Page:On Shakespeare, or, What You Will, Furness, 1908.djvu/15

1908.] see what he could not? But inasmuch as, when heard on the stage, these phrases, even the most obscure, convey some vague kind of fleeting sense, Shakespeare suffered them to pass uncorrected, knowing, moreover, that he was writing solely for the stage and not for the poring eyes of critics and commentators, of whose existence he, with all his imagination, could never have dreamed.

Surprise is often expressed at Shakespeare’s apparent indifference to the fate of his plays. As far as we know they were never even printed with his consent. May not possibly an element of this indifference be traced to a consciousness of these very defects in them which have just been mentioned? And must he not have noted many more than we can see? Where we see only strength, may not he have seen traces of weakness? Must he not have had thoughts lying deeper than even he could utter? Are we to suppose that he ever regarded his work as perfect? We cannot imagine it, and it verges on rash frivolity even to think it, but may he not have noted flaws in Portia, in Rosalind, in Imogen? From the starry threshold of Jove’s court, where we may never win, might he not see, in his day-dreams, a world fresher and fairer than that which he had himself created? Possibly, some such consciousness of an ideal standard, loftier than he had ever attained, may have led, first, to dissatisfaction with his plays, and then to indifference to their fate.

All this, however, is mere surmise. A reason, genuinely valid, is to be found, I think, in Shakespeare’s delicate sense of honor. He was the dramatist of his company, the breadwinner, to whom his fellow-actors looked for their livelihood. He wrote his drama, taking as his plot, in order to save time and eliminate as far as possible all chance of failure, either some old play, whereof the dramatic power had been already tested, or some popular novel, or some chapter of history; the drama was paid for by his company; it was henceforth theirs, and he ceased to hold any property in it whatsoever.

In discussing Shakespeare’s faults (how it warms the heart to speak of Shakespeare’s faults! the patronizing attitude of a critic is so soothing to the literary mind!), in discussing Shakespeare’s faults (pardon me for repeating the phrase; ’t is so pleasant!), we must bear in mind that Minerva’s is the only instance on record, as has been said, where panoplied perfection was achieved at a