The Philosophy of the Plays of Shakspere Unfolded Part 53

_So_, till _the_ JUDGMENT that YOURSELF _arise_ [_till_ then], You live in _this_, and dwell in _lovers_' eyes.'

See the pa.s.sages at the commencement of this chapter, if there be any doubt as to this reading.

'In lover's _eyes_.'

_Leonatus Posthumus_. Shall's have a Play of _this_? Thou scornful Page, There lie _thy part_. [To _Imogen_ disguised as _Fidele_.]

The consideration which qualified, in the mind of the Author of the Advancement of Learning, the great difficulty which the question of civil government presented at that time, is the key to this 'plot.'

For men, and not 'Romans' only, 'are like sheep;' and if you can but get some _few_ to go right, the _rest will follow_. That was the plan.

To create a better leaders.h.i.+p of men,--to form a new order and union of men,--a new n.o.bility of men, acquainted with the doctrine of their own nature, and in league for its advancement, to seize _the 'thoughts_' of those whose law is the law of the larger activity, and '_inform_ them with n.o.bleness,'--was the plan.

For these the inner school was opened; for these its ascending platforms were erected. For these that 'closet' and 'cabinet,' where the 'simples' of the Shake-spear philosophy are all locked and labelled, was built. For these that secret 'cabinet of the Muses,'

where the Delphic motto is cut anew, throws out its secret lures,--its gay, many-coloured, deceiving lures,--its secret labyrinthine clues,--for all lines in this building meet in that centre. All clues here unwind to that. For these--for the minds on whom the continuation of this enterprise was by will devolved, the key to that cabinet--the historical key to its inmost compartment of philosophic mysteries, was carefully laboured and left,--pointed to--pointed to with immortal gesticulations, and left ('What I cannot speak, I point out with my finger'); the key to that '_Verulamian_ cabinet,' which we shall hear of when the _fict.i.tious_ correspondence in which the more secret history of this time was written, comes to be opened. That cabinet where the subtle argument that was inserted in the Poem or the Play, but buried there in its gorgeous drapery, is laid bare in prose as subtle ('I here scatter it up and down indifferently for verse'); where the new truth that was spoken in jest, as well as in parables, to those who were without, is unfolded,--that truth which moved unseen amid the gambols of the masque,--preferring to raise questions rather than _objections_,--which stalked in, without suspicion, in 'the hobby-horse' of the clown,--which the laugh of the groundlings was so often in requisition to cover,--that 'to _beguile_ the time looked _like the time_,'--that 'looked like _the flower_, and _was_ the serpent under it.'

For these that secret place of confidential communication was provided, where 'the argument' of all these Plays is opened without respect to the 'offence in it,'--to its utmost reach of abstruseness and subtlety--in its utmost reach of departure from 'the road of common opinion,'--where the Elizabethan secrets of Morality, and Policy and Religion, which made the Parables of the New Doctrine, are unrolled, at last, in all the new, artistic glories of that 'wrapped up' intention. This is the second use of the Fable in which we resume that dropped argument,--dropped for that time, while Caesar still commanded his thirty legions; and when the question, 'How long to philosophise?' being started in the schools again, the answer returned still was, 'Until our armies cease to be commanded by fools.' This is that second use of the Fable where we find the moral of it at last,--that moral which our moralists have missed in it,--that moral which is not 'vulgar and common-place,' but abstruse, and out of the road of common opinion,--that moral in which the Moral Science, which is _the Wisdom of the Moderns_, lurks.

It is to these that the Wise Man of our ages speaks (for we have him,--we do not wait for him), in the act of displaying a little, and folding up for the future, his plan of a Scientific Human Culture; it is to these that he speaks when he says, with a little of that obscurity which 'he mortally hates, and would avoid if he could': 'As Philocrates sported with Demosthenes,' you may not marvel, Athenians, that Demosthenes and I do differ, for _he_ drinketh water, and _I_ drink wine; and like as we read of an ancient parable of the two gates of sleep '... so if we put on _sobriety_ and _attention_, we shall find it _a sure maxim in knowledge_, that the pleasant liquor of wine is the more vaporous, and the braver gate of ivory sendeth forth the falser dreams.' ['_I_,' says 'Michael,' who is also in favour of 'sobriety,' and critical upon excesses of all kinds, '_I_ have ever observed, that _super_-celestial theories and _sub_-terranean _manners_ are in singular accordance.']

And in his general proposal to lay open 'those parts of learning which lie fresh and waste, and not improved and converted by the industry of man, to the end that such _a plot_, made and committed to memory, may both minister light to any public designation, and also serve to excite _voluntary_ endeavours,' he says, 'I do foresee that of those things which I shall enter and register as deficiencies and omissions, many will conceive and censure that some of them are already done, and extant, _others to be but curiosities_ and things of no _great use_'

[such as the question of style, for instance, and those 'particular'

arts of tradition to which this remark is afterwards applied]--and others to be of too great difficulty--and almost impossibility--to be compa.s.sed and effected; but for _the two first, I refer myself to particulars_; for the last,--touching impossibility,--I take it those things are to be held possible, which may be done by _some person_, though not _by every one_; and which may be done by _many_, though not by _any_ one; and which may be done in succession of ages, though _not_ within the hour-gla.s.s of one man's life; and which may be done by _public designation_, though not by private endeavour.

That was 'the plot'--that was the plan of the Elizabethan Innovation.

THE ENIGMA OF LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.

'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be _fortunate_, and flourish in peace and plenty.'

THE VERULAMIAN CABINET, AND ITS WORKMANs.h.i.+P.

Here, for instance, is a specimen of the manner in which scholars who write about these times, allude to the reserved parts of this philosophy, and to those 'richer and bolder meanings,' which could not then be inserted in the acknowledged writings of so great a person.

This is a specimen of the manner in which a posthumous collection and reintegration of this philosophy, and a posthumous emanc.i.p.ation of it, is referred to, by scholars who write from the Continent somewhere about these days. Whether the date of the writing be a little earlier or a little later,--some fifty years or so,--it does not seem to make much difference as to the general intent and purport of it.

Here is a scholar, for instance, whose main idea of life on this planet it appears to be, to collect the philosophy, and protect the posthumous fame of the Lord Bacon. For this purpose, he has established a literary intimacy, quite the most remarkable one on record--at least, between scholars of different and remote nationalities--between himself and two English gentlemen, a Mr. Smith, and the Rev. Dr. Rawley. He writes from _the Hague_ but he appears to have acquired in some way a most extraordinary insight into this business.

'Though I thought that I had already _sufficiently showed_ what veneration I had for the ill.u.s.trious Lord Verulam, yet I shall take such care for _the future_, that it may not possibly be denied, that I endeavoured most zealously to make this thing known to _the learned world_. But neither shall this design of setting forth _in one volume all the Lord Bacon's works, proceed without consulting you_'--[This letter is addressed to the Rev. Dr. _Rawley_, and is dated a number of years after Lord Bacon's death]--'without consulting you, and without inviting _you_ to cast in _your symbol_, worthy such an excellent edition: that so the _appet.i.te_ of the reader'--[It was a time when symbols of various kinds--large and small--were much in use in the learned world]--'that so the _appet.i.te_ of the reader, provoked already by his _published_ works, may be further gratified _by the pure novelty of so considerable an appendage_.

'For the _French interpreter_, who patched together his things I know not whence, and tacked that motley piece to him; they shall not have place in this great collection. But _yet_ I hope to obtain your leave to publish a-part, as _an appendix_ to _the Natural History_,--_that exotic work_,--_gathered together_ from _this and the other place_ (_of his lords.h.i.+p's writings_), [that is the true account of it] and by me translated into--_Latin_.

'For seeing the genuine pieces of the Lord Bacon are already extant, and in many hands, it is necessary that _the foreign reader_ be given to understand _of what threads the texture of that book consists_, and how much of truth there is in that which that shameless person does, in his preface to the reader, so stupidly write of you.

'My brother, of blessed memory, turned his words _into Latin_, in the First Edition of the Natural History, having some suspicion of the fidelity of an unknown author. I will, in the Second Edition, repeat them, and with just severity animadvert upon them: that they, into whose hands that work comes, may know it to be rather patched up of many distinct pieces; how much soever the author _bears himself upon the specious t.i.tle of Verulam. Unless, perhaps_, I should particularly suggest _in your name_, that these words were _there inserted_, by way of _caution_; and lest malignity and rashness should any way blemish the fame of so eminent a person.

'If my fate would permit me to live according to my wishes, I would fly over into England, that I might behold whatsoever remaineth in your Cabinet of the Verulamian workmans.h.i.+p, and at least make my eyes witnesses of it, if the possession of the merchandise be yet denied to the public. At present I will support the wishes of my impatient desire, _with hope of seeing, one day, those_ (_issues_) which _being committed to faithful privacy, wait the time till they may safely see the light_, and not be _stifled_ in their birth.

'I wish, _in the mean time_, I could have a sight of the copy of the Epistle to Sir Henry Savil, concerning the Helps of the Intellectual Powers: for I am persuaded, as to the _other Latin_ remains, that I shall not obtain,_for present use_, the removal of _them_ from the place in which they now are.'

Extract of a letter from Mr. Isaac Gruter. Here is the beginning of it:--

'TO THE REV. WM. RAWLEY, D.D.

'Isaac Gruter wisheth much health.

'Reverend Sir,--It is not just to complain of the slowness of your answer, seeing that _the difficulty of the pa.s.sage_, in the season in which you wrote, _which was towards winter_, might _easily_ cause it to come _no faster_; seeing _likewise_ there is so much to be found in it which may gratify desire, and _perhaps so much the more, the longer it was ere it came to my hands_. And although I had little to send back, besides my thanks for _the little Index_, yet _that seemed to me of such moment_ that I would no longer _suppress_ them: especially because I accounted it a crime to have suffered _Mr. Smith_ to have been without an answer: Mr. Smith, my most kind friend, and to whose care, in my matters, I owe _all regard_ and affection, yet without diminution of that (part and that no small one neither) in which Dr.

Rawley hath place. So that the souls of us three, so throughly agreeing, may be aptly said to have united in a _triga_.'

It is not necessary, of course, to deny the historical claims of the Rev. Dr. Rawley, who is sufficiently authenticated; or even of Mr.

Smith himself, who would no doubt be able to substantiate himself, in case a particular inquiry were made for him; and it would involve a serious departure from the method of invention usually employed in this a.s.sociation, which did not deal with shadows when contemporary instrumentalities were in requisition, if the solidarity of Mr. Isaac Gruter himself should admit of a moment's question. The precautions of this secret, but so powerful league,--the skill with which its instrumentalities were selected and adapted to its ends, is characterised by that same matchless dramatic power, which betrays 'the source from which it springs' even when it 'only plays at working.'

But if any one is anxious to know who the _third person_ of this triga really was, or is, a glance at the Directory would enable such a one to arrive at a truer conclusion than the first reading of this letter would naturally suggest. For this is none other than the person whom the principle of this triga, and its enlightened sentiment and bond of union, already _symbolically_ comprehended, whom it was intended to comprehend ultimately in all the multiplicity and variety of his historical manifestations, though it involved a deliberate plan for reducing and suppressing his many-headedness, and restoring him to the use of his one only mind. For though the name of this person is often spelt in three letters, and oftener in one, it takes all the names in the Directory to spell it in full. For this is none other than the person that '_Michael_' refers to so often and with so much emphasis, glancing always at his own private name, and the singular largeness and comprehensiveness of his particular and private const.i.tution. 'All the world knows me in my book, and my book in me.' '_I_, the first of any, by my universal being. Every man carries with him the entire form of human condition.'

But the name of Mr. _Isaac Gruter_ was not less comprehensive, and could be made to represent the whole _triga_ in an emergency, as well as another; ['I take so great pleasure in being judged and known that it is almost indifferent to me in _which of the two forms_ I am so']

though that does not hinder him from inviting Dr. Eawley to cast in _his symbol_, which was 'so _considerable an appendage_.' For though the very smallest circle sometimes represents it, it was none other than the symbol that gave name to the theatre in which the ill.u.s.trated works of this school were first exhibited; the theatre which hung out for its sign on the outer wall, 'Hercules and his load too.' At a time when 'conceits' and 'devices in letters,' when anagrams and monograms, and charades, and all kinds of 'racking of orthography' were so much in use, not as curiosities merely, but to avoid another kind of 'racking,' a cipher referred to in this philosophy as the 'wheel cipher,' which required the letters of the alphabet to be written in a circle to serve as a key to the reading, supplies a clue to some of these symbols. _The first three letters_ of the alphabet representing the whole _in_ the circle, formed a character or symbol which was often made to stand as a 'token' for a proper name, easily spelt in that way, when phonography and anagrams were in such lively and constant use,--while it made, at the same time, a symbolical representation of the radical doctrine of the new school in philosophy,--a school then _so_ new, that its 'Doctors' were compelled to 'pray in the aid of simile,' even in affixing their names to their own works, in some cases. And that same letter which was capable of representing in this secret language either the _microcosm_, or 'the larger whole,' as the case required (either with, or without the _eye_ or _I_ in it, sending rays to the circ.u.mference) sufficed also to spell the name of the Grand Master of this lodge,--'who also was a _man_, take him for _all in all_,'--the man who took two hemispheres for '_his symbol_.' That was the so considerable appendage which his friend alludes to,--though 'the natural gaiety of disposition,' of which we have so much experience in other places, and which the gravity of these pursuits happily does not cloud, suggests a glance in pa.s.sing at another signification, which we find alluded to also in another place in Mrs. Quickly's '_Latin_.' Mere frivolities as these conceits and private and retired arts seem now, the Author of the Advancement of Learning tells us, that to those who have spent their labours and studies in them, they seem great matters, referring particularly to that cipher in which it is possible to write _omnia per omnia_, and stopping to fasten the key of it to his 'index' of 'the princ.i.p.al and supreme sciences,'--those sciences 'which being committed to _faithful_ privacy, wait the time when they may safely see the light, and not be stifled in their birth.'

New constructions, according to true definitions, was _the plan_,--this _triga_ was the initiative.

CHAPTER XII.

THE IGNORANT ELECTION REVOKED.--A WRESTLING INSTANCE.

'For as they were men of the best composition in the state of Rome, which, either being consuls, _inclined to the people_' ['If he would but _incline to the people_, there never was a worthier man'], 'or being tribunes, inclined to the senate, so, in the matter which we handle now [doctrine of _Cure_], they be the best physicians which, being learned, incline to the traditions of experience; or, being empirics, incline to the methods of learning.'

_Advancement of Learning._

But while the Man of Science was yet planning these vast scientific changes--vast, but noiseless and beautiful as the movements of G.o.d in nature--there was another kind of revolution brewing. All that time there was a cloud on his political horizon--'a huge one, a black one'--slowly and steadfastly acc.u.mulating, and rolling up from it, which he had always an eye on. He knew there was that in it which no scientific apparatus that could be put in operation then, on so short a notice, and when science was so feebly aided, would be able to divert or conduct entirely. He knew that so fearful a war-cloud would have to burst, and get overblown, before any chance for those peace operations, those operations of a solid and lasting peace, which he was bent on, could be had--before any s.p.a.ce on the earth could be found broad enough for his Novum Organum to get to work on, before the central levers of it could begin to stir.

That revolution which 'was singing in the wind' then to his ear, was one which would have to come first in the chronological order; but it was easy enough to see that it was not going to be such a one, in all respects, as a man of his turn of genius would care to be out in with his works.

He knew well enough what there was in it. He had not been so long in such sharp daily collision with the elements of it--he had not been so long trying conclusions with them under such delicate conditions, conditions requiring so nice an observation--without arriving at some degree of a.s.surance in regard to their main properties, without attaining, indeed, to what he calls _knowledge_ on that subject--knowledge as distinguished from opinion--so as to be able to predict 'with a near aim' the results of the possible combinations.

The conclusion of this observation was, that the revolutionary movements then at hand were _not_, on the whole, likely to be conducted throughout on rigidly scientific principles.

The spectacle of a people violently '_revoking_ their _ignorant election_,' and empirically seeking to better their state under such leaders as such a movement was likely to throw up, and that, too, when the _old_ military government was still so strong in moral forces, so sure of a faction in the state--of a faction of the best, which would cleave the state to the centre, which would resist with the zealot's fire unto blood and desperation the _unholy_ innovation--that would stand on the last plank of the wrecked order, and wade through seas of slaughter to restore it; the prospect of untried political innovation, under such circ.u.mstances, did _not_ present itself to this Poet's imagination in a form so absolutely alluring, as it might have done to a philosopher of a less rigidly _inductive_, turn of mind.

His canvas, with its magic draught of the coming event, includes already some contingencies which the programme of the theoretical speculator in revolutions would have been far enough from including _then_, when such movements were yet untried in modern history, and the philosopher had to go back to mythical Rome to borrow an historical frame of one that would contain his piece. The conviction that the crash was, perhaps, inevitable, that the overthrow of the existing usurpation, and the restoration of the English subject to his rights,--a movement then already determined on,--would perhaps involve these so tragic consequences--the conviction that the revolution was at hand, was the conviction with which he made his arrangements for the future.

But if any one would like to see now for himself what vigorous grasp of particulars this inductive science of state involves, what a clear, comprehensive, and masterly basis of history it rests on, and how totally unlike the philosophy of prenotions it is in this respect--if one would see what breadth of revolutionary surges this Artist of the peace principles was able to span with his arches and sleepers, what upheavings from the then unsounded depths of political contingencies, what upliftings from the last depths of the revolutionary abysses, this science of _stability_, this science of the future STATE, is settled on,--such a one must explore this work yet further, and be able to find and unroll in it that revolutionary picture which it contains--that scientific exhibition which the Elizabethan statesman has contrived to fold in it of a state in which the elements are already cleaving and separating, one in which the historical solidities are already in solution, or struggling towards it--prematurely, perhaps, and in danger of being surprised and overtaken by new combinations, not less oppressive and unscientific than the old.

'Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, Hang up philosophy'--

wrote this Poet's fire of old.

'Canst thou not minister to a _mind_ diseased?'

it writes again. No?

'Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.'