# Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 74/Issue 456/New Readings in Shakespeare (No. 3)

←No. 2
New Readings in Shakespeare No. 3
NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE.
NO. III—CONCLUSION.
Before finishing the business of the old MS. corrector, we may be permitted to dispose of a case, very small, indeed, but somewhat personal to ourselves, and arising out of these discussions. In Notes and Queries, p. 169 (August 20, 1853), the following remark occurs: "The critic in Blackwood disclaims consulting Notes and Queries; and it is, no doubt, a convenient disclaimer." Good Notes and Queries, we simply regretted that it was not in our power to consult your pages when writing our first article on the New Readings. We wished to have been able to confirm, or rather to complete, a reference to you which Mr Singer had made in his Vindication of Shakespeare. But unfortunately your volumes were not at hand; for you need scarcely be told that we provincials cannot always readily command the wisdom which emanates from your enlightened circle. But why was it "a convenient disclaimer?" Good old ladies, you surely cannot think that we would purloin your small savings; we would sooner rob the nest of a titmouse. No, no; believe us, we have no heart for that. We did, however, at first, fear that we had inadvertently picked a small morsel—perhaps its little all—out of the mouth of a sparrow; and our heart smote us for the unintentional unkindness. We were prepared to make any amends in our power to the defrauded little chirper. We have been at some pains to discover in what we may have wronged any of your mild fraternity, provocative of the polite insinuation implied in your epithet "convenient," and we find that we are as innocent as Uncle Toby with his fly. We have not hurt, even undesignedly, a single hair upon your buzzing head.
We had no doubt, at first, that our offence must have been the expression of some little hint about Shakespeare in which we had been anticipated by Notes and Queries. And accordingly, insignificant as the point might be—still knowing what a small nibble is a perfect fortune to that minute fry—we were prepared to acknowledge publicly their priority of claim to anything we might have said, and to stomach their not very handsome appellative as we best might. But how stands the case?—thus. Some time near the beginning of August, Icon asks Notes and Queries—"Has any one suggested, 'Most busy, when least I do?'—(Tempest, iii. i.), The 'it' seems surplusage." (The complete line, we should mention, is—"Most busy, least when I do it.") That is a very plain question, and Notes and Queries answers it, at first, correctly enough—"Yes," says he, "this reading was proposed in Blackwood's Magazine for August;" that is, some time before the query was put. Notes and Queries then goes on to say—"But Icon will also find the same reading with an anterior title of nearly three years, together with some good reasons for its adoption, in Notes and Queries, vol. ii. p. 338." Here, then, we had no doubt that we had been anticipated, and were quite ready to make restitution; for Notes and Queries' answer seems decisive. But stop a little; just give him time to get his ideas into disorder, and we shall see what will turn up. He goes on to say—"In the original suggestion in Notes and Queries, there is no presumption of surplusage; the word 'it' is understood in relation to labours." So that this is the position of Notes and Queries: he is asked—Has the word "it" ever been left out of a certain line in Shakespeare? Yes, answers he, it was left out in a reading proposed in our volumes three years ago, and identical with one lately published in Blackwood—the only difference, he adds, sotto voce, between the two readings being, that in ours the word "it" is not left out, while in Blackwood's it is!
So that, after all, our whole offence consists in not having been anticipated in this reading by Notes and Queries. But we cannot help that. Why should he punish us for his own want of sagacity? We appeal to an impartial public to take up the cause of ​injured innocence against this oppressor, throughout whose pages we observe a good deal of nibbling at the text of Shakespeare. The teeth-marks of the little vermin are just perceptible on the bark of that gigantic trunk; and the traces which they leave behind are precisely such as a mouse might make upon a cheese the size of Ben Lomond. But we have not, like Shakespeare, the hide of a tree or a rhinoceros; nor are we, like him, a mountain three thousand feet high. The small incisor has consequently grazed our outer cuticle, and we should like to know what can have provoked our puny assailant to question,—not our competency to review the old MS. corrector, for this too he does, and this he is at perfect liberty to do; his doing it is a matter with which we have no concern—but to impeach our disposition to deal fairly and honestly towards himself and all others interested in the new readings. This, we say, he is not at liberty to do without very good cause being shown. Most gladly, to get rid of the little nibbler, would we have given up to him this reading, and any other pittances of the kind, to increase his small stock in trade. But he cannot make out any tide to the reading. He tries, indeed, hard to believe that it is actually his—he coaxes it to come to him, he whistles to it, but no—the reading knows its own master, and will not go near him; whereupon he gets angry, and bites us. He charges us with finding it convenient to ignore his wisdom—that is, with being ignorant of something in his pages, which, however, he confesses is not to be found within any of their four corners. But even, supposing that all which Notes and Queries implies we are guilty of could be made out—only conceive its being convenient for a man not to know—that is, to pretend ignorance—of something which may have been written on Shakespeare, or on any other subject, by these commentators on "Here we go, up, up, up," &c.! There is a complication or absurdity in the idea which it is not easy to unravel, and which defies all power of face. For one of themselves to have said that it might be convenient for a man to know and profit by their small sayings and doings, would have been ludicrous enough; but how any man should find a convenience—that is to say, an advantage—in not knowing, or rather in pretending not to know, how this innocent people are employing themselves—this is a conception which, in point of naïveté, appears to us to be unequalled by anything out of Æsop's Fables. How would it do for them to call themselves "Gnats and Queries?" We recommend that new reading to their consideration.
We are not sure, however, that this small community is so very innocent after all. Connected with this very reading, "Most busy," &c., they have been guilty of as much mala fides as can be concentrated upon a point so exceedingly minute. To propose a new reading without having the remotest conception of its meaning, is to deserve no very great credit as a critic; yet this is what Gnats and Queries has done. He (or one of his many pin-heads symbolised by A. E. B.), saw (Gnats and Queries, vol. ii. p. 338) that the construction of the line was, "Most busy, when least I do it".—or, as he explains it, "Most busy, when least employed." But how does he explain that, again?—he actually makes the word" busy" apply to Ferdinand's thoughts. He says, "Is it not those delicious thoughts (of Miranda) 'most busy' in the pauses of (Ferdinand's) labour, making those pauses still more refreshing and renovating?" So it seems that the thoughts of Miranda refresh, not Ferdinand's labours, but his idleness; and that he is "most busy" in thinking upon her, not when he is hardest at work, but when he is sitting with his hands across. As if that circumstance would have been any motive for him to go to work: it would have been the very contrary. It would have kept him from his labour. If this be not the most senseless reversal of Shakespeare's plain meaning ever proposed by any mole-eyed interpreter, we promise to eat Mr Collier's old MS. corrector without salt. Yet A. E. B. claims to himself credit for having, to some extent, anticipated our new reading; to the extent, that is, of seeing that the word when should be placed (in construing) before the word least. But what does, that signify, when he had not the remotest inkling of the meaning? More ​than that. The true and only meaning of the line was thoroughly explained in Blackwood's Magazine for August last, p. 186. A. E. B. has seen that explanation—yet he still not only takes credit for the new reading, but he makes no apology for his antecedent senselessness. We call that mala fides. And further, he aggravates the criminality of his dulness by referring to a passage in Cicero (quoted in Gnats and Queries, vol. iii. p. 229), which has no bearing whatever on the reading, and can only serve to throw the reader off the true scent. Altogether, for so small a matter, this is as complicated a case of stupidity, and of something worse, as over came under the notice of the public. We may just add, what we only recently discovered, that Mr Collier had inserted the original text of the line, "Most busy, least when I do it," in his edition of Shakespeare published some ten years ago; but then he deserves just as little credit for this as A. E. B. does; because his note, as might very easily be shown, and as will be apparent to any one who reads it along with Blackwood's Magazine, p. 186, is directly at variance with his text.
But we have kept the old Corrector too long waiting. Begging pardon, we shall now attend to his interests, taking him mildly in hand,—at least at first.
Titus Andronicus.—Act I. Scene 2.—To change "set abroad" into set abroach may be permissible; but it is not necessary. In the following line (Act II. Scene 1) the alteration is most decidedly for the worse
"The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull."
"Dreadful" is altered by the MS. corrector to dreadless—a very unpoetical, indeed senseless substitution.
We cannot accept the corrector's rhyming phraseology in Act II. Scene 2. No man has any business to rewrite Shakespeare after this fashion. The liberty which this scourer of the old text here takes with the play is just another of the numerous proofs that his design was, not to restore their language, but merely to popularise it. Dine, however, for "drive," in the Line,
"The hounds Should drive upon thy new transformed limbs,"
(Act II. Scene 3)
is a very sensible emendation, and one which we are disposed to recommend for the text, "drive" being very probably a misprint. Possibly also "breeder" (Act IV. Scene 2) may be a misprint for burthen, which the corrector proposes, and to which we have no very great objection. The best part of the change of the words, "Not far one Muliteus" into "not far hence Muli lives," is due to Steevens: the MS. corrector's contribution being very unimportant.
Act IV. Scene 4.—-The flow of the following line, as printed in the common editions, is much more easy and idiomatic,
"My lords, you know, as do the rightful gods,"
than the corrector's substitution—
"My lords, you know, the rightful gods no less."
Nothing farther of any mark or likelihood presents itself in the corrections of this play. The emendations are generally insignificant; but in one instance, and perhaps two, they may deserve some approbation.
Romeo and Juliet.— Act I. Scene 1.—We never can accept puffed in lieu of "purged" in the lines—
"Love is a smoke, made with the fume of sighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes."
Urged, as proposed by Johnson, is infinitely better than puffed; but no change is required.
In the following lines, the MS. corrector's amendment seems to us to be no improvement either upon the common or the original text. The text of the quarto 1597 is this (Romeo is speaking of Rosaline)—
"She'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit,
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives uncharm'd,"
that is, disenchanted. The ordinary reading is" unharm'd" for "uncharmed," and it affords a very excellent and obvious sense. The MS. corrector proposes encharmed—i.e. en-chanted. But if any one is dissatisfied with "unharmed," we think he will do more wisely to fall back on the primitive reading, rather than espouse ​the MS. corrector's emendation. It seems more natural to say that a person is disenchanted from the power of love by the shield of chastity, than to say that she is enchanted therefrom by means of that protection.
The following remark by Mr Collier puzzles us excessively. Scene 4, in the fine description of Queen Mab, this line occurs—
"Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose."
But "courtiers" have been already mentioned. "To avoid this repetition," says Mr Collier, "Pope read ' lawyer's nose;' but while shunning one defect he introduced another, for though the double mention of 'courtiers' is thus avoided, it occasions the double mention of lawyers. in what way, then, does the old corrector take upon himself to decide the question? He treats the second 'courtiers' as a misprint for a word which, when carelessly written, is not very dissimilar—
'Some time she gallops o'er a counsellor's nose,
And then he dreams of smelling out a suit.'
That counsellors," continues Mr Collier, "and their interest in suits at court, should be thus ridiculed, cannot be thought unnatural." But are not counsellors lawyers? and is not this precisely the same blunder as that which Mr Collier condemns Pope for having fallen into? Surely Queen Mab must bare been galloping to some purpose over Mr Collier's nob, when he forgot himself thus marvellously. It seems that there must be a repetition, and therefore it is better to let it fall on the word "courtiers" than on the word "lawyers," or its synonym, counsellors,—for "courtiers" is the original text.
Act II. Scene 2.—We are so wedded to the exquisite lines about "the winged messenger of heaven,"
"When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air,"
that it is with the utmost unwillingness we consent even to the smallest change in their expression. But it seems that "lazy-puffing" (an evident misprint) is the reading of the old editions; and this goes far to prove that lazy-passing (the MS. correction) is the genuine word—the long ſſ having been mistaken by the compositor for ﬀ. Although as a matter of taste, perhaps of association, we prefer "lazy-pacing," still lazy-passing is very good, and we have little doubt that it is the authentic reading. We agree also with Mr Cole here in thinking that "unbusied youth" for" unbruised youth" (Ace II. Scene 3) comes, as he says, "within the class of extremely plausible emendations." "Weak dealing" (scene 4), in the mouth of the nurse, may very well be a malapropism for "wicked dealing," and therefore the text ought not to be disturbed. The MS. corrector is, perhaps, right in his alteration of the line about Juliet's cheeks (Scene 5), where the nurse says—
"They'll be in scarlet straight at any news."
For "straight at any," he reads, "straightway at my." But the point would require further consideration before the change can be recommended, with certainty, for the text.
Act III. Scene 2.—In this scene there occurs one of the most disputed passages in the whole of Shakespeare, and one on which conjectural emendation and critical explanation have expended all the resources both of their ingenuity and their stupidity' without reaching any very memorable result, except in one instance, which we are about to mention with hearty commendation. The difficulty presents itself in the lines where Juliet says—
"Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That Runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalked of and unseen."
Who is "Runaway"? He is a printer's (not devil but) blunder, says the old corrector; we should read enemies. Those may read enemies who choose. We certainly shall not—no, not even at the bidding of Queen Victoria herself. We shall not turn ourselves into a goose to please the ghost of an old amateur play-corrector, though he should keep rapping at us till his knuckles are worn out. Read Rumourers, says Mr Singer. No, Mr Singer, we will not read Rumourers. Read this thing, and read that thing, say other wise authorities: no, gentlemen, we shall not read anything except what Shakespeare wrote, and we know for certain that the word which he wrote was "Runaway's," just as it stands in the books; for we learnt this from a medium;— ​yes, and the medium was the Rev. Mr Halpin, who, in the "Shakespeare Society's Papers," vol. ii., has proved to our entire satisfaction that the text calls for, and indeed admits of, no alteration. There could not be a happier-chosen or, more expressive word than "Runaway's," as here employed.
Mr Halpin rather fritters away his argument, and is not very forcible; but, coupled with one's own reflections, he is altogether convincing. The salient points of the argument may be presented shortly as follows: First, "Runaway" holds the text: he has the title which accrues from actual possession. Secondly, there cannot be a doubt that Runaway is the general and classical sobriquet for "Cupid." Thirdly, Cupid was a most important personage in all epithalamia. Fourthly, important character though he was, he could not be altogether depended on for secresy; and therefore, fifthly, it was highly desirable, for various considerations (at least so thought Juliet), that the night should be so dark that even Cupid should not be able to see very far beyond the point of his own nose; in order, sixthly, that he might not be able to tell tales, or "talk" of what he had "seen."
That is the first or main portion of the argument. It proceeds on the supposition that Cupid has eyes. In that case, says Juliet, it will be highly proper that he should "wink;" and as there can be no certainty that the little rascal will do so, unless he cannot see, it is further highly desirable that the night should be as black as the brows of John Nox himself. The second and merely auxiliary part of the argument proceeds on the supposition that Cupid has no eyes—"Or," says Juliet, a little farther on—"or if Love (i.e. Cupid) be blind;" why, then, so much the better; "it best agrees with night;" in other words, a blind Cupid is fully a safer master of ceremonies than is, all things considered, one that can see.
Finally, supposing the Cupid here referred to, to be not a blind but a seeing one, will any person inform us what can be the meaning of the "winking Cupids" spoken of in Cymbeline, II. 4, unless "winking" was, at times, a very important duty on the part of this functionary? Unless this was part of his office, the words referred to have no meaning whatever. It seems to have been considered by our poets, and also by the world at large, as highly becoming—indeed, as absolutely necessary—that a seeing Cupid should possess a marvellous alacrity in "winking," brought about either by his own sense of the essential fitnesses of things, or by what some moralists have termed the feeling of propriety, or by the darkness of the circumambient night. The latter was the interposing medium to which Juliet chiefly trusted. Who can now doubt that Cupid is "Runaway," and that "Runaway" was Shakespeare's word? We have omitted to say anything in explanation of the classical nickname. One word may suffice. The urchin was constantly running away from the apron-strings of his mother Venus, and getting himself into scrapes.
Act III. Scene 5.—The MS. alteration of "brow" into bow is by no means a manifest improvement in the lines where Romeo says—
"I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow."
Why should "Cynthia's brow" be not as unexceptionable an expression as the "morning's eye"? To take the words, "These are news indeed!" from Juliet, and to give them to Lady Capulet, is to spoil the consistency of the dialogue. This alteration proves that the old corrector has been no very attentive student of his great master. Lady Capulet says to her daughter Juliet—
"But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl."
She then informs her that the gallant Count Paris is to make her a joyful bride "early next Thursday morn." Juliet protests against the match, and winds up by exclaiming, "These are news indeed!"—the most natural and appropriate observation which could be made in the circumstances. Yet Mr Collier calls the MS. correction which assigns these words to Lady Capulet a "judicious arrangement."
Act IV. Scene 2.— Becoming love for "becomed love," is a specimen of the corrector's system of modernising the text.
​ Act V. Scene 1.—"If I may trust," says Romeo,
"If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep' My dreams presage some joyful news at hand."
The MS. corrector reads—
"If I may trust the flattering death of sleep,"
which Mr Collier defends on the ground of what follows in Romeo's speech:—
"I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,)
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lip.
That I revived—and was an emperor."
But if the "death," of which the corrector supposes Romeo to speak, has any reference to the death of which he has dreamt, what a ludicrous and unmeaning epithet the word "flattering" is! Flattering death! Why flattering? It is the most senseless adjunct that could be employed in the place. It was his revival from death by the kisses of Juliet that formed the "flattering" part of his dream. This emendation, therefore, must be dismissed as a most signal failure. Mr Singers suggestion, though not necessary, is better. He reads, "the flattering soother sleep." But the text ought to be allowed to stand as it is. "The flattering truth of sleep" merely means—the pleasing truth promised to me in dreams.
Scene 3.—We conclude our observation on this play with the remark, that there is no necessity whatever for changing "outrage" into outcry in the line where the Prince says—
"Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while."
All who are present have been driven nearly distracted by the tragedies they are called upon to witness, and therefore the meaning undoubtedly is—"seal up the mouth of distraction for a while,"
"Till we can clear these ambiguities."
Timon of Athens.— Act I. Scene 1.—The commentators have been very generally at fault in their dealings with the following line. The cynical Apemantus says—
"Heavens, that I were a lord!
Timon.—What wouldst thou do then, Apemantus?
Apemantus.—Even as Apemantus does now —hate a lord with my heart.
Timon.—What, thyself?
Apemantus.—Ay.
Timon.—Wherefore?
Apemantus.—That I had no angry wit to be a lord."
Warburton proposed, "that I had so hungry a wit to be a lord." Monk Mason suggested, "that I had an angry wish to be a lord." The MS. corrector, combining these two readings, gives us, "that I had so hungry a wish to be a lord." Dr Johnson says, "The meaning may be—I should hate myself for patiently enduring to be a lord. This is ill enough expressed. Perhaps some happy change may set it right. I have tried and can do nothing, yet I cannot heartily concur with Dr Warburton." Warburton's emendation is substantially the same as the MS. corrector's—and therefore we have Dr Johnson's verdict against its admissibility. His own interpretation is unquestionably right, although he gave it with great hesitation. No change whatever is required. The passage is perfectly plain if we take "to be" as standing for "in being." "That I had no angry wit in being a lord." It is the pleasure and pride of my life to cherish a savage disposition; but in consenting to be a lord I should show that I had in a great measure foregone this moroseness of nature—and therefore "I should hate myself, because I could have had no angry wit, no splenetic humour upon me, when I consented to be a lord."
Scene 2.—Dr Delius (of whom favourable mention has been made in our second article) deals very sensibly with the following case. "At Timon's table," says he, "Apemantus declares himself to be a water-drinker, because water, unlike strong drink, never leads a man into crime. He says—
'Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner;
Honest water, which never left a man in the mire.'
The old corrector, hankering after rhymes, changes 'sinner' into fire. But had Apemantus indulged in such an unutterable platitude at Timon's banquet, as the remark that water was not fire, the rest of the guests would most assuredly have turned him to the door. What shall we say when we find Mr Collier seriously believing that Shakespeare's word was fire!" Well done, Doctor! ​
Act II. Scene 2.—A construction very similar to the one we lately met with (to be, for in being) occurs in the following lines, which certainly require no amendment. Flavius, Timon's steward, complaining of his master's extravagance, says that he
"Takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue. Never mind Was, to be so unwise, to be so kind."
The corrector reads—
"Takes no account How things go from him, no reserve; no care
Of what is to continue. Never mind Was surely so unwise, to be so kind."
"To take no reserve" is surely more awkard and ungrammatical than the language which Shakespeare employs. And as for the substitution surely, it is very far from being required. The construction is—never did a mind exist, being so unwise, in order to be so kind.
These two lines as amended by the old corrector—
"He did reprove his anger, ere 'twas spent,
As if he did but move an argument,"
seem to be an improvement upon
"He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent,
As if he did but prove an argument."
The old copies read "behoove." But it would not be safe to alter the received text without further deliberation. We cannot accept Mr Singer's behood.
Act IV. Scene 2.—Flavius, when his master is ruined, moralises thus,
"O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live
But in a dream of friendship?
To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,
But only painted, like his varnished friends."
If the expression of these verses be somewhat elliptical, they are quite intelligible, and the MS. corrector certainly does not improve them. He writes the four last lines thus—
"Who'd be so mocked with glory, as to live But in a dream of friendship, and revive
To have his pomp and all state comprehends,
Bat only painted like his varnished friends."
What is the meaning of "to be so mocked with glory as to live but in a dream of friendship?" A man may be so mocked with glory as to live only in a dream of glory. But a dream of friendship is nonsense—or, rather, the change of "or" into as, makes nonsense of the passage. The other changes are not so irrational, but they are quite unnecessary, and cannot, in any respect, be recommended for the text.
Scene 3.—To change "a bawd" into abhorred, as the MS. corrector has done, proves that he was unable to construe the English language. We shall merely refer our readers to Dr Johnson's note on the place, which explains it thoroughly.
In this same scene Timon rebukes Apemantus in these terms—
"Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
Had'st thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself In general riot"
Mr Corner writes, " 'The passive drugs' of the world surely cannot be right. Timon is supposing the rich and luxurious to be, as it were, sucking freely at the 'passive dugs' of the world, and an emendation in manuscript which merely strikes out the superfluous letter supports this view of the passage, and renders needless Monk Mason's somewhat wild conjecture in favour of drudges." Reader, look out the word "drug" in Johnson's Dictionary—a work which does not deal much in wild conjectures, and which, whatever its disparagers may say, is still the best authority going for the use and meaning of the English language—and you will find that one of the meanings of "drug" is drudge. There cannot be a doubt that drugge is the old way of spelling drudge, and just as little can there be a doubt that "drugs" in the passage before us means drudges. To "command" the dugs of the world, would indeed be a wild way of speaking. Scene 4.—In the following lines, where it is said that it is not right to take vengeance on the living for the crimes of the dead, Shakespeare writes,
"All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take
On those that are, revenge."
For "not square" the new reading is ​"is't not severe." This smacks very decidedly of more modern times—and is a marked instance of our corrector's attempt to popularise his author. "Not square" of course means not just.
Julius Cæsar—Act I. Scene 2.—In his comments on the corrections of this play Mr Collier makes an unfortunate commencement. He says, "The two following lines have always been printed thus—
'When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man?'
This reading has never, we believe, been doubted." No man can be expected to have examined all the editions of Shakespeare. But surely Mr Collier might have been acquainted with Theobald's (1773), and the common variorum (1785), in both of which "walls" is printed in the text, without a word of comment, as requiring none. Or if he had not examined these editions, surely his remark was somewhat precipitate that "walks" had been always printed in the text, and had never been doubted. We have never seen an edition containing "walks"—but we shall not venture to assert that no such edition exists. This, however, is certain, that the change of "walks" "into walls" is news at least a hundred years old, and is a correction which every child would make the instant the passage was laid before him.
We quote the following from Mr Collier for the sake of the remark with which it concludes. "The MS. corrector," he says, "requires us to make another change which seems even less necessary, but, at the same time, is judicious.
'Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome,
Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us.'
Under such hard conditions, sounds better, followed as it is by 'this time,' but this is perhaps a matter of discretion, and we have no means of knowing whether the writer of the notes might not here be indulging his taste." This implies—and there are many such insinuations throughout Mr Collier's book—that we have the means of knowing that the corrector did not exercise merely his own discretion, in the majority of his emendations, but had undoubted authority for his cutting and carving on the text. But what means have we of knowing this? None at all. Sometimes the corrector restores the readings of the old quartos and of the folio 1623; but that is no proof that his other corrections have any guarantee beyond his own caprice. There is no external evidence in their favour, and their manifest inferiority to the received text, in almost every instance of importance, shows that their internal evidence is just as defective. Indeed, as we shall by and by see, we have the means of knowing that, in almost every case, the old corrector was "exercising merely his own discretion," or rather indiscretion. We admit that in a few minor instances the changes are slightly for the better, as, for instance, the alteration of "make" into mark in these lines (Act II. Scene 1)—
"This shall mark Our purpose necessary, and not envious."
But wherever our corrector attempts an emendation of any magnitude, he, for the most part—indeed, we may say always—signally fails, as has been already abundantly shown; and he fails, because in nine hundred and ninety-nine apparently doubtful cases out of every thousand, the text stands in no need of any alteration.
Act III. Scene 1.—How vilely vulgarised is Cæsar's answer to Artemidorus by the corrector's way of putting it. Artemidorus, pressing forward to deliver his warning to Cæsar, says,
"Mine's a suit That touches Cæsar nearer."
Cæsar's dignified answer is,
"What touches us ourself, shall be last served."
The words put into his mouth by the MS. corrector are,
"That touches us? ourself shall be last served."
The taste of this new reading will not find many approvers, we should think, when it is placed in juxtaposition with the old.
Perhaps the corrector is right in giving the words, "Are we all ready," to Casca, instead of Cæsar, to whom they are usually assigned; but Ritson had long ago pointed out the propriety of the change. We can accept ​crouchings in place of couchings. "Law of children" for "love of children," has been already recommended by Dr Johnson.
Act IV. Scene 3.—For "new-added," Mr Singer suggests new-aided, which is certainly much better than the MS. correction new-hearted; but no change is necessary.
Act V. Scene 1.—The old reading, "sword of traitors," is infinitely better than the new, "word of traitors." "Forward" for "former" is another instance of the corrector's attempts to modernise the text. The same may be said of term for "time." We admit, however, that "those high powers" reads better than "some high powers."
At the close of the play, Antony says of Brutus,
"This was the noblest Roman of them all,
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;
He, only, in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them."
We are told to read,
"He only in a generous honest thought
Of common good to all."
This, however, is not Shakespeare speaking his own language, but Shakespeare popularised. "A general honest thought" is a comprehensive honest thought; and we may be absolutely certain that "general" is the poet's word. If the MS. corrector could be brought to life and examined, we are convinced he would admit that be was merely adapting Shakespeare to his own notions of the taste and capacities of a popular assembly.
Macbeth.— Act I. Scene 1.—When Ross enters suddenly, with tidings of the victory gained by Macbeth and Banquo over the Norwegians, Lenox exclaims,
"What a haste looks through his eyes! so should he look That seems to speak things strange."
A hypercritical objection has been taken to the words, "seems to speak," inasmuch as Ross has not yet spoken. Dr Johnson, deserted for a moment by his usual good sense, would read, "that teems to speak." "He looks like one that is big with something of importance"—a phrase savouring much more of the great lexicographer than of the great poet. The MS. corrector proposes, "that comes to speak." This is very flat and prosaic. Mr Singer says that "seems is to be received in its usual sense of appears." This is worse and worse. Malone long ago informed us that "to speak" stood for about to speak," and this is undoubtedly right. "To speak" is not the present, but the future infinitive. "So should he look that seems on the point of speaking things strange." No change is required.
Scene 4.—The king, on meeting Macbeth after his victory over the rebels, thus expresses his obligations to him,
"Would thou had'st less deserved,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine."
We believe the meaning of this to be, "that the larger share, both of thanks and payment, might have come from my side. As it is, I still owe you more than you can ever owe me." To change "mine" into more is quite uncalled for.
Scene 5.—The MS. corrector proposes blankness for "blanket," in the lines where Lady Macbeth, revolving the murder of Duncan, says,
"Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the night,
To cry, Hold! hold!"
The darkness prayed for is the thickest that can be procured, and therefore the word "blanket" is highly appropriate. It has a stifling effect on the imagination, which the general term blankness has not.
Scene 7.—The next alteration proposed seems to us to be a case of great doubt and difficulty—one in which a good deal may be said on both sides of the question. Macbeth says to his lady, who is pressing him strongly to commit the murder,
"Pr'ythee, peace,
I dare do all that may become a man,
Who dares do more is none.
Lady M.—What beast was't, then,
That made you break this enterprise to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man,
And to be more than what you were, yea would Be so much more the man."
The MS. corrector, changing one letter, converts "beast" into boast, whereupon Mr Singer says, "Who could have imagined that any one familiar with the poet, as Mr Collier tells us he has been for the last fifty years, could for a moment entertain the absurd change of 'beast' to boast in this celebrated passage?" Here Mr Singer expresses himself, as we think, a great deal too strongly. In better taste is Mr John Forster's defence of the received reading. He says (we quote from Mr Dyce, p. 124), with great good sense and propriety, "Here Mr Collier reasons, as it appears to us, without sufficient reference to the context of the passage, and its place in the scene. The expression immediately preceding, and eliciting Lady Macbeth's reproach, is that in which Macbeth declares that he dares do all that may become a man, and that who dares more is none. She instantly takes up that expression—if not an affair in which a man may engage, what beast was it then in himself or others that made him break this enterprise to her? The force of the passage lies in that contrasted word, and its meaning is lost by the proposed substitution." We admit the force of this reasoning, and it, together with the consideration that beast is the word actually in possession of the text, rather inclines us, though not without much hesitation, to prefer the old reading. We strongly suspect that the contrast of the beast and the man may have been an accident due to the carelessness, or perhaps an alteration due to the ingenuity of the printer. There is to our feelings a stronger expression of contempt, a more natural, if not a fiercer taunt in boast than in "beast." "What vain braggadocio fit—what swaggering humour was it, then, that made you break this enterprise to me?" There is nothing in Mr Dyce's objection, that Macbeth had not previously vaunted his determination to murder Duncan. He certainly had broken the project to his wife both by letter and in conversation, and that pretty strongly too, as is evident from her words, "Nor time nor place did then adhere," that is, when he first broached the subject, "yet you would make both"—that is, you would make both time and place bend to the furtherance of your design, even when they were not in themselves ripe and suitable. And even though Macbeth had not announced his project in a boastful manner, it was quite natural that the lady, disgusted by his vacillation should, in her excited state, upbraid him as an empty boaster, and a contemptible poltroon. Tried by their intrinsic merits, we regard "boast" as rather the better reading of the two; and if we advocate the retention of "beast," it is only on the ground that it, too, affords a very good meaning, and is de facto the text of the old folios.
Act III. Scene 4.—The following passage has occasioned some discussion among the commentators. Macbeth addresses the ghost of Banquo,
"Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The armed rhinoceros or the Hyrcan tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble; or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword:
If trembling I inhibit, then protest me The baby of a girl."
This is the common reading, or at least was so until a comparatively recent period. "Inhabit," says Henley "is the original reading, and it needs no alteration. The obvious meaning is—should you challenge me to encounter you in the desert, and I, through fear, remain trembling in my castle, then protest me," &c. Horne Tooke (Diversions of Purley, ii. p. 55) slightly varies this reading by placing the comma after then, instead of after inhabit.
"Dare me to the desert with thy sword,
If trembling I inhabit then;"—
i.e., if then I do not meet thee there; if trembling I stay at home, or within doors, or under any roof, or within any habitation; if, when you call me to the desert, I then house me, or through fear hide myself from thee in any dwelling—
"If trembling I do house me then, protest me," &c.
Probably, then, the best reading is,
"if trembling I inhabit then, protest me," &c
At any rate, the MS. corrector's prosaic substitution—"if trembling I exhibit," i.e., if I show any symptoms of trepidation, cannot be listened to for a moment.
Act IV. Scene 1. —The MS. ​corrector alters very properly "Rebellious dead" of the old copies, into
"Rebellion's head rise never till the wood
Of Birnam rise."
Theobald had got the length of changing "dead" into head, but the alteration of "rebellious" into rebellion's is due to the old corrector, and it is decidedly an improvement.
When Macbeth has resolved to seize Macduff's castle, and put his wife and children to the sword, he exclaims—
"This deed I'll do before this purpose cool,
But no more sights!"
The MS. corrector proposes flights, and not without some show of reason. Macbeth has just been informed that Macduff has fled to England, and the escape has evidently discomposed him, as placing beyond his reach his most deadly enemy. Accordingly, he is supposed by the MS. corrector to exclaim, "No more flights! I must take care that no more of that party escape me." But, on the other hand, Macbeth, a minute before, has been inveighing against the witches. He says—
"Infected be the air whereon they ride,
And damned all that trust them!"
So that "But no more sights" may mean, I will have no more dealings with these infernal hags. The word "But" seems to be out of place in connection with "flights"—and therefore we pronounce in favour of the old reading.
Scene 3.—Malcolm, speaking of himself, says—
"In whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Shall seem as pure as snow."
"Here," says Mr Collier, "as has been said on many former occasions, 'opened' affords sense, but so inferior to that given by the correction of the folio 1632, that we need not hesitate in concluding that Shakespeare, carrying on the figure suggested by the word 'grafted' as applied to fruit, must have written—
"That when they shall be ripened, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow."'
But does not Mr Collier see that the metaphor is one which does not turn upon fruit at all, but that it turns upon flowers? And who ever heard of flowers ripening? That the allusion is to flowers is obvious from this, that Malcolm's vices are said to surpass Macbeth's in their colour. "Compared with me, black Macbeth shall seem as pure as snow." What confusion of ideas can have put fruit into the dunderhead of the corrector, and what obliquity of judgment should have led Mr Collier to affirm, that "opened" affords a sense so inferior to ripened, it is very difficult to comprehend. In his appendix, Mr Collier says, "an objection to ripened instead of 'opened,' may be, that Malcolm is representing these 'particulars of vice' in him as already at maturity." Not at all; that would have been no objection. His vices were immature, but their immaturity was that of flowers, and not that of fruits. So that Mr Collier is equally at fault in his reasons for and in his reasons against the word "opened." This is not pretty in a man who has some claims to be regarded as one of the greatest Shakespearian scholars of the day.
The MS. corrector in no way redeems his character by suggesting a decided alteration for the worse in the line where Macduff says to Malcolm—
"You may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty."
Read enjoy, says the corrector. We have no doubt that "convey" is the right word—only we had better punctuate the line thus,
"Convey your pleasures in,—a spacious plenty;"
i.e. Gather them in,—an abundant harvest.
Act V. Scene 2.—In the lines in which the unsettled condition of Macbeth's mind is alluded to, the corrector proposes a specious though far from necessary amendment.
"But for certain,
He cannot buckle his distempered cause
Within the belt of rule."
The MS. correction is course; i.e. course of action, which is distempered by the shattered condition of his nerves. But "cause" fits the place perfectly well, if taken for his affairs generally, his whole system of procedure; and therefore we are of opinion that the text ought not to be disturbed.
Scene 3. In the line where Macbeth says— ​
"This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now,"
we approve of the substitution of chair for "cheer," as proposed long ago by Bishop Percy, and now seconded by the MS. corrector. But we see no good reason for changing "stuff" into grief, in the line
"Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the hart."
There seems to have been but little grief on the part either of the tyrant or his lady; and the repetition of "stuffed" and "stuff" is very much after the manner of Shakespeare.
Scene 4. Malcolm says of Macbeth's followers—
"For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less, have given him the revolt;"
that is, where any advantage is held out, or "to be given" to them, both strong and weak desert Macbeth's standard. The MS. corrector proposes "advantage to be gotten; a better reading, which has been often suggested, is "advantage to be gained," and this we regard as more suitable to modern notions; but we counsel no change in the text, because the old reading was to a certainty the language of Shakespeare.
The latinism of farced, i.e., stuffed out, for "forced," has not a shadow of probability in its favour. Macbeth says of the troops opposed to him—
"Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
We might have met them, dareful, beard to beard."
"Forced," says Mr Singer very properly, "Is used in the sense of re-in-forced." Neither can we accept quailed for "cooled," at the recommendation of the MS. corrector, in these lines where Macbeth says—
"The time has been my senses would have cool'd To bear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't."
"My senses would have cooled"—that is, my nerves would have thrilled with an icy shudder. The received text is quite satisfactory.
Hamlet.— Act I. Scene 2.—In consistency with the verdict Just given, we must pronounce the following new reading, at any rate, reasonable.
Horatio, describing the effect of the appearance of the ghost upon Bernardo and Marcellus, tells Hamlet, as the quartos give it—
"They distill'd Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him."
The folios read "bestilled." The MS. correction is bechill'd. And this we prefer to bestilled. It is quite in keeping with Macbeth's expression—
"My senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek."
Shakespeare probably knew that "jelly" was gelu, ice. But "distilled," the common reading, affords quite as good a meaning as bechilled, and therefore, as this word has authority in its favour, which bechilled has not, we advise no alteration of the text.
Scene 3.—We think that the old corrector was right, when he changed "chief" into choice in the lines where the style in which Frenchmen dress is alluded to—
"And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chef in that."
This is the reading of the old copies. The modern editions read more intelligibly—
"Are most select and generous, chief in that"
"Chief" for chiefly. But we prefer the MS. correction—
"Are of a most select and generous choice in that,"
both as affording better sense, and as coming nearer the old text than the received reading does.
In the same scene, Polonius says to his daughter—
"I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words, or talk with the lord Hamlet."
We believe that "slander" here means abuse, misuse, and therefore we prefer the received text to squander, the reading of the MS. corrector.
Scene 5.—The ghost says—
"Thus was I sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd."
The margins read—
"Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despoiled,"
which may be more strictly grammatical than the other. But "despatched" is more forcible, and indicates a more summary mode of procedure. "Despatched," says Mr Dyce, "expresses the suddenness of the bereavement." The quartos read "deprived," which is quite as good as despoiled.
Act II. Scene 2.—Hamlet says—
"For it cannot be But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall To make oppression better, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal."
The margins have the weakness to propose "to make transgression bitter!" We are glad to perceive that the mild Mr Dyce "lacks not gall to make senseless criticism bitter." He says, "This alteration is nothing less than villanous. Could the MS. corrector be so obtuse as not to perceive that 'lack gall to make oppression bitter,' means lack gall to make me feel the bitterness of oppression?" Mr Singer proposes aggression, which is just one half as bad as transgression. Why cannot the commentators leave well alone?
Act III. Scene 3.—To change "prize" into purse in the expression,
"the wicked prize itself Buys out the law,"
simply shows a dogged determination on the part of the old corrector to be more perversely idiotical than we can believe that his stars doomed even him to be. The king is speaking of his usurped crown and dominion as his "wicked prize." Mr Collier having put on livery in the old corrector's service, has, of course, nothing for it but to assent. He says, "We need no great persuasion to make us believe that we ought to read purse." Do not suppose, Mr Collier, that we are going to be galled by that remark—you yourself, we are convinced, never swallowed so bitter a pill as that new reading, in all your born days.
Act III. Scene 4.—The MS. correction, "I'll sconce me even here," says Polonius, is to be preferred to the ordinary reading, "I'll silence me even here." This reading was also proposed not long ago by Mr Hunter.
Act IV. Scene 3.—In the next, Mr Collier is not quite so sure of his ground, and well may he distrust it. He says, "The next emendation is well worthy of consideration, and perhaps of adoption. The king asks Hamlet where Polonius is at supper, and the answer is this in the quartos—
"Not where he eats, but where he is eaten; a certain convocation of politic worms are even at him. Your worm is the only emperor for diet," &c.
The corrector treats us to "a convocation of palated worms," which is a view of the subject we cannot at all stomach. If there is any one word in all Shakespeare which we can be more certain of than another as having been written by himself, the term "politic," as used in this place, is that word. The context, "convocation," proves this. A convocation is a kind of parliament, and does not a parliament imply policy? "Politic" here means polite, social, and discriminating. Mr Collier advances a very singular argument in behalf of palated. "If the text had always stood 'painted worms,' and if it had been proposed to change it to 'politic worms,' few readers would for an instant have consented to relinquish an expression so peculiarly Shakespearian." That is to say, if we had the best possible reasons for thinking that Shakespeare wrote "palated," we should not be disposed to alter it.
True: but in that case we can assure Mr Collier that our forbearance would be occasioned only by our respect for the authentic text, and not by our opinion that "palated" is the better word of the two. Palated is, in every respect, inferior to "politic"—so inferior, that had palated been the text, we should strongly have suspected a misprint, and had "politic" stood on the margin we should certainly have recommended it for favourable consideration, as we have done several of the MS. corrections which have not nearly so strong claims on our approval. The corrector must have been very old (or very young) when he set down this new reading.
King Lear.— Act I. Scene 1.—Regan remarks that in comparison with her father's welfare— ​
"I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys
That the most precious square of sense possesses."
The MS. corrector reads "precious sphere," which Mr Singer trumps by playing out "spacious sphere." Both of these new readings are good, considered as modernisations of Shakespeare. But the old text is not to be doubted: it is quite intelligible, and therefore ought not to be disturbed. "Square" means compass, area.
In the following passage, too, we advocate the retention of the old text, though the MS. correction is plausible—is one of the best we have been favoured with. Cordelia entreats her father to
"Make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness— No unchaste action, or dishonoured step,
That hath deprived me of your grace and favour."
Mr Collier remarks: "Murder (spelt murther in the folios) seems here entirely out of place; Cordelia could never contemplate that anybody would suspect her of murder; she is referring to 'vicious blots' and 'foulness' in respect to virtue, and there cannot, we apprehend, be a doubt that the old corrector has given us the real language of Shakespeare when he puts the passage thus—
"Make known It is no vicious blot, nor other foulness.'"
But the King of France has just before said—
"Sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree
That monsters it;"
that is, that makes a monster of it—it can be nothing short of some crime of the deepest dye—and therefore "murder" does not seem to be so much out of place in the mouth of Cordelia. Stoop for "step," as proposed by the corrector, is still less to be accepted. Had he never heard of a faux pas?
Act II. Scene 4.—The fool, declaring that he will not desert his master, sings—
"But I will stay; the fool will stay,
And let the wise man fly.
The knave turns fool that runs away,
The fool no knave, perdy."
Dr Johnson proposed to correct the two last lines thus—
"The fool turns knave that runs any,
The knave no fool, perdy."
And the MS. corrector does the same. Mr Singer, however, declares "that the words knave and fool are in their right places in the old text." We wish that he had explained his view; for, to our apprehension, the new reading is the only one which makes sense.
One or two very small amendments here present themselves, which on the score of taste are not altogether objectionable, but the superiority of which is by no means so undoubted as to entitle them to a place in the text. The following is one of them—probably the best—Act IV. Scene 1, Edgar, in disguise, says—
"Yet better thus, and known to be contemned,
Than still contemned and flattered."
The meaning is—'tis better to be thus contemned and known to one's-self to be contemned—than contemned, and at the same time so flattered as not to know that you are contemned. The old corrector proposes—
"Yes, better thus unknown to be contemned," &c.,
a reading (all but the yes) suggested long ago by Dr Johnson—but one in no respect superior in merit to the common text. The common reading "our mean (i.e. our mediocrity) secures us," is greatly to be preferred to the MS. correction "our wants secure us." We confess, however, a predilection for the "lust-dieted man that braves your ordinance" (the ordinance of heaven), instead of the common reading, "slaves your ordinance," although this is defended by Dr Johnson against Warburton, who long ago proposed the word (braves) which appears on the margins of the folio.
Scene 6.—
"Behold yond' simpering dame Whose face between her forks presageth snow,
Who minces virtue, and does shake the head
To hear of pleasure's name.
"Who mimics virtue" say the margins, accommodating Shakespeare to the taste and understanding of a degenerate period. But, "who minces virtue" is far finer: it means, who affects a nicety of virtue. We think ​that Dr Delius is wrong in preferring mimics.
Edgar, when he discovers that Goneril has a plot upon her husband's life, exclaims—
"Oh, undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
And the exchange my brother!"
The corrector's substitution—
"Oh, unextinguished blaze of woman's will!"
may be dismissed at once as utterly irreconcilable with the context, besides being villanous rhodomontade. The context lets us know very plainly what the meaning of the first line must be. "A plot," says Edgar, "on the life of her husband, the best of men! and a marriage with my brother, the greatest scoundrel unhanged! Oh, workings of woman's will, past all finding out—past all distinguishing!" "Oh, unfathomable depth;" "Oh, unintelligible tortuosity;" "Oh, undistinguishable limits;" that we believe to be the meaning of "Oh, undistinguished space of woman's will." The text requires no amendment; and we would merely suggest ways or depth as a gloss, and not as a substitute for "space."
Othello.— Act I. Scene 1.—The old corrector sometimes passes over lines which present intolerable difficulties. We wish, in particular, that he had favoured us with his sentiments on that line which has baffled all mankind, in which Iago describes Cassio as
"A fellow almost damned in a fair wife."
Difficulty first, Cassio was not married! Difficulty second, Supposing him to be married, why should he be either almost or altogether damned in a fair wife? Difficulty third, Why, if damned at all, should he be only almost, and not completely, damned in her? These are points on which the old scholiast has not attempted to throw any light. Cassio, it is well known, had a mistress. Is it possible, then, that Shakespeare should use "wife" in the sense of mistress or woman? That supposition might remove the difficulty. As it is, all attempts to amend the line have hitherto been abortive. It still stands the opprobrium criticorum.
After trying his hand very unsuccessfully on one or two passages, the MS. corrector comes to the lines in which Desdemona is described by Roderigo as
"Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and everywhere."
Mr Collier says: "Here the commentators have notes upon 'extravagant,' but pass over 'wheeling' without explanation, although very unintelligible where it stands." He then remarks that "wheedling (the MS. correction for 'wheeling') is an important improvement of the text." Few people, we imagine, will agree with Mr Collier in thinking either that "wheeling" is unintelligible, or that wheedling is an improvement. "A wheeling stranger of here and everywhere" is as plain, and, at the same time, as poetical a periphrasis for a vagabond as can be well conceived. We may be certain that the text as it stands is the language of Shakespeare.
Proceeding onwards, we meet with nothing which can be recommended for the text, and little which attracts our attention, until we come to the expression, "A super-subtle Venetian," which is Iago's designation for Desdemona. The old corrector makes him call her "a super-supple Venetian"! But, if his own good taste could not keep the old gentleman right, surely the context might have done so. Iago says—"An erring barbarian (i.e. Othello) and a super-subtle Venetian" (i.e. Desdemona). There is here a fine opposition between barbarism and subtlety; but what opposition, what relation of any kind, is there between barbarism and suppleness?
Act II. Scene 3.—Othello, in a state of excitement, says—
"And passion having my best judgment collied,"
for which the MS. correction is quelled. Mr Corner says, "There can hardly be a doubt that this is the proper restoration." Whereupon Mr Singer observes pathetically—and we quite agree with him—"I pity the man who could for a moment think of displacing the effective and now consecrated word collied. Its obvious ​meaning is darkened, obfuscated; and a more appropriate and expressive word could not have been used."
Act IV. Scene 1.—Othello, when the pretended proofs of Desdemona's guilt are accumulating upon him, and just before he falls into a fit, exclaims, "Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion without some instruction." Johnson thus explains the place, "It is not words which shake me thus. This passion which spreads its clouds over me, is the effect of some agency more than the operation of words: it is one of these notices which men have of unseen calamities." How near does that come to Campbell's fine line,
"And coming events cast their shadows before."
Yet "shadowing" is to be deleted, and shuddering substituted in its room. No, no, thou shadow—but not of Shakespeare—we cannot afford to be mulcted of so much fine poetry.
Scene 2.—We might have called attention more frequently, as we went along, to many instances which prove, what we have now not the smallest doubt of, that these new readings were never at all intended by the MS. corrector to be viewed as restorations of Shakespeare's text; but simply as avowed departures from his language, admitted innovations, which might better suit the tastes, as he thought, of a progenies vitiosior. That they were designed as restitutions of the true Shakespearian dialect is a pure hypothesis on the part of Mr Collier. It receives no countenance whatever from the handiwork of his corrector, whom, therefore, we exculpate from the crime of forgery, although his offences against good taste and common sense remain equally reprehensible. Mr Collier, we conceive, is greatly to blame for having mistaken so completely his protégé's intention. As an instance of a new reading in which the text is merely modernised, and certainly not restored, take the following, where Desdemona, speaking of Othello, says,
"How have I been behaved, that he might stick The small'st opinion on my greatest abuse?"
This is the reading of the quartos. The folios have,
"The small'st opinion on my least misuse."
The latter of which words the corrector changes into misdeed, as more intelligible to the ears of the groundlings subsequent to Shakespeare.
Act V. Scene 2.—Æmilia, after the murder of Desdemona, declares that she will not hold her peace,
"No, I will speak as liberal as the north."
The old quarto reads air. The MS. corrector reads wind. "Why, we may ask," says Mr Collier, "should the old corrector make the change, inasmuch as no reasonable objection may be urged against the use of 'north,' which he deletes, not in favour of 'air' of the quarto 1622, but in favour of wind? We may presume that he altered the word because he had heard the line repeated in that manner on the stage." That is not at all unlikely. Actors sometimes take considerable liberties with the text of their parts, and they probably did so in the time of Shakespeare as well as now. A player might use the north, or the air, or the wind, according as the one or other of these words came most readily to his mouth. But that proves nothing in regard to the authentic text of Shakespeare. For this we must look to his published works in their earliest impressions. We attach little or no importance to the mere players' alterations, even though Mr Collier should be able to prove (what he is not) that many of his corrector's emendations were playhouse variations, for these were much more likely to have had their origin in individual caprice than in any more authoritative source.
Antony and Cleopatra.— Act I. Scene 2.—Before changing the following passage,
"The present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become The opposite of itself,"
we should require better authority than that of the MS. corrector, who reads
"The present pleasure,
By repetition souring, does become The opposite of itself."
This, however, is one of his most specious emendations. But the words, "by revolution lowering," are sufficiently intelligible,—and are indeed ​a very fine poetical expression for the instability of human pleasure.
Scene 3.—Antony says to Cleopatra, who seems to doubt his love,
"My precious queen, forbear,
And give true evidence to his love which stands An honourable trial"—
that is, bear true witness to my love. The MS. corrector changes "evidence" into credence, as better suited to the popular apprehension, though much less pleasing to the discriminating reader. There cannot be a doubt as to which of the words is Shakespeare's.
Scene 5.—"An arm-gaunt steed" has puzzled the commentators. Of all the substitutes proposed, termagant is perhaps the best. Arrogant, suggested by Mr Boaden, and adopted by Mr Singer, is also worthy of consideration. Either of these words harmonises with the character of the animal "who neigh'd so high." Sir T. Hanmer and the old corrector read arm-girt.
Act II. Scene 2.—In the description of Cleopatra in her barge, it is said,
"The silken tackles Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands That yarely frame the office."
Mr Collier says, "we ought undoubtedly, with the old corrector, to amend the text to
'Smell with the touches of the flower-soft hands.' "
Truly there is no accounting for tastes!
Scene 7.—"When Antony," says Mr Collier, "during the debauch, says to Cæsar, 'Be a child o' the time,' Cæsar replies rather unintelligibly,
'Possess it, I'll make answer; but I had rather fast From all, four days, than drink so much in one.'
What does he mean by telling Antony 'to possess it?"' His meaning is quite obvious; he means, Be master of it. "Be a child of the time," says Antony. "Rather be its master, say I," rejoins Cæsar—a sentiment much more likely to come from the lips of the great dictator than the paltry rejoinder which the old corrector puts into his mouth—"Profess it"—that is, profess to be the child of the time.
Act III. Scene 4.—Antony, complaining of Cæsar's unjust treatment, says,
"When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
Or did it from his teeth;"
that is, when the most favourable representations of my conduct were made to him, he heeded them not, or merely put on the appearance of attending to them. The corrector reads, "but looked;" yet, although the folio 1623 has "he not looked," we may be pretty sure that the text, as given above, is the right reading, as it is assuredly the only one which makes sense.
Scene 6.—Cæsar expresses his dissatisfaction with the want of ceremony with which Octavia has been received on her entrance into Rome.
"But you are come A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
The ostentation of our love, which left, unshown,
Is often left unlov'd."
For "left" the corrector reads held, and Mr Singer proposes felt. But if either of these emendations were adopted, we should require to read, "is often felt unloving," and this the measure will not permit. We therefore stand by the old text, the meaning of which we conceive to be—love which is left unshown is often left unreturned. "Wrong led" is better suited to its place than wrongéd, the MS. correction.
Scene 11.—Enobarbus, ridiculing the idea that Cæsar will accept Antony's challenge to meet him in single combat, says,
"That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Cæsar will
Answer his emptiness"—
that is, it is surprising that Antony, who has experienced every measure of fortune, has drunk of her fullest as well as of her emptiest cup, should dream that the full Cæsar will answer his emptiness. Here the words full and emptiness prove to a demonstration that "measure" is the right word; yet the MS. corrector alters it to miseries! Mr Collier remarks, in his supplementary notes, "Still, it may be fit to hesitate before miseries for 'measures' is introduced into the text." We see no ground for a moment's ​hesitation. Miseries is seen at a glance to be altogether unendurable.
In the same scene, somewhat further on, we think that the word deputation ought to take the place of "disputation." This was Warburton's amendment; and the MS. correction coincides with it.
Act IV. Scene 4.—"Antony," says Mr Collier, "enters calling for his armour; 'Mine armour, Eros;' and when the man brings it, Antony is made to say in the old copies, 'Put thine iron on;' but surely it ought to be as a manuscript note gives it, 'Put mine iron on."' Not at all; either word will do; but "thine" is more consonant with ordinary usage. A gentleman asks his butler, not "have you cleaned my plate?" but "have you cleaned your plate?" meaning, my plate of which you have the charge. Eros had the charge of Antony's armour. We agree with the corrector, that the words, "What is this for?" should be given to Cleopatra, who is assisting to buckle on Antony's armour, and not to Antony, to whom they are assigned in the variorum edition 1785. "Bear a storm" (or "hear a storm," the common reading, is a very unnecessary change.
Scene 8.—Gests (gesta, exploits) for "guests" is highly to be commended in the lines where Antony says,
"We have beat him to his camp. Run one before And let the queen know of our gests."
This emendation by the old corrector ought to take its place in the text: and he should get the credit of it, although, as a proposed reading, it may be, as Mr Singer says, already well known.
Scene 9.—Fore sleep instead of "for sleep," is also entitled to very favourable consideration.
Scene 12.— Composed for "disposed," is the text modernised, not restored.
Scene 13.—Cleopatra declares that she will never be led in triumph by Cæsar, as an object of scorn to the proud patrician dames.
"Your wife, Octavia, with her modest eyes,
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me."
How good is that expression "still conclusion"! That lady of yours, looking demurely upon me with her modest eyes, and drawing her quiet inferences, shall acquire more honour from the contrast between my fate with her own. And yet we are called upon by the MS. corrector to give up these pregnant words for the vapid substitution of "still condition!" This, we say, is no fair exchange, but down-right robbery.
When Cleopatra and her women are endeavouring to raise the dying Antony into the monument, the Egyptian queen exclaims,
"Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord."
Johnson's note on this place is remarkable, as an instance of want of judgment in a man whose sagacity was very rarely at fault. He says, "I suppose the meaning of these strange words is, here's trifling; you do not work in earnest." No interpretation could well go wider of the mark than this. Steevens says that she speaks with an "affected levity." It would be truer to say that she speaks from that bitterness of heart which frequently finds a vent for itself in irony. The MS. corrector reads, "Here's port indeed," which Mr Collier explains by saying, "Here Shakespeare appears to have employed port as a substantive to indicate weight." But "it would astonish me, and many more," says Mr Singer, "if Mr Collier should succeed in finding port used for a load or weight in the whole range of English literature." We might add, that even although authority could be found for it, the proposed reading would still be utterly indefensible—
"Here's port (i.e. weight) indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!"
This is as bad as "old Goody Blake was old and poor." Mr Singer proposes, "Here's support indeed," which we can by no means approve of, as it seems to have no sense.
Act V. Scene 2.—Although the text of the following lines is not very satisfactory, we greatly prefer it to the old corrector's amendment. Cleopatra, contemplating suicide, says,
"It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds,
Which shackle accidents, and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung,
The beggar's nurse and Cæsar's."
"Dung" here is probably used contemptuously, and must be taken in a wide sense for food in general. As bread is raised from manure, man, who lives by bread, may be said to feed on manure. The sense probably is—it is great to do the thing (suicide) which causes us to sleep, and never more to taste the produce of the earth, which nourishes alike Cæsar and the beggar. The MS. correction is dug, which was long ago suggested, and which certainly does not mend matters. This new reading affords no extrication of the construction, "which sleeps," which we have ventured to explain as "which lays us asleep, and causes us never more to palate or taste," &c.
Scene 2.—
"A grief that shoots My very heart at root,"
is perhaps judiciously altered into "a grief that smites." The old copies read "suites." This emendation was proposed by the late Mr Barron Field.
Cymbeline.— Act I. Scene 5. "We here encounter," says Mr Collier, "the first MS. emendation of much value." Iachimo has remarked, that the marriage of Posthumus with the king's daughter, from whom, however, he has been divorced, tends to raise Posthumus in the public estimation. "And then his banishment," says the Frenchman. "Ay," adds Iachimo, "and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him;" that is, his banishment, and the approbation of those of his wife's party (this is the meaning of "under her colours"), who weep this lamentable divorce, help to enhance still further the opinion of his merits. The old corrector thus disfigures the passage: "Ay, and the approbations of those that weep this lamentable divorce, and her dolours, are wont wonderfully to extend him." The old corrector's mental vision does not seem to be capable of taking in more than a quarter of an inch of the text at once. He saw that the verb "are" required a plural nominative, hence he reads "approbations." But he might have avoided this barbarism had he extended his optical range, so as to comprehend the word "banishment" in the preceding speech. The two words, "banishment" and "approbation," are surely entitled to be followed by the verb "are."
Of a piece with this is the next. Posthumus is defying Iachimo to make good his boast that he will overcome the chastity of Imogen. He says, "If you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to understand you have prevailed, I am no further your enemy." This is converted into, "if you make good your vauntage upon her," &c. And this is a restitution of the language of Shakespeare!
Scene 7.—When Iachimo is introduced to Imogen he exclaims,
"What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery orbs above said the twinn'd stones Upon the numbered beach; and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious 'Twixt fair and foul?"
In this passage cope has been proposed for "crop," and unnumbered for "numbered," by several of the commentators, and among them by Mr Collier's anonymous corrector. We are of opinion that in neither of the places ought the text to be altered. Cope is a mere repetition of the "vaulted arch," and must, therefore, be set aside as tautological. "Numbered" is more difficult. Let us consider the bearing of the whole speech. It has a sinister reference to Posthumus, the husband of Imogen, the lady in whose presence the speech is uttered. "How can Posthumus," says Iachimo, "with such a wife as this—this Imogen—take up with the vile slut who now holds him in her clutches? Are men mad—with senses so fine that they can distinguish, or separate from each other, the fiery orbs above; and also so acute that they can distinguish between the 'twinned' (or closely resembling) stones which can be counted upon the beach; 'with spectacles'—that is, with eyes—so precious, are they yet unable (as Posthumus seems to be) to make partition 'twixt a fair wife and a foul mistress?" The words, "which can distinguish 'twixt the fiery orbs above and the twinned stones," do ​not mean that we have senses so fine that we can distinguish between stars and stones, but senses so fine that we can count, or distinguish from one another, the stars themselves; and can also perceive a difference in the pebbles on the beach, though these be as like to one another as so many peas. This interpretation brings out clearly the sense of the expression, "numbered beach;" it means the beach on which the pebbles can be numbered; indeed, are numerically separated by us from each other, in spite of their homogeneousness, so delicate is our organ of vision by which they are apprehended; "yet," concludes Iachimo, as the moral of his reflections, "with organs thus discriminating, my friend Posthumus has, nevertheless, gone most lamentably astray." This explanation renders the substitution of unnumbered not only unnecessary, but contradictory. We cannot be too cautious how we tamper with the received text of Shakespeare. Even though a passage may continue unintelligible to us for years, the chances are a hundred to one that the original lection contains a more pregnant meaning than any that we can propose in its place.
Mr Collier is of opinion that the MS. corrector's bo-peeping is preferable to "by-peeping" or "lie peeping." We cannot at all agree with him. "By-peeping" is Shakespeare's phrase, "lie peeping" is Johnson's amendment. Either will do; and an editor ought not to go out of his way to make himself ridiculous. A few lines further on, the substitution of pay for" play" is quite unnecessary, as Mr Collier himself admits in one of his supplementary notes. Neither is contemn any improvement upon "condemn."
Act II. Scene 2.—"Swift, swift," says Iachimo—
"Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! That dawning May bare the raven's eye."
The MS. correction is, "may dare the raven's eye"—i.e., says Collier, may dazzle the eye of the raven. Surely the old commentator must here have been driven to his wits' end. We have little doubt that "the raven's eye" here means the nights eye. "May bare the raven's eye"—that is, may open the eye of darkness, and thus usher in the day. Has not Milton got "smoothing the raven down of darkness till it smiled?" This interpretation must be placed to the credit of Mr Singer (Shakespeare Vindicated, &c., p. 304), although it had occurred previously to ourselves.
Scene 5.—Instead of the line,
"Like a full-acorn'd boar—a German one,"
which is the common reading, the corrector proposes "a foaming one." Mr Singer suggests" a brimeing (i.e., a rutting) one," and this we greatly prefer. Iarmen is the original text—a word without any meaning.
Act III. Scene 4.—The competing versions of the following lines, in which the MS. corrector's is pitted against the original text, have given rise to much controversy and speculation. Mr Halliwell has written an ingenious, and, we believe, an exhaustive pamphlet on this single point. He advocates the old reading. We cannot say that we consider his arguments altogether convincing, or that he has been able to adduce any very ​pat parallelism, placing the point beyond all doubt; but we believe that he has made the most of his case, and that if he has not produced any such evidence, it is because there is none to produce. We agree with Mr Halliwell's conclusion, in so far as it rejects the MS. correction; but we advocate the retention of the original reading, simply because it is the text, and because we know for certain that the old corrector had no authority for his emendation except his own brains, generally addled, and not enjoying, in even this instance, a short interval of comparative lucidity.
The passage is this: Imogen, supposing that her husband Posthumus has been led astray by some Italian courtesan, exclaims indignantly and sarcastically—
"Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him;
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion."
We take it that "mother" here means Italy, and that "painting" means model; so that the gloss on the passage should run thus: Some jay of Italy, to whom Italy (i.e. Italian manners) was the model according to which she shaped her morals and her conduct, hath betrayed him. That this, or something like it, is the meaning, is confirmed by what follows—"Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;" that is, the new fashions, the new-fangled ways, are to be found only in Italy, and doubtless that daughter of Italy—that jay or imitative creature by whom Posthumus is now enslaved—is a considerable proficient in those fashionable and novel methods of conquest. This, we conceive, is nearer the meaning than the ordinary interpretation given by Dr Johnson, which represents this "jay" as "the creature not of nature but of painting." At any rate, if we adopt Johnson's meaning, we must change was into is, and read—"whose mother is her painting."
Again, perhaps the meaning is this: Some jay of Italy,—whose mother, i.e. whose birthplace (the renowned, the fashionable Italy) was her painting—i.e. was the adornment, the attraction, which allured my husband to her arms,—bath betrayed him. This, on second thoughts, we consider the best interpretation. But we allow the other to stand, as a specimen of groping towards the truth.
The MS. corrector's version is—"who smothers her with painting;" but if this had stood in the printer's manuscript, it is exceedingly unlikely that he would have blundered it into the text as we now have it. Moreover, there is a prosaic vulgarity about the expression which smacks much more of the old corrector, and of his notions of what would suit a popular assembly, than of the genius of Shakespeare. We may be certain that there is no allusion to rouge in the passage; and therefore we contend for the retention of the original text, as neither irreconcilable with good sense, nor alien, but rather the reverse, from Shakespeare's occasional modes of expression.
When Imogen says that Posthumus had made her
"Put into contempt the suits Of princely fellows,"
she means, of princely equals. This is undoubted. Posthumus was beneath her in rank; yet, for his sake, she had declined the proposals of suitors as highborn as herself. "Fellows" is modernised into followers. The change of "pretty, and full of view," into privy, yet full of view, is a sensible emendation, yet we hesitate to recommend it for the text. Pisanio tells Imogen that when she disguises herself as a youth she must "change fear and niceness into a waggish courage." The word "fear" here seems to prove that "courage" is the right reading. The MS. correction is "waggish carriage."
Scene 6.—Imogen, disguised, says,
"I see a man's life is a tedious one,
I have tired myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed."
"Tired" should be 'tired—i.e. altered myself like a boy. But this is not a new reading. The word is the same, whether printed tired or 'tired.
Act IV. Scene 1.—Cloten speaking of Imogen, says, "Yet this imperseverant thing (i.e., Imogen) loves him (i.e., Posthumus) in my despight." "Imperseverant" is explained by Messrs Dyce and Arrowsmith to mean undiscerning. The latter, says Mr ​Singer, "has adduced (in Gnats and Queries, vol. vii. p. 400) numerous instances of the use of perseverance for discernment." The MS. substitution of "perverse errant" seems, therefore, to be quite uncalled for.
Scene 2.—Arviragus says that the redbreast will bring flowers—
"Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse."
That is, the corse of Imogen, who is supposed to be dead. "To winter-ground a plant," says Steevens, "is to protect it from the inclemency of the winter season by straw, &c." This is quite satisfactory, and renders the correction winter-guard unnecessary. The change of "so" into lo maybe accepted in the speech of Imogen when she awakens from her trance.
Act V. Scene 1.—The last passage on which the old corrector tries his hand is this. He can make nothing of it, nor can we, nor, so far as we know, can any one else. Posthumus, addressing the gods, says—
"Alack,
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more; you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift."
There is no difficulty with "elder;" it, of course, means, each crime being worse than its predecessor. "And make them dread it," &c.; this may mean—and make them go on inspiring dread, to the profit of the doer; or, as Steevens explains it, "To make them dread it is to make them persevere in the commission of dreadful crimes." This, it must be confessed, is not satisfactory; but we like it quite as well as the MS. emendation. "And make men dread it, to the doer's thrift." But whatever may be the merit of this new reading, the change of "elder" into later is, at any rate, quite uncalled for. Neither can we assent to Mr Singer's amendment of the place, which is—
"You some permit To second ills with ills each alder-worst;
And make them dreaded to the doer's shrift. "
On the whole, it is certainly safest to let the old text stand as it is, until something better can be suggested.
Having now washed our hands as clean as we possibly could of the old MS. corrector, we must, in proceeding to dry them—that is, to sum up—first of all notice whether there be not very small specks of dirt still sticking to them. We are sorry to say that there are several. In our anxiety to do every justice to the old scholiast, and in our determination to redeem to the uttermost the pledge which we came under to him and to our readers—namely, to bring forward everything which told in the remotest way in his favour—we find that we have somewhat overshot the mark; we have fulfilled our obligation in terms too ample; we have been too indulgent to this shadowy sinner, whose very skeleton Apollo and the nine muses are now, no doubt, flaying alive in Hades, if they have not done so long ago. In a word, we have something to retract: not, however, anything that has been said against him, but one or two small things that have been said for him. And, therefore, as we are not altogether a character like old Kirkaldy of Grange, whom the chronicles describe as "ane stoute man, and always ready to defend at the point of the sword whatever he had said," we may as well eat in our leek at once, without more ado.
We speak at present only of those readings (and fortunately they are very small and very few) which we countenanced or recommended for the text on the authority of the old MS. corrector. In most cases, any mere favourable opinion which we may have expressed of some of the new readings we shall allow to stand, for such opinions are unchanged, and the expression of them was very far from being a recommendation of these readings for the text. It is only the text which we are now solicitous about; and, therefore, insignificant as the sentiments of any humble reviewer may be, still, for the credit of the periodical in which he writes, and also lest the text of Shakespeare should run any risk of being compromised at his hands, it is his duty to retract his opinions to whatever extent he may feel that they have been rather inconsiderately advanced.
We approved, in the first instance, of "get" for let, (Blackwood's Magazine, Aug., p. 188); that approbation we ​retract. "Portent-like," the common reading, is better than either potent like or potently, (Blackwood's Magazine, p. 195). "Sheer ale," and not shire ale, (Blackwood's Magazine, p. 198), should hold the text. Katherine's answer to Petruchio (Blackwood's Magazine, p. 199) is all right and ought not to be changed. "Supplications in the quill" ought to keep its place in the text against Mr Singer's in the coil, (Blackwood's Magazine, September, p. 315). "In the quill," simply means in writing, as Steevens long ago told us. We observe nothing more that we feel called upon to retract.
This deduction leaves, as nearly as we can count them, thirty new readings at the credit of the old corrector. We believe that the whole of these might be placed in the text without the risk of damaging it in any very perceptible degree; a few of them would improve it: indeed, some of the best of them were introduced into it long ago, while others have been suggested independently of the old corrector. So that his contributions to the improvement of Shakespeare are, after all, not very considerable. The only two really valuable and original emendations which he has proposed seem to us to be—these welling heavens, for "the swelling heavens," (Blackwood's Magazine, p. 310), and thirst complaint, for "first complaint," (Blackwood's Magazine, p. 321.)
This, then, is all that we obtain after winnowing this old savage's "elements of criticism:" two respectable emendations out of twenty thousand (for at that figure Mr Collier calculates them) blundering attempts, all of which, except these two and a very few others, hit the nail straight upon the point, instead of right upon the head. One thing we at any rate now know, that the conjectural criticism of England must have been at its lowest possible ebb during the seventeenth century, if this nameless old Aristarchus is to be looked upon as its representative, or was president of the Royal Society of Literature.
The concluding question is,—What rank is this scholiast entitled to hold among the commentators, great and small, on Shakespeare? And the answer is, that he is not entitled to hold any rank at all among them. He cannot be placed, even at a long interval, behind the very worst of them. He is blown and thrown out of the course before he reaches the distance-post. He is disqualified not only by his incompetency, but by his virtually avowed determination not to restore to Shakespeare his original language, but to take away from Shakespeare his original language, and to substitute his own crudities in the place of it. We are as certain that this was his intention and his practice, as if we had been told so by himself. That he was an early scholiast is certain. It is also in the highest degree probable—indeed, undoubted, as Mr Knight has suggested—that he was in his prime (his prime!) during the Commonwealth, when the Puritans had the ascendancy, and the theatres were closed. That he had been a hanger-on of the theatres in bygone days, and that he hoped to be a hanger-on of them again, is also pretty clear. So there he sat during the slack time polishing away at Shakespeare, "nursing his wrath to keep it warm" biding his time till Charlie should come over the water again, and theatricals revive. We can have some sympathy with that, but none with the occupation in which he was engaged—paring and pruning the darling of the universe—shaving and trimming him; taming down the great bard in such a way as to make him more acceptable to the tastes, as he thought, of a more refined, if not a more virtuous generation. For this kind of work we have no toleration. This critic was evidently the first of that school of modernisers of the text of Shakespeare which, commencing with him, culminated and fell in Davenant and Dryden, never more, it is to be hoped, to rise.
With regard to Mr Collier we shall just remark, that although he has obviously committed a mistake ("to err is human," &c.) in attaching any value to these new readings, and has plainly been imposed upon in thinking them restorations of Shakespeare, still his mistake is not irretrievable, and ought not to make the public forgetful of the antecedent services which he has rendered to our genuine Shakesperian literature. His ​learning is undoubted; and his judgment, if not very acute, is sound, if he will but allow it fair play, and obey its behests as faithfully as he formerly did, when he adhered with the tenacity of a man of sense to the authorised and undoubted text. This now appears to us, and, we should imagine, to every one else who has attended to the new readings, as greatly less corrupt than, on a slighter inspection, we have been in the habit of supposing. We can only answer for ourselves; but this we can say, that the ineffectual operations of the old MS. corrector have opened our eyes to a depth of purity and correctness in the received text of Shakespeare, of which we had formerly no suspicion; and that is the true good which the proceedings of this old bungler have effected—they have settled for ever the question as to the purity and trustworthiness of the ordinary editions of Shakespeare. We now believe that the text of no author in the world is so immaculate as that of our great national poet, or stands in less need of emendation, or departs so little from the words of its original composer. Mr Collier, too, thought so once—let him think so again, and his authority will instantly recover: this transient cloud will pass away.
In regard to his edition of Shakespeare, which, we believe, is by this time published with the MS. corrector's perversions inserted in the text, that is now a blunder past all mending. We can only say this of it, that effectual precautions having been now taken by others, and by us, to prevent this publication from ever becoming the standard edition of Shakespeare, we do not grudge it any amount of success which may fall to its share. We are rather desirous to promote its interests, knowing that it can now do no harm, and will not speedily come to a reprint. Even now it must be a very singular book. Hereafter it will be an exceedingly remarkable book—one entitled to take high rank among the morbid curiosities of literature, and to stand on the same shelf—fit companion—with Bentley's edition of Milton. The serious truth is, that no Shakesperian collection can be complete without it. Every Shakesperian collector ought, beyond a doubt, to provide himself with a copy. People who intend to be satisfied with only one Shakespeare, ought certainly not to take up with this edition; but those who can indulge themselves with several copies, ought unquestionably to purchase it. We say this in all seriousness and gravity, notwithstanding the riddling which we have thought it incumbent on us to inflict on the old MS. corrector.
* ↑ Vide Alte handschriftliche Emendationen zum Shakespeare—P. 93.
* ↑ The attempts made by a judicious foreigner to amend the text of our great dramatist are interesting, and deserve notice, even though not altogether successful. Herr Delius proposes thereby; but we must give the whole passage. The false Iachimo, endeavouring to bring Posthumus into discredit with Imogen, says, "Had I such a wife, I certainly would not do as Posthumus does, "Join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as With labour), then by peeping in an eye, Base and illustrious as the smoky light That's fed with stinky tallow." "Then by" is the original text, but it is ungrammatical. "then by" Dr Delius proposes to read thereby (dabei, unterdess—that is, besides, meanwhile). But this attempt, though creditable, is not successful. Thereby, as here used, is very nearly, but it is not quite an English idiom, and was certainly not Shakespeare's word.