Shakespeare's and 
 
444 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious pirds sing madrigals : 
 There will we make our peds of roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant posies. 
 To shallow " 
 
 He breaks down here, exclaiming, evidently from 
 his heart : 
 
 " Mercy on me ! I have a great disposition to cry." 
 
 Still trying to rouse himself, he continues his ditty : 
 
 " Melodious pirds sing madrigals : — 
 When as I sat in Pabylon, 
 And a thousand vagram posies. 
 To shallow " 
 
 Here Simple interrupts, thinking he sees the foe 
 coming. Evans, trying to keep up appearances, 
 exclaims : 
 
 11 He's welcome," 
 then sings again : 
 
 " To shallow rivers, to whose falls " ; 
 and again breaks off, exclaiming : 
 
 " Heaven prosper the right," 
 and asking Simple : 
 
 " What weapons is he ? " 
 
 as such inserted in his ' Passionate Pilgrim,' but which in ' England's 
 Helicon ' and by Isaac Walton in his ' Complete Angler ' is attri- 
 buted to Marlowe." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 445 
 
 Simple answers that the comers are his master, 
 Slender, and another gentleman, meaning Page, whom 
 he apparently does not at once recognise, while Evans 
 exclaims to Simple, as if nervous : 
 
 " Pray you give me my gown, or else keep it in your arms." 
 
 The three men approach, and Shallow says to 
 Evans : 
 
 " How now, master parson ? Good morrow, good Sir Hugh." 
 
 Then, perhaps thinking that Evans was reading 
 or studying something in the open air, proceeds : 
 
 " Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his 
 book, and it is wonderful." 
 
 Slender often, in an absent fit, exclaims, addressing 
 no one : 
 
 " O sweet Anne Page ! " 
 
 This exclamation the silly dreamy young man fre- 
 quently utters during the play without any addition, 
 his mind apparently often reverting to Miss Page, who 
 cares nothing about him. He often exclaims thus at 
 intervals, till readers may be rather wearied by so 
 much repetition, but no one in the play seems to 
 notice it. On this occasion, Evans, the unwilling 
 duellist, very different from the fiery Frenchman, 
 greets Shallow, Slender, and Page, in evident relief 
 
4.46 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 at their coming to the expected scene of strife, 
 thankfully exclaiming : 
 
 " Pless you from his mercy's sake, all of you. 
 
 Shallow, surprised, or perhaps inclined to ridicule 
 the apparently warlike clergyman, asks in wonder : 
 
 " What ! the sword and the word ! Do you study them both, 
 master parson? '' 
 
 Page in the same spirit exclaims : 
 
 " And youthful still in your doublet and hose, this raw rheumatic 
 day ! " 
 
 Evans perhaps sadly replies : 
 " There is reason and cause for it." 
 
 Shallow and Page then proceed to extol Dr. Caius 
 as "the renowned French physician," whom Evans in 
 his absence depreciates, exclaiming : 
 
 " He has no more knowledge in Hippocrates and Galen ' — and he 
 is a knave pesides, a cowardly knave, as you would desire to pe 
 acquainted withal." 
 
 Then Page naturally observes : 
 " I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him," 
 while the absent or thoughtful Slender repeats : 
 
 " O sweet Anne Page ! " 
 
 1 " Two celebrated Greek and Roman physicians." — Lempriere's 
 Classical Dictionary. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor v 447 
 
 But Caius, Rugby, and the host now appear, and 
 Shallow says : 
 
 " Keep them asunder, here comes Dr. Caius." 
 
 Shallow and Page both try to keep the peace, the 
 latter saying to Evans : 
 
 " Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon," 
 while Shallow says to Caius : 
 
 " So do you, good master doctor." 
 The host, as usual merry and joking, exclaims : 
 
 " Disarm them and let them question, let them keep their limbs 
 whole " ; 
 
 then adds scornfully : 
 
 " And hack our English," 
 
 alluding to their Welsh and French accents, both of 
 which Shakespeare evidently knows well, and likes to 
 describe. When Caius and Evans meet, the former 
 again calls him a coward, when, likely to his surprise, 
 Evans whispers or says to him aside : 
 
 " Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to other men's humours ; 
 I desire you in friendship and I will one way or other make you 
 amends." 
 
 Then, pretending to be in a rage before the others, 
 Evans insults Caius for his late arrival on the duelling 
 
448 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 ground, while Caius, as if to vindicate his courage, 
 appeals to the host and to Rugby, exclaiming : 
 
 " Diable ! Have I not stay for him to kill him ? Have I not, at de 
 place I did appoint ? " 
 
 Evans, equally anxious to vindicate his own courage, 
 exclaims : 
 
 "As I am a Christian soul, now look you, this is the place 
 appointed ; I'll be judged by mine host of the Garter." 
 
 To these appeals from parson and doctor, the 
 joking, perhaps sneering, host replies : 
 
 " Peace, I say ! Guallia and Gaul, French and Welsh ; soul 
 curer and body curer." 
 
 Caius, amused or interested at these words, exclaims : 
 " Ay, dat is ver good ! excellent ! " 
 
 Then the shrewd host astonishes all, except perhaps 
 the dreamy Slender, by making an important explana- 
 tion, and exclaims, with real or assumed solemnity and 
 self-importance : 
 
 " Peace, I say, hear mine host of the Garter. Am I politic, am I 
 subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? " 
 
 This allusion to the crafty Italian politician, who 
 was born nearly a century before the poet, could only 
 have interested a learned minority among a London 
 theatrical audience. His works, however, were 
 evidently well known to Shakespeare, who makes 
 
u The Merry Wives of Windsor" 449 
 
 even Richard III. allude to this " murderous " writer 
 with dangerous admiration. 1 But it is indeed unlikely 
 that many, if any, English hotel-keepers in Shake- 
 speare's time would have known about Machiavel's 
 abilities or character. The host, however, having 
 evidently secured attentive listeners, proceeds to 
 pacify as well as to flatter or praise both Caius and 
 Evans, exclaiming to each in turn : 
 
 " Shall I lose my doctor? No, he gives me the potions and the 
 motions. Shall I lose my parson ? my priest ? my Sir Hugh ? No, 
 he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs." 
 
 Then to Caius he says : 
 
 " Give me thy hand terrestrial ; so " ; 
 then to Evans : 
 
 " Give me thy hand celestial ; so." 
 
 Holding each by the hand, after these allusions to 
 their separate professions, the shrewd host makes 
 an important confession, but evidently fears none of 
 his hearers. Addressing the parson and doctor alike, 
 he says : 
 
 "Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have directed you to 
 wrong places ; your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole." 
 
 Then, remembering his own professional interests, he 
 sensibly adds: 
 
 "and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords 
 to pawn." 
 
 1 See "Henry VI.," Act III., Scene 2. 
 30 
 
45 o Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then says probably to Slender : 
 
 " Follow me, lad of peace ; follow, follow, follow." 
 
 Shallow, surprised yet pleased with this lively peace- 
 maker, exclaims : 
 
 " Trust me, a mad host," 
 
 yet, following his advice, adds to the rest : 
 
 "Follow, gentlemen, follow," 
 
 while the absent and brooding Slender, repeating 
 his usual sentence : 
 
 " O sweet Anne Page ! " 
 
 which no one notices, goes off with Shallow, Page, 
 and the host, leaving the two reconciled foes together, 
 who, after their surprise, are both angry, or pretend 
 to be, with the knowing, genial host. Caius first 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Ha ! do I perceive dat ? Have you make-a de sot of us ? 
 ha ! ha ! " 
 
 and Evans says : 
 
 "This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog. I desire you 
 that we may be friends and let us knog our prains together, to be 
 revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of 
 the Garter." 
 
 Caius assents, exclaiming : 
 
 " By gar, vit all my heart ; he promise to bring me vere is 
 Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.'' 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor ' 4.51 
 
 Evans rejoins with a new threat towards the absent 
 host, which probably he has little idea of carrying 
 out : 
 
 " Well, I will smite his noddles — pray you, follow," 
 
 and they depart together, quite pacified. 
 
 The next scene is in a street at Windsor, where 
 Mrs. Page and Falstaff's page, Robin, are together. 
 This lad, though serving such a witty, extraordinary 
 master, seems neither as amusing nor as intelligent as 
 might have been expected, considering his oppor- 
 tunities of being both. Shakespeare says very little 
 of him, and the lad himself seems more indifferent to 
 Falstaff than is quite natural. In real life he would 
 likely have either ridiculed or greatly admired such a 
 sinoular, eccentric master. Mrs. Pa«"e now addresses 
 Robin as if he were about entering her service, but 
 it is not clear if the lad ever leaves Falstaff altogether. 
 She says in evident good-humour, perhaps as if the 
 boy was rather officious : 
 
 " Nay, keep your way, little gallant ; you were wont to be 
 a follower, but now you are a leader : whether had you rather 
 lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?" 
 
 Robin replies, with more spirit than he ever showed 
 before, or after : 
 
 " I had rather forsooth go before you like a man, than follow him 
 like a dwarf." 
 
 Mrs. Page rejoins merrily : 
 
 "O you are a flattering boy, now I see you'll be a courtier." 
 
452 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Robin makes no reply, as Ford now appears, who, 
 completely absorbed by his suspicions, asks where she 
 is going, and hears she goes to see his wife. Mrs. 
 Page asks if the latter is at home, and Ford replies, 
 with suppressed bitterness and jealousy : 
 
 "Ay, and as idle as she may hang together, for want of 
 company,'' 
 
 adding, with morose sarcasm : 
 
 " I think if your husbands were dead, you two would marry." 
 Mrs. Page replies with provoking cheerfulness : 
 
 " Be sure of that, — two other husbands." 
 
 Ford asks about the boy, either in ridicule or as a 
 compliment : 
 
 " Where had you this pretty weathercock? " 
 
 Mrs. Page, who apparently likes to tease and annoy 
 Ford, replies, though well knowing Robin is FalstafFs 
 page: 
 
 " I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had 
 him of; what do you call your knight's name, sirrah?" 
 
 Robin merely names Sir John Falstaff, which Ford 
 repeats as if surprised, while Mrs. Page, probably 
 laughing to herself, exclaims, as if on sudden re- 
 collection : 
 
 " He, he, I can never hit on's name. There is such a league 
 between my good man and he ! Is your wife at home indeed ? " 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor r 453 
 
 Ford replies, perhaps secretly exasperated : 
 
 "Indeed she is," 
 and Mrs. Page then departs with Robin, saying : 
 
 "I am sick till I see her." 
 
 When alone, Ford again yields altogether to his 
 naturally jealous temper, now more excited than ever, 
 and exclaims to himself, distrusting Page's wife as 
 well as his own : 
 
 " Has Page any brains ? hath he any eyes ? hath he any thinking ? 
 Sure they sleep ; he hath no use of them." 
 
 Then, completely overcome by jealousy, Ford suspects 
 more and more, till he seems as much confused as 
 angry, and even the boy Robin he now imagines 
 an imp of mischief, as he exclaims : 
 
 " Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as easy as a cannon 
 will shoot point-blank twelve score. He [Page] pieces out his wife's 
 inclination, he gives her folly motion and advantage, and now she's 
 going to my wife, and Falstaff s boy with her ! " 
 
 He repeats : 
 
 "And Falstaff s boy with her ! " 
 
 Then he bitterly continues, becoming more and 
 more angry : 
 
 " Good plots ! they are laid ; and our revolted wives share 
 damnation together." 
 
 Then the angry husband proceeds, now believing all 
 
454 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 his former suspicion more firmly than before, and 
 planning his course of action in successive acts : 
 
 " Well, I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed 
 veil of modesty from the so-seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page 
 himself for a secure and wilful Actaeon, 1 and to these violent pro- 
 ceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim." 2 
 
 A clock here strikes, and Ford in his highly excited 
 state exclaims : 
 
 " The clock gives me my cue and my assurance bids me search : 
 there I shall find Falstaff ; and I shall be rather praised for this than 
 mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm that Falstaff is 
 there : I will go." 
 
 At this moment enter the seven — Page, Shallow, 
 Slender, the host, Evans, Caius, and Rugby. Ford 
 invites them to his house, Shallow saying : 
 
 " I must excuse myself," 
 
 while Slender, whose foolishness or simplicity seems 
 more developed as the story proceeds, adds : 
 
 ''And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with Mistress 
 Anne, and I would not break with her for more money than 
 I'll speak of." 
 
 Shallow owns that he wishes for the marriage between 
 Miss Page and his cousin Slender, and the latter 
 exclaims, as if in anticipation: 
 
 1 "A famous Greek huntsman. He saw Diana bathing, for 
 which he was changed into a stag and devoured by his own 
 dogs." — Lempriere's Classical Dictionary. 
 
 2 "Cxive encouragement." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 455 
 
 " I hope I have your good-will, father Page " ; 
 
 the other replies in a way that is only partly satis- 
 factory : 
 
 "You have, Master Slender; I will stand wholly for you." 
 Then to Caius he admits : 
 
 " But my wife, master doctor, is for you altogether." 
 Caius eagerly adds : 
 
 "Ay, by gar, and de maid is love-a me, my nursh-a Quickly 
 tell me so much." 
 
 The shrewd host, however, knowing or guessing the 
 truth as to Anne and her real feelings, now asks a 
 general question rather embarrassing and vexatious 
 to most of the present company : 
 
 " What say you to young Master Fenton ? " 
 
 and then proceeds to favourably describe Anne Page's 
 preferred lover : 
 
 " He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he 
 speaks holyday, he smells April and May." 
 
 Then guessing aright, and speaking with blunt 
 frankness, confidently repeats : 
 
 " He will carry it, he will carry it." 
 
456 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Page, evidently a prudent though easygoing man, 
 replies gravely : 
 
 " Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is of no 
 bounty." J 
 
 The apprehensive father then reverts to historic 
 events recorded in the latter part of Henry IV.'s 
 reign. This reference indicates that the present play 
 is meant to occur in Henry V.'s reign, " the wild 
 Prince " of the preceding one. Page justifies his 
 disapproval of Fenton, his daughter's choice, and 
 proceeds, reasonably dreading or suspecting young 
 Fenton's giddy or reckless habits : 
 
 " He kept company with the wild Prince and Poins, he is of too 
 high a region, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a knot in 
 his fortunes with the finger of my substance ; if he take her, let him 
 take her simply ; the wealth I have waits on my consent, and my 
 consent goes not that way." 
 
 Ford, apparently too much engrossed by his own 
 domestic troubles to be much interested in Miss 
 Page's love affairs, again asks Page, Evans, and Caius 
 home to dinner, and, evidently meaning Falstaff, 
 adds : 
 
 " Besides your cheer, you shall have sport ; I will show you a 
 monster — master doctor, you shall go, so shall you, Master Page — 
 and you, Sir Hugh." 
 
 Shallow and Slender then depart, the former saying 
 merrily : 
 
 " Well, fare you well — we shall have the freer wooing at Master 
 Page's." 
 
 1 " Fortune." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ' : 457 
 
 Caius now sends Rugby home, saying he will soon 
 follow, while the host, always cheerful, lively, and on 
 good terms with all, yet with a consistent regard for 
 his own interests, exclaims : 
 
 " Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest knight Falstaff and 
 drink canary with him." 
 
 Ford, raging with suppressed jealousy, hearing this, 
 says to himself: 
 
 " I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with him ; I'll make him 
 dance " ; 
 
 then asks aloud : 
 
 " Will you go, gentles ? " 
 
 And all, Page, Evans, and Caius alike, merrily agree, 
 saying : 
 
 " Have with you to see this monster." 
 
 The next scene is in Fords house, where Mrs. 
 Page and Mrs. Ford are together, who certainly well 
 merit the name of the " Merry Wives of Windsor" 
 in about an equal degree. They summon two of 
 Ford's servants, John and Robert, with a large 
 basket, who set it down while Mrs. Ford gives minute 
 directions : 
 
 " As I told you before, John and Robert, be ready here hard by 
 in the brew-house, and when I suddenly call you, come forth, and 
 without any pause or staggering take this basket on your shoulders ; 
 that done, trudge with it in all haste and carry it among the 
 
458 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 whister's 1 in Datchet-mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch, 
 close by the Thames side." 
 
 Mrs. Page, not knowing these servants so well, asks 
 anxiously : 
 
 "You will do it?" 
 
 while Mrs. Ford rather imperiously answers for them : 
 
 " I have told them over and over, they lack no direction : be gone 
 and come when you are called." 
 
 John and Robert obediently depart without a word, 
 and Robin, Falstaff's page, now presents himself, and 
 Mrs. Ford immediately asks him : 
 
 " How now, my eyas-musket ! 2 what news with you ? " 
 
 Robin, quite at his ease, but more a practical than a 
 merry boy, says that his master, Sir John, is come in at 
 the back-door, and requests her company, while Mrs. 
 Page, perhaps a little doubtful about the lad, asks : 
 
 " You little Jack-a-lent,3 have you been true to us ? " 
 
 Robin then replies, with some spirit and shrewdness, 
 but without merriment : 
 
 " Ay, I'll be sworn, my master knows not of your being here, and 
 hath threatened to put me into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; 
 for he swears he'll turn me away." 
 
 1 " Bleachers." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 9 " Young male sparrow-hawk." — Ibid. 
 
 1 "A puppet stuck up to be thrown at in Lent." — Ibid. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 459 
 
 Mrs. Page, reassured, with witty good-nature says : 
 
 " Thou'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of thine shall be a tailor to 
 thee and shall make thee a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide 
 me " ; 
 
 and Mrs. Ford, eager for the success of their plot, says 
 to Mrs. Page: 
 
 "Do so," 
 and to Robin : 
 
 " Go, tell thy master I am alone " ; 
 
 and, again anxious that all should go right, cautions 
 her confederate, saying : 
 
 " Mistress Page, remember you your cue." 
 
 Robin departs without a word, while Mrs. Page, as 
 amused and lively as Mrs. Ford, evidently preparing 
 herself for a spirited display of acting, merrily replies : 
 
 " I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, hiss me," 
 
 and departs, when Mrs. Ford says in soliloquy about 
 Falstaff, comparing herself and Mrs. Page to faithful 
 female turtle-doves : 
 
 " We'll use this gross watery pumpion — we'll teach him to know 
 turtles from jays." 
 
 Falstaff now enters and, finding Mrs. Ford alone as he 
 had hoped, exclaims in partly real, partly affected 
 ecstasy : 
 
460 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? 1 Why, now let me 
 die, for I have lived long enough ; this is the period of my ambition : 
 O this blessed hour ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ford, resolved to keep up the deception for a 
 short time, replies : 
 
 " O sweet Sir John ! " 
 
 while the old dupe proceeds : 
 
 " I would thy husband were dead ! I'll speak it before the best 
 lord, I would make thee my lady." 
 
 Mrs. Ford replies, as if modestly deprecating the 
 offered dignity : 
 
 " I, your lady, Sir John ! Alas, I should be a pitiful lady." 
 
 FalstafT enthusiastically replies, in a way that might 
 have pleased a French more than an English 
 audience : 
 
 " Let the Court of France show me such another." 
 
 Then proceeding in the language of compliment, of 
 which he is rather a master : 
 
 " I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond ; thou hast the 
 right-arched beauty of the brow, that becomes the ship-tire, 2 the 
 tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance." 
 
 1 This line is quoted from Sidney's " Astrophel and Stella." — 
 Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " By the ship-tire was perhaps understood some fanciful head- 
 dress with ornaments of glass or jewellery fashioned to resemble a 
 ship. . . . The tire-valiant was another of the innumerable ' new- 
 fangled tires,' as Burton calls them, which an overweening love of 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 461 
 
 Mrs. Ford, assuming a meek, modest style, very 
 different from her real nature, replies to these compli- 
 ments : 
 
 " A plain kerchief, Sir John ; my brows become nothing else, nor 
 that well neither." 
 
 Falstaff warmly rejoins : 
 
 "Thou art a traitor to say so, thou would'st make an absolute 
 courtier. . . . What made me love thee ? Let that persuade thee, 
 there's something extraordinary in thee. ... I love thee, none but 
 thee, and thou deservest it." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, acting her part well, and seeing how 
 Falstaff is completely deceived, meekly replies : 
 
 " Do not betray me, sir. I fear you love Mistress Page." 
 
 Falstaff, never guessing who hears him, eagerly 
 replies, as both the merry wives would wish : 
 
 "Thou might as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate, 1 
 which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln." 
 
 Mrs. Ford then truly enough rejoins : 
 
 dress had imported from abroad. . . . Both were no doubt of 
 ' Venetian admittance ' or fashion, as the coiffures of that nation 
 were all the mode at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the 
 seventeenth century." — Staunton's notes. This English admiration 
 for Italian fashion or style recalls the words of the Duke of York 
 describing the foreign tastes of his nephew, Richard II., though 
 supposed to be uttered a long time previously : 
 
 " Report of fashions in proud Italy ; 
 Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
 Limps after, in base imitation." 
 
 — " Richard II., " Act II., Scene i. 
 1 " The old dramatists and writers are unsparing in allusions to 
 the counter-prison." — Staunton's notes. 
 
462 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Well, Heaven knows how I love you, and you shall one day 
 find it." 
 
 Falstaff earnestly replies : 
 
 " Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, deceiving him as completely as she could 
 wish, sincerely rejoins : 
 
 " Nay, I must tell you, so do you, or else I could not be in that 
 mind." 
 
 At this moment, Robin calls from without, probably 
 laughing in high glee, though it is not said so : 
 
 " Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford ! here's Mistress Page at the door, 
 sweating and blowing and looking wildly, and would needs speak 
 with you presently." 
 
 Falstaff, evidently alarmed, though not as yet terri- 
 fied, exclaims : 
 
 " She shall not see me ; I will ensconce me behind the arras." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, still acting her part well in concert with 
 Mrs. Page, exclaims : 
 
 " Pray do so," 
 
 adding, perhaps truly : 
 
 " She's a very tattling woman." 
 
 Falstaff hides himself, and Mrs. Page and Robin 
 enter ; the former, pretending to be very much 
 frightened, exclaims : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 463 
 
 "O Mistress Ford, what have you done? you're shamed, you 
 are overthrown, you are undone for ever.'' 
 
 Mrs. Ford asks what's the matter, and the other 
 proceeds : 
 
 " O well-a-day, Mistress Ford ! having an honest man to your 
 husband, to give him such cause of suspicion ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ford, acting the part well, innocently asks : 
 " What cause of suspicion ? " 
 
 Mrs. Page, full of virtuous indignation, retorts : 
 
 " What cause of suspicion ! — Out upon you ! how am I mistook 
 in you ! " 
 
 Again Mrs. Ford asks what's the matter, and her 
 ally proceeds with the alarming intelligence : 
 
 " Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all the officers in 
 Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he says is here now in the 
 house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence ; you 
 are undone." 
 
 Mrs. Ford meekly exclaims : 
 
 " Tis not so, I hope," 
 
 and Mrs. Page devoutly continues : 
 
 " Pray Heaven it be not so, that you have such a man here, but 'tis 
 most certain your husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels 
 to search for such a one. I come before to tell you ; if you know 
 yourself clear, why, I am glad of it, but if you have a friend here, 
 convey him out. Be not amazed, call all your senses to you ; defend 
 your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever." 
 
4.64 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Ford, now pretending to be quite at her wit's 
 end, exclaims, with a terrified confession of an impor- 
 tant truth : 
 
 " What shall I do ? There is a gentleman, my dear friend ; and I 
 fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril " j 
 
 then she adds, for the edification of the listening 
 Falstaff : 
 
 "I had rather than a thousand pounds he were out of the house." 
 
 Mrs. Page, well knowing both what to do and 
 to advise, replies with a valuable suggestion and 
 every appearance of friendship to Falstaff: 
 
 " For shame : never stand you had rather and you had rather; 
 your husband's in the house : you cannot hide him " ; 
 
 then, reverting, though only for a moment, to her 
 virtuous horror : 
 
 " O, how have you deceived me ! " 
 
 Again becoming thoroughly practical, she ex- 
 claims : 
 
 " Look, here is a basket ; if he be of any reasonable stature he may 
 creep in here, and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 
 bucking, or, it is whiting l time, send him by your two men to 
 Datchet-mead." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, in pretended despair, exclaims : 
 " He's too big to go in there ; what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Bleaching." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 465 
 
 Here Falstaff, who has of course heard their con- 
 versation from his hiding-place, re-enters in real terror, 
 eagerly exclaiming to Mrs. Ford : 
 
 " Let me see't, let me see't, O, let me see't ! I'll in, I'll in— 
 follow your friend's counsel : I'll in." 
 
 Mrs. Page exclaims, as if surprised at seeing him : 
 "What! Sir John Falstaff!" 
 
 Then, evidently hoping to confuse him the more in 
 his present agitation, she asks : 
 
 " Are these your letters, knight ? " 
 
 evidently showing him his letters to herself, which 
 tempts him to say hurriedly, though probably in a 
 whisper : 
 
 " I love thee, and none but thee ; help me away, let me creep in 
 here ; I'll never " 
 
 He stops speaking and gets into the basket, and the 
 merry wives throw not the cleanest of linen upon 
 Falstaff, while Mrs. Page says to Robin : 
 
 " Help to cover your master, boy ; call your men, Mistress Ford." 
 
 Then she, probably whispering to herself, says, re- 
 ferring; to the luckless inmate of the basket: 
 
 " You dissembling knight ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ford summons her two servants, John and 
 
 3* 
 
466 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Robert, while Robin departs without speaking, and 
 she proceeds : 
 
 " Go, take up these clothes here quickly : where's the cowl-staff?" ' 
 
 The two servants are perhaps rather stupid or 
 slow to understand this peremptory lady, who sharply 
 proceeds : 
 
 " Look, how you drumble ; carry them to the laundress in Datchet- 
 mead ; quickly, come." 
 
 Here enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
 Evans ; Ford exclaims to his companions : 
 
 " Pray you come near ; if I suspect without cause, why then make 
 sport of me, then let me be your jest ; I deserve it." 
 
 Then, addressing the two servants with the 
 basket : 
 
 " How now? whither bear you this? " 
 
 The men, either charged by their mistress not to 
 tell the truth or ignorant of it, truly reply : 
 
 " To the laundress forsooth," 
 
 but say no more, when Mrs. Ford comes promptly to 
 their relief, and, to prevent the risk of their saying 
 more, says sharply to her husband : 
 
 " Why, what have you to do whither they bear it ? " 
 
 "A staff or pole for carrying a basket at each end." — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 467 
 
 adding scornfully : 
 
 " You were best meddle with buck- washing." 
 
 Ford, though full of angry suspicion, never guesses 
 the truth, and his servants depart with their precious 
 burden. Ford, telling his friends he has had a dream, 
 exclaims in eager excitement, yet full of hope : 
 
 " I'll tell you my dream." 
 
 Yet this he does not do, but gives them eager 
 directions, saying: 
 
 " Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my chambers, search, 
 seek, find out, I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox — let me stop 
 this way first — so now uncape." J 
 
 Page, always calm or easygoing, replies soothingly 
 to his irritable friend : 
 
 " Good Master Ford, be contented : you wrong yourself too 
 much." 
 
 Ford, however, goes off to search his house thor- 
 oughly, while his three companions, Evans, Caius, and 
 Page, alike wonder at his vehemence. Evans ex- 
 claims in his Welsh accent : 
 
 " This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies," 
 
 while Caius, though perhaps with doubtful truth, 
 says : 
 
 " By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France, it is not jealous in France." 
 
 1 u Unearth." — Staunton's notes. 
 
468 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Page, though quite unsuspicious, practically sug- 
 gests : 
 
 " Nay, follow him, gentlemen, see the issue of his search." 
 
 The three then follow Ford, leaving the two 
 " merry wives " highly amused at what is passing. 
 Mrs. Page, delighted, asks her friend and ally : 
 
 " Is there not a double excellency in this? " 
 
 and Mrs. Ford, equally so, replies : 
 
 " I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceived, 
 or Sir John." 
 
 Mrs. Page, overjoyed and probably laughing while 
 alluding to Falstaff, exclaims : 
 
 " What a taking was he in when your husband asked what was in 
 the basket ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ford, equally charmed at the success of their 
 trick, rejoins, also alluding to Falstaff among the dirty 
 linen : 
 
 " I am half-afraid he will have need of washing ; so throwing him 
 into the water will do him a benefit." 
 
 Mrs. Page, who now, perhaps, is the more angry with 
 Falstaff, since she heard him confidentially disparage 
 her to Mrs. Ford, implacably exclaims : 
 
 " Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would all of the same strain J 
 were in the same distress." 
 
 ; Tendency." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 469 
 Mrs. Ford now makes a correct Qoiess : 
 
 " I think my husband hath some special suspicion of Falstaff s 
 being here ; for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now." 
 
 Mrs. Page, ready with a new device, rejoins : 
 
 " I will lay a plot to try that : and we will yet have more tricks 
 with Falstaff." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, who, despite her shrewdness, strangely 
 underrates the cunning " she- Mercury," asks : 
 
 " Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress Quickly, to him, 
 and excuse his throwing into the water and give him another hope, 
 to betray him to another punishment ? " 
 
 Though Mrs. Ford here shows contempt for Mrs. 
 Quickly, the latter seems, from her successful cunning 
 in all this play, to certainly never deserve the name of 
 "foolish." She seems, indeed, throughout its whole 
 course to deceive, more or less, almost everybody in it 
 with whom she deals. Mrs. Page, however, cordially 
 agrees with Mrs. Ford in sending her again to deceive 
 old Falstaff, saying : 
 
 "We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow, eight o'clock, to 
 have amends." 
 
 At this moment the four gentlemen re-enter the 
 room, after a thoroughly unsuccessful search after 
 Falstaff. Ford, now puzzled and, somewhat like 
 Othello, "perplexed in the extreme," exclaims : 
 
 " I cannot find him : maybe, the knave bragged of that he could 
 not compass." 
 
470 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Page says, perhaps aside, to Mrs. Ford : 
 
 " Heard you that ? " 
 and the latter replies : 
 
 " Ay, ay, peace." 
 Then she reproaches her spouse, asking sarcastically : 
 
 "You use me well, Master Ford, do you ?" 
 Ford, still suspicious, briefly replies : 
 
 " Ay, I do so," 
 and she proceeds : 
 
 " Heaven make you better than your thoughts." 
 
 To this wish the jealous, yet puzzled Ford replies 
 with suppressed bitterness : 
 
 "Amen," 
 
 and Mrs. Page, taking her friend's part, observes in 
 reproof : 
 
 " You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford," 
 
 while he, still uneasy about both the ladies, bluntly 
 replies : 
 
 "Ay, ay; I must bear it." 
 Evans and Caius now speak, as if alike ashamed of 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor' 471 
 
 searching the house in vain, Evans saying em- 
 phatically : 
 
 " If there be any pody in the house, and in the chambers and in 
 the coffers and in the presses, Heaven forgive my sins at the day of 
 judgment." 
 
 Caius, always more excitable, adds : 
 
 " By gar, nor I too : dere is no bodies." 
 
 Page, more familiar with Ford, now reproves him : 
 
 " Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not ashamed ? . . . I would not 
 have your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor Castle." 
 
 Ford replies, apparently as much depressed as angry : 
 
 "Tis my fault, 1 Master Page j I suffer for it." 
 
 Evans continues, reprimanding him : 
 
 " You suffer for a pad conscience : your wife is as honest a 
 'omans as I will desire among five thousand, and five hun- 
 dred, too." 
 
 Caius, who now agrees with Evans, here adds : 
 
 " By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman." 
 
 Ford, apparently still unconvinced and agitated, yet 
 forced for the present to apologise for his suspicion, 
 briefly replies : 
 
 " Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in the park ; 
 I pray you, pardon me, I will hereafter make known to you why I 
 
 1 "Misfortune." — Staunton's notes. 
 
4.72 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 have done this. Come, wife; come, Mistress Page. I pray you 
 pardon me." 
 
 Page, always good-humoured, exclaims : 
 
 "Let's go in, gentlemen; but trust me, we'll mock him. I do 
 invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast ; after we'll 
 go a birding together " ; 
 
 and adds as an attraction much liked at this period : 
 " I have a fine hawk for the bush, shall it be so ?" 
 
 Ford, as if confused or weary owing to his mental 
 agitation, merely replies : 
 
 "Anything," 
 
 while Evans and Caius, now quite reconciled, alike 
 accept the tempting invitation with pleasure. Evans, 
 recalling the scornful jesting of the host, exclaims as 
 they depart, in rather a vindictive spirit for a clergy- 
 man, though he may be partly in joke : 
 
 " I pray you now remembrance to-morrow on the lousy knave, 
 mine host." 
 
 Caius, equally offended with the latter, agrees, saying : 
 
 " Dat is good; by gar, vit all my heart," 
 
 and Evans, as if trying to rouse anger against the 
 absent host, exclaims : 
 
 " A lousy knave ; to have his gibes and his mockeries." 
 
 This lively party depart, and the following scene is the 
 first really sentimental one in this truly comic play. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 473 
 
 Fenton and Anne Page are together in a room at 
 Page's house. They are really in love with each 
 other, yet Page opposes Fenton's suit to his daughter, 
 preferring Slender, while her mother opposes him 
 in behalf of Dr. Caius. Yet neither Mr. nor Mrs. 
 Page is of a harsh nature, so Fenton and Miss Page 
 now take counsel together. Fenton begins rather 
 regretfully : 
 
 " I see I cannot get thy father's love. 
 Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. . . . 
 He doth object I am too great of birth, 
 And that my state being gall'd with my expense, 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth." 
 
 Fenton then admits some of his own errors or delin- 
 quencies as causes of Page's opposition to him : 
 
 " Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
 My riots past, my wild societies. 
 And tells me 'tis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee, but as a property." 
 
 It is evident from this confession that the prudent 
 Mr. Page, with some reason, distrusts his would-be 
 son-in-law. The admitted fact of young Fenton's 
 former association with "the wild Prince and Poins," 
 though his name is not mentioned in the play of 
 " Henry IV." describing these two profligates, is likely 
 believed by Anne, who, rather sympathising with her 
 father, replies : 
 
 " May be, he tells you true." 
 
 Fenton, apparently as resolved as the wild Prince 
 
474 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 himself was to amend his courses and lead a new 
 life, on his accession to the throne as Henry V., 
 replies, it is to be hoped sincerely : 
 
 " No, Heaven so speed me in my time to come." 
 
 Yet now he makes a rather startling admission, which 
 certainly goes far to justify Mr. Page's disapproval : 
 
 " Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I wooed thee, Anne : 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags ; 
 And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at." 
 
 Anne, quite won over by his protestations, yet sincerely 
 loving her father, replies : 
 
 " Gentle Master Fenton, 
 Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
 If opportunity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then — hark you hither." 
 
 They converse apart without leaving the room, into 
 which enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. Old 
 Shallow, sincerely anxious for his cousin Slender's 
 marriage with Anne, is evidently annoyed at now 
 finding Fenton talking to her, and exclaims to Mrs. 
 Quickly, whom everybody seems to trust : 
 
 "Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman shall speak for 
 himself." 
 
 Slender, hopelessly silly or shy, perhaps both, ex- 
 claims, trying to muster up courage to address 
 Anne : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ,: 475 
 
 " I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't. 1 Tis but venturing." 
 
 Shallow, trying to encourage him, says : 
 
 " Be not dismayed," 
 
 and Slender nervously answers : 
 
 " No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for that — but that I 
 am afeard." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, likely obeying Shallow, says to Anne : 
 
 " Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word with you." 
 
 Anne, doubtless comparing secretly her handsome, 
 attractive suitor Fenton with the foolish, timid one 
 before her, replies aloud : 
 
 " I come to him," 
 and then to herself, as she looks at Slender : 
 
 " This is my father's choice," 
 
 and then makes a natural and sensible reflection, 
 suggested by her own present position : 
 
 " O what a world of vile, ill-favoured faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! " 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, resolved for her own interests to be 
 
 1 " Equivalent to our saying, ' Hit or miss.' " — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
476 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 on good terms with all parties, and knowing well how , 
 to be so, now civilly addresses young- Fenton, asking : 
 
 " And how does good Master Fenton ? Pray you, a word with 
 you." 
 
 Shallow and his cousin Slender, their names indi- 
 cating their shallow wits and slender understandings, 
 now alike beset Anne Page, who well knows both and 
 what to say to each of them. Shallow says aside, to 
 encourage Slender : 
 
 " She's coming ; to her, coz." 
 
 Then, trying to rouse or induce his awkward cousin 
 to imitate or follow his father's example, he exclaims, 
 provoked at his awkwardness : 
 
 " O boy, thou hadst a father." 
 
 Slender, hearing him and foolishly fancying he should 
 repeat his words, and wishing to make himself agree- 
 able to Anne, while interpreting them in his own silly 
 fashion, says : 
 
 " I had a father, Mistress Anne ; my uncle can tell you good jests 
 of him. — Pray, uncle, tell Mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
 two geese out of a pen, good uncle." 
 
 Shallow, still acting as introducer or interpreter for 
 his blundering young relative, briefly comes to the 
 point by saying : 
 
 " Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 477 
 
 Slender, trying to take his cue from Shallow, while 
 apparently having few if any ideas of his own, with 
 eager awkwardness protests : 
 
 " Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman in Glostershire." 
 
 Shallow then tries what a little temptation may do 
 with Anne, saying promisingly : 
 
 " He will maintain you like a gentlewoman." 
 
 Slender eagerly confirms and tries to add to this 
 promise, declaring : 
 
 " Ay, that I will, come cut and long tail J under the degree of 
 a squire." 
 
 Shallow, continuing in the same strain, and thinking 
 he can explain the best, says : 
 
 " He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure." 
 
 Anne shrewdly replies, well understanding both 
 of them : 
 
 " Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself." 
 
 Shallow, hoping from these words that she is 
 about to favour Slender, and likely glad to have no 
 more trouble himself in the matter, replies : 
 
 " Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for that good comfort. 
 She calls you, coz ; I'll leave you." 
 
 He perhaps withdraws a little distance, and Anne 
 1 " Let any come that may, good and bad." — Staunton's notes. 
 
478 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 herself says, as if to encourage Slender to speak at 
 all events : 
 
 " Now, Master Slender." 
 He simply or timidly repeats : 
 
 " Now, good Mistress Anne." 
 and she reasonably asks : 
 
 " What is your will ? " 
 
 Slender, mistaking or pretending to mistake her 
 meaning, replies : 
 
 "My will? od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest indeed! I never 
 made my will yet, I thank Heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, 
 I give Heaven praise." 
 
 Anne then plainly asks : 
 
 " I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me ? " 
 
 Slender answers with truthful simplicity : 
 
 " Truly, for my own part, I would little or nothing with you ; 
 your father and my uncle hath made motions, if it be my luck, so ; 
 if not, happy man be his dole ! " ' 
 
 Then, wishing to leave all explanation as well as 
 responsibility to his elders, he modestly adds : 
 
 " They can tell you how things go better than I can ; you may ask 
 your father ; here he comes." 
 
 ' " Let the share or lot dealt to him be happiness." — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 479 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Page enter, the former favouring 
 Slender, and rather gravely reproving Fenton for 
 his addresses to Anne, while Mrs. Page, though pre- 
 ferring Dr. Caius for a son-in-law, is yet more indulgent 
 towards Fenton than her husband is. Page now 
 addresses the two young men before him in a very 
 different manner : 
 
 " Now, Master Slender : love him, daughter Anne." 
 
 Then, addressing Fenton, he angrily asks : 
 
 " Why, how now ! What does Mr. Fenton here ? You wrong 
 me, sir, thus still to haunt my house ; I told you, sir, my daughter is 
 disposed of." 
 
 Fenton mildly exclaims : 
 
 " Nay, Master Page, be not impatient," 
 
 while Mrs. Page, more civil to Fenton, yet opposing 
 his suit, says : 
 
 " Good Master Fenton, come not to my child," 
 and Page adds rather sternly : 
 
 " She is no match for you." 
 Fenton asks to be heard and Page firmly refuses : 
 
 " No, good Master Fenton ! Come, Master Shallow " ; 
 then, rather anticipating matters, he adds : 
 
 "Come, son Slender, in." 
 
480 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Then, instead of inviting Fenton, Page adds rather 
 harshly : 
 
 " Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton," 
 
 and Page, Shallow, and Slender go out, leaving Anne 
 with her mother, Fenton, and Mrs. Quickly ; the last 
 named, ever on the watch, now urges Fenton, perhaps 
 aside, to appeal to Mrs. Page, and he, following her 
 advice, says : 
 
 " Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter, 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do, 
 Perforce against all checks, rebukes, and manners 
 ... let me have your good will " ; 
 
 while Anne herself sadly and scornfully objects to 
 Slender, exclaiming, in simple truth and earnestness : 
 
 " Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool." 
 
 Mrs. Page, preferring Dr. Caius in her mind, replies 
 rather evasively : 
 
 " I mean it not, I seek you a better husband." 
 
 Probably all present know whom she means, but 
 Mrs. Quickly promptly declares : 
 
 " That's my master, master doctor." 
 
 Anne, apparently disliking Caius even more than 
 she does Slender, passionately exclaims in quaint 
 language : 
 
 " Alas ! I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor * 481 
 
 Mrs. Page then says good-naturedly : 
 
 " Come, trouble not yourself, good Master Fenton, 
 I will not be your friend nor enemy. 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 And as I find her, so am I affected. 
 Till then farewell, sir — she must needs go in, 
 Her father will be angry." 
 
 Mrs. Page likely admires the handsome Mr. 
 Fenton secretly, but does not wish to dispute with 
 her husband on the subject. She departs with Anne ; 
 and Mrs. Quickly, left alone with Fenton, pursues 
 her own private interests in her usual practical, 
 intelligent manner. She addresses Fenton rather 
 proudly, and favours him with a record of her pro- 
 ceedings, perhaps partly invented : 
 
 " This is my doing now — ' Nay,' said I, " will you cast away your 
 child on a fool and a physician ? Look, Master Fenton, — this is 
 my doing." 
 
 Fenton, equally credulous, grateful, and sentimental, 
 replies : 
 
 " I thank thee and I pray thee once * to-night, 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring." 
 
 Then, in practical gratitude to Mrs. Quickly for her 
 alleged efforts in his behalf, the young lover adds : 
 
 " There's for your pains," 
 
 and departs. Mrs. Quickly when alone, like Richard 
 III., reveals her character in soliloquy; being alike 
 gratified by Fenton's present and being trusted by 
 
 1 " Some time to-night."— Staunton's notes. 
 32 
 
482 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 so many different persons at this time, she exclaims, 
 praising Fenton : 
 
 " Now, Heaven send thee good fortune ! A kind heart he hath ; a 
 woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart. 
 But yet I would my Master had Mistress Anne, or I would Master 
 Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her ; 
 I will do what I can for them all three ; for so I have promised, 
 and I'll be as good as my word ; but speciously for Master Fenton." 
 
 Then, remembering her older acquaintance, as well 
 as the young and middle-aged ones, all of whom 
 she seems to understand with rare shrewdness, she 
 adds : 
 
 " Well, I must be of another errand to Sir John Falstaff from my 
 two mistresses." 
 
 Then, evidently enjoying her different employments, 
 concludes : 
 
 " What a beast am I to slack it ! " 
 
 and departs fullof cunning and intrigue. 
 
 The next scene is in the Garter Inn, into which 
 enter Falstaff and Bardolph. The latter, though 
 apparently resembling Pistol and Nym in his habits, 
 is not much with them in this play, and though 
 attending Falstaff, seems to know little, if anything, 
 of his old patron's present intrigue with the " merry 
 wives." Falstaff, as he has often doubtless done 
 before, tells Bardolph to bring him a quart of sack, 
 his favourite beverage, and after his follower goes 
 to bring it, he reveals to himself his late adventures 
 in a naturally despondent spirit, yet still ignorant 
 
u The Merry Wives of Windsor" 483 
 
 of the real nature of the late plots against him. He 
 asks himself in moody dejection : 
 
 " Have I lived to be carried in a basket like a barrow of butcher's 
 offal and to be thrown in the Thames ? " 
 
 Then, confident that he will not be again similarly 
 deceived, yet fated soon to be so, he continues : 
 
 " Well, if I be served such another trick I'll have my brains taken 
 out and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new year's gift." 
 
 Then, minutely recalling what he has endured, he 
 proceeds : 
 
 " The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as 
 they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen i' the litter, 
 and you may know by my size that I have a kind of alacrity in 
 sinking. ... I had been drowned but that the shore was shelvy 
 and shallow ; a death that I abhor, for the water swells a man and 
 what a thing should I have been, had I been swelled ! I should 
 have been a mountain of mummy." 
 
 It seems strange that Falstaff, knowing and owning 
 his unwieldy corpulence, should still be vain of his 
 personal appearance. On this subject, and on it alone, 
 the shrewd old knave, well acquainted with various 
 companions, from those in the English Court to the 
 frequenters of low taverns in London, is deceived by 
 a personal vanity exposing him to the successful arts 
 of people altogether below him in natural intelligence, 
 or even knowledge of the world. Bardolph returns 
 immediately after Falstaft's soliloquy with the wine, 
 and introducing the artful Mrs. Quickly. At this 
 important crisis of his life it is remarkable that 
 Falstaff seems hardly to consult or trust his three 
 
484 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 former adherents, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol, nor 
 has he replaced them by new attendants. He 
 is therefore now left alone to deal with the trio, 
 Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Quickly, who, in 
 strict alliance for a common purpose, completely 
 deceive him throughout. Falstaff sends off Bar- 
 dolph to bring him more sack, and again receives 
 Mrs. Quickly alone. This woman, cunning as ever, 
 is now intrusted by the merry wives with a new plot 
 to deceive Falstaff, and ably executes her commis- 
 sion, which is evidently quite after her own heart. 
 Accordingly she begins with assumed civility : 
 
 " Sir, I come to your worship from Mistress Ford." 
 
 At hearing this name, the outwitted old Falstaff 
 answers with a dismal attempt at a pun : 
 
 " Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I was thrown into the 
 ford ; I have my belly full of ford." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, well instructed by Mrs. Ford, replies 
 with pretended sympathy : 
 
 " Alas ! the day ! good heart, that was not her fault " ; 
 
 and, doubtless told by Mrs. Ford to lay all the blame 
 on the servants, John and Robert, Mrs. Quickly 
 proceeds : 
 
 " She does so take on with her men ; they mistook their 
 erection." 
 
 Falstaff, in helpless yet comic sarcasm, retorts : 
 " So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise." 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 485 
 
 Mrs. Quickly now redoubles her deceitful excuses, and 
 with complete success, saying : 
 
 "Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn your heart 
 to see it." 
 
 Then she becomes communicative with new tempta- 
 tions : 
 
 " Her husband goes this morning a-birding ; she desires you once 
 more to come to her between eight and nine. I must carry her 
 word quickly ; she'll make you amends, I warrant you." 
 
 Falstaff, again won over by this artful go-between, 
 replies, just as she would wish to hear : 
 
 " Well, I will visit her ; tell her so, and bid her think what a man 
 is ; let her consider his frailty and then judge of my merit." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, probably much amused, replies : 
 
 " I will tell her," 
 
 and Falstaff, then mistaking or pretending to mistake 
 the time appointed, asks : 
 
 " Between nine and ten sayst thou ? " 
 But Mrs. Quickly repeats : 
 
 " Eight and nine, sir," 
 and Falstaff rejoins : 
 
 " Well, be gone ; I will not miss her." 
 Mrs. Quickly, perhaps laughing to herself and rejoiced 
 
486 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 at the success of her mission, gently replies, carefully 
 concealing her secret thoughts : 
 
 " Peace be with you, sir," 
 
 and departs. Falstaff, evidently revived in spirits at 
 what he believes is cheering news, exclaims when 
 alone : 
 
 " I marvel I hear not of Master Brook ; he sent me word to stay 
 within ; I like his money well. O here he comes," 
 
 and accordingly Ford enters alone. Falstaff, never 
 having the least idea who he really is, immediately 
 asks : 
 
 " Now, Master Brook, you come to know what hath passed 
 between me and Ford's wife." 
 
 The other replies with intense, bitter emphasis : 
 
 " Such indeed, Sir John, is my business." 
 
 Falstaff then says he was in Ford's house at the hour 
 appointed, and the latter asks : 
 
 " And sped you, sir ? " 
 
 He is doubtless astonished to hear Falstaff gravely 
 answer : 
 
 "Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook." 
 
 Ford, deeply interested, yet perhaps for a moment 
 somewhat relieved, asks : 
 
 " How so, sir ? Did she change her determination ? " 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 487 
 
 Falstaff, eager to tell the whole truth to the equally 
 eager listener, earnestly replies : 
 
 " No, Master Brook, but the peaking cornuto her husband, dwell- 
 ing in a continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the midst of our 
 encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested and as it were 
 spoke the prologue to our comedy, and at his heels a rabble of his 
 companions, thither provoked and instigated by his distemper, and, 
 forsooth, to search his house for his wife's love." 
 
 Ford, remembering how carefully he had searched the 
 whole house, asks in wonder : 
 
 " What, while you were there?" 
 Falstaff with grave emphasis replies : 
 
 "While I was there," 
 and Ford again inquires in increasing amazement : 
 
 " And did he search for you and could not find you ? " 
 
 Falstaff, as anxious to tell as Ford is to hear the truth, 
 deliberately replies : 
 
 " You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes in Mistress 
 Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach, and by her invention 
 and by Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck- 
 basket." 
 
 Ford can only exclaim and repeat, in utter astonish- 
 ment: 
 
 " A buck-basket !" 
 
 Falstaff emphatically repeats, describing bitterly all 
 he has suffered, believing he has the sympathy of his 
 secretly enraged and almost frantic listener : 
 
488 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Yes ! a buck-basket, rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, 
 socks, foul stockings, greasy napkins, that, Master Brook, there 
 was the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended 
 nostril." 
 
 Falstaff then details how he was carried by two of 
 Ford's servant men to Datchet-mead, adding : 
 
 " You shall hear, Master Brook, what I have suffered to bring 
 this woman to evil for your good. They took me on their 
 shoulders ; met the jealous knave their master at the door, who 
 asked them once or twice what they had in their basket ; I quaked 
 for fear lest the lunatic knave would have searched it. . . . Well, 
 on went he for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But 
 mark the sequel, Master Brook; I suffered the pangs of three 
 several deaths : first, an intolerable fright . . . next to be compassed 
 like a good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel 
 to head, and then to be stopped in like a strong distillation with 
 stinking clothes . . . think of that — a man of my kidney — think of 
 that ; that am as subject to heat as butter. . . . And in the height 
 of this bath, when I was more than half-stewed in grease like a 
 Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames and cooled, glowing hot, 
 in that surge, like a horseshoe; think of that, Master Brook." 
 
 Ford pretends to sympathise at this narrative, yet 
 asks : 
 
 " My suit then is desperate, you'll undertake her no more ? " 
 
 But Falstaff, who, as he had previously and privately 
 owned, liked Ford's money well, warmly replies, as if 
 full of steady friendship and perseverance : 
 
 " Master Brook, I will be thrown into /Etna, as I have been into 
 Thames, ere I will leave her thus." 
 
 And he then astonishes Ford yet more, if possible, by 
 new information : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 489 
 
 " Her husband is this morning gone a-birding ; I have received 
 from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the 
 hour, Master Brook." 
 
 Ford says it is already past eight, and Falstaff 
 promptly rejoins, apparently recovered from his 
 fright or recent sufferings and eager for more of 
 Ford's money : 
 
 " Is it ? I will then address r me to my appointment. Come to 
 me at your convenient leisure and you shall know how I speed. . . . 
 Adieu, you shall have her, Master Brook, you shall," 
 
 and Falstaff departs, leaving Ford alone, who, as 
 before, indulges in a soliloquy, but this time is even 
 more astounded, if possible. At first he can hardly 
 believe he is in his waking senses, and exclaims, 
 really bewildered by all he has just heard: 
 
 "Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? do I sleep? 
 Master Ford, awake ; awake, Master Ford. . . . This 'tis to be 
 married, this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets ! . . . He is at my 
 house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible he should ; he cannot 
 creep into a halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper-box, but lest the 
 devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible 
 places." 
 
 He departs nearly distracted, but now more than 
 ever resolved on revenge or discovery, yet with none 
 to aid him, or at least to quite share his confidence. 
 
 In the next scene (Act IV.) Mrs. Page is in a street 
 with her young son William and Mrs. Quickly. The 
 latter, who has seen Falstaff since Mrs. Page has, says 
 that he is likely now to be at Ford's house, adding, 
 doubtless much amused : 
 
 1 " Prepare." — Staunton's notes. 
 
490 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "Truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the 
 water. Mrs. Ford desires you to come suddenly." 
 
 Mrs. Page says she will be with her by and by, 1 then 
 says playfully about her boy : 
 
 " I'll but bring my young man here to school. Look where his 
 master comes; 'tis a playing-day, I see," 
 
 and Sir Hugh Evans appears, saying that Master 
 Slender has — 
 
 " Let the boys leave to play." 
 
 Hearing this, Mrs. Quickly, among whose probably 
 many faults ill-nature seems to have no place, 
 exclaims : 
 
 "Blessing of his heart ! " 
 
 but Mrs. Page now owns that her husband is not 
 satisfied with her son's progress, and requires Evans 
 to ask him some questions " in his accidence." 2 Evans 
 accordingly asks in his usual Welsh accent, which 
 Shakespeare evidently well knows ; yet while Evans's 
 and Mrs. Ouickly's remarks and questions are rather 
 amusing, the boy does not appear an intelligent 
 sample of his age, and seems introduced only to show 
 off these two originals. Willie Page, probably like 
 a lad of the period, less indulged than those of his 
 
 1 " In Shakespeare's time ' immediately,' not as now, some time 
 hence." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 " The particular work here referred to is the old English 
 introduction to Latin Grammar, called Lily's Accidence."' — Staunton's 
 notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 491 
 
 age were at a later time, is told by his mother and 
 Evans to hold up his head and answer questions. 
 Evans asks : 
 
 " William, how many numbers is in nouns ? " 
 
 Willie answers : 
 
 " Two," 
 
 when Mrs. Quickly interposes : 
 
 " Truly, I thought there had been one number more, because 
 they say, od's nouns." 
 
 Evans, amazed, yet unable to silence this woman, 
 exclaims pompously : 
 
 " Peace your tattlings. What is fair, William?" 
 
 The lad, knowing the Latin name, answers : 
 
 " Pulcher," 
 
 upon which the irrepressible Mrs. Quickly, no Latin 
 scholar, exclaims : 
 
 " Poul-cats ! there are fairer things than poul-cats, sure.' 
 
 Evans again tries to silence her : 
 
 " You are a very simplicity 'oman, I pray you, peace," 
 
 and again examining the boy in Latin, pronounces 
 " Hie, haec, hoc," as " Hing, hang, hog." 
 
492 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, catching at the last words, provokingly 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you," 
 and Evans, out of patience, replies : 
 
 " Leave your prabbles, 'oman," 
 and unluckily asks Willie : 
 
 " What is your genitive case plural ? " 
 
 The lad truly replies : 
 
 "Horum, harum, horum," 
 
 when Mrs. Quickly explodes, thinking those words 
 apply either to herself or some of her acquaintance, 
 and she exclaims, as if morally shocked : 
 
 " Fie on her — never name her, child." 
 
 Evans, indignant at her rendering, says sternly : 
 " For shame, 'oman," 
 
 but Mrs. Quickly, firmly believing her translation, 
 actually ventures to reprove him, saying : 
 
 "You do ill to teach the child such words " ; 
 
 then, as if addressing the mother : 
 
 " He teaches him to hick and to hock, which they'll do fast 
 enough of themselves ; and to call Jwram : fie upon you ! " 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 493 
 
 Evans, angry, but apparently hardly knowing how 
 to explain or how to stop her, asks : 
 
 " 'Oman, art thou lunatics ? hast thou no understandings for thy 
 cases and the numbers of the genders? Thou art as foolish 
 Christian creatures as I would desires." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly is perhaps about to retort when Mrs. 
 Page exclaims : 
 
 " Prythee, hold thy peace," 
 
 and soon after, as if gratified rather than otherwise 
 with Willie's progress, observes : 
 
 " He is a better scholar then I thought he was," 
 
 and Evans rejoins : 
 
 " He is a good sprag * memory. Farewell, Mrs. Page," 
 
 and they part company. Throughout this little scene, 
 which has little reference to the rest of the play, 
 young Page shows no wit, boyish fun, nor merriment. 
 When before an apparently indulgent master, a fond 
 mother, and a good-natured, lively old gossip like 
 Mrs. Quickly, the lad might have made many jokes, 
 and been very amusing, but he shows no cheerfulness 
 or spirit whatever. It is perhaps true that English 
 lads of Shakespeare's period, and likely before and 
 for some time after it, were far more strictly brought 
 up and in much greater awe of their parents and 
 teachers than would be easy to believe now. The 
 
 1 " Ready." — Staunton's notes. 
 
494 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 only two lads introduced in this lively comedy, Robin 
 and Willie, certainly add little or nothing to its 
 merriment, though both are so involved with comic 
 characters. 
 
 The next scene is in Ford's house, where Mrs. 
 Ford and Falstaff enter. The latter, as deceived 
 as before by Mrs. Ford's pretended regret at his 
 ill-usage, begins : 
 
 "Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my sufferance. . . . 
 But are you sure of your husband now ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ford kindly replies : 
 
 " He's a-birding, sweet Sir John," 
 
 when Mrs. Page, doubtless according to previous 
 arrangement, knocks at the door, and Mrs. Ford, 
 persuading Falstaff to go into another room, receives 
 Mrs. Page alone, and after greeting, says aside : 
 
 " Speak louder," 
 
 wishing Falstaff to hear what is coming. Mrs. Page 
 accordingly begins : 
 
 " Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here." 
 
 Mrs. Ford asks : 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 and then Mrs. Page declares that Ford is again 
 as jealous as ever, saying : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor ,: 495 
 
 " He so takes on yonder with my husband ; so rails against all 
 married mankind ; so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
 soever; and so buffets himself in the forehead, crying, 'Peer out, 
 peer out/' that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tameness, 
 civility, and patience, to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad 
 the fat knight is not here." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, also wishing to frighten Falstaff, asks 
 with assumed anxiety : 
 
 " Why, does he talk of him ? " 
 
 and Mrs. Page eagerly replies : 
 
 " Of none but him, and swears he was carried out the last time 
 he searched for him in a basket ; protests to my husband he is now 
 here, and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their 
 sport to make another experiment of his suspicion, but I am glad 
 the knight is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, in pretended terror, asks eagerly : 
 
 " How near is he, Mistress Page ? " 
 
 and on her replying that Ford will soon arrive, Mrs. 
 Ford exclaims, as if terrified and helpless : 
 
 " I am undone ! — the knight is here." 
 
 Mrs. Page, as if quite out of patience with Mrs. 
 Ford and much alarmed for her, replies : 
 
 "Why then you are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead man. 
 What a woman are you ! Away with him, away with him ; better 
 shame than murder." 
 
 Mrs. Ford eagerly asks : 
 
 " Which way should he go ? how should I bestow him ? shall I 
 put him into the basket again ? " 
 
496 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Falstaff, terrified at hearing the idea of a repetition, 
 bursts from his concealment, exclaiming : 
 
 " No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I not go out ere 
 he comes ? " 
 
 Mrs. Page, as if truly grieved, replies : 
 
 " Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the door with 
 pistols, that none shall issue out, otherwise you might slip away ere 
 he comes." 
 
 Then, as if becoming stern, she asks the terrified 
 dupe : 
 
 " But what make you here ? " 
 
 Falstaff, now too frightened to attempt any excuse 
 or explanation, asks in confused alarm : 
 
 " What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney." 
 
 But this retreat is also impossible, Mrs. Ford 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " There they use always to discharge their birding pieces," 
 
 and soon she declares that there is no hiding-place 
 in the house which Ford will not search, so finally 
 Mrs. Page advises him, as his only chance of escape, 
 to go out °f the house disguised. Mrs. Ford then 
 asks in assumed anxiety : 
 
 " How might we disguise him ? " 
 
 and herself replies, as if in real alarm for the old 
 knight's safety : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 497 
 
 " Alas the day ! I know not. There is no woman's gown big 
 enough for him, otherwise he might put on a hat, a muffler, 1 and a 
 kerchief and so escape." 
 
 Falstaff, now quite at his wits' end, which he very 
 rarely is, exclaims almost in desperation to both 
 ladies : 
 
 "Good hearts, devise something, any extremity, rather than a 
 mischief." 
 
 A bright thought occurs to Mrs. Ford, who 
 exclaims : 
 
 " My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above." 
 
 Mrs. Page, catching at the idea, replies : 
 
 " On my word it will serve him ; she's as big as he is, and there's 
 her thrummed hat and her muffler too. Run up, Sir John." 
 
 Mrs. Ford kindly exclaims : 
 
 " Go, go, sweet Sir John ; Mistress Page and I will look some 
 linen for your head," 
 
 and Mrs. Page eagerly adds : 
 
 " Quick, quick, we'll come dress you straight ; put on the gown the 
 while." 
 
 Falstaff, eager to try the disguise, hurries away to 
 seek it, while the two wives converse with each 
 other ; Mrs. Ford owns that her husband cannot 
 
 1 " A contrivance adopted by women to conceal a portion of their 
 face, consisted usually of a linen bandage which covered the mouth 
 and chin." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 33 
 
49 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 endure this old woman of Brentford, and has forbidden 
 her his house, while Mrs. Page, if anything more 
 angry with Falstaff than Mrs. Ford is, exclaims 
 angrily : 
 
 " Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the devil guide 
 his cudgel afterwards." 
 
 Mrs. Ford asks if her husband is really coming, 
 and hears from Mrs. Page that he is, and she adds 
 that Ford has had some intelligence about the 
 basket. Mrs. Ford then says she will make her 
 servants again carry the same basket to meet Ford 
 at the door as before ; while Mrs. Page, full of wrath 
 at the unlucky old knight, exclaims almost spitefully : 
 
 " Hang him, dishonest varlet ; we cannot misuse him enough," 
 
 and while Mrs. Ford goes to get the linen for Fal- 
 staff's head, she repeats some lines to herself, 
 perhaps of her own composition, and which refer 
 to the present situation : 
 
 " We'll leave a proof by that which we will do, 
 Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 
 We do not act, that often jest and laugh, 
 'Tis old, but true, — ' Still swine eat all the draff? " 
 
 She sfoes out, and Mrs. Ford enters with her two 
 servant-men bringing the same basket as before, 
 now containing only clothes, saying they will meet 
 their master near the door, and are to set it down if 
 he tells them. She leaves the room and the two men 
 have a short talk together. But they show little 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 499 
 
 of the wit or humour with which Walter Scott and 
 Dickens would likely have inspired them, considering 
 their very amusing, comic situation. The first says, 
 meaning the basket : 
 
 " Come, come, take it up." 
 The second answers : 
 
 "Pray Heaven, it be not full of knight again," 
 and the other merely replies : 
 
 " I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much lead." 
 
 Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Evans now enter. 
 Ford seems again in a jealous frenzy, which none 
 of his three companions can understand. He 
 exclaims to Page, who evidently has been vainly 
 reasoning with him : 
 
 "Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any way then 
 to unfool me again ? " 
 
 Then addressing the servants : 
 
 " Set down the basket, villain, — somebody call my wife. Youtn 
 in a basket ! O, you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a ging, 1 a 
 pack, a conspiracy against me ; now shall the devil be shamed. 
 What ! wife, I say, come, come forth ; behold what honest clothes 
 you send forth to bleaching ! " 
 
 His angry excitement astonishes his friends, who 
 remonstrate, thinking him almost out of his senses. 
 Page exclaims in friendly, perhaps warning, reproach : 
 
 " Gang." — Staunton's notes. 
 
500 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Why, this passes, 1 master Ford ! you are not to go loose any 
 longer. You must be pinioned." 
 
 Evans says, much to the same effect : 
 
 " Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad dog ! " 
 
 while even old Shallow, roused by the words of 
 his companions, adds in remonstrance : 
 
 " Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed." 
 
 Mrs. Ford now re-enters, and her husband proceeds, 
 more suspicious than ever, yet trying to be sarcastic : 
 
 " So say I too, sir. Come hither, Mistress Ford ; Mistress Ford, 
 the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature that hath 
 the jealous fool to her husband ! I suspect without cause, mistress, 
 do I ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ford, knowing she is quite safe, earnestly 
 replies : 
 
 "Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect me in any dis- 
 honesty." 
 
 Ford, apparently mistaking her earnestness for mere 
 effrontery, replies scornfully : 
 
 "Well said, brazen-face, hold it out." 
 
 Then, thinking he addresses some one hid in the 
 basket, calls out, while pulling out the clothes : 
 
 " Come forth, sirrah." 
 
 1 "Surpasses." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 501 
 
 But as no one comes forth, Page, again wondering 
 at Ford's strange excitement, exclaims : 
 
 "This surpasses !" 
 while Mrs. Ford reprovingly asks her husband : 
 
 11 Are you not ashamed ? Let the basket alone." 
 Ford, still suspicious, retorts : 
 
 " I shall find you anon," 
 
 when Evans, as surprised as Page at Ford's excited 
 behaviour, exclaims : 
 
 " Tis unreasonable ! . . . Come away." 
 
 Ford persists in emptying out the basket, and in self- 
 vindication exclaims : 
 
 " Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed out of my 
 house yesterday in this basket ; why may he not be here again ? In 
 my house I am sure he is ; my intelligence is true, my jealousy is 
 reasonable ; pluck me out all the linen." 
 
 Mrs. Ford and Page alike declare that Ford is 
 mistaken, while Shallow, despite his expressive name, 
 feels that he is wiser at present than Ford himself, 
 and ventures on reproof: 
 
 "By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford: this wrongs you," 
 
 while Evans also administers to the suspicious 
 husband a short lecture : 
 
 " Master Ford, you must pray and not follow the imagination of 
 your own heart : this is jealousies." 
 
502 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Ford is now forced to admit : 
 
 " Well, he's not here I seek for," 
 
 and Page, always reasonable though unheeded, 
 observes : 
 
 "No, nor nowhere else but in your brain." 
 
 Ford, puzzled and rather confounded, yet not satis- 
 fied, appeals to them all again : 
 
 " Help to search my house this one time ; if I find not what I 
 seek, show no colour for my extremity, let me for ever be your table- 
 spoil ; let them say of me, ' As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow 
 walnut for his wife's leman.' * Satisfy me once more; once more 
 search with me." 
 
 Mrs. Ford now calls down Mrs. Page and the 
 supposed old woman, telling her husband that she 
 is her maid's aunt. Ford, believing this, declares 
 she is a witch, an " old cozening quean," and proceeds : 
 
 " Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of errands, does 
 she ? . . . Come down, you witch, you hag, you ; come down, 
 I say ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ford pretends to interpose, exclaiming : 
 
 " Nay, good sweet husband — good gentlemen, let him not strike 
 the old woman." 
 
 Falstaff now enters disguised, and led by Mrs. Page, 
 who exclaims to the pretended old woman : 
 
 " Come, Mother Prat, come, give me your hand," 
 
 1 " Lover." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 503 
 
 when Ford exclaims, in passionate, abusive anger : 
 
 " I'll prat her. Out of my door, you witch [beats /urn], you rag, 
 you baggage, you pole-cat, you ronyon ! Out, out ! " 
 
 and Falstaff makes off, doubtless as quick as he can. 
 Though both the merry wives are equally pleased 
 at this scene, yet they think it wiser to reprove Ford 
 for his violence, to keep up appearances, without 
 having the least desire to spare the bodily or mental 
 feelings of Falstaff. Mrs. Page asks, as if in reproof : 
 
 "Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the poor 
 woman," 
 
 while Mrs. Ford, perhaps wishing her husband to 
 be thought severe, says : 
 
 " Nay, he will do it." 
 Then she scornfully taunts him, saying : 
 
 " 'Tis a goodly credit for you," 
 but Ford, still angry, exclaims : 
 
 " Hang her, witch ! " 
 
 while Evans, though unconsciously, nearly lets the 
 cat out of the bag, by exclaiming, though luckily none 
 notice him : 
 
 " By yea and no, I think the 'oman is a witch indeed j I like not 
 when a 'oman has a great peard ; I spy a great peard under her 
 muffler." 
 
 Ford again begs all the men to accompany him 
 
504 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 in a renewed search through his house. Page good- 
 naturedly agrees, saying to the others : 
 
 " Let's obey his humour a little further ; come, gentlemen." 
 
 The five — Evans, Caius, Page, Shallow, and Ford — 
 then oro off to their useless search. 
 
 o 
 
 During this amusing, lively scene, it seems remark- 
 able, if not unnatural, that the fiery, excitable French 
 doctor never says a word, yet he is described as 
 entering Ford's rooms and searching them again 
 with the other seekers. It may be supposed that 
 he occupied the remaining time in making expressive 
 faces at his companions, though not a word escapes 
 him. But it is surely unlikely that this most lively, 
 excitable specimen of a very lively and excitable 
 nation could remain not only inactive, but quite 
 mute, amid a scene that would hardly fail to in- 
 tensely move and interest him. When alone together 
 the merry wives have a cheerful and amusing chat, 
 as they certainly have every reason to be delighted 
 at the hitherto complete success of their plans and 
 schemes. Mrs. Page exclaims, with more sarcastic 
 satisfaction than charity, alluding to Falstaff's chastise- 
 ment by Ford : 
 
 "Trust me, he beat him most pitifully," 
 
 and Mrs. Ford merrily rejoins : 
 
 " Nay, by the mass, that he did not ; he beat him most unpitifully 
 methought." 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 505 
 
 Mrs. Page, apparently the more implacable of the 
 two, proceeds : 
 
 " I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and hung ov'r the altar j it hath 
 done meritorious service." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, evidently so pleased with their success 
 that she wishes to play more tricks on Falstaff, asks : 
 
 " What think you ! May we, with the warrant of womanhood 
 and the witness of a good conscience, pursue him with any further 
 revenge ? " 
 
 Mrs. Page replies : 
 
 " The spirit of wantonness is surely scared out of him,' 
 and Mrs. Ford asks the important question : 
 
 " Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Page assents : 
 
 " Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape the figures out of your 
 husbands brains. If they can find in their hearts the poor un- 
 virtuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be 
 the ministers." 
 
 Mrs. Ford replies : 
 
 "I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly shamed; and methinks 
 there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publicly 
 shamed." 
 
 Mrs. Page, eagerly wishing for more amusement with 
 Falstaff, and conceiving a fresh plot against him, 
 wittily rejoins : 
 
 " Come to the forge with it, shape it : I would not have things 
 cool." 
 
506 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 They depart, rejoicing equally at their successful trick, 
 and bent on planning another, as hitherto they have 
 alike deceived Falstaff as thoroughly as they could 
 have desired. 
 
 The next scene is in the Garter Inn, where Bardolph 
 deceives the lively host, saying that the Germans 
 desire to use three of his horses, adding : 
 
 " The Duke himself will be to-morrow at Court and they are going 
 to meet him." 
 
 The host exclaims : 
 
 " What Duke should that be, comes so secretly ? I hear not of 
 him in the Court. Let me speak with the gentlemen " ; 
 
 and then asks : 
 
 " They speak English ? " 
 Bardolph replies : 
 
 " Ay, sir, I'll call them to you," 
 
 while the host, who despite his usual merriment has 
 evidently a keen eye to the main chance, and perhaps 
 rather fears being cheated, exclaims : 
 
 " They shall have my horses ; but I'll make them pay, I'll sauce 
 them ; they have had my house a week at command ; I have turned 
 away my other guests ; they must come off; x I'll sauce them. 
 Come," 
 
 and he goes off with Bardolph. 
 
 The next scene reverts to Ford's house, where the 
 
 1 " Pay." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 507 
 
 Pages, the Fords, and Evans are together. Ford is 
 at length relieved in his mind ; he and Page now 
 know what has really happened ; Mrs. Page has 
 shown Falstaff's letter, and Paq-e asks her : 
 
 "And did he send you both these letters at an instant? " 
 Mrs. Page replies : 
 
 " Within a quarter of an hour," 
 
 and Ford, now convinced of the truth, says to his 
 gratified wife : 
 
 "Pardon me, wife, henceforth do what thou wilt ; 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold 
 Than thee with wantonness ; now doth thy honour stand, 
 In him that was of late an heretic, 
 As firm of faith." 
 
 This eager apology from so hasty a man as Ford 
 makes the more calm and reasonable Page say : 
 
 " Tis well, 'tis well ; no more : 
 Be not as extreme in submission 
 As in offence, 
 
 But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
 Yet once again to make us public sport 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
 Where we may take him and disgrace him for it." 
 
 Ford says, alluding to some previous device : 
 
 " There is no better way than that they spoke of," 
 
 but Page exclaims : 
 
 " How ! to send him word they'll meet him in the park at mid- 
 night ! fie, fie, he'll never come." 
 
508 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Evans agrees with Page that Falstaff will not now be 
 so easily deceived, but the merry wives, always allied, 
 are yet, if anything, more eager and astute in devising 
 plots than their husbands are. Accordingly Mrs. 
 Ford says : 
 
 " Devise but how you'll use him when he comes, 
 And let us two devise to bring him hither." 
 
 Then Mrs. Page proceeds to unfold and fully describe 
 a new project arranged apparently between Mrs. Ford 
 and herself. It is a rather elaborate scheme, almost 
 like a new comedy in itself, and which eventually 
 brings this lively play to a thoroughly happy con- 
 clusion : yet so many persons are to take part in it, 
 that in real life its complete success might have been 
 difficult, but in the poet's hands it succeeds perfectly. 
 Mrs. Page, addressing the three gentlemen and speak- 
 ing for Mrs. Ford as well as for herself, says : 
 
 "There is an old tale goes that Heme the hunter, 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, 
 Doth all the winter time at still midnight 
 Walk round about an oak with great ragg'd horns, 
 And there he blasts the tree and takes x the cattle." 
 
 Page, well knowing the old legend, asks : 
 
 " Why, yet there want not many that do fear 
 In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak, 
 But what of this ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ford now continues to relate the plot, saying : 
 1 "Bewitches." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 509 
 
 " Marry, this is our device, 
 That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguis'd like Heme with huge horns on his head." 
 
 Page, evidently no match for the two ladies in artful 
 contrivance, asks : 
 
 "When you have brought him hither, 
 What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? " 
 
 His wife, answering this question, now proceeds to 
 reveal yet more, saying, in evident agreement with 
 Mrs. Ford : 
 
 " That likewise have we thought upon, and thus — 
 Nan Page, my daughter, and my little son, 
 And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
 Like urchins, ouphes J and fairies, green and white, 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
 And rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden 
 As Falstaff, she, and I are newly met, 
 Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
 With some diffused 2 song ; upon their sight, 
 We two in great amazedness will fly : 
 Then let them all encircle him about, 
 And fairy-like to pinch the unclean knight ; 
 And ask him why that hour of fairy revel 
 In their so sacred paths he dares to tread 
 In shape profane." 
 
 Mrs. Ford, as much in the plot as Mrs. Page, eagerly 
 adds : 
 
 " And till he tell the truth, 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
 And burn him with their tapers." 
 
 Mrs. Page proceeds to a cheerful conclusion : 
 
 1 " Goblins." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 "Wild."— Ibid. 
 
510 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 "The truth being known, 
 We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor." 
 
 Ford, now at ease again and cordially wishing success 
 to the plot, says in a thoroughly practical, common- 
 sense warning : 
 
 " The children must 
 Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do it." 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans, despite his profession as much 
 amused by the idea of the coming pranks as any of 
 his pupils or juniors could be, exclaims in his usual 
 Welsh accent : 
 
 " I will teach the children their pehaviours ; and I will pe like a 
 jack-an-apes also to purn the knight with my taper." 
 
 Ford, now as delighted as a merry lad at the in- 
 tended tricks, exultingly exclaims : 
 
 "That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards," 
 
 and Mrs. Page, thoroughly enjoying all the details of 
 the plot, exclaims with motherly pride : 
 
 " My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies, 
 Finely attired in a robe of white." 
 
 Page, as if equally proud of their pretty daughter, here 
 exclaims : 
 
 " That silk will I go buy " ; 
 yet, while on good terms with his wife, they differ as 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor v 511 
 
 to who their daughter should marry, the father pre- 
 ferring Slender, the mother Dr. Caius, while hitherto 
 both had opposed Miss Page's welcome lover, young 
 Fenton. Page therefore adds to himself : 
 
 " And in that tire 
 Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away, 
 And marry her at Eton." 
 
 Then says aloud : 
 
 " Go send to Falstaff straight," 
 
 and Ford replies most willingly : 
 
 " Nay, I'll to him again in the name of Brook : 
 He'll tell me all his purpose : sure, he'll come." 
 
 His wife, delighted with this proposition, rejoins : 
 
 "Fear not you that, go, get us properties, 
 And tricking for our fairies." 
 
 Evans, enjoying everything about the plot, more like 
 a lively boy than an elderly parson, in comic merri- 
 ment adds : 
 
 " Let us about it : it is admirable pleasures, and fery honest 
 knaveries." 
 
 The three gentlemen depart, when Mrs. Page says 
 to Mrs. Ford, as they both trust Mrs. Quickly : 
 
 "Go, Mistress Ford, 
 Send Quickly to Sir John, to know his mind." 
 
 Mrs. Ford departs, and then Mrs. Page alone reveals 
 her private plans and wishes about Anne, saying : 
 
512 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 11 I'll to the doctor : he hath my good will, 
 And none but he to marry with Nan Page. 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects. 
 The doctor is well money'd and his friends 
 Potent at Court : he, none but he, shall have her, 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her." 
 
 The next scene is at the Garter Inn, where the host 
 and Simple, Slenders servant, enter together. The 
 host, evidently an intelligent, lively man, has little 
 patience with a dull, stupid fellow like Simple. 
 Aware that Simple has a slow or drawling way of 
 speaking, he sharply asks him, with almost comic 
 contempt : 
 
 " What wouldst thou have, boor ? what, thick-skin ? speak, 
 breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, snap." 
 
 Simple, likely a little frightened, replies : 
 
 " Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff from Master 
 Slender." 
 
 The host, who apparently wishes to lose no time 
 with such a dull fellow, replies, showing Falstaffs 
 abode : 
 
 "There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his standing-bed, 1 
 ... go quick and call." 
 
 Simple, catching sight of the supposed fat witch of 
 Brentford, exclaims : 
 
 1 " In the poet's time chambers were usually furnished with a 
 standing bedstead, on which the superior reposed, and a truckle 
 or running one for the attendant. In the daytime the latter, 
 which was much lower than the standing bed, was wheeled under 
 it, to afford more room in the apartment." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor" 513 
 
 " There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up to his chamber ; 
 I'll be so bold as to stay, sir, till she come down j I come to speak 
 with her, indeed." 
 
 The host, alarmed, surprised, and quite ignorant of 
 the truth, exclaims : 
 
 " Ha ! a fat woman ; the knight may be robbed. I'll call. — Bully 
 knight ! Bully Sir John, speak from thy lungs military, art thou 
 there ?" 
 
 Falstaffasks : 
 
 "How now, mine host?" 
 
 and the latter replies, perhaps partly in joke : 
 
 " Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of thy fat 
 woman — let her descend." 
 
 Then, as if morally shocked or suspicious, he adds : 
 
 " My chambers are honourable : fie ! privacy ? fie !" 
 
 FalstafT enters, saying the fat old woman was with him 
 but is gone, when Simple explains : 
 
 " My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, seeing her go 
 y through the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that 
 ' beguiled him of a chain, had the chain or no." 
 
 Simple thus reveals his foolish master's superstitious 
 ideas about witches and their knowledge, while 
 Falstaff, with consummate effrontery, well knowing 
 his roguish follower Nym and easily deceiving such a 
 silly couple as Slender and Simple, gravely replies : 
 
 " I spoke with the old woman about it." 
 
 34 
 
514 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Simple eagerly asks : 
 
 " And what says she, I pray, sir ? " 
 
 and Falstaff, inventing falsehood after falsehood, 
 being quite master of the situation, answers : 
 
 " Marry, she says that the very same man that beguiled Master 
 Slender of a chain cozened him of it." 
 
 Simple then exclaims : 
 
 "I would I could have spoken with the woman herself; I had 
 other things to have spoken with her too from him." 
 
 Falstaff and the host insist on Simple saying what 
 these things are, and Simple then admits : 
 
 " They were nothing but about Mistress Anne Page ; to know if 
 it were my master's fortune to have her or no." 
 
 Falstaff assures him it is, adding : 
 
 " Go ; say the woman told me so," 
 
 and the poor duped Simple departs, exclaiming : 
 
 " I thank your worship ; I shall make my master glad with these 
 tidings." 
 
 The host then congratulates Falstaff on his clever- 
 ness, saying, perhaps with some suspicion : 
 
 " Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John ; was there a wise 
 woman with thee ? " 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 515 
 
 Falstaff, ever ready with witty answers, replies : 
 
 "Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath taught me more 
 wit than ever before I learned in my life, 1 and I paid nothing for it 
 neither, but was paid for my learning." 
 
 At this moment Bardolph enters, telling the poor 
 host that the Germans have run off with his horses : 
 
 " Like three German devils, three Dr. Faustuses." 
 
 This brief reference shows that Shakespeare had 
 heard something of the terrible old German legend, 
 which since his time has been so celebrated in trans- 
 lation, music, and poetry. No more allusion to it is 
 made, however, and the host still hopes to recover the 
 horses, exclaiming : 
 
 " They are gone but to meet the Duke ; do not say they be fled ! 
 Germans are honest men." 
 
 Evans now enters, confirming Bardolph by exclaiming 
 in warning to the host : 
 
 "Have a care of your entertainments; there is a friend of mine 
 come to town tells me there is three cousin germans that has 
 cozened all the hosts of Reading, of Maidenhead, of Coleprook, of 
 horses and money. I tell you for good- will, look you; you are 
 wise, and full of gipes and louting stogs, and ' tis not convenient 
 you should be cozened. Fare you well." 
 
 He departs and Dr. Caius enters, both now in turn 
 revenging themselves on the duped host for having 
 formerly ridiculed them. The French doctor asks 
 after the deceived host in his usual excited way : 
 
 1 " He quibbles on the meaning of ' paid,' one sense of to pay 
 formerly being to &«/."■— Staunton's notes. 
 
516 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " Vere is mine Host de Jarterre ? " 
 
 and the host replies, now really alarmed and hardly 
 knowing what to believe, 
 
 " Here, master doctor, in perplexity and doubtful dilemma." 
 
 Caius, evidently not having much knowledge of 
 English, answers : 
 
 " I cannot tell vat is dat ; but it is tell-a me dat you make great 
 preparation for a Duke de jarmany ; by my trot, dere is no Duke, 
 dat de Court is know to come ; I tell you for good-vill ; adieu ! " 
 
 and he also departs after imparting this unwelcome 
 news. The poor host, now thoroughly alarmed about 
 losing the horses, goes off with Bardolph, exclaiming : 
 
 " Hue and cry, villain, go ! " 
 
 Then, addressing Falstaff, who makes no reply : 
 
 " Assist me, knight ; I am undone, fly, run, hue and cry, villain ! 
 I am undone." 
 
 Falstaff, when alone, says to himself what he pro- 
 bably wishes none to hear. Among other things he 
 alludes to the Court, which was likely often in his mind, 
 owing to his previous intimacy with the wild Prince, 
 who now, though not introduced in this play, is the 
 reigning King, Henry V. Falstaff, apparently ab- 
 sorbed by his own intrigues, can hardly take much 
 interest in the host's troubles, and exclaims rather 
 petulantly : 
 
cc 
 
 The Merry Wives of Windsor " 517 
 
 " I would all the world might be cozened, for I have been 
 cozened and beaten too. If it should come to the ears of the 
 Court, how I have been transformed and how my transformation 
 hath been washed and cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat, 
 drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots with me ; I warrant they 
 would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as crestfallen as a 
 dried pear. I never prospered since I forswore myself at primero. 1 
 Well, if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers, I would 
 repent." 
 
 At this moment of mental depression enters the in- 
 defatigable Mrs. Quickly, saying she comes 
 
 "from the two parties forsooth." 
 
 Falstaff, guessing her meaning, yet still deceived, 
 exclaims, as if worn almost out of patience : 
 
 " The devil take one party, and his dam the other ! and so they 
 shall be both bestowed! I have suffered more for their sakes, 
 more than the villainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able 
 to bear." 
 
 The artful messenger, catching up his words, with 
 all her former cunning and success asks, with pretended 
 sympathy : 
 
 "And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant; speciously one 
 of them. Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that 
 you cannot see a white spot about her." 
 
 This last invention, though ingenious, at first fails, 
 as it only reminds Falstaff of his own experiences, 
 so he exclaims truly and irritably : 
 
 1 " A game of cards so called because the player that can show 
 a particular suit of cards first wins the game."— Adams's " Concor- 
 dance to Shakespeare." 
 
5 18 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I was beaten 
 myself into all the colours of the rainbow ; and I was like to be 
 apprehended for the witch of Brentford." 
 
 Then, his natural vanity coming to his relief, 
 he adds : 
 
 " But that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the 
 action of an old woman, delivered me, the knave constable had set 
 me i' the stocks, the common stocks, for a witch." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, who, though doubtless laughing to 
 herself, always plays her part like an admirable actress 
 and is now devoted to the interests and plans of 
 the merry wives, asks, evidently in a most persuasive 
 manner : 
 
 " Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber ; you shall hear how 
 things go, and I warrant to your content. Here is a letter will say 
 somewhat." 
 
 Then, drawing notice to all the trouble she herself 
 is taking, adds : 
 
 " Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together ! Sure one 
 of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed." 
 
 Falstaff, likely anxious to read the letter, and 
 hitherto no match for Mrs. Quickly in artfulness, asks 
 her to his chamber, and they depart together for 
 private conference, as Mrs. Quickly had proposed. 
 
 The next scene is in another room in this hotel 
 between the host and young Fenton. The former's 
 usual high spirits are now greatly lowered, and he 
 is hardly inclined to speak. He therefore exclaims : 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 519 
 
 " Master Fenton, talk not to me, my mind is heavy ; I will give 
 over all." 
 
 Fenton, however, now tries successfully to raise his 
 dejected spirits by promises of reward, as well as by 
 amusing intelligence, and replies : 
 
 " Yet hear me speak ; assist me in my purpose, 
 And as I am a gentleman I'll give thee 
 A hundred pounds in gold more than your loss." 
 
 The relieved host then replies : 
 
 " I will hear you, Master Fenton : and I will at the least keep 
 your counsel." 
 
 Fenton, who bribes both Mrs. Quickly and the host 
 to assist him in courting Miss Page, shows the host 
 a letter from her, and finally reveals the third and 
 last plot against old Falstaff, which Anne's letter 
 evidently relates. Fenton now explains the whole 
 contemplated scene to the host with all the spirit and 
 interest of a lively young man, and not only some- 
 what restores the depressed host to his usual spirits, 
 but persuades him to aid in the coming sport of which 
 Falstaff, though only to a harmless extent, is to be the 
 victim, while both Caius and Slender are to be the 
 dupes. The object of the whole scheme, though not 
 fully known to either the Pages or the Fords, is to 
 effect Fenton's marriage with Anne Page, yet in this 
 ultimate design Anne's parents, while organising this 
 sport, are to be mystified or taken in. Fenton ex- 
 plains the whole plan to the listening host, who enjoys 
 what he thinks the coming fun as much as Fenton 
 
520 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 could wish. After showing the host Anne's letter, 
 Fenton proceeds : 
 
 " Hark, good mine host, 
 To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen ; 
 The purpose why is here : in which disguise, 
 While other jests are something rank on foot, 
 Her father hath commanded her to slip 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 Immediately to marry ; she hath consented. 
 Now, sir. Her mother, even 1 strong against that match, 
 And firm for Dr. Caius, hath appointed 
 That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 Straight marry her ; to this her mother's plot 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 Made promise to the doctor : — Now thus it rests : 
 Her father means she shall be all in white ; 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 To take her by the hand and bid her go, 
 She shall go with him — her mother hath intended, 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 (For they must be all masked and vizarded), 
 That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd, 
 And with ribands pendant flaring 'bout her head ; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him." 
 
 The listening, friendly host, yet apparently rather 
 confused at these elaborate preparations, asks plainly : 
 
 " Which means she to deceive ? father or mother ? " 
 
 and the expectant bridegroom replies decisively : 
 
 lc Both, my good host, to go along with me. 
 And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar 
 
 Equally." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 521 
 
 To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, 
 And in the lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony." 
 
 The good-humoured host, quite friendly, yet not 
 perhaps altogether disinterested, cordially rejoins, 
 just as Fenton desires : 
 
 "Well, husband your device ; I'll to the vicar; 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest." 
 
 Fenton, rejoiced at his success with the host and 
 eagerly longing for the future event, exclaims in a 
 grateful, yet thoroughly practical manner : 
 
 "So shall I ever more be bound to thee; 
 Besides, I'll make a present recompense." 
 
 The amount of this present bribe is not again stated, 
 but it may be the " hundred pounds in gold " already 
 stated ; it is likely satisfactory, however, as the host 
 without another word departs with his eager, spirited 
 young friend. 1 Thus, Fenton, though so young a 
 man, has cleverly succeeded in having Mrs. Quickly 
 and the host alike in his pay, for each is anxious 
 to further his plans and wishes. 
 
 The next and last act begins in the Garter Inn, 
 where enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. This active 
 lady, Falstaff s "good she-Mercury," is throughout 
 
 1 Mr. Furnivall writes of this obliging host : " He helps the 
 young lovers, Fenton and Anne. There's a touch of poetry in his 
 nature ; he's evidently, too, the centre of sociability in his town, as 
 country innkeepers so often are." — Preface to the " Royal Shake- 
 speare." 
 
$2 2 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 quite his overmatch, and deceives him completely 
 in one scene after another. Her last private con- 
 versation with him has again quite convinced him 
 of her friendly sincerity, though he is evidently tired 
 of her voluble talk, as he says : 
 
 " Prythee, no more prattling — go — I'll hold : this is the third 
 time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go; they say 
 there is divinity in odd numbers. . . . Away." 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, ever ready and businesslike, makes 
 no remarks about the idea of odd numbers, but, quite 
 devoted to the secret plot she has on hand, replies : 
 
 " I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to get you a 
 pair of horns." 
 
 As she seems to linger, probably laughing to 
 herself, Falstaff for the fourth time tells her to be 
 off, adding : 
 
 " Time wears, hold up your head and mince." 1 
 
 She departs, perhaps looking particularly meek 
 and decorous, and Ford enters, still disguised as Mr. 
 Brook, and Falstaff immediately asks him to come 
 to Heme's oak 2 about midnight, adding : 
 
 "And you shall see wonders." 
 
 1 Mince, " walk with affected modesty." — Staunton's notes. 
 
 2 "The old tradition was that Heme, one of the keepers in the 
 park, having committed an offence for which he feared to be 
 disgraced, hung himself upon an oak, which was ever after haunted 
 by his ghost." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 523 
 
 Ford, no longer deceived, yet fated to hear more 
 amusing intelligence, asks : 
 
 " Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had 
 
 appointed ? " 
 
 In reply, Falstaff makes an interesting revelation of 
 his proceedings, with his usual careful and ever witty 
 particularity : 
 
 " I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a poor old man, 
 but I came from her, Master Brook, like a poor old woman." 
 
 Then, never suspecting whom he is addressing, he 
 proceeds, as interested in relating as Ford is in 
 listening : 
 
 " This same knave Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil 
 of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that ever governed frenzy : I will 
 tell you." 
 
 And the deceived and yet deceiving old rogue 
 continues, trying to vindicate his personal bravery, 
 though under sadly discouraging circumstances : 
 
 " He beat me grievously in the shape of a woman, for in the 
 shape of man, Master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's 
 beam ; because I know also that life is a shuttle. I am in haste, 
 go along with me ; I'll tell you all, Master Brook." 
 
 Then sudden remembrance of a likely mischievous 
 boyhood flashing across his excited mind, he adds, 
 perhaps truly enough : 
 
 "Since I plucked geese, played truant and whipped top, I knew 
 not what it was to be beaten till lately." 
 
524 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 He continues, probably amusing Ford instead of 
 provoking him as before by his confidential revela- 
 tions : 
 
 " Follow me, I'll tell you strange things of this knave Ford, 
 on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife 
 into your hand. Follow; strange things in hand, Master Brook; 
 follow." 
 
 Not a word does Ford answer, but goes off with 
 Falstaff, doubtless in a highly interested, excited state 
 of mind, which he never reveals. 
 
 The next scene is in Windsor Park, where Page, 
 Shallow, and Slender are together. Both the elder 
 gentlemen evidently enjoy the thoughts of the coming 
 frolic quite as much as do any of the younger people. 
 Page exclaims to the other two : 
 
 "Come, come, we'll couch i' the castle ditch, till we see the light 
 of our fairies." 
 
 Then, anxious to have Slender for his son-in-law, 
 adds : 
 
 " Remember, son Slender, my daughter." 
 
 Slender, foolish as ever and as completely deceived 
 as Page is by Anne, simply replies : 
 
 " Ay, forsooth : I have spoke with her and we have a nay word : 
 how to know one another ; I come to her in white and say ' Mum ; ' 
 she cries ' Budget] and by that we know one another." 
 
 Old Shallow likes this plan, and, eager for his 
 
 1 " A watchword." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 525 
 
 cousin Slender to marry Anne with as little trouble 
 as possible, exclaims : 
 
 "That's good too, but what needs either your 'Mum' or her 
 • Budget ' ? The white will decipher her well enough.' 
 
 Slender says no more, and Shallow adds, evidently 
 eager for the sport : 
 
 " It hath struck ten o'clock." 
 
 Page, as anxious as Shallow is for Slender to marry 
 his daughter, eagerly exclaims, but in high spirits : 
 
 "The night is dark ; light and spirits will become it well. Heaven 
 prosper our sport ! " 
 
 Then, grimly alluding to Falstaff, adds : 
 
 " No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his 
 horns. Let's away, follow me," 
 
 and the three depart together, all united in hopes 
 and plans, despite their differing characters. 
 
 The next scene is in a street at Windsor, where 
 enter the " merry wives " and Dr. Caius. Mrs. 
 Page, as anxious for Anne to marry Caius as Page is 
 for Slender to marry her, then instructs the French 
 doctor what to do when they all meet in Windsor 
 Park. She says : 
 
 " My daughter is in green j when you see your time, take her by 
 her hand, away with her to the deanery; and despatch it quickly. 
 Go before into the park ; we two " — 
 
526 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 meaning Mrs. Ford and herself — 
 
 " must go together." 
 
 Caius, doubtless delighted and expectant, replies 
 confidently : 
 
 "I know vat I have to do. Adieu," 
 
 and he departs, when Mrs. Page owns to Mrs. Ford : 
 
 "My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff, 
 as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter." 
 
 Then, evidently never in awe of her easygoing 
 consort, she adds : 
 
 " But 'tis no matter; better a little chiding, than a great deal 
 of heart-break." 
 
 From these words Mrs. Page apparently thinks 
 that Anne at least prefers Caius to "yond fool," 
 as she had called Slender, while Miss Page herself 
 seems to dislike both equally, and really loves the 
 comparatively handsome and gentleman-like Mr. 
 Fenton. Mrs. Ford, evidently looking forward with 
 pleasure to the coming sport, then asks : 
 
 " Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies ? And the Welsh 
 devil, Hugh ? " 
 
 meaning Evans, who is disguised with them. Mrs. 
 Page, who understands all the intended plot, except 
 indeed Anne's contemplated elopement with Fenton, 
 replies : 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor' 527 
 
 "They are all couched in a pit hard by Heme's oak, with 
 obscured lights, which the very instant of FalstafPs coming and our 
 meeting, they will at once display to the night." 
 
 Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford, after again expressing 
 delight at the plot, depart together, Mrs. Ford merrily- 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " The hour draws on, to the oak, to the oak." 
 
 The next scene is in Windsor Park, which Evans 
 enters, accompanied by the pretended fairies and 
 he directs them in his usual Welsh accent, with 
 which Shakespeare seems thoroughly acquainted : 
 
 "Trib, trib, fairies, come and remember your parts. Be pold 
 I pray you; follow me into the pit, and when I give the watch- 
 'ords do as I pid you. Come, come, trib, trib." 
 
 They vanish, while Falstaff, alone, enters another 
 part of the park, also disguised, and with a buck's 
 head on. He utters a remarkable soliloquy, having 
 still no idea of the tricks that are being played upon 
 him, and invokes Jupiter with something of the know- 
 ledge, if not the taste, of a classical scholar. This love 
 or knowledge of classic literature Shakespeare freely 
 attributes not only to Falstaff, likely a comparatively 
 educated man, but even to his coarse, disorderly 
 followers. In his present excited or vainglorious 
 state of mind the traditional amours of the pagan 
 deities transmitted in classic poetry recur to Fal- 
 stafPs extraordinary mind as he exclaims, with 
 apparent earnestness : 
 
528 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the minute draws on : 
 now the hot-blooded gods assist me. Remember, Jove, thou wast a 
 bull for thy Europa ; I love set on thy horns. O powerful love ! 
 that in some respects makes a beast of man ; in some other, a 
 man a beast ; you were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love of 
 Leda. 2 O omnipotent love ! how near the god drew to the 
 complexion of a goose ! . . . For me, I am here a Windsor stag, 
 and the fattest, I think, in the forest . . . Who comes here? 
 my doe ? " 
 
 Here enter the merry wives ; and Mrs. Ford, who 
 with Falstaff is in a park full of wild deer, they 
 call each other so, with about equal sincerity. She 
 exclaims, as if delighted to meet him : 
 
 " Sir John ; art thou there, my deer, my male deer ? " 
 
 and he replies in the same style : 
 
 " My doe," 
 
 and then in a joyful exclamation mentions potatoes, 
 great rarities in Shakespeare's time and in that of 
 Falstaff unknown. His naming them, therefore, 
 
 1 " A daughter of Agenor, King of Phoenicia. She was so beautiful 
 that Jupiter became enamoured of her, and he assumed the shape of 
 a bull . . . Europa caressed the beautiful animal, and at last had 
 the courage to sit upon his back . . . Some suppose that Europa 
 lived about 1552 years before the Christian era." — Lempriere's 
 Classical Dictionary. 
 
 2 " A daughter of King Thespius and Eurythemis, who married 
 Tyndarus, King of Sparta. She was seen bathing in the river 
 Eurotas by Jupiter, and the god, struck with her beauty, resolved 
 to deceive her. He persuaded Venus to change herself into an 
 eagle, while he assumed the form of a swan . . . Jupiter, as if 
 fearful of the tyrannical cruelty of the bird of prey, fled through 
 the air into the arms of Leda, who willingly sheltered the trembling 
 swan from the assaults of his superior enemy." — Ibid. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" 529 
 
 was likely to highly amuse a London audience of 
 the poet's period. He exclaims in very short-lived 
 exultation : 
 
 " Let the sky rain potatoes, let it thunder to the tune of Green- 
 sleeves ; hail-kissing comfits and snow eringoes, 1 let there come 
 a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here " [embracing her]. 
 
 Mrs. Ford exclaims : 
 " Mrs. Page is come with me, sweetheart " ; 
 
 and Falstaff rejoins, nothing abashed, and thinking 
 himself happy at last : 
 
 " Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch . . . Am I a 
 woodman ? Ha ! Speak I like Heme the hunter ? " 
 
 Confident in his success with the two ladies, Falstaff 
 in his joy again reverts to classic lore, this time to the 
 boy-god of Love : 
 
 " Why now is Cupid a child of conscience : he makes restitution. 
 As I am a true spirit, welcome ! " 
 
 His pleasure is of brief duration ; a noise is heard, 
 of what kind it is not said, at which expected signal 
 the two wives, as if panic-stricken, run off, leaving 
 Falstaff amazed and alone. He exclaims in utter per- 
 plexity, if not desperation, that the Evil Spirit himself 
 is now crossing him, when Evans enters disguised as 
 a satyr with the redoubtable Mrs. Quickly and 
 Pistol, once Falstaffs follower, but now apparently 
 
 1 Bonbons — sugar-plums. 
 35 
 
530 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 aiding to deceive his former patron. Since Falstaff 
 had declared he 
 
 "would not lend him a penny," 
 
 and he replied that he would 
 
 "open the world with his sword like an oyster," 
 
 this fellow had evidently deserted Falstaff, while his 
 comrades, Nym and Bardolph, seem to take no part 
 in the tricks practised on their former chief. Anne 
 Page also now appears as the fairy queen, with 
 her brother and other children attired like fairies, 
 having waxen tapers on their heads. Miss Page, 
 acting the fairy queen on this occasion, tries to 
 resemble Titania in addressing her attendants : 
 
 " Fairies, black and grey, green and white, 
 You moonshine revellers and shades of night, 
 You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, 
 Attend your office and your quality. 
 y Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy Oyes." 
 
 She gives this last direction to Pistol, who doubtless 
 changes his well-known name not to be recognised 
 by the listening Falstaff, and says : 
 
 " Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy toys. 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap ; 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd and hearths unswept, 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
 Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery." 
 
 Pistol's words, tending to confirm Falstaffs vague 
 notions of fairy ideas and tricks, make him now 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 531 
 
 believe that actual fairies are around him, and he 
 exclaims to himself, while lying on his face : 
 
 " They are fairies ■ he that speaks to them shall die ; 
 I'll wink and couch : no man their works must eye." 
 
 Evans and Anne now give different directions to 
 their juvenile followers. The former says : 
 
 " Go you and where you find a maid, 
 That ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy : 
 But those that sleep and think not on their sins, 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins." 
 
 Anne Page, imitating the style or authority of the 
 real fairy queen Titania, thus addresses those 
 around her : 
 
 " About, about ! 
 Search Windsor Castle, elves, withjn and out ; 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom 
 In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit ; 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm and every precious flower : 
 Each fair instalment, coat and several crest, 
 With loyal blazon evermore be blest ! " 
 
 Shakespeare's firm attachment to the English 
 monarchy, and evident respect for its beautiful seat 
 at Windsor Castle, animate this pretended fairy 
 queen's speech. Its spirit much resembles the ad- 
 dress of the real fairy king, Oberon, to his attendant 
 fairies when devoting blessings and good wishes 
 
532 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 to the Greek Duke Theseus in his palace at 
 Athens. 1 Miss Page proceeds, having apparently 
 well learned her part : 
 
 " And nightly, meadow fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass in a ring. 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile -fresh than all the field to see; 
 And, Honi soit qui ma/ y flense, 2 write, 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white, 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
 Fairies use flowers for their charactery." 
 
 Then, reverting practically to their present frolic, she 
 concludes : 
 
 " Away, disperse, but till 'tis one o'clock 
 Our dance of custom round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget." 
 
 Evans, as if at least partly master of the revels, now 
 addresses all, and in his usual Welsh accent : 
 
 " Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in order set ; 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns pe 
 To guide our measures round about the tree. 
 Put stay ; I smell a man of middle earth." 
 
 He means FalstafT, who, in the midst of his dismay 
 
 1 " With this field-dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gait ; 
 And each several chamber bless, 
 Through this palace with sweet peace, 
 And the owner of it blest, 
 Ever shall in safety rest." 
 
 — "Midsummer Night's Dream," Act V., Scene 2. 
 
 2 " Evil be to him who evil thinks." 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 533 
 
 and bewilderment, detects the Welsh accent, though 
 apparently not the man, and exclaims in sincere 
 though comic alarm : 
 
 " Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy ! lest he transform 
 me to a piece of cheese ! " 
 
 Pistol now scornfully addresses Falstaff, who 
 apparently does not yet recognise him : 
 
 " Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd J even in thy birth," 
 
 while the pretended queen proceeds, addressing her 
 attendants, as all now see Falstaff lying prostrate 
 before them : 
 
 " With trial-fire touch me his finger end, 
 If he be chaste the flame will back descend, 
 And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart." 
 
 Pistol, as if rather enjoying the fun of teasing his 
 former perhaps tyrannical old patron, exclaims 
 eagerly : 
 
 "A trial, come." 
 
 Evans adding : 
 
 "Come, will this wood take fire?" 
 
 and they touch Falstaff s fingers, who naturally 
 screams out : 
 
 "Oh, oh, oh!" 
 
 1 " Bewitched." — Staunton's notes. 
 
534 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 while Anne Page, persisting in her fairy queen pre- 
 tensions, directs her attendant fairies with as much 
 authority as Titania. Hearing yet without com- 
 passion Falstaffs shouts when feeling the fire, she 
 exclaims, as if convinced of his guilt : 
 
 " Corrupt, corrupt and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme, 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time." 
 
 Her obedient, willing young subjects then sing in 
 chorus, likely with great delight, while Falstaff lies 
 terrified and helpless before them : 
 
 " Fie on sinful fantasy ! 
 Fie on lust and luxury ! 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually, 
 
 Pinch him for his villainy ; 
 
 Pinch him and burn him, and turn him about, 
 
 Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out." 
 
 While the pretended fairies are singing and pinch- 
 ing Falstaff, the plot as previously revealed by Fenton 
 to the host is carefully carried out. Dr. Caius steals 
 away a disguised male fairy, while Slender bears off 
 a similar one, each of the deceived suitors thinking he 
 has Anne Page ; while Fenton elopes with her. " A 
 noise of hunting " is heard, the fairies run off, while 
 Falstaff, pulling off his buck's head and horns, rises, 
 and immediately is seized by the " merry wives " 
 and by their two husbands. Page exclaims : 
 
 " Nay, do not fly, I think we have watch'd ' you now, 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? " 
 
 1 " Tamed." — Staunton's notes. 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor " 535 
 
 and his wife says : 
 
 " I pray you come ; hold up the jest no higher." 
 
 Then, addressing the old half-stupefied knight, she 
 tauntingly asks : 
 
 " Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? " 
 
 Then, alluding to the buck's head and horns which 
 Falstaff has just pulled off, says : 
 
 " See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes, 
 Become the forest better than the town ? " 
 
 Falstaff makes no reply, perhaps cannot, while the 
 triumphant Ford, no longer jealous, now ridicules him 
 by sarcastically recalling his defeat and disappoint- 
 ments : 
 
 "Now, sir? Master Brook, Falstaff s a knave. . . . and, Master 
 Brook> he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his 
 cudgel, and twenty pounds of money which must be paid to Master 
 Brook ; his horses are arrested for it, Master Brook." 
 
 Mrs. Ford adds with pretended sympathy, while also 
 jeering at the old dupe : 
 
 "Sir John, we have had ill-luck; we could never meet. I will 
 never take you for my love again, but I will always count you 
 my deer." 
 
 Falstaff, conscience-struck, overcome by so many 
 crosses, and quite confounded yet perhaps not really 
 frightened, can only exclaim in sincerity and few 
 words : 
 
 " I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass," 
 
536 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 and then proceeds, gradually understanding more and 
 more of what has happened : 
 
 " And these are not fairies ? I was three or four times in the 
 thought they were not fairies, and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the 
 sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery 
 into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason 
 that they were fairies." 
 
 He then makes a short moral reflection, too late for 
 his own guidance : 
 
 " See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-lent, when it is upon ill 
 employment ! " 
 
 The worthy parson Evans, hearing these words and 
 thinking this the right moment to give the baffled old 
 sinner advice, says admonishingly : 
 
 " Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and the 
 fairies will not pinse you." 
 
 Ford, at last in thorough good-humour, and perhaps 
 amused at Evans's disguise, rejoins approvingly : 
 
 " Well said, fairy Hugh," 
 
 and Evans, thinking it a good moment to lecture Ford, 
 continues : 
 
 " And leave your jealousies too, I pray you." 
 
 Ford, who like Falstaff evidently dislikes the Welsh 
 accent of his adviser, declares : 
 
 " I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo 
 her in good English." 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 537 
 
 Falstaff, slowly recalling his scattered wits, begins to 
 deplore and wonder at his strange humiliation, asking 
 himself : 
 
 " Have I laid my brain in the sun and dried it, that it wants 
 matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching as this ? Am I ridden with 
 a Welsh goat too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of frieze ! r 'tis time I 
 were choked with a piece of toasted cheese." 
 
 Evans, who perhaps hardly knows or cannot overcome 
 his strong accent, rejoins : 
 
 " Seese is not goot to give putter ; your pelly is all putter." 
 
 Falstaff, despite his present depression, retains enough 
 of his old spirit to again ridicule Evans's accent, 
 repeating in almost comic contempt or disgust : 
 
 "Seese and putter! Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one 
 that makes fritters of English ? This is enough to be the decay of 
 lust and late-walking through the realm." 
 
 Mrs. Page, perhaps provoked at his coolness, thinks 
 it time to express her thorough contempt for him, 
 asking : 
 
 " Why, Sir John, do you think that we would have thrust virtue 
 out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, . . . that ever the 
 devil could have made you our delight ? " 
 
 The whole five— the two wives, Page, Ford, and 
 
 E vans — now join in abusing and ridiculing the deceived 
 
 old knight in turn, and he hears all without reply. 
 
 Ford heads them in uttering a rather gross personal 
 
 allusion : 
 
 lC, A fool's cap made of frieze; Wales was celebrated for this 
 description of cloth." — Staunton's notes. 
 
53 8 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 " What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 
 Page. Old, cold, withered. 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan. 
 Page. And as poor as Job. 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife." 
 
 Evans concludes, carefully summing up most of 
 Falstaffs personal habits and failings : 
 
 " And given to taverns, and sack and wine and metheglins, 1 and 
 to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles ! " 
 
 Falstaff, probably wearied and physically overcome 
 by all he has endured, exclaims submissively, yet 
 still with a faint attempt at a sarcasm about the 
 Welshman Evans : 
 
 " Well, I am your theme : you have the start of me; I am de- 
 jected ; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel ; . . . use me 
 as you will." 
 
 Ford replies now in exulting joke, yet neither vindic- 
 tively nor really dangerously : 
 
 " Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor ; to one Master Brook, 
 that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a 
 pander ; over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay 
 that money will be a biting affliction." 
 
 Page, always comparatively good-natured, adds : 
 
 " Yet be cheerful, knight ; thou shalt eat a posset 2 tonight at my 
 house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs 
 at thee." 
 
 Mead. 2 " Curds, or curdled milk." — Staunton's notes. 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor v 539 
 
 Then, as if wishing to rather alarm Mrs. Page, he 
 adds : 
 
 "Tell her Master Slender hath married her daughter." 
 
 Mrs. Page, hoping and thinking otherwise, here 
 says to herself : 
 
 "Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my daughter, she is by 
 this Dr. Caius's wife." 
 
 At this moment the deceived silly Slender enters in 
 troubled confusion, addressing his would-be father-in- 
 law : 
 
 " Whoo ! ho ! ho ! father Page." 
 Page, hoping he is married, replies : 
 
 " How now, son ? Have you despatched ? " 
 But Slender replies : 
 
 11 Despatched ! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't ; 
 would I were hanged else ! " 
 
 Page asks : 
 
 "Of what, son?" 
 
 and the disappointed suitor continues : 
 
 " I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she's a 
 great lubberly boy ; if it had not been in the church, I would have 
 swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it 
 had been Anne Page, would I might never stir '.—and 'tis a post- 
 master's boy." 
 
54° Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Page, as surprised and disappointed as Slender, 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Why, this is your own folly. Did I not tell you how you should 
 know my daughter by her garments ? " 
 
 The luckless Slender can only reply in his simple 
 way : 
 
 " I went to her in white and cried l Afum,' and she cried 'Budget? as 
 Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster's 
 boy." 
 
 Mrs. Page, knowing her husband is in good- 
 humour, owing to the amusement of the previous 
 scene, now thinks she can enlighten him, little 
 guessing that she is as much mistaken as he is, and 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Good George, be not angry ; I knew of your purpose, turned 
 my daughter into green, and indeed she is now with the doctor at 
 the deanery and there married." 
 
 But at this very moment enters Dr. Caius equally 
 disappointed, yet far more angry, vehemently 
 asking : 
 
 "Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married 
 un garcon a boy ; u?i flaisan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page ; by 
 gar, I am cozened." 
 
 Mrs. Page, now as disappointed as her husband, 
 asks : 
 
 " Why, did you take her in green ? " 
 
 and Caius with his usual vehemence answers : 
 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor'" 541 
 
 " Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy ; be gar, I'll raise all Windsor," 
 
 and off he goes accordingly, though more likely to 
 "raise Windsor" to laugh than to aid or pity him. 
 Ford, who probably has been too much engrossed by 
 his late jealousy to attend much to other people's 
 affairs, asks in surprise : 
 
 " This is strange ; who hath got the right Anne ? " 
 
 Page guesses the truth, exclaiming : 
 
 " My mind misgives me. Here comes Master Fenton." 
 
 and at this opportune moment the successful lover 
 enters with Anne, who asks pardon of both parents, 
 while they in turn ask her why she had not accepted 
 Slender or Dr. Caius, and Fenton now answers for 
 his bride in eloquent language : 
 
 " You do amaze * her : hear the truth of it. 
 You would have married her most shamefully, 
 Where there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
 Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us." 
 
 Fenton proceeds in the poet's grand language to 
 defend both himself and Anne for their secret marriage, 
 and his moral eloquence finally reconciles the Pages 
 to what has been done and cannot be undone. It 
 seems uncertain if Falstaff and Fenton are acquainted, 
 as they never address one another in the play. Vet 
 both had only been too familiar with the wild Prince of 
 former days, and therefore probably knew each other. 
 1 Confound." — Staunton's notes. 
 
542 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 Fenton, proudly vindicating his bride and their private 
 wedding, openly declares to his hitherto disapproving 
 father and mother-in-law : 
 
 "The offence is holy that she hath committed, 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, or unduteous title, 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 A thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon her." 
 
 Ford, now in thorough good-humour with everybody, 
 desiring a general agreement and forgiveness all 
 round, takes the part of the young couple, and 
 addressing the surprised parents, exclaims : 
 
 " Stand not amaz'd, here is no remedy — 
 In love the heavens themselves do guide the state, 
 Money buys lands and wives are sold by fate." 
 
 Falstaff, in whose extraordinary character a general 
 good-nature is usually prevalent, exclaims to all 
 around : 
 
 " I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, 
 that your arrow hath glanced." 
 
 Page, always good-humoured and willing to make 
 the best of things, exclaims, though evidently more 
 resigned than cheerful : 
 
 " Well, what remedy ? Fenton, Heaven give thee joy ! 
 What cannot be eschew'd, must be embraced." 
 
 Falstaff, perhaps trying to divert his bewildered 
 mind from his late defeats, exclaims, as if addressing 
 no one in particular : 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor v 543 
 
 " When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd," 
 
 while Mrs. Page, in thorough good-humour with her- 
 self and all around, chiefly caused by the success of 
 her joint plots with Mrs. Ford against Falstaff, now 
 addresses all present in a thoroughly pacific, friendly 
 spirit : 
 
 " Well, I will muse no further — Master Fenton, 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
 Good husband, let us every one go home, 
 And laugh this sport over by a country fire." 
 
 Then she includes among her guests the one 
 who, perhaps, scarcely expected an invitation, by 
 adding : 
 
 " Sir John and all." 
 
 Ford, in a like spirit, assents by exclaiming : 
 
 " Let it be so." 
 
 and apparently Falstaff agrees, or is made to accompany 
 them. Thus ends this merry, playful comedy, which, 
 however, terminates rather abruptly. While the 
 merry wives, their relieved husbands, and the newly- 
 married couple may enjoy a happy evening, old 
 Falstaff has really nothing to fear now except a few 
 sarcastic jokes at his expense. But Justice Shallow 
 and the disappointed suitors, Caius and Slender, will 
 be doubtless expressing their disappointment in many 
 an amusing or vehement speech which Shakespeare 
 withholds. It is remarkable that Falstaff should have 
 so completely dismissed, or acted without, his former 
 
544 Shakespeare Studied 
 
 followers, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol, during his recent 
 baffled intrigues. He exclusively relied throughout 
 on his own shrewdness or knowledge of character, 
 neither proving so profound or trustworthy as he 
 imagined, when encountering the combined art, skill, 
 and address of Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and their astute 
 subordinate, Mrs. Quickly. He is therefore completely 
 deceived, foiled, and in every way outwitted by such 
 a redoubtable trio. Whether he subsequently recalls 
 his discarded or distrusted followers to his service, or 
 how they pursue their fortunes without him, is never 
 told or hinted at. Yet the effect of this brilliant play 
 is most cheerful and amusing to attentive readers by 
 its wit and liveliness. Its success on the London 
 stage recently would surely have gone far to satisfy its 
 great author himself, by the pleasure it gave and the 
 interest it inspired. 
 
 This thoroughly gay play leaves its personages on 
 the whole pretty much as it found them, except for 
 Fenton's private marriage with Miss Page. Falstaff's 
 artful tricks have recoiled completely on himself. No 
 one is injured or even much annoyed by them, and 
 even he incurs no new danger, nor has he made a 
 single implacable enemy. His money difficulties, 
 however, will likely increase, while his three former 
 followers, the 
 
 " young ravens," 
 
 according to their own description, " must have 
 food," yet how Falstaff, so baffled and detected, 
 will ever be able to manage his and their financ ts 
 
" The Merry Wives of Windsor " 545 
 
 again is left doubtful. His strange, original character, 
 which of all the amusing inventions of English fiction 
 has been among the most popular, is consistently as 
 well as comically sustained throughout this lively 
 comedy. To present him again witty and jovial 
 was perhaps the poet's great object after pre- 
 viously mentioning his sudden and almost cruel 
 disgrace at the end of " King Henry IV.," and 
 vaguely intimating his death in " King Henry V." 
 In this merry play Falstaff in wit and spirit is 
 himself again. 
 
 There are no other characters in it of very much 
 interest. The Pages, Fords, Shallow, Slender, 
 Caius, and Mrs. Quickly, possess little attraction in 
 themselves. It is Falstaff who inspires them with 
 a wit, or elicits from them an intelligence, which 
 they rarely, if ever, display without him. Whenever 
 he appears he arouses interest and amusement, well 
 justifying his opinion of himself, long previously 
 expressed : 
 
 " I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other 
 
 men." r 
 
 1 " Second Part of Henry IV.," Act I, Scene 2. 
 
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