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Queen read like fulsome flattery, but women of lesser rank received the same homage of exaggerated and high-flown tribute. This splendor of bearing, often forced and unnatural, marked the endeavor of the age to live on a level with the greatness of life as it was brought home to the imagination by heroic and romantic achievements. When she had become a wrinkled old woman, the Queen was discovered practicing a new dance-step in the solitude of her closet!

The plot of "Love Labor's Lost" is slight and of minor importance; its sources have not been discovered; the play lives in its dialogue and satire. The influence of Lyly is apparent not only in the extravagance and fastidiousness of speech which are satirized with ready skill, but in the give and take of the conversation and the quickness of repartee which first appeared in the English drama in Lyly's court plays.

In this comedy of manners Shakespeare makes admirable sport of the high-flown speech of the time, touching with a light but sure hand its ambitious pedantry in Holofernes, the fantastic excesses of the latest fashion in learning in Armado, and the perils of Euphuism, as he recognized them in his own art, in Biron, who probably speaks the poet's mind when he puts by forever

Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical.

The youthfulness of the writer of the play is shown by the great preponderance of lines that rhyme, and by its marked lyrical character, which stamps it as the work of a brilliant poet rather than of an experienced dramatist. Three sonnets and a song are introduced, not because they are necessary parts of the drama, but because they are the natural forms of expression for a young poet; and Mr. Pater has called attention to the fact that the opening speech on the immortality of fame, spoken by the King, and the more striking passages spoken by Biron, have "something of the monumental style of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and are not without their conceits of thought and expression." The stock figures with which the stage was familiar are prominent in the play; the chief actors are sketched with a free hand rather than carefully drawn and

strongly individualized after the poet's later manner; and the play contains several characters which, in the light of later plays, are seen to be first studies of some of the most notable portraits of riper years. The note of youthfulness is distinct also in the extravagance of speech which runs through it, and which was not only satirical but full of attractiveness for the poet. Indeed, the comedy may be regarded as an attempt on the poet's part to free himself from artistic peril by giving his mind, on its dexterous side, full play. The early ripening of artistic instinct into artistic knowledge is evidenced by the discernment of the danger and the welldevised remedy. Biron interprets the young poet's self-consciousness as an artist clearly and decisively; he shows us Shakespeare's insight into the methods. and means of securing the freest expression of his thought, and his deliberate selection of right approaches to his art and his deliberate rejection of the most seductive errors of his time. In this comedy his mind was at play; its natural agility, alertness, keenness, love of paradox, delight in the dexterous handling of words, were allowed full scope, and the disease of his time came fully to the surface and never again seriously attacked him. With his magical quickness of mental action and command of language, he might have succumbed to the temptation to be a marvelously keen and adroit manipulator of words instead of a great creative artist; he might easily have been a fastidious writer for experts in the bizarre, the curious, and the esoteric in style, instead of becoming the full-voiced, large-minded, deep-hearted poet of humanity. This peril he escaped by discerning it and, in the very act of satirizing it, giving his mind opportunity to indulge a passion which all men of artistic feeling shared. The play dealt more freely with contemporaneous events and was more deeply imbedded in contemporary conditions than any other of his dramas; for this reason it became very popular with Elizabethan audiences, but is the least interesting of Shakespeare's works to modern readers. There is in it a preponderance of the local and a minimum of the universal elements.

But Shakespeare could not satirize the extravagances and follies of his time without

Thomas Nashe.

AN ELIZABETHAN DRAMATIST AND CONTEMPORARY OF SHAKESPEARE
From an early pen drawing.

suggesting the larger view of life which
was always in his thought; he could not
touch the smallest detail of manners with-
out bringing the man into view. In this
early and sportive work, with its incessant
and often metallic fence of words, the
young poet disclosed his resolute grasp of
the realities of life as opposed to passing
theories and individual experiments. The
artificial asceticism to which the King com-
mits himself and his court, with its fasts,
vigils, studies, and exclusion of women,
is a gay but futile attempt to interfere
with normal human emotions, needs, and
habits; it breaks down under the first
strain to which it is subjected, and is
driven out of beclouded minds with the
gayest of womanly laughter and the keen-
est of womanly wit. The satire of the
play assails false ideas of the place of
knowledge, false uses of speech, and false
conceptions of life; it discloses the mind
of the poet already at work on the problem
which engaged him during the whole of
his productive life, and in the working out

of which all the plays are involved: the problem of the right relation of the individual to the moral order, to the family, and to the State. The breadth of view and sanity of temper which are at once the most striking characteristics of Shakespeare's mind and the secret of the reality and range of his art find in "Love's Labor's Lost" their earliest illustration. And in this play are to be found also the earliest examples of his free and expressive character-drawing; for Biron and Rosaline are preliminary studies for Benedict and Beatrice; the play of wit throughout the drama predicts "Much Ado About Nothing;" the love-making of Armado and Jaquenetta is the earliest example of

By the courtesy of Messrs. Harper & Brothers, The Outlook is able to present to its readers a very characteristic and charming picture by Mr. Edwin A. Abbey, illustrative of "Love's Labor's Lost," taken from Mr. Abbey's "Comedies of William Shakespeare." Mr. Abbey is one of the little group of American artists abroad who have attained the highest distinction; with Mr. Whistler and Mr. Sargent, he has had the most coveted forms of recognition. His illustrations of the Shakespearean comedies are notable for careful study of the dress of the period, for very intelligent reading of the Shakespearean text, and for delightful quality of humor.-THE EDITORS.

a by-play of comedy which reaches perfection in " As You Like It." As a piece of apprentice work "Love's Labor's Lost" is quite invaluable; so clearly does it reveal the early processes of the poet's mind and his first selection of themes, motives, human interests, and artistic methods.

"The Comedy of Errors" belongs to this period of tentative work, and is interesting as showing Shakespeare's familiarity with the traditional form of comedy and as marking the point of his departure from it. It was first published in the Folio of 1623, but it was presented as early as the Christmas season of 1594, in the hall of Gray's Inn, and its production was accompanied by considerable disorder in the audience, which must have been composed chiefly of benchers and their guests. This disturbance is mentioned by a chronicler in the same year in these words: "After much sport, a Comedy of Errors was played by the players; so that night began and continued to the end, in nothing but confusion and errors; whereupon it was ever afterwards called the 'Night of Errors.'" The main, although not the only, source of the plot was the Menæchmi of Plautus, in which the Latin comedian develops the almost unlimited possibility of blunders which lies in mistakes of identity-then as now a popular device with playwrights and story-tellers. Shakespeare may have read the comedy in the original, or in a translation by William Warner, which was not published until the year following the presentation of the "Comedy of Errors," but which was probably in existence in manuscript much earlier. In this form many pieces of prose and verse which later became famous were passed from hand to hand; writing was practiced chiefly for the pleasure of the writer and his friends, and publication was secondary, and usually an afterthought.

In turning to Plautus, Shakespeare paid tribute to the classical tradition which dominated Italy and was never without witnesses in England; a tradition which cannot be disregarded without serious loss of artistic education, nor accepted without sacrifice of original power. When ever the classical tradition has secured complete possession of the stage, a new and vital drama has been impossible;

whenever it has been entirely discarded, unregulated individualism has degenerated into all manner of eccentricities of plot and form. With characteristic insight. Shakespeare escaped both dangers; he knew the classical manner, and was not unresponsive to its order, balance, and genius for proportion, but he refused to be enslaved or hampered by it. English tragedy had secured complete freedom, and was fast becoming the richest and most adequate cxpression of the English genius; English comedy had been fighting the same battle, and "The Comedy of Errors" marks the decisive triumph of the national genius. In this play Shakespeare conformed to the ancient requirements that the action should take place in a single day and within the limits of a single locality-the time-honored unities; but he changed the classical into the romantic spirit by the introduction of greater complexity of characters and therefore of greater perplexity of plot, and by the infusion of a vein of pathos which is alien to the Latin comedy.

The ease with which the difficult plot is handled shows that Shakespeare had already gone far in his education as a playwright. A comparison with Plautus's play brings out his essential and fundamental cleanness of imagination. He was a man of his time, and his time was incredibly frank and coarse of speech; but whenever he could escape into a purer speech he rarely lost the opportunity. The coarseness and occasional obscenity in his work were the dust of the road along which he traveled; among the men of his age and vocation he was singularly refined in taste and clean in speech. His moral sanity is one of Shakespeare's most characteristic qualities; he is ethically sound throughout the entire body of his work. His insight holds him true at all points to the inexorable play of law. offends the taste of a more fastidious age, but he is far more wholesome than many modern writers of irreproachable vocabulary. On this whole matter Coleridge has spoken the final word:

He

"Shakespeare has no innocent adulteries, no interesting incests, no virtuous vice; he never renders that amiable which religion and reason alike teach us to detest, or clothes impurity in the garb of virtue like Beaumont and Fletcher, the Kotze

point of departure are discovered. The play seems to have been derived mainly from the Portuguese novelist and poet Montemayor, whose "Story of the Shepherdess Filismena" was well known in English through various translations of the pastoral romance of which it was part, and is reminiscent of the plays based chiefly on Italian love-stories which were popular before Shakespeare's time. This comedy of love and friendship, conceived in romantic spirit, is slight and ineffective in construction, but full of beauty in detail. It is the work of a poet who was not yet a dramatist. There are lines in it which predict the magical verses of the later plays; Julia and Lucetta are hasty, preliminary studies of Portia and Nerissa; while Launce and Speed are the forerunners of a long succession of serving-men whose conceits, drolleries, whims, and farfetched similes place them among the most original of the poet's creations.

bues of the day. Shakespeare's fathers are roused by ingratitude, his husbands stung by unfaithfulness; in him, in short, the affections are wounded in those points in which all may, nay, must, feel. Let the morality of Shakespeare be contrasted with that of the writers of his own or of the succceding age, or of those of the present day who boast of their superiority in this respect. No one can dispute that the result of such a comparison is altogether in favor of Shakespeare; even the letters of women of high rank in his age were often coarser than his own writings. If he occasionally disgusts a keen sense of delicacy, he never injures the mind; he neither excites nor flatters passion, in order to degrade the subject of it; he does not use the faulty thing for a faulty purpose, nor carry on warfare against virtue, by causing wickedness to appear as no wickedness, through the medium of a morbid sympathy with the unfortunate. In Shakespeare vice never walks as in twilight; nothing is purposely out of its place; he inverts not the order of nature and propriety-does not make every magistrate a drunkard or a glutton, nor every poor man meek, humane, and temperate." In "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" another tie with the past and another of growth in the dramas of a later period.

Shakespeare's apprentice work, even when it was limited to adaptation or recasting of existing materials, is clearly discriminated from his more mature work both by its structure and its style; but it is tentative rather than imitative, and full of germs which were to find perfection

The Other Day

By Clarence Hawkes

The other day we played upon the lea
Where 'neath the grass a nimble river ran;
But now I hear the murmur of the sea,

And we are turning home as we began.
The other day we dreamed of things afar,
But now we hear the breakers on the bar.

The other day we grew to manhood's strength;
Its hours were long and full of anxious care,
But then we toiled and gloried in their length,

And laughed at wrinkles and at silver hair,—
When we were young, with strength to toil and plan.
But, oh, my friend, how swift the river ran!

Now, bowed by years, we stand beside the gate;
The golden hours have passed by, one by one.

In youth, alas! for time we could not wait,
But now in truth our little day is done.
The other day life was an endless span,
But, oh, my friend, how swift the river ran!

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