Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

That is, I have done nothing but go in travail of you, my children, for thirty-three years; and, moreover (I have gone in travail of you), till this present hour has delivered me of my heavy burden. This reading brings her pains up to the present moment, when she declares herself joyfully relieved from them by the unexpected restoration of her children. This amendment seems to yield a more emphatic meaning than any of the others; and it departs as little as any of them from the original text of 1623.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING—_Act I. Scene 3._—The brothers Don Pedro and Don John have quarrelled, and have been reconciled. Conrade remarks to the latter, “You have _of late_ stood out against your brother, and he hath ta’en you newly into his grace.” The MS. correction is, “till of late,” which, as any one looking at the context even with half an eye, may perceive both spoils the idiom and impairs the meaning of the passage.

_Act II. Scene 1._—We admit that Shakespeare might—nay, ought—to have written as follows, but we doubt whether he did. “Wooing, wedding, and repenting,” says Beatrice, “is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace; the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure full of state and ancienty; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink _apace_ into his grave.” “Apace” is MS. corrector’s contribution.

In the following much-disputed passage, we are of opinion that Shakespeare uses somewhat licentiously the word “impossible” in the sense of _inconceivable_, and that Johnson’s and the MS. corrector’s substitution of “importable” (_i. e._ insupportable) is unnecessary. “She told me,” says Benedick, speaking of Beatrice, “that I was the prince’s jester, and that I was duller than a great thaw, huddling jest upon jest, with such _impossible conveyance_, upon me, that I stood like a man at mark with a whole army shooting at me.” “Impossible conveyance” means inconceivable rapidity.

_Act III. Scene 1._—There surely can be no question as to the superior excellence of the received reading in the following lines. The repentant Beatrice, who has overheard her character severely censured, says—

“What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt farewell, and maiden pride adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.”

Beatrice means to say that contempt and maiden pride are never _the screen_ to any true nobleness of character. This is well expressed in the line,

“No glory lives _behind the back_ of such.”

A vigorous expression, which the MS. corrector recommends us to exchange for the frivolous feebleness of

“No glory lives _but in the lack_ of such.”

This substitution, we ought to say, is worse than feeble and frivolous. It is a perversion of Beatrice’s sentiments. She never meant to say that a maiden should _lack_ maiden pride, but only that it should not occupy a prominent position in the _front_ of her character. Let her have as much of it as she pleases, and the more the better, only let it be drawn up as a reserve in the background, and kept for defensive rather than for offensive operations. This is all that Beatrice can _seriously_ mean when she says, “maiden pride adieu.”

_Act IV. Scene 1._—In the following passage we back Shakespeare’s word against the MS. corrector’s, not only in point of authenticity, but in point of taste. Leonato, greatly exasperated with his daughter, says to her—

“For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the _rearward_ of reproaches,
Strike at thy life.”

This is the reading of the folio 1632. The folio 1623 reads “reward,” but that is obviously a misprint for “rearward.” The MS. corrector proposes _hazard_. As if the infuriated father would have cared one straw what the world might think or say of him for slaying his daughter. In his passion he was far beyond minding such a trifle as public opinion, and would never have paused to give utterance to the sentiment which the corrector puts into his mouth. What he says is this—that after heaping reproaches on his daughter to the uttermost, he would _follow them up_ by slaying her with his own hand. This is admirably expressed by the words, “rearward of reproaches.” In this same scene the fine old word “frame,” in the sense of fabrication, is twice most wantonly displaced, to make way, in the one instance, for “frown,” and in the other for “fraud.”

_Act V. Scene 1._—Let any reader who has an ear read the opening speech of Leonato, and he will perceive at once how grievously its effect is damaged by the insertion of the words “to me” in this line.

“And bid him speak (_to me_) of patience.”

In the same speech the following lines are a problem. Leonato, rebuffing his comforters, says, “Bring to me a person as miserable as myself, and

“If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,
_And, sorrow wag! cry_, Hem, when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candlewasters, bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.”

“And sorrow wag! cry,” is the main difficulty. Johnson explains it thus: “If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard, and cry, Sorrow, _begone_!” This, in our opinion, is quite satisfactory; but what is the philology of the word “wag?” We believe it to be the German word “weg”—away—off with you. The MS. corrector cuts the knot which he cannot untie, by reading “call sorrow joy.” This is a gloss, not a reparation of the text.

_Act V. Scene 4._—We maybe assured that a far finer sense is contained under Hero’s expression, when she says, according to the common reading,

“One Hero died _defiled_, but I do live,”

than under the pseudo-emendation,

“One Hero died _belied_, but I do live.”

LOVE’S LABOUR LOST—_Act I. Scene 1._—We agree with Mr Dyce[19] in thinking that a quibble is intended in Biron’s speech, when he says that he and his friends will “_climb_ in the merriness,” according as the absurd _style_ of Armado’s letter shall give them cause. At any rate, nothing can be poorer than the MS. correction of this place, “chime in the merriness.” We think, however, that the corrector is right in giving the words, “Sirrah, come on,” to Dull the constable, and not to Biron, to whom they are usually assigned. We also consider the change of _manager_ into _armiger_ rather a happy alteration; at any rate, we can say this of it, that had _armiger_ been the received reading, we should not have been disposed to accept _manager_ in its place. This is a compliment which we can pay to very few of the MS. corrections. Had _they_ formed the original text, and had the original text formed the _marginalia_, we should have had little hesitation as to which we would, in most cases, adopt. On the ground of their internal evidence—that is, of their superior excellence—the _marginalia_ would certainly have obtained the preference. The passage to which we refer is this—“Adieu, valour!” says the fantastical Armado, “rust rapier! be still drum, for your _armiger_ is in love.” This reading, we think, is worthy of being perpetuated in a note, though scarcely entitled to be elevated into the text.

_Act III. Scene 1._—The corrector very soon relapses into his blunders. Passing over several, here is one, not so conspicuous perhaps, but as decided as any into which he has fallen. Armado, speaking to Moth his page, says, “Fetch hither the swain (_i. e._, Costard the clown), he must carry me a letter.” Moth replies, “A _message_ well-sympathed—a horse to be ambassador for an ass.” The MS. corrector reads, “A _messenger_ well-sympathised,” not perceiving that this destroys the point, and meaning, and pertinency of Moth’s remark. “A message well-sympathised” means a mission well concocted, an embassy consistent with itself, which, says Moth, this one is, inasmuch as it is a case of horse (Costard) representing an ass—(to-wit, yourself, master mine.) Yet Mr Collier says that “we ought unquestionably to substitute messenger for message.”

Moth, the page, having gone to fetch Costard, Armado says—

“A most acute juvenal, voluble, and free of grace.
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face,
_Most rude_ Melancholy, valour gives thee place.”

The MS. corrector alters the last line into “moist-eyed melancholy;” and Mr Collier remarks, “‘Most rude melancholy’ has no particular appropriateness, whereas ‘moist-eyed melancholy’ is peculiarly accordant with the sighs Armado breathes, in due apology, to the face of the welkin.” _No particular appropriateness!_ when the euphuist is in the very act of apologising to the welkin for the breach of good manners of which his “most rude melancholy” has compelled him to be guilty. What else could he, in the circumstances, have called his melancholy with any degree of propriety? Oh, silly margins! you have much to answer for. You are not only stupid yourselves, but you are the cause of stupidity in other people.

_Act IV. Scene 1._—Having considered the following passage very carefully, we are compelled to side with Mr Singer and Mr Dyce in favour of the old reading “fair” against “faith,” which is advocated by the MS. corrector, Mr Collier, and Mr Hunter. The princess, giving money to the forester, whom she playfully charges with having called her anything but good-looking, says—

“Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

_Forester._ Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

_Princess._ See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit.
Oh, heresy in _fair_, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.”

The new reading proposed is, “Oh, heresy in _faith_.” But this change is not necessary; indeed it spoils the passage. The princess, when the forester compliments her, says—“See, see, my beauty will be saved” (not on its own account, for, in this man’s opinion, I have little or none) but “by merit,” that is, because I have given him money. He calls me an angel of light because I have given him half-a-crown. Oh, heresy in regard to beauty! None but the really beautiful ought to be so complimented. Those who like me are plain (as this man thinks me in his heart), and have “foul hands,” ought not to obtain _fair_ praise—ought not to be praised as fair, however “giving” or liberal these hands may be. The heresy here playfully alluded to is the error of supposing that people can be _beautified_ by their gifts as well as by their appearance; just as a religious heresy consists in the idea that a person can be justified by his works as well as by his faith.

_Act IV. Scene 3._—The following passage has given some trouble to the commentators—

“Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the _school_ of night.”

Various substitutes have been proposed for the word “school.” The _variorum_ reads “scowl,” which was introduced by Warburton. Theobald conjectured “stole.” The _marginalia_ present “shade,” which is as poor as poor can be. We believe the original word “school” to be right, and that the allusion is to the different badges and colours by which different schools or sects or fraternities were formerly distinguished. “Black,” says the passage before us, “is the hue worn by all who belong to the school or brotherhood of night.”

The context of the following passage seems fairly to justify the MS. correction, by which “beauty” is changed into “learning.” _Beauty_ may have been a misprint. _Loquitur_ Biron—

“For where is any author in the world
Teaches such _learning_ as a woman’s eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,
And where we are our learning likewise is,
Then, when ourselves we see in ladies’ eyes,
Do we not likewise see our learning there?”

This, we think, is one of the very few emendations which ought to be admitted into the text.

It is curious to remark, what we learn incidentally from this play, that, in Shakespeare’s time, the words “doubt” and “debt” were pronounced as they are spelt, the “b” being sounded no less than the “t,” and that it was the height of affectation to say “dout” and “det,” as we do nowadays. So changes the _norma loquendi_.

_Act V. Scene 2._—The following, in the old copies, is obviously a misprint—

“So _pertaunt_-like would I o’ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.”

The _variorum_ edition reads “portent-like.” In 1826, Mr Singer published “potent-like.” The MS. corrector suggests “potently;” and this we rather prefer.

When the princess is informed of the intended wit-assault on her and her ladies by the king and his lords, she exclaims—

“What are they
That _charge their breath_ against us?”

“To ‘charge their breath,’” says Mr Collier, “is nonsense, and the corrector alters it most naturally to

‘What are they
That _charge the breach_ against us?’”

“Should any one,” says Mr Singer,[20] “wish to be convinced of the utter impossibility of the corrector having had access to better authority than we possess—nay, of his utter incapacity to comprehend the poet, I would recommend this example of his skill to their consideration. The _encounters_ with which the ladies are threatened, are _encounters of words, wit combats_;” and therefore it was quite natural that they should talk of their opponents as “charging their breath against them.” We agree with Mr Singer; but we willingly change “love-feat,” in this same scene, into “love-suit,” at the bidding of the MS. corrector.

“Oh, poverty in wit!” exclaims the princess, when she and her ladies have demolished the king and his companions in the wit-encounter. “Kingly-poor flout!” The MS. corrector reads, “killed by pure flout;” and Mr Singer “has no doubt” that “stung by poor flout” is the true reading. We see no reason for disturbing the original text. A double meaning is no doubt intended in the expression “kingly-poor flout.” It means “mighty poor badinage;” and then, a king being one of the performers, it also means “repartee as poor as might have been expected from royal lips;” these being usually understood to be better fitted for taking in than for giving out “good things.”

MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM—_Act I. Scene 1._—“Near the end of Helena’s speech,” says Mr Collier, “occurs this couplet where she is stating her determination to inform Demetrius of the intended flight of Lysander and Hermia—

‘And for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense’—

which,” continues Mr Collier, “is only just intelligible; but the old corrector _singularly improves_ the passage by the word he substitutes—

‘And for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is dear _recompense_.’”

The old corrector is an old woman who, in this case, has not merely mistaken, but has directly reversed Shakespeare’s meaning. So far from saying that Demetrius’s thanks will be any “recompense” for what she proposes doing, Helena says the very reverse, that they will be a severe aggravation of her pain. “A dear expense” here means a painful purchase, a bitter bargain. “If I have thanks, the sacrifice which I make in giving Demetrius this information will be doubly distressing to me.” Of course she would much rather that Demetrius, her old lover, did not thank her for setting him on the traces of his new mistress. Thanks would be a mockery in the circumstances, and this is what Helena means to say. Such is manifestly the meaning of the passage, as may be gathered both from the words themselves, and from their connection with the context, which is this—

“I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence,
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense;
But _herein_ mean I to enrich my pain,
To _have his sight_ thither, and back again.”

The _sight_ of Demetrius, and not his _thanks_, was to be Helena’s _recompense_.

_Act II. Scene 1._—The corrector is unquestionably wrong in his version of these lines. Of Titania it is said by one of the fairies, that

“The cowslips _tall_ her pensioners be,
In their gold _coats_ spots you see,
Those be rubies, fairy favours,” &c.

The MS. corrector reads “all” for “tall,” and “cups” for “coats,” to the manifest deterioration of the text. Mr Singer thus explains the matter, to the satisfaction, we should think, of all readers. “This passage has reference to the band of gentlemen-pensioners in which Queen Elizabeth took so much pride. They were some of the handsomest and _tallest_ young men of the best families and fortune, and their dress was of remarkable splendour—their _coats_ might well be said to be of gold. Mr Collier’s objection that ‘cowslips are never tall,’ is a strange one. Drayton in his Nymphidia thought otherwise, and surely a long-stalked cowslip would be well designated by a fairy as tall.”

_Act II. Scene 3._—The alteration of “conference” into “confidence” in the following lines is an _improvement_, most decidedly, _for the worse_. Lysander and Hermia are going to sleep in the wood. She says to him—

“Nay, good Lysander, for my sake, my dear,
Lye further off yet, do not lye so near.

_Lysander._—Oh, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence;
Love takes the meaning, in love’s _conference_.”

That is, love puts a good construction on all that is said or done in the “conference,” or intercourse of love. “Confidence,” the MS. correction, makes nonsense.

_Act III. Scene 2._—The margins seem to be right in changing “What news, my love?” into “What means my love?” in the speech in which Hermia is appealing passionately to her old lover Lysander.

_Act V. Scene 1._—But we cannot accept the substitution of “hot ice and wondrous _seething_ snow” for the much more Shakespearian “hot ice and wonderous _strange_ snow.” The late Mr Barron Field’s excellent emendation of the following lines is borne out by the MS. correction—

“Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion’s _fell_, nor else no lion’s dam.”

“Fell” means skin. The old reading was—

“Then know that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A _lion fell_, nor else no lion’s dam.”

This ought to go into the text, if it has not done so already.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE—_Act I. Scene 1._—In the following passage the margins make rather a good hit in restoring “when” of the old editions, which had been converted into “who,” and in changing “would” into “’twould.”

“Oh, my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing, _when_, I am very sure,
If they should speak, _’twould_ almost damn those ears,
Which hearing them would call their brothers fools.”

_Act II. Scene 1._—The Prince of Morocco says—

“Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the _burnished_ sun.”

Altered by the MS. corrector into “burning sun,” which, says Mr Collier, “seems much more proper when the African prince is speaking of his black complexion as the effects of the sun’s rays.” Mr Collier will excuse us: the African Prince is doing nothing of the kind. He is merely throwing brightness and darkness into picturesque contrast—as the sun is bright, or “burnished,” so am I his retainer dark, or “shadowed.” “To speak of the sun,” continues Mr Collier, “as _artificially_ ‘burnished,’ is very unworthy.” True: but Shakespeare speaks of it as _naturally_ burnished; and so far is this from being unworthy, it is, in the circumstances, highly poetical.

_Act II. Scene 9._—To change the words “pries not to the interior,” into “prize not the interior,” in the following lines, is wantonly to deface the undoubted language of Shakespeare.

“What many men desire!—that many may be meant
Of the fool multitude, that chuse by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach,
Which _pries_ not to the interior; but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather, on the outward wall.”

_Act III. Scene 2._—The MS. corrector proposes a very plausible reading in the lines where Bassanio is moralising on the deceitfulness of external appearance.

“Thus ornament is but the guiled surf
To a most dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on,
To entrap the wisest.”

The corrector proposes to put a full stop after Indian, and to read on—“beauty, in a word,” (is) “the seeming truth,” &c. Mr Singer says, “this variation in the pointing is no novelty; it occurs in an edition of Shakespeare, published by Scott and Webster in 1833, and has been satisfactorily shown to be erroneous and untenable by a correspondent in _Notes and Queries_, vol. v. p. 483.” We regret that it is not in our power, at this time, to consult the volume of _Notes and Queries_ referred to; but we confess that we see no very serious objection to this new reading, except the awkwardness and peculiarly unShakespearian character of the construction which it presents. That there is a difficulty in the passage is evident from the changes that have been proposed. Sir Thomas Hanmer gave “Indian _dowdy_”—Mr Singer, “Indian _gipsy_,” which, however, he now abandons. We still confess a partiality for the old text, both in the words and in the pointing. “An Indian beauty” may mean the worst species of ugliness, just as a Dutch nightingale means a toad. Still we believe that a good deal might be said in favour of the MS. corrector’s punctuation.

Bassanio, descanting on the portrait of Portia, and on the difficulties the painter must have had to contend with, thus expresses his admiration of the eyes—

“How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself _unfurnished_.”

The corrector reads “unfinished,” which Johnson long ago condemned. “Unfurnished” means, as Mr Collier formerly admitted, unprovided with a counterpart—a fellow-eye.

We willingly concede to Mr Collier the “bollen” instead of the “woolen” bagpipe. And when he next “blaws up his chanter,” may the devil dance away with his anonymous corrector, and the bulk of his emendations, as effectually as he ever did with the exciseman.

AS YOU LIKE IT—_Act I. Scene 2._—In opposition to Mr Collier, we take leave to say that Sir Thomas Hanmer was _not_ right in altering “there is such odds in the _man_” to “there is such odds in the _men_.” What is meant to be said is, “there is such superiority (of strength) in the _man_;” and “odds” formerly signified _superiority_, as may be learnt from the following sentence of Hobbes—“The passion of laughter,” says Hobbes, “proceedeth from the sudden imagination of our own _odds_ and eminency.”[21] Mr Collier’s man, who concurs with Sir Thomas Hanmer, is, of course, equally at fault.

_Act I. Scene 3._—“Safest haste”—that is, most convenient despatch—is much more probable than “fastest haste,” inasmuch as the lady to whom the words “despatch you with your _safest_ haste” are addressed, is allowed _ten days_ to take herself off in.

_Act II. Scene 3._—When Orlando, speaking of his unnatural brother, in whose hands he expresses his determination to place himself, rather than take to robbing on the highway, says,

“I will rather subject me to the malice
Of a _diverted blood, and bloody brother_,”

the language is so strikingly Shakesperian, that nothing but the most extreme obtuseness can excuse the MS. corrector’s perverse reading—

“Of a diverted, _proud_, and bloody brother.”

“Diverted blood,” says Dr Johnson, means “blood turned out of the course of nature;” and there cannot be a finer phrase for an unnatural kinsman.

_Act II. Scene 7._—The following passage is obviously corrupt. Jacques, inveighing against the pride of going finely dressed, says—

“Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the _very very_ means do ebb?”

The MS. correction is—

“Till that the very means _of wear_ do ebb.”

Mr Singer suggests, “Till that the _wearer’s_ very means do ebb.” The two meanings are the same: people, carried away by pride, dress finely, until their means are exhausted. But Mr Singer keeps nearest to the old text.

_Act III. Scene 4._—“Capable impressure” must be vindicated as the undoubted language of Shakespeare, against the MS. corrector, Mr Collier, and Mr Singer, all of whom would advocate “palpable impressure.”

“Lean but on a rush,
The cicatrice and _capable impressure_,
Thy palm a moment keeps.”

“Capable impressure” means an indentation in the palm of the hand sufficiently deep to _contain_ something within it.

_Act IV. Scene 1._—Both the MS. corrector and Mr Collier have totally misunderstood Rosalind, when she says, “Marry, that should you, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.” The meaning, one would think, is sufficiently obvious.

_Act V. Scene 4._—And equally obvious is the meaning of the following line, which requires no emendation. Orlando says that he is

“As those who fear they hope, and know they fear.”

That is, he is as those who fear that they are feeding on _mere_ hope—hope which is not to end in fruition—and who are certain that they fear or apprehend the worst:—a painful state to be in. The marginal correction, “As those who fear _to_ hope, and know they fear,” is nonsense.

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.—_Induction. Scene I._—We agree with the margins in thinking that the following line requires to be amended, by the insertion of “what” or “who.” In the directions given about the tricks to be played off on Sly, it is said—

“And when he says he is—say that he dreams.”

The MS. corrector reads, properly as we think—

“And when he says _what_ he is, say that he dreams.”

_Scene 2._—There is something very feasible in the corrector’s gloss on the word “_sheer_-ale.” For “sheer” he writes “Warwickshire,” and we have no doubt that “shire (pronounced sheer) ale” is the true reading.

_Act I. Scene 1._—One of the happiest and most undoubted emendations in Mr Collier’s folio, and one which, in his preface, he wisely places in the front of his case, now comes before us—“ethics” for “checks,” in these lines in which Tranio gives advice to his master Lucentio—

“Let’s be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray,
Or so devote to Aristotle’s _checks_,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured.”

We have no hesitation in condemning “checks” as a misprint for “ethics,” which from this time henceforward we hope to see the universal reading. It is surprising that it should not have become so long ago, having been proposed by Sir W. Blackstone nearly a hundred years since, and staring every recent editor in the face from among the notes of the _variorum_. Mr Singer alone had the good taste to print it in his text of 1826.

Let us here bestow a passing commendation on Mr Hunter for a very ingenious reading, or rather for what is better, a very acceptable restoration of the old text, which had been corrupted by Rowe and all subsequent editors. In the same speech, Tranio, who is advising Lucentio not to study too hard, says, according to all the common copies—

“_Talk_ logic wi’ th’ acquaintance that you have.”

The elder copies read—

“_Balk_ logic, wi’ th’ acquaintance that you have.”

This means, _cut_ logic, with such a smattering of it as you already possess; or, as Mr Hunter explains it, “give the go-by to logic, as satisfied with the acquaintance you have already gained with it.” “Balk” ought certainly to replace “talk” in all future editions, and our thanks are due to Mr Hunter for the emendation.[22]

How scandalous it is to change “mould” into “mood” in the following lines, addressed by Hortensio to the termagant Kate:—

“Mates, maid! how mean you that? No mates for you:
Unless you were of gentler, milder _mould_.”

Kate was not, at least so thought Hortensio, one of those,

“Quas meliore luto _finxit_ præcordia Titan.”

_Act II. Scene 1._—We greatly prefer Mr Singer’s amendment of what follows to the MS. corrector’s. The common text is this:—

“_Petruchio_ (to Kate).—Women were made to bear, and so were you.

_Katherine._—No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean.”

This being scarcely sense, the corrector says—

“No such jade _to bear_ you, if me you mean.”

Mr Singer says,

“No such _load_ as you, sir, if me you mean.”

_Act IV. Scene 2._—“An ancient angel coming down the hill” has puzzled the commentators. The margins read “ambler.” We prefer the received text—the word “angel” being probably used in its old sense of _messenger_, with a spice of the ludicrous in its employment.

_Act V. Scene 1._—Vincentio, who is on the point of being carried to jail, exclaims—

“Thus strangers may be _haled_ and abused.”

The MS. corrector proposes “handled;” and Mr Collier says that “haled” is a misprint, and the line “hardly a verse.” It is a very good verse; and “haled” is the very, indeed the only, word proper to the place. On turning, however, to Mr Collier’s appendix, we find that he says, “It may be doubted whether ‘haled’ is not to be taken as _hauled_; but still the true word may have been handled.” This is _not_ to be doubted; “haled” is _certainly_ to be taken for _hauled_, and “handled” cannot have been the right word.

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL—_Act I. Scene 1._—In Helena’s soliloquy, near the end of the scene, the corrector, by the perverse transposition of two words, changes sense into nonsense. She says—

“The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes and kiss like native things.”

The lady is in love with Bertram, who is greatly above her in rank and in fortune; and the meaning is, that all-powerful nature brings things (herself, for example, and Bertram) which are separated by the widest interval of _fortune_, to join as if they were “likes” or pairs, and to kiss as if they were kindred things. The MS. corrector reverses this meaning, and reads—

“The mightiest space in _nature fortune_ brings
To join like likes and kiss like native things.”

But there was no “space” at all between Helena and Bertram in point of “nature.” They were both unexceptionable human beings. They were separated only by a disparity of “fortune.” Why does the MS. corrector go so assiduously out of his way for the mere purpose of blundering, and why does Mr Collier so patiently endorse his eccentricities? That is indeed marvellous.

_Act 1. Scene 3._—Helena says—

“You know my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and proved effects, such was his reading
And _manifest_ experience.”

Read “manifold,” says the corrector; and Mr Collier adds, “we may safely admit the emendation.” Retain the old reading, say we; “manifest” means sure, well-grounded, indisputable, and is much more likely to have been Shakespeare’s word than “manifold.”

_Act III. Scene 2._—The countess, comforting Helena, who has been deserted by Bertram, says—

“I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer,
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb’st me of a moiety.”

“The old corrector,” says Mr Collier, “tells us, and we may readily believe him, that there is a small but important error in the second line. He reads—

‘If thou engrossest all the griefs _as_ thine
Thou robbest me of a moiety.’”

The small but important error here referred to is committed by the old corrector himself. The countess, to give her words in plain prose, says—if you keep to yourself all the griefs which are thine, you rob me of my share of them. The context where the countess adds—

“He was my son,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child,”

seems to have misled the old corrector. He appears to have supposed that the countess had griefs of her own, occasioned by the conduct of her son Bertram, and that she protests against Helena’s monopolising these together with her own. This is the only ground on which “as” can be defended. But the answer is, that although the countess may have had such griefs, she was too proud to express them. She merely expresses her desire to participate in the afflictions which _are_ Helena’s. This is one of the innumerable instances in which Shakespeare shows his fine knowledge of human nature. Whatever grief a proud mother may _feel_ on account of a disobedient son, anger is the only sentiment which she will _express_ towards him. The word “as,” however, had the countess used it, would have been equivalent to an expression of grief, and not merely of indignation; and therefore we strongly advocate its rejection, and the retention in the text of the word “are.”

_Act IV. Scene 2._—The following is a troublesome passage. Diana says to Bertram, who is pressing his suit upon her—

“I see that men make ropes, in such a scarre,
That we’ll forsake ourselves.”

This is the old reading, and it is manifestly corrupt. Rowe, the earliest of the _variorum_ editors, reads—

“I see that men make _hopes_, in such _affairs_,
That we’ll forsake ourselves.”

Malone gives “in such _a scene_” for “in such a scarre.” The MS. corrector proposes “in such a _suit_.” Mr Singer says “that it is not necessary to change the word _scarre_ at all: it here signifies any surprise or alarm, and what we should now write _a scare_.” We agree with Mr Singer; and, following his suggestion, we give our vote for the following correction—

“I see that men make hopes, in such _a scare_, That we’ll forsake
ourselves.”

That is, I see that men expect that we (poor women) will lose our self-possession in the flurry or agitation, into which we are thrown by the vehemence of their addresses.

_Act V. Scene 1._—We willingly change the received stage direction, “enter _a gentle astringer_”—a most perplexing character certainly—into “enter a gentleman, a stranger,” as proposed by the old corrector, who, in this case, corrects like a human being.

_Act V. Scene 3._—To change the fine expression

“Natural rebellion done in the _blade_ of youth.”

into “Natural rebellion done in the _blaze_ of youth,” is to convert a poeticism into a barbarism. “The blade of youth” is the springtime of life. Besides, there is an affinity between the word “natural” and the word “blade,” which proves the latter to have been Shakespeare’s expression.

If “all was well that ended well,” as the title of this play declares to be the case, the MS. corrections throughout it would be impregnable; for these end with one of the very happiest conjectural emendations that ever was proposed. Bertram, explaining how Diana obtained from him the ring, says, according to the received text,

“Her _insuit coming_, and her modern grace
Subdued me to her rate.”

“Insuit coming” has baffled the world. The _marginalia_ give us, “Her _infinite cunning_ and her modern grace subdued me to her rate.” It ought to be mentioned that this excellent emendation, which ought unquestionably to be admitted into the text, was also started some years ago by the late Mr Walker, author of the “original.”

TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL—_Act II. Scene 1._—The following words in italics are probably corrupt; but the MS. correction of the place is certainly a very bad piece of tinkering. Sebastian is speaking of his reputed likeness to his sister Viola—“A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not, _with such estimable wonder_, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her,” &c. The margins give us—“But though I could not _with selfestimation wander so far_ to believe that.” But who can believe that, Shakespeare would wander so far in his speech as to write in such a roundabout feckless fashion as this? What he really wrote it may now be hopeless to inquire.

_Act II. Scene V._—Malvolio congratulating himself on his ideal elevation says, “And then to have the _humour_ of state,” which the MS. corrector changes into the poverty of “the _honour_ of state,” overlooking the consideration that “the humour of state” means the high airs, the capricious insolence, of authority, which is precisely what Malvolio is glorying that he shall by and by have it in his power to exhibit.

_Act III. Scene 4._—We never can consent to change “venerable” into “veritable,” at the bidding of the venerable corrector, in these lines—

“And to his image which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.”

“The word ‘devotion,’” says Mr Singer, “at once determines that _venerable_ was the poet’s word.”

_Act V. Scene 1._—How much more Shakesperian is the line—“A contract _of_ eternal bond of love,” than the corrector’s

“A contract _and_ eternal bond of love.”

The word “bond” is here used not as a legal term, but in the more poetical sense of _union_.

WINTER’S TALE—_Act I. Scene 2._—We agree with Mr Collier in his remark, that “there is no doubt we ought to amend the words of the old copies, ‘What lady _she_ her lord’ by reading, ‘What lady _should_ her lord,’” as given by the MS. corrector.

In the same scene, Leontes, expatiating on the falsehood of women, says—

“But were they false
As _o’erdy’d_ blacks, as winds, as waters.”

That is, as false as “blacks” that have been dyed again and again until they have become quite rotten. This seems sufficiently intelligible; but it does not satisfy our anonymous friend, who proposes “as our dead blacks;” that is, as our mourning clothes, which, says Mr Collier, being “worn at the death of persons whose loss was not at all lamented,” may therefore be termed false or hypocritical. But surely _all_ persons who wear mourning are not hypocrites; and therefore this new reading falls ineffectual to the ground.

_Act IV. Scene 3._—We perceive nothing worthy of adoption or animadversion till we come to the following. Florizel is making himself very agreeable to Perdita, whereupon Camillo, noticing their intimacy, remarks, as the old copies give it—

“He tells her something
That makes her blood look on’t.”

There is something obviously wrong here. Theobald proposed—

“He tells her something
That makes her blood look _out_.”

Something that calls up her blushes. This is the received reading, and an excellent emendation it is. But on the whole we prefer the MS. corrector’s, which, though perhaps not quite so poetical as Theobald’s, strikes us as more natural and simple when taken with the context.

“He tells her something
Which _wakes_ her blood. Look on’t! Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.”

On second thoughts, we are not sure that this is not more poetical and dramatic than the other. At any rate, we give it our suffrage.

There is, it seems, an old word “jape,” signifying a jest, which we willingly accept on the authority of the MS. corrector, in place of the unintelligible word “gap,” in the speech where “some stretch-mouthed rascal” is said “to break a foul jape into the matter.” The reading hitherto has been “gap.” This, however, is a _hiatus_ only _mediocriter deflendus_. The next is a very lamentable case.

_Act V. Scene 3._—Here the corrector interpolates a whole line of his own, which we can by no means accept. The miserable Leontes, gazing on the supposed statue of his wife, Hermione, which is in reality her living self, says, according to the received text—

“Let be, let be,
Would I were dead; but that methinks already—
What was he that did make it? see, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed, and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?”

Here the train of emotion is evidently this:—Would I were dead, but _that_ methinks already (he is about to add) I am, when the life-like appearance of the statue forcibly impresses his senses, whereupon he checks himself and exclaims, “What was _he_ that did make it”—a god or a mere man, &c. The MS. corrector favours us with the following version—

“Let be, let be,
Would I were dead, but that methinks already
_I am but dead, stone looking upon stone_:
What was he that did make it? see, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed?” &c.

The corrector is not satisfied with making Shakespeare write poorly, he frequently insists on making him write contradictorily, as in the present instance. I am stone, says Leontes, according to this version, looking upon stone, for see, my lord, the statue breathes, these veins do verily bear blood. Is not that a proof, my lord, that this statue is mere stone? Most people would have considered this a proof of the very contrary. Not so the MS. corrector, who is the father of the emendation; not so Mr Collier, who says that “we may be _thankful_ that this line has been furnished, since it adds so much _to the force and clearness_ of the speech of Leontes.” Truly, we must be thankful for very small literary mercies! Mr Collier may be assured that the very thing which Leontes says most strongly, by implication, in this speech is, that he is _not_ stone looking upon stone.

Our space being exhausted, we must reserve for our next Number the continuation of our survey of Shakespeare’s Plays as _amended_ by Mr Collier’s anonymous corrector.

THE INSURRECTION IN CHINA.[23]

Two Frenchman have just published, at an opportune moment, a curious book. One of them needs no introduction here. The readers who have twice encountered, in _Blackwood’s_ pages, the vivacious and intelligent Dr Yvan, first under canvass for Bourbon, and then roaming in the Eastern Archipelago, will gladly, we are persuaded, meet him again amongst the mandarins. This time he is not alone, but has taken to himself a coadjutor, in the person of M. Callery, once a missionary, and, since then, interpreter to the French embassy in China—to which, it will be remembered, Dr Yvan was attached as physician. M. Callery is author of a Chinese dictionary, of a system of Chinese writing, and of translations from the same language. When we add that both gentlemen, although at present in France, were long and lately resident in China, under circumstances peculiarly favourable to the acquisition of sound information respecting its state and politics, and that they have had free access to the archives of their embassy, it will hardly be doubted that they have efficiently carried out their intention of giving a lucid account of the origin and progress of the civil war now waging in that country, bringing it down to the present day. The co-operation of one well acquainted with the Chinese tongue must have been invaluable, and perhaps indispensable to Dr Yvan, who, for his part, has evidently contributed to the common stock his shrewd and observant spirit and pleasant unaffected style. The book, which was published in Paris in the second week of July, has reached us rather late for deliberate review in the August number of the Magazine, but there is still time to give some account of its contents.

“The Chinese insurrection,” Dr Yvan commences, “is one of the most considerable events of the present time: politicians of all countries watch with curiosity the march of that insurgent army which, for three years past, has moved steadily onwards with the avowed object of upsetting the Tartar dynasty.” The Doctor then sketches, in a few very interesting pages, the chief events of Chinese history during the first half of the present century, with particular reference to the biography of the last emperor, deceased in 1850, and to the situation of the Chinese empire at the close of his reign.

The late emperor, who assumed, upon ascending the throne, the name of Tao-Kouang, _Brilliant Reason_, was the second son of Emperor Kia-King, a feeble and incapable monarch, whose power was virtually in the hands of an unworthy favourite, a certain Lin-King, chief of the eunuchs. In Chinese annals, incidents of this kind are, we are told, by no means rare. The chief of the eunuchs has always great influence in palace intrigues, and his degraded condition by no means constitutes, in that singular country, a bar to his ambition. That of Lin-King was boundless. He aspired to the throne. Having gained over most of the military mandarins, he marched into Pekin—one day that the emperor was out hunting with his sons—a body of troops whose chiefs were entirely devoted to him, and distributed them in the neighbourhood of the palace. His plan was to kill the emperor and princes, and have himself proclaimed by the army. Towards evening Kia-King and his eldest son returned to the palace, whose gates had scarcely closed behind them when it was surrounded by troops. In his haste and agitation the chief eunuch had not noticed that the emperor’s second son had not returned with his father. The conspiracy had just broken out, when that prince entered Pekin. He was alone, in a hunting dress, with none of the insignia of his rank, and he rode through the streets unrecognised, noting the general tumult and confusion, whose cause he soon understood. Outside the palace he found the ambitious eunuch haranguing his partisans, and at once perceived that his father’s favourite, at whose insolence he had often felt indignant, was at the head of the revolt. Mingling with the throng of horsemen, he drew near to the traitor; amidst a host of enemies, neither his coolness nor his courage failed him. Neither did his skill: he tore from his coat its round metal buttons, slipped them into his fowling-piece, took a short aim at Lin-King, and laid him dead upon the spot! Upon their leader’s fall, the rebels fled, throwing away their arms, and the prince triumphantly entered the palace, whose threshold they had not yet sullied. Old Kia-King learned, at one time, his past danger and present safety.

The prince who had displayed such happy promptitude and presence of mind, ascended the throne of China in 1820. He was then forty years of age. According to the custom of the princes of his dynasty, he had married a Tartar—a big-footed woman. By her he had no children; but his concubines had borne him a numerous family. In China, law and usage recognise no difference between legitimate and illegitimate children. All have the same rights of succession.

“During the first period of his reign, Tao-Kouang selected his ministers from amongst those statesmen who, in the eyes of the people, were the faithful guardians of Chinese traditions. Every nation that traces its history to a very remote period has its conservative party. In quiet times the government lies naturally in the hands of these representatives of old national guarantees. But when it becomes indispensable to modify ancient institutions, their exclusive attachment to things of the past becomes a real danger. This political truth is as perceptible in the history of the revolution of the Empire of the Centre as in our own. Tao-Kouang’s agents, Chinese to the backbone, and full of superb disdain for the barbarians, led their country into a disastrous war, because they did not understand that the moment was come for them to descend from the diplomatic elevation upon which their presumption and European forbearance had so long maintained them. At a later period, the same spirit of resistance to the necessity of the times brought on the insurrection whose history we are about to trace, so that the two most important events that Chinese annals have recorded during the last quarter of a century, the war with England and the revolt of Kouang-Si, have been determined by the same cause.”

Dr Yvan then gives an outline of the dispute with England, the consequent war and ultimate treaty, upon which it is unnecessary to dwell, since the circumstances are familiar to most English readers, although in France they have been often distorted, and to many are but imperfectly known. He blames Lin, whom he describes as being then “a man of about fifty, wearing the plain red button and the peacock’s feather with two eyes,” for his seizure of the opium, especially because, by his zeal, activity, and by the terror he inspired, he had given life and vigour to the Chinese custom-house, and had made a great advance towards the suppression of opium smuggling. “In France,” says MM. Callery and Yvan, “where ideas are not always just, it is taken as an established fact that, in the opium war, all the oppression was on the side of the English, and that right succumbed when the treaty of Nankin was signed. Nothing can be falser than this. The English smuggled on the coasts of the Celestial Empire exactly as smuggling is to this day carried on by foreigners on our coasts and frontiers; but it has not yet, that we are aware, been established as a principle that government may seize foreign merchants and threaten them with death, upon the pretext that vessels with prohibited merchandise are riding at anchor off Havre or Marseilles.” It is very courageous of these gentlemen thus to tell their countrymen the truth. We hope it will not injure the sale of their book; we have small expectation of its making many converts from the received opinion in France, that the part played by the English in the whole of the Chinese affair was that of wholesale poisoners, cramming their drug down their victim’s throat at bayonet’s point.

When Commissioner Lin had done all the mischief he could, burying the opium with quicklime, and bringing a British squadron up Canton river, blazing at the forts, he was recalled, and Ki-chan replaced him. Ki-chan was a capable man, resolute but prudent; he saw that China had found more than her match, and at once accepted the barbarian ultimatum. The emperor refused his sanction, and inflicted upon the unlucky negotiator the most signal disgrace any high functionary had endured during his reign. Poor Ki-chan was publicly degraded, his property confiscated, his house razed, his concubines were sold, and he himself was sent, an exile, into the depths of Tartary. Those who would know more of him need but refer to MM. Huc and Gabet’s curious journey to Thibet. At Lassa, those intrepid travellers knew him well. Dr Yvan and Mr Callery were intimate with another Chinese diplomatist, Ki-in, a relation of the emperor, who signed the treaty of Nankin, and whom they consider one of the two greatest statesmen that Tao-Kouang had. The other was Mou-tchang-ha, the Chinese prime minister or president of the council. “It is very probable that the Sublime Emperor, the son of Heaven, never exactly knew what passed between the English and the Chinese. He died, doubtless, in the consolatory belief that his troops were invincible, and that, if Hong-Kong had been given, as an alms, to a few miserable foreigners, it was because they had implored the happiness of becoming his subjects.” The treaty of Nankin signed, Ki-in, named governor of the two provinces of Kouang-Tong and Kouang-Si, took up his abode at Canton. By the disposition he showed to be on good terms with foreigners, and by his enlightened and progressive policy, he drew upon himself the hatred of the bigoted populace, who accused him of leaning to the barbarians and betraying his sovereign. In innumerable placards he was held up to popular odium and vengeance. “Our carnivorous mandarins,” began one of these violent and incendiary hand-bills, given by Dr Yvan, “have hitherto connived at all that those English bandits have done against order and justice, and five hundred years hence our nation will still deplore its humiliation. In the 5th moon of this year, more than twenty Chinese were killed by the strangers: their bodies were thrown into the river, and buried in the belly of the fishes; but our high authorities have treated these affairs as if they had not heard speak of them; they have considered the foreign devils as if they were gods, have taken no more account of Chinese than if they were dog’s meat, and have despised men’s lives like the hairs that are shaved off the head. Thousands of persons have lamented and been indignant; grief has penetrated the marrow of their bones,” &c. &c. These absurd accusations and calumnies had not, at the time, any influence on Ki-in’s political destiny. The emperor recalled him to Pekin, graced him with new dignities, and made him Mou-tchang-ha’s colleague. These two statesmen then tried to introduce certain reforms, beginning with the army, whose bows and arrows and old matchlocks they exchanged for percussion guns—thus jumping clean over the intermediate stage of flint and steel. A curious illustration of Chinese immobility for centuries. After a year’s trial, Ki-in reported the great perfection attained by artificers, officers, and soldiers, in manufacturing and making use of the new implements of war. This was towards the close of Tao-Kouang’s reign. The conciliatory spirit and enlightened views of the two ministers gave promise of that practical progress which even the most conservative Europeans must admit to be needed in China. Suddenly an unexpected and important event changed the aspect of affairs.