Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“Like a proud ship with all her bravery on.”

It is a pity that he did not write _hoist_ or _spread_, which would have removed all doubt as to the word “sail.” “Show,” however, is, on some accounts, better than _hoist_ or _spread_. Neither do we perceive any necessity for adopting the MS. correction “_seasonable_ swiftness” instead of “reasonable swiftness.” Nor is it by any means necessary to change “now _thrive_ the armourers” into “now _strive_ the armourers:” In _Act II. Scene 2_, the king says, in reference to a drunkard who had railed on him—

“It was excess of wine that set him on,
And on _his_ more advice, we pardon him.”

The margins read, “on _our_ more advice,” overturning the authentic language of Shakespeare, who by the words “on _his_ more advice,” means on his having returned to a more reasonable state of mind, and shown some sorrow for his offence.

_Act II. Scene 3._—We now come to one of the most memorable corrections—we might say to _the_ most memorable correction ever made on the text of our great dramatist. In Dame Quickly’s description of the death of Falstaff she says, as the old copies give it, “for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and _a table of green fields_.” There is evidently something very wrong here. Theobald gave out as a new reading, “and a’ (he) babbled of green fields,” the history and character of which emendation he explained as follows: “I have an edition of Shakespeare by me with some marginal conjectures by a gentleman some time deceased, and he is of the mind to correct this passage thus: ‘for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a’ _talked_ of green fields.’ It is certainly observable of people near death, when they are delirious by a fever, that they talk of moving, as it is of those in a calenture that their heads run on _green fields_. The variation from _table_ to _talked_ is not of very great latitude; though we may come still nearer to the traces of the letters by restoring it thus—‘for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a’ _babbled_ of green fields.’”—(_Vide_ Singer’s _Shakespeare Vindicated_, p. 127.)

This, then, is now the received reading; and there can be no doubt that it is highly ingenious—indeed, singularly felicitous. But the MS. corrector’s emendation is also entitled to a hearing. He reads: “for his nose was as sharp as a pen _on a table of green frieze_.” This, it must be admitted, is a lamentable falling off, in point of sentiment, from the other conjectural amendment. We sympathise most feelingly with the distress of those who protest vehemently against the new reading, and who cling almost with tears to the text to which they have been accustomed. We admit that his babbling of green fields is a touch of poetry, if not of nature, which fills up the measure of our love for Falstaff, and affords the finest atonement that can be imagined for the mixed career—which is now drawing to a close—of the hoary debauchee. It is with the utmost reluctance that we throw a shade of suspicion over Theobald’s delightful emendation. Nevertheless, we are possessed with the persuasion that the MS. corrector’s variation is more likely to have been what Dame Quickly uttered, and what Shakespeare wrote. Our reasons are—_first_, the calenture, which causes people to rave about green fields, is a distemper peculiar to _sailors_ in hot climates; _secondly_, Falstaff’s mind seems to have been running more on sack than on green fields, as Dame Quickly admits further on in the dialogue; _thirdly_, however pleasing the supposition about his babbling of green fields may be, it is still more natural that Dame Quickly, whose attention was fixed on the sharpness of his nose set off against a countenance already darkening with the discoloration of death, should have likened it to the sharpness of a pen relieved against a table, or background, of green frieze. These reasons may be very insufficient: we are not quite satisfied with them ourselves. But, be they good or bad, we cannot divest ourselves of the impression (as we most willingly would) that the marginal correction, in this instance, comes nearer to the genuine language of Shakespeare than does the ordinary text.

Should, then, the MS. corrector’s emendation be admitted into the text of the poet? That is a very different question; and we answer decidedly—No. Its claim is not so absolutely undoubted as to entitle it to this elevation. It is more probable, we think, than Theobald’s. But Theobald’s has by this time acquired a prescriptive right to the place which it enjoys. Although originally it may have been a usurpation, it is now strong with inveterate occupancy: it is consecrated to the hearts of all mankind, and it ought on no account to be displaced. It is part and parcel of our earliest associations with Falstaff, and its removal would do violence to the feelings of universal Christendom. This consideration, which shows how difficult, indeed how injudicious, it is to eradicate anything which has once fairly taken root in the text of Shakespeare, ought to make us all the more scrupulous in guarding his writings against such innovations as the MS. corrector usually proposes; for, however little these may have to recommend them, succeeding generations may become habituated to their presence, and, on the plea of prescription, may be indisposed to give them up.

“_Principiis obsta, sero medicina paratur._”

_Act III., chorus._

“Behold the threaden sails,
_Borne_ with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea.”

“Borne” is here a far finer and more expressive word than “blown,” the MS. corrector’s prosaic substitution.

_Act IV. Scene 1._—In the fine lines on ceremony, the MS. corrector proposes a new reading, which at first sight looks specious, but which a moderate degree of reflection compels us to reject. The common text is as follows:—

“And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that sufferest more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents?—what are thy comings in?

O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul, O, adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy, being feared,
Than they in fearing.”

The MS. corrector gives us—

“O, ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul _but adulation_?”

The objection to this reading is that Shakespeare’s lines are equivalent to—O, ceremony, thou hast _no_ worth; O, adoration, thou hast _no_ soul—absolutely none. This reading, which denies to ceremony and adoration _all_ soul and substance—_all_ worth and reality—is more emphatic than the corrector’s, which declares that adulation is the soul of ceremony; and we therefore vote for allowing the text to remain as we found it.

_Act IV. Scene 3._—In the following lines Shakespeare pays a compliment—not of the most elegant kind we admit—to the English, whose valour, he says, is such that even their dead bodies putrefying in the fields of France will carry death into the ranks of the enemy.

“Mark, then, abounding valour in the English;
That being dead, like to a bullet’s grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.”

The similitude of “the bullet’s grazing” has led the MS. corrector into two execrable errors. By way of carrying out the metaphor, he proposes to read “_re_bounding valour,” and “killing in _reflex_ of mortality.” But Shakespeare knew full well what he was about. He has kept his similitude within becoming bounds, while the corrector has driven it over the verge of all propriety. Both of his corrections are wretched, and the latter of them is outrageous. We are surprised that he did not propose “killing in reflex _off_ mortality,” for this would bring out his meaning much better than the expression which he has suggested. But we may rest assured that “killing in relapse of mortality” merely means, killing in their return to the dust from whence they were taken; and that this is the right reading.

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI.—A difficulty occurs in the last line of _Act II. Scene 5_, where Plantagenet says—

“And therefore haste I to the Parliament,
Either to be restored to my blood,
_Or make my ill the advantage of my good_.”

This is the common reading, and it means, “or make my ill the _occasion_ of my good.” The earlier copies have “will” for “ill,” The MS. correction is—

“Or make my will _th’ advancer_ of my good.”

But this is no improvement upon the common reading, which ought to remain unaltered.

_Act IV. Scene 1._—A small but very significant instance, illustrative of what we are convinced is the true theory of these new readings, namely, that they are attempts, not to _restore_, but to _modernise_ Shakespeare, comes before us in the following lines, where the knights of the garter are spoken of as

“Not fearing death, nor shrinking from distress,
But always resolute in _most extremes_.”

“Most extremes” does not mean (as one ignorant of Shakespeare’s language might be apt to suppose) “in the greater number of extremes:” it means, in _extremest_ cases, or dangers. The same idiom occurs in the “Tempest,” where it is said—

“Some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone, and _most poor_ matters
Point to rich ends;”

which certainly does not mean that the greater number of poor matters point to rich ends, but that the poorest matters often do so. It would be well if the two words were always printed as one—most extremes, and most poor. Now, surely Mr Collier either cannot know that this phraseology is peculiarly Shakespearean, or he must be desirous of blotting out from the English language our great poet’s favourite forms of speech, when he says, “there is an injurious error of the printer in the second line;” and when he recommends us to accept the MS. marginal correction, by which Shakespeare’s archaism is exchanged for this _modernism_—

“But always resolute in _worst_ extremes.”

_Act V. Scene 1._—How much more forcible are Shakespeare’s lines—

“See where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the _most bloody_ nurser of his harms,”

than the MS. substitution—

“Of the _still bleeding_ nurser of his harms.”

_Scene 4._—Four competing readings of the following lines present themselves for adjudication—

“Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses _rough_.”

This is the text of the earlier editions, and it evidently requires amendment. Sir T. Hanmer reads—

“Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses _crouch_.”

Our MS. corrector proposes—

“Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and _mocks the sense of touch_.”

Mr Singer, who also, it seems, has a folio with MS. corrections, gives us, as a gleaning from its margins,

“Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and _wakes the sense’s touch_.”

It may assist us in coming to a decision, if we view this sentiment through the medium of prose. First, according to Sir T. Hanmer, the presence of beauty is so commanding that it confounds the tongue, and _overawes the senses_. Secondly, “The princely majesty of beauty,” says Mr Collier, expounding his protégé’s version, “confounds the power of speech, and _mocks all who would attempt to touch it_.” Thirdly, “Beauty,” says Mr Singer, taking up the cause of _his_ MS. corrector, “although it confounds the tongue, _awakes desire_. This _must_ have been the meaning of the poet.” How peremptory a man becomes in behalf of MS. readings of which he happens to be the sole depositary. We confess that we prefer Sir T. Hanmer’s to either of the other emendations, as the most intelligible and dignified of the three.

THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.—_Act I. Scene 3._ (_Enter three or four petitioners._)

“_First Petitioner._—My masters, let us stand close, my Lord Protector
will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our
supplications _in the quill_.”

“In the quill”—what does that mean? Nobody can tell us. The margins furnish “in sequel.” Mr Singer advances, “in the quoil, or coil”—“that is,” says he, “in the bustle or tumult which would arise at the time the Protector passed.” And this we prefer.

_Act II. Scene 3._—Anything viler than the following italicised interpolation, or more out of keeping with the character of the speaker and the dignity of the scene, it is impossible to conceive. Queen Mary says to the Duke of Glo’ster—

“Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm.

_Glo’ster._ My staff?—here, noble Henry, is my staff!
_To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh_;
As willingly I do the same resign
As e’er thy father, Henry, made it mine.”

Yet Mr Collier has the hardihood to place this abominable forgery in the front of his battle, by introducing it into his preface, where he says, “Ought we not to welcome it with thanks as a fortunate recovery and a valuable restoration?” No, indeed, we ought to send it to the right about _instanter_, and order the apartment to be fumigated from which it had been expelled.

_Act III. Scene 2._—The MS. corrector seems to be right in his amendment of these lines. Suffolk says to the Queen,

“Live thou to joy in life,
Myself _to_ joy in nought but that thou liv’st.”

The ordinary reading is “no” for “to.” This ought to go into the text; and the same honour ought to be extended to “rebel” for “rabble” in Clifford’s speech, _Act IV. Scene 8_.

THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI.—In this play two creditable marginal emendations come before us, one of which it might be safe to admit into the text. The safe emendation is _ev’n_, in the lines where the father is lamenting over his slain son, (_Act II. Scene 5_)—

“And so obsequious will thy father be,
_Ev’n_ for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.”

The ancient copies have “men,” and the modern ones “sad.” _Ev’n_ was also proposed by Mr Dyce some little time ago. The other specious correction is “bitter-flowing” for “water-flowing,” in the lines where the king says (_Act IV. Scene 8_),

“My mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs,
My mercy dried their _water-flowing_ tears.”

But “water-flowing” may simply mean flowing as plentifully as water, and therefore our opinion is, that the corrector’s substitution ought not to be accepted. “Soft carriage” (_Act II. Scene 2_), recommended by the margins, instead of “soft courage,” is not by any means so plausible. “Soft courage” may be a Shakespeareanism for soft _spirit_. The Germans have a word, _sanftmuth_—literally soft courage—_i. e._, gentleness; and therefore Shakespeare’s expression is not what Mr Collier calls it, “a contradiction in terms.”

_Act V. Scene 5._—The young prince having been stabbed by Edward, Clarence, and Glo’ster, Margaret exclaims—

“O, traitors! murderers!
They that stabb’d Cæsar shed no blood at all,
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
If this foul deed were by to _equal_ it”—

which, of course, means that Cæsar’s murderers would be pronounced comparatively innocent, if this foul deed were set alongside their act. The margins propose,

“If this foul deed were by to _sequel_ it”—

than which nothing can be more inept.

KING RICHARD III.—_Act I. Scene 3._—Richard is thus agreeably depicted:

“Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog,
Thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity,
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!”

The correction here proposed is—

“The _stain_ of nature, and the _scorn_ of hell.”

But the allusion, as Steevens says, is to the ancient custom of masters branding their profligate slaves; and, therefore, “slave” is unquestionably the right word. As for the “_scorn_ of hell,” that, in certain cases, might be a compliment, and is no more than what a good man would desire to be.

_Act III. Scene 1._—Buckingham is endeavouring to persuade the Cardinal to refuse the privilege of sanctuary to the Duke of York. The Cardinal says—

“God in heaven forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege
Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land
Would I be guilty of so deep a crime.

_Buckingham._ You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,
Too ceremonious and traditional:
Weigh it but with the _grossness_ of this age,
You break not sanctuary in seizing him.”

That is, do not go to your traditions, but take into account the unrefining character and somewhat licentious practice of _this_ age, and you will perceive that you break not sanctuary in seizing him; for common sense declares that a youth of his years cannot claim this privilege. This interpretation renders the MS. corrector’s inept substitution, “the _goodness_ of _his_ age,” quite unnecessary. _Strict and abstinent_ for “senseless-obstinate” is still worse.

_Act III. Scene 7._—To change “his resemblance” into _disresemblance_, is to substitute a very forced and unnatural reading for a very plain and obvious one. Glo’ster asks Buckingham,

“Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?”

“I did,” answers Buckingham, who then goes on to say, “I also touched upon his own (_i. e._ Edward the Fourth’s) bastardy,”

“As being got, your father then in France,
And _his resemblance_ not being like the Duke,”

—that is, I also touched upon his resemblance (which is no resemblance) to his (reputed) father the Duke. “Disresemblance” has not a shadow of probability in its favour.

_Act IV. Scene 3._—Mr Collier seriously advocates the change of “bloody dogs” into “blooded dogs,” in the lines about the two ruffians.

“Albeit they were fleshed villains, _bloody_ dogs.”

“Blooded dogs” means, if it means anything, dogs that have been _let_ blood, and not dogs that are about to _draw_ blood as _these_ dogs are. There seems to be nothing in the other corrections of this play which calls for further notice.

KING HENRY VIII.—_Act I. Scene 1._—Speaking of Cardinal Wolsey, Buckingham says,

“A beggar’s _book_
Outworths a noble’s blood.”

The margins offer—

“A beggar’s _brood_
Outworths a noble’s blood.”

This emendation looks plausible; but read Johnson’s note, and you will be of a different way of thinking. He says—“that is, the literary qualifications of a _bookish beggar_ are more prized than the high descent of hereditary greatness. This is a contemptuous exclamation very naturally put into the mouth of one of the ancient, unlettered, martial nobility.” In scene 2, the change of “trembling contribution” into “_trebling_ contribution,” where the increase of the taxes is spoken of, is a proper correction, and we set it down to the credit of the MS. corrector as one which ought to go into the text.

_Act II. Scene 3._—What a fine poeticism comes before us in the use of the word _salute_ in the lines where Anne Bullen declares that her advancement gives her no satisfaction.

“Would I had no being,
If this _salute_ my blood a jot,”

—that is, this promotion is not like a peal of bells to my blood; it is not like the firing of cannon; it is not like the huzzaing of a great multitude: it rather weighs me down under a load of anxiety and depression; or, as she herself expresses it—

“It faints me
To think what follows.”

The MS. corrector, turning, as is his way, poetry into prose, reads—

“Would I had no being,
If this _elate_ my blood a jot.”

This must go to the _debit_ side of the old corrector’s account.

In _Scene 4_ of the same act, the queen, on her trial, adjures the king, if she be proved guilty—

“In God’s name
Turn me away; and let the foul’st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest _kind_ of justice.”

The MS. corrector writes—“to the sharpest _knife_ of justice.” But the queen is here speaking of a _kind_ of justice sharper even than the knife—to wit, the contempt and ignominy which she imprecates on her own head if she be a guilty woman; and therefore “kind of justice” is the proper expression for her to use, and the MS. substitution is unquestionably out of place.

_Act III. Scene 2._—Mr Singer says, “‘Now _may all_ joy trace the conjunction,’ instead of, ‘Now _all my_ joy,’ &c. is a good conjecture, and may, I think, be safely adopted.” We agree with Mr Singer.

_Act III. Scene 2._—The following is one of the cases on which Mr Collier most strongly relies as proving the perspicacity and trustworthiness of his corrector. He brings it forward in his introduction (p. xv.), where he says, “When Henry VIII. tells Wolsey—

‘You have scarce time
To steal from _spiritual leisure_ a brief span
To keep your earthly audit,’

he cannot mean that the cardinal has scarcely time to steal from ‘leisure,’ but from ‘labour’ (the word was misheard by the scribe); and while ‘leisure’ makes nonsense of the sentence, _labour_ is exactly adapted to the place.

‘You scarce have time
To steal from spiritual _labour_ a brief span.’

The substituted word is found in the margin of the folio 1632. This instance seems indisputable.” Did Mr Collier, we may here ask, never hear of _learned leisure_, when he thus brands as nonsensical the expression “spiritual leisure”? Is it nonsense to say that the study of Shakespeare has been the occupation of Mr Collier’s “learned leisure” during the last fifty years, and that he has had little time to spare for any other pursuit? And if that be not nonsense, why should it be absurd to talk of the “spiritual leisure” of Cardinal Wolsey, as that which left him little or no time to attend to his temporal concerns? Spiritual leisure means occupation with religious matters, just as learned leisure means occupation with literary matters. Leisure does not necessarily signify idleness, as boys at _school_ (σχολη—leisure) know full well. It is a polite synonym, perhaps slightly tinged with irony, for labour of an unmenial and unprofessional character. It stands opposed, not to every kind of work, but only to the work of “men of business,” as they are called. And it is used in this place by Shakespeare with the very finest propriety. In so far, therefore, as this flower of speech is concerned, we must insist on turning “the weeder-clips aside” of Mr Collier’s ruthless spoliator, and on rejecting the vulgar weed which he offers to plant in its place.

_Act IV. Scene 2._—In the following passage, however, we approve of the spoliator’s punctuation, which it seems Mr Singer had adopted in his edition 1826.

“This Cardinal,
Though from an humble stock undoubtedly,
Was fashioned to much honour from his cradle.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one.”

All the common copies place a full stop after honour, and represent the cardinal as a scholar “ripe and good from his cradle,” as if he had been born with a perfect knowledge of Greek and Latin.

_Act V. Scene 2._—It is very difficult to say what should be made of the following:—

“But we all are men,
In our natures frail; _and capable
Of our flesh_; few are angels.”

Malone proposed—

“In our natures frail: _incapable_;
Of our flesh few are angels.”

The margins propose “_culpable_ of our flesh,” which was also recommended by Mr Monck Mason. We venture to suggest—

“In our natures frail; incapable
Of our flesh.”

_i. e._, incontinent of our flesh. But whatever may be done with this new reading, the next ought certainly to be rigorously excluded from the text. _Loquitur_ Cranmer—

“Nor is there living
(I speak it with a single heart, my Lords)
A man that more detests, _more stirs_ against,
Both in his private conscience and his place,
Defacers of a public peace, than I do.”

“The substitution of _strives_ for ‘stirs,’” as Mr Singer very properly remarks, “would be high treason against a nervous Shakespearean expression.”

_Scene 3._—The MS. emendation in the speech of the porter’s man (_queen_ for “chine,” and _crown_ for “cow”) is certainly entitled to consideration; but it is quite possible that his language, being that of a clown, may be designedly nonsensical.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.—_Act I. Scene 2._—Cressida says,

“Achievement is, command—ungained, beseech.”

This line is probably misprinted. Mr Harness long ago proposed,

“_Achieved, men us_ command—ungained, beseech,”

—that is, men _command_ us (women) when we are achieved or gained over—they _beseech_ us, so long as we are ungained. The MS. corrector’s emendation falls very far short of the perspicuity of this amendment. He gives us—

“_Achieved, men still_ command—ungained, beseech.”

_Scene 3._—We may notice, in passing, a “new reading” proposed by Mr Singer, which, though ingenious, we cannot be prevailed upon to accept. It occurs in the following lines, where Ulysses says—

“The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office, and custom in all line of order;
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol,
In noble eminence enthroned and sphered
Amidst the _other_; whose med’cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts like the commandment of a king,
Sans check, to good and bad.”

Instead of “other,” Mr Singer proposes to read “ether.” But “other” is more in harmony with the context, in which the sun is specially described as exercising a dominion over the _other_ celestial luminaries. The parallel passage from Cicero, which Mr Singer quotes, tells just as much against him as for him. “Medium fere regionem sol obtinet, dux, et princeps, et moderater luminum _reliquiorum_.” We therefore protest against the established text being disturbed.

To return to Mr Collier. He must have very extraordinary notions of verbal propriety when he can say that “a fine compound epithet appears to have escaped in the hands of the old printer, and a small manuscript correction in the margin converts a poor expression into one of great force and beauty in these lines—

‘What the repining enemy commends
That breath fame blows; that praise, _sole pure_, transcends;’”

—that is, praise from an enemy is praise of the highest quality, and is the _only pure_ kind of praise. The poor expression here condemned is “sole pure,” and the fine compound epithet which is supposed to have escaped the fingers of the old compositor, is _soul-pure_. We venture to think that Shakespeare used the right words to express his own meaning, and that the MS. corrector’s fine compound epithet is one of the most lack-a-daisical of the daisies that peer out upon us from the margins of the folio 1632.

_Act III. Scene 1._—The words, “my _disposer_ Cressida,” have been satisfactorily shown by Mr Singer to mean, my _handmaiden_ Cressida. Therefore the change of “disposer” into _dispraiser_, as recommended by the MS. corrector, is quite uncalled for. The speech, however, in which these words occur must be taken from Paris, and given to Helen.

_Act III. Scene 2._—In the dialogue between Troilus and Cressida, the lady says, that she must take leave of him:

“_Troilus._—What offends you, lady?

_Cressida._—Sir, mine own company.

_Troilus._—You cannot shun yourself.

_Cressida._—Let me go and try.
I have a kind of self resides with you,
But an unkind self that itself will leave
To be another’s fool.”

This conversation is not very clear; yet sense may be made of it. The lady says, that she is offended with her own company: the gentleman rejoins, that she cannot get rid of herself. “Let me try,” says the lady; “I have a kind of self which resides with you—an unkind self, because it leaves _me_ to be _your_ fool; of that self I can get rid, because it will remain with you when I leave you.” The MS. emendation affords no kind of sense whatsoever.

“I have a _kind self that_ resides with you,
But an unkind self that itself will leave
To be another’s fool.”

_Scene 3._—In the following passage, in which it is said that the eye is unable to see itself except by reflection, these lines occur:

“For speculation turns not to itself
Till it hath travelled, and is _married_ there,
Where it may see itself.”

_Mirrored_, for “married,” is certainly a very excellent emendation; but it may reasonably be doubted whether _mirror_ was used as a verb in Shakespeare’s time. “To mirror” does not occur even in Johnson’s Dictionary. This consideration makes us hesitate to recommend it for the text; for “married,” though, perhaps, not so good, still makes sense. On further reflection we are satisfied that “married” was Shakespeare’s word. In this Scene Shakespeare says, “that the providence that’s in a watchful state” is able to unveil human thoughts “in their dumb _cradles_,” in their very _incunabula_—a finer expression certainly than the MS. corrector’s substitution “in their dumb _crudities_.”

_Act IV. Scene 4._—Between Mr Collier and his corrector the following passage would be perverted into nonsense, if they were allowed to have their own way:

“And sometimes we are devils to ourselves
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their _changeful_ potency;”

—that is, trusting rashly to their potency, which is better than _im_potency, and yet falls far short of _perfect_ potency. Mr Collier hazards the opinion, that “unchangeful potency” would be a better reading. We cannot agree with him except to this extent that it would be a better reading than the one which the MS. corrector proposes,

“Presuming on their _chainful_ potency,”

which we leave to the approbation of those who can understand it.

_Scene 5._—The lines in which certain ladies of frail virtue, or, in the stronger language of Johnson, “corrupt wenches,” are spoken of, have given rise to much comment.

“Oh! these encounterers so glib of tongue,
That give _a coasting_ welcome ere it comes.”

This is the ordinary reading. The margins propose,

“That give _occasion_ welcome ere it comes.”

We prefer the emendation suggested by Monck Mason and Coleridge,

“That give _accosting_ welcome ere it comes;”

—that is, who take the initiative, and address before they are addressed.

CORIOLANUS.—_Act I. Scene 1._—In his first emendation, the MS. corrector betrays his ignorance of the right meaning of words. The term “object,” which nowadays is employed rather loosely in several acceptations, is used by Shakespeare, in the following passage, in its proper and original signification. One of the Roman citizens, referring to the poverty of the plebeians as contrasted with the wealth of the patricians, remarks, “The leanness that afflicts us, the _object_ of our misery, is an inventory to particularise their abundance; our suffering is a gain to them.” For “object” we should, nowadays, say _spectacle_. But the corrector cannot have known that this was the meaning of the word, otherwise he surely never would have been so misguided as to propose the term _abjectness_ in its place. “This substitution,” says Mr Collier, “could hardly have proceeded from the mere taste or discretion of the old corrector.” No, truly; but it proceeded from his want of taste, his want of discretion, and his want of knowledge.

The ink with which these MS. corrections were made, being, as Mr Collier tells us, of various shades, differing sometimes on the same page, he is of opinion that they “must have been introduced from time to time during, perhaps, the course of several years.” We think this a highly probable supposition; only, instead of _several_ years, we would suggest _sixty_ or _seventy_ years. So that, supposing the MS. corrector to have begun his work when he was about thirty, he may have completed it when he was about ninety or a hundred years of age. At any rate, he must have been in the last stage of second childhood when he jotted down the following new reading in the famous fable of the “belly and the members.” The belly, speaking of the food it receives, says—

“I send it through the rivers of the blood,
Even to the court, the heart, _to the seat o’ the_ brain,
And through the cranks and offices of man.”

And so on; upon which one of the citizens asks Menenius, the relator of the fable, “How apply you this?”

“_Menenius._ The _senators_ of Rome are this good _belly_,
And you the mutinous members.”

Yet, with this line staring him in the face, the old corrector proposes to read,

“I send it through the rivers of the blood,
Even to the court, the heart, the _senate brain_.”

The senate brain! when Shakespeare has distinctly told us that the senate is the belly. This indeed is the very _point_ of the fable. Surely nothing except the most extreme degree of dotage can account for such a manifest perversion as that; yet Mr Collier says that “it much improves the sense.”

The MS. corrector cannot have been nearly so old when he changed “almost” into _all most_ in the line,

“Nay, these are _all most_ thoroughly persuaded;”

for this is decidedly an improvement, and ought, we think, to get admission into the text.

_Scene 3._—Unless we can obtain a better substitute than _contemning_, we are not disposed to alter the received reading of these lines:

“The breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look’d not lovelier
Than Hector’s forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords _contending_.”

_Scene 6._—In the following passage a small word occasions a great difficulty. Coriolanus, wishing to select a certain number out of a large body of soldiers who have offered him their services, says—

“Please you to march,
And _four_ shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclined.”

But why “four?” Surely four men would not be sufficient for the attack which he meditated. The MS. corrector gives us—

“Please you to march _before_,
And _I_ shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclined.”

The second line is unintelligible, and not to be construed on any known principles of grammar. Mr Singer proposes—

“Please you to march,
And _some_ shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclined.”

We would suggest—

“Please you to march,
And _those_ shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclined,”

—that is: And my command shall quickly draw out, or select, those men which (men) are best inclined to be of service to me. The construction here is indeed awkward, but less awkward, we think, than that of the other emendations.

_Scene 9._—The punctuation of the following passage requires to be put right. Coriolanus is declaring how much disgusted he is with the flatteries, the flourish of trumpets, and other demonstrations of applause with which he is saluted—

“May these same instruments which you profane
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
I’ the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-faced soothing. When steel grows
Soft as the parasite’s silk, let him be made
A coverture for the wars!”

But what is the sense of saying—let courts and cities be made up of hypocrisy, _when_ drums and trumpets in the field shall prove flatterers? This has no meaning. We should punctuate the lines thus—

“May these same instruments which you profane,
Never sound more, when drums and trumpets shall
I’ the field prove flatterers. Let courts and cities be
Made all of false-faced soothing,” &c.

The meaning is—When drums and trumpets in the field shall prove flatterers (as they are doing at present), may they never sound more! Let _courts_ and _cities_ be as hollow-hearted as they please; but let the _camp_ enjoy an immunity from these fulsome observances. When steel grows soft as the parasite’s silk (that is, when the warrior loses his stubborn and unbending character), let silk be made a coverture for the wars, for it will then be quite as useful as steel. The only alteration which the MS. corrector proposes in this passage, is the substitution of _coverture_ for the original reading “overture”—a change which was long ago made.

_Act II. Scene 1._—The margins make an uncommonly good hit in the speech of Menenius, who says, “I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in’t: said to be something imperfect in favouring the _first_ complaint.” No sense can be extracted from this by any process of distillation. The old corrector, brightening up for an instant, writes “_thirst_ complaint;” on which Mr Singer remarks, “The alteration of ‘first’ into _thirst_ is not necessary, for it seems that thirst was sometimes provincially pronounced and spelt _first_ and _furst_.” Come, come, Mr Singer, that is hardly fair. Let us give the devil his due. What one reader of Shakespeare out of every million was to know that “first” was a provincialism for _thirst_? We ourselves, at least, had not a suspicion of it till the old corrector opened our eyes to the right reading—the meaning of which is, “I am said to have a failing in yielding rather too readily to the _thirst_ complaint.” This emendation covers a multitude of sins, and ought, beyond a doubt, to be promoted into the text.

We also willingly accept _empirick physic_ for “empirick qutique,” the ordinary, but unintelligible reading.

A difficulty occurs in the admirable verses in which the whole city is described as turning out in order to get a sight of the triumphant Coriolanus.

“All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she _chats_ him. The kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him.”

_Cheers_ instead of “chats” is proposed by the old corrector. Mr Singer says that cheers “savours too much of modern times,” and suggests _claps_; but a woman with an infant in her arms would find some difficulty, we fancy, in clapping her hands; though, perhaps, this very difficulty and her attempt to overcome it may have been the cause of her baby crying himself “into a rapture.” We are disposed, however, to adhere to the old lection—“while she chats _him_”—that is, while she makes Coriolanus the subject of her gabble. For it ought to be borne in mind that Coriolanus has not, as yet, made his appearance: and, therefore, both _cheering_ and _clapping_ would be premature. We observe that, instead of a “rapture”—_i. e._, a fit—one of the wiseacres of the _variorum_ proposes to read _a rupture_! The nurse lets the baby cry himself _into a rupture_! This outflanks even the margins. The annotator subscribes himself “S. W.”—which means, we presume, Something Wanting in the upper story.

We accept _touch_ for “reach” in the sentence where it is said, “his soaring insolence shall _reach_ (the oldest reading is “teach”) the people. This correction had been already proposed by Mr Knight. But we cannot approve of the following change (_prest_ for “blest,” _Scene 2_) which has obtained the sanction of Mr Singer. Sicinius has just remarked that the senate has assembled to do honour to Coriolanus, on which Brutus says—

“Which the rather
We shall be _blest_ to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people, than
He hath hereto prized them at.”

Does not this mean—which honour we shall be _most happy_ to do to Coriolanus, if &c.? Why then change “blest” into _prest?_ a very unnatural mode of speech.

_Scene 3._—In the next instance, however, we side most cordially with the margins and Mr Collier, against Mr Singer and the ordinary text. The haughty Coriolanus, who is a candidate for the consulship, says—

“Why in this _wolvish_ gown should I stand here,
To beg of Hob and Dick?” &c.

Now Shakespeare, in a previous part of the play, has described the candidate’s toga as “the _napless_ vesture of humility;” and it is well known that this toga was of a different texture from that usually worn. Is it not probable, therefore—nay certain—that Coriolanus should speak of it as _woolless_, the word wolvish being altogether unintelligible? Accordingly, the MS. corrector reads—

“Why in this _woolless_ gown should I stand here.”

Mr Singer, defending the old reading, says, it is sufficient that his investiture in this gown “was _simulating_ humility not in his nature, to bring to mind the fable of the _wolf_.” Oh, Mr Singer! but must not the epithet in that case have been _sheepish_? Surely, if Coriolanus had felt himself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he never would have said that he was a sheep in _wolves’_ clothing![4]

_Act III. Scene 1._—In the following speech of Coriolanus several corrections are proposed, one of which, and perhaps two, might be admitted into the text:—

“O, good but most unwise patricians! why,
You grave but reckless senators, have you thus
Given Hydra _here_ to choose an officer
That with his peremptory ‘shall’ (being but
The horn and noise of the monsters), wants not spirit
To say he’ll turn your current in a ditch,
And make your channel his? If he have power,
Then vail your ignorance: if none, _awake_
Your dangerous lenity.”

_Leave_ for “here” is, we think, a good exchange; and _revoke_ for “awake,” an improvement which can scarcely be resisted. Further on, Coriolanus asks—

“Well, what then,
How shall this _bosom multiplied_, digest
The senate’s courtesy?”

There is, it seems, an old word _bisson_, signifying blind; and therefore we see no good reason (although such may exist) against accepting, as entitled to textual advancement, the old corrector’s substitution of _bisson multitude_ for “bosom multiplied.” The latter, however, is defended, as we learn from Mr Singer, “by one strenuous dissentient voice.” Why did he not tell us by whom and where? One excellent emendation by Mr Singer himself we must here notice. Coriolanus speaks of those who wish

“To _jump_ a body with a dangerous physic
That’s sure of death without it.”

No sense can be made of this. Some copies have _vamp_, which is not a bad reading; but there is an old word _imp_, which signifies to piece or patch. Accordingly, Mr Singer reads—“To _imp_ a body,” &c. This is the word which ought to stand in the text.

_Scene 2._—Here the old corrector is again at his forging tricks upon a large scale. Volumnia says to Coriolanus, her son—

“Pray be counsell’d,
I have a heart as little apt as yours
_To brook control without the use of anger_;
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
To better vantage.”

The interpolated line is very unlike the diction of Shakespeare, and is not at all called for. “Apt” here means pliant, accommodating. “I have a heart as stubborn and unaccommodating as your own; but yet,” &c. Mr Singer proposes _soft_ for “apt;” but this seems unnecessary.

_Act IV. Scene 1._—Although the construction of the latter part of these lines is somewhat involved, it is far more after the manner of Shakespeare than the correction which the margins propose. Coriolanus says to his mother—

“Nay, mother,
Where is your ancient courage? You were used
To say extremity was the trier of spirits;
That common chances common men could bear,
That when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show’d mastership in floating; fortune’s blows,
When most struck home, being _gentle wounded_, craves
A noble cunning.”

_Gentle-minded_ is the new reading; but it is quite uncalled for. The meaning is—You were used to say that when fortune’s blows were most struck home, to be gentle, _though_ wounded, craves a noble cunning—that is, a high degree of self-command.

_Scene 5._—It is curious to remark how cleverly Shakespeare has anticipated old Hobbes’ theory of human nature and of society, in the scene where the serving-men are discussing the merits of peace and war. “Peace,” says one of them, “makes men _hate_ one another.” “The reason?” asks another. Answer—“Because they then _less need_ one another.” This, in a very few words, is exactly the doctrine of the old philosopher of Malmesbury.

_Scene 6._—“[_God_] Marcius” for “_good_ Marcius,” is a commendable emendation; and perhaps, also, it may be proper to read—

“You have made fair hands,
You and your _handycrafts_ have crafted fair,”

instead of

“You and your crafts, you have crafted fair.”

The following passage (_Scene 7_) has given a good deal of trouble to the commentators. Aufidius is describing Coriolanus as a man who, with all his merits, had failed, through some unaccountable perversity of judgment, in attaining the position which his genius entitled him to occupy. He then says—

“So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time;
And power, unto itself most commendable,
Hath not a tomb so evident _as a chair_
To extol what it hath done.
One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail,
Right’s by right _fouler_, strengths by strength do fail.”

Our virtues, says Aufidius, consist in our ability to interpret, and turn to good account, the signs of the times. “And power, unto itself most commendable, hath not a tomb so evident as a chair to extol what it hath done;” that is,—and power, which delights to praise itself, is sure to have a downfall, so soon as it blazons forth its pretensions from the _rostrum_. The MS. corrector proposes—

“Hath not a tomb so evident _as a cheer_,” &c.

The original text is obscurely enough expressed, but the new reading seems to be utter nonsense. What _can_ Mr Singer mean by his reading—

“Hath not a tomb so evident as a _hair_”?

The old corrector also reads, unnecessarily, as we think, _suffer_ for “fouler.” “Rights by rights _suffer_.” There seems to be no necessity for changing the received text. “Right is fouler by right,”—which Steevens thus explains: “what is already right, and is received as such, becomes less clear when supported by supernumerary proof.”

_Act V. Scene 3._—An emendation, good so far as it goes, comes before us in the speech of Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus. She, his wife, and young son, are supplicating the triumphant renegade to spare his native country. She says that, instead of his presence being a comfort to them, it is a sight—

“Making the mother, wife, and child to see
The son, the husband, and the father tearing
His country’s bowels out. And _to_ poor we
Thine _enmity’s_ most capital.”

This is the reading of the ordinary copies, but it is neither sense nor grammar. The old corrector removes the full stop after _out_, and reads—

“His country’s bowels out; and so poor we
Thine enemies most capital.”

But if this is the right reading, it must be completed by changing “we” into _us_. The meaning will then be—making thy mother, wife, &c.; and so (making) poor _us_ (that is, those whom you are bound to love and protect before all others) thy chief enemies.

_Scene 5._—Aufidius, speaking of Coriolanus, says, I

“Served his designments
In mine own person, holp to _reap_ the fame
Which he did _end_ all his.”

The word “end” has been a stumbling-block to the commentators. The old corrector reads—

“Holp to reap the fame
Which he did _ear_ all his.”

On which Mr Singer remarks, with a good deal of pertinency, “The substitution of _ear_ for ‘end’ is a good emendation of an evident misprint; but the correctors have only half done their work: _ear_—_i. e._ plough—and _reap_ should change places; or Aufidius is made to say that he had a share in the harvest, while Coriolanus had all the labour of ploughing, contrary to what is intended to be said. The passage will then run thus—

‘Served his designments
In mine own person; holp to _ear_ the fame
Which he did _reap_ all his.’

“This,” adds Mr Singer, “is the suggestion of a correspondent of _Notes and Queries_, vol. vii. p. 378.”

Ten plays, as revised by the old corrector, still remain to be overhauled. These shall be disposed of in our next Number, when it will appear that the MS. emendations offer no symptoms of improvement, but come out worse and worse the more fully and attentively they are considered.

THE DUKE’S DILEMMA.
A CHRONICLE OF NIESENSTEIN.

The close of the theatrical year, which in France occurs in early spring, annually brings to Paris a throng of actors and actresses, the disorganised elements of provincial companies, who repair to the capital to contract engagements for the new season. Paris is the grand centre to which all dramatic stars converge—the great bazaar where managers recruit their troops for the summer campaign. In bad weather the mart for this human merchandise is at an obscure coffeehouse near the Rue St Honoré; when the sun shines, the place of meeting is in the garden of the Palais Royal. There, pacing to and fro beneath the lime-trees, the high contracting parties pursue their negotiations and make their bargains. It is the theatrical Exchange, the histrionic _Bourse_. There the conversation and the company are alike curious. Many are the strange discussions and original anecdotes that there are heard; many the odd figures there paraded. Tragedians, comedians, singers, men and women, young and old, flock thither in quest of fortune and a good engagement. The threadbare coats of some say little in favour of recent success or present prosperity; but only hear them speak, and you are at once convinced that _they_ have no need of broadcloth who are so amply covered with laurels. It is delightful to hear them talk of their triumphs, of the storms of applause, the rapturous bravos, the boundless enthusiasm, of the audiences they lately delighted. Their brows are oppressed with the weight of their bays. The south mourns their loss; if they go west, the north will be envious and inconsolable. As to themselves—north, south, east, or west—they care little to which point of the compass the breeze of their destiny may waft them. Thorough gypsies in their habits, accustomed to make the best of the passing hour, and to take small care for the future so long as the present is provided for, like soldiers they heed not the name of the town so long as the quarters be good.

It was a fine morning in April. The sun shone brightly, and, amongst the numerous loungers in the garden of the Palais Royal were several groups of actors. The season was already far advanced; all the companies were formed, and those players who had not secured an engagement had but a poor chance of finding one. Their anxiety was legible upon their countenances. A man of about fifty years of age walked to and fro, a newspaper in his hand, and to him, when he passed near them, the actors bowed—respectfully and hopefully. A quick glance was his acknowledgment of their salutation, and then his eyes reverted to his paper, as if it deeply interested him. When he was out of hearing, the actors, who had assumed their most picturesque attitudes to attract his attention, and who beheld their labour lost, vented their ill-humour.

“Balthasar is mighty proud,” said one; “he has not a word to say to us.”

“Perhaps he does not want anybody,” remarked another; “I think he has no theatre this year.”

“That would be odd. They say he is a clever manager.”

“He may best prove his cleverness by keeping aloof. It is so difficult nowadays to do good in the provinces. The public is so fastidious! the authorities are so shabby, so unwilling to put their hands in their pockets. Ah, my dear fellow, our art is sadly fallen!”

Whilst the discontented actors bemoaned themselves, Balthasar eagerly accosted a young man who just then entered the garden by the passage of the Perron. The coffeehouse-keepers had already begun to put out tables under the tender foliage. The two men sat down at one of them.