“Val.(coming forward) Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil
                touch,—
  Thou friend of an ill fashion!

  Pro.         Valentine!

  Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love,—
  For such is a friend now;
—treacherous man!
  Thou hast beguiled my hopes: nought but mine eye
  Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say
  I have one friend alive: thou would'st disprove me.
  Who should be trusted when one's own right hand
  Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,
  I am sorry I must never trust thee more,
  But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
  The private wound is deepest: time most accurst
  'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!

The first lines which I have italicised are too plain to be misread; when they were written Shakespeare had just been cheated by his friend; they are his passionate comment on the occurrence—“For such is a friend now”—can hardly be otherwise explained. The last couplet, too, which I have also put in italics, is manifestly a reflection on his betrayal: it is a twin rendering of the feeling expressed in sonnet 40:

  “And yet love knows it is a greater grief
  To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.”

It contrasts “foe and friend,” just as the sonnet contrasts “love and hate.”

Mr. Israel Gollancz declares that “several critics are inclined to attribute this final scene to another hand,” and to his mind “it bears evident signs of hasty composition.” No guess could be wider from the truth. The scene is most manifestly pure Shakespeare—I take the soliloquy of Valentine, with which the scene opens, as among Shakespeare's most characteristic utterances—but the whole scene is certainly later than the rest of the play. The truth probably is that after his friend had deceived him, “The Two Gentlemen of Verona” was played again, and that Shakespeare rewrote this last scene under the influence of personal feeling. The 170 lines of it are full of phrases which might be taken direct from the sonnets. Here 's such a couplet:

  “O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved,
  When women cannot love where they're beloved.”

The whole scene tells the story a little more frankly than we find it in the sonnets, as might be expected, seeing that Shakespeare's rival was a great noble and not to be criticised freely. This fact explains to me Valentine's unmotived renunciation of Silvia; explains, too, why he is reconciled to his friend with such unseemly haste. Valentine's last words in the scene are illuminating:

  “'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.”

The way this scene in “The Two Gentlemen of Verona” is told throws more light on Shakespeare's feelings at the moment of his betrayal than the sonnets themselves. Under the cover of fictitious names Shakespeare ventured to show the disgust and contempt he felt for Lord Herbert's betrayal more plainly than he cared, or perhaps dared, to do when speaking in his own person.

There is another play where the same incident is handled in such fashion as to put the truth of the sonnet-story beyond all doubt.

In “Much Ado about Nothing” the incident is dragged in by the ears, and the whole treatment is most remarkable. Every one will remember how Claudio tells the Prince that he loves Hero, and asks his friend's assistance: “your highness now may do me good.” There's no reason for Claudio's shyness: no reason why he should call upon the Prince for help in a case where most men prefer to use their own tongues; but Claudio is young, and so we glide over the inherent improbability of the incident. The Prince at once promises to plead for Claudio with Hero and with her father:

  “And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end
  That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?”

Now comes the peculiar handling of the incident. Claudio knows the Prince is wooing Hero for him, therefore when Don John tells him that the Prince “is enamoured on Hero,” he should at once infer that Don John is mistaken through ignorance of this fact; but instead of that he falls suspicious, and questions:

  “How know you he loves her?

  D. John. I heard him swear his affection.

  Bor. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her
  to-night.”

There is absolutely nothing even in this corroboration by Borachio to shake Claudio's trust in the Prince: neither Don John nor Borachio knows what he knows, that the Prince is wooing for him (Claudio) and at his request. He should therefore smile at the futile attempt to excite his jealousy. But at once he is persuaded of the worst, as a man would be who had already experienced such disloyalty: he cries:

  “'Tis certain so; the prince woos for himself.”

And then we should expect to hear him curse the prince as a traitorous friend, and dwell on his own loyal service by way of contrast, and so keep turning the dagger in the wound with the thought that no one but himself was ever so repaid for such honesty of love. But, no! Claudio has no bitterness in him, no reproachings; he speaks of the whole matter as if it had happened months and months before, as indeed it had; for “Much Ado about Nothing” was written about 1599. Reflection had already shown Shakespeare the unreason of revolt, and he puts his own thought in the mouth of Claudio:

  “'Tis certain so; the prince woos for himself.
  Friendship is constant in all other things
  Save in the office and affairs of love:
  Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
  Let every eye negotiate for itself,
  And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
  Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
  This is an accident of hourly proof,
  Which I mistrusted not
. Farewell, therefore, Hero.”

The Claudio who spoke like this in the first madness of love lost and friendship cheated would be a monster. Here we have Shakespeare speaking in all calmness of something that happened to himself a considerable time before. The lines I have put in italics admit no other interpretation: they show Shakespeare's philosophic acceptance of things as they are; what has happened to him is not to be assumed as singular but is the common lot of man—“an accident of hourly proof”—which he blames himself for not foreseeing. In fact, Claudio's temper here is as detached and impartial as Benedick's. Benedick declares that Claudio should be whipped:

  “D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault?

  Benedick. The flat transgression of a schoolboy, who
  being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it his
  companion and he steals it.”

That is the view of the realist who knows life and men, and plays the game according to the rules accepted. Shakespeare understood this side of life as well as most men. But Don Pedro is a prince—a Shakespearean prince at that—full of all loyalties and ideal sentiments; he answers Benedick from Shakespeare's own heart:

  “Wilt thou make a trust a transgression?
  The transgression is in the stealer.”

It is curious that Shakespeare doesn't see that Claudio must feel this truth a thousand times more keenly than the Prince. As I have said, Claudio's calm acceptance of the fact is a revelation of Shakespeare's own attitude, an attitude just modified by the moral reprobation put in the mouth of the Prince. The recital itself shows that the incident was a personal experience of Shakespeare, and as one might expect in this case it does not accelerate but retard the action of the drama; it is, indeed, altogether foreign to the drama, an excrescence upon it and not an improvement but a blemish. Moreover, the reflective, disillusioned, slightly pessimistic tone of the narrative is alien and strange to the optimistic temper of the play; finally, this garb of patient sadness does not suit Claudio, who should be all love and eagerness, and diminishes instead of increasing our sympathy with his later actions. Whoever considers these facts will admit that we have here Shakespeare telling us what happened to himself, and what he really thought of his friend's betrayal.

  “The transgression is in the stealer.”

That is Shakespeare's mature judgement of Lord Herbert's betrayal.

The third mention of this sonnet-story in a play is later still: it is in “Twelfth Night.” The Duke, as we have seen, is an incarnation of Shakespeare himself, and, indeed, the finest incarnation we have of his temperament. In the fourth scene of the first act he sends Viola to plead his cause for him with Olivia, much in the same way, no doubt, as Shakespeare sent Pembroke to Miss Fitton. The whole scene deserves careful reading.

                                   “Cesario,
  Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
  To thee the book even of my secret soul:
  Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her
  Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
  And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
  Till thou have audience.

  Vio.        Sure, my noble lord,
  If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
  As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

  Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
  Rather than make unprofited return.

  Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

  Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
  Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
  It shall become thee well to act my woes;
  She will attend it better in thy youth
  Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

  Vio. I think not so, my lord.

  Duke.                     Dear lad, believe it;
  For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
  That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
  Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
  Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound;
  And all is semblative a woman's part.
  I know thy constellation is right apt
  For this affair. Some four or five attend him;
  All if you will; for I myself am best
  When least in company.”

I do not want to find more here than is in the text: the passage simply shows that this idea of sending some one to plead his love was constantly in Shakespeare's mind in these years. The curious part of the matter is that he should pick a youth as ambassador, and a youth who is merely his page. He can discover no reason for choosing such a boy as Viola, and so simply asserts that youth will be better attended to, which is certainly not the fact. Lord Herbert's youth was in his mind: but he could not put the truth in the play that when he chose his ambassador he chose him for his high position and personal beauty and charm, and not because of his youth. The whole incident is treated lightly as something of small import; the bitterness in “Much Ado” has died out: “Twelfth Night” was written about 1601, a year or so later than “Much Ado.”

I do not want to labour the conclusion I have reached; but it must be admitted that I have found in the plays, and especially in “The Two Gentlemen of Verona” and “Much Ado,” the same story which is told in the sonnets; a story lugged into the plays, where, indeed, its introduction is a grave fault in art and its treatment too peculiar to be anything but personal. Here in the plays we have, so to speak, three views of the sonnet-story; the first in “The Two Gentlemen of Verona,” when the betrayal is fresh in Shakespeare's memory and his words are embittered with angry feeling:

  “Thou common friend that's without faith or love.”

The second view is taken in “Much Ado About Nothing” when the pain of the betrayal has been a little salved by time. Shakespeare now moralizes the occurrence. He shows us how it would be looked upon by a philosopher (for that is what the lover, Claudio, is in regard to his betrayal) and by a soldier and man of the world, Benedick, and by a Prince. Shakespeare selects the prince to give effect to the view that the fault is in the transgressor and not in the man who trusts. The many-sided treatment of the story shows all the stages through which Shakespeare's mind moved, and the result is to me a more complete confession than is to be found in the sonnets. Finally the story is touched upon in “Twelfth Night,” when the betrayal has faded into oblivion, but the poet lets out the fact that his ambassador was a youth, and the reason he gives for this is plainly insufficient. If after these three recitals any one can still believe that the sonnet-story is imaginary, he is beyond persuasion by argument.





CHAPTER IV. THE SONNETS: PART II.

Now that we have found the story of the sonnets repeated three times in the plays, it may be worth our while to see if we can discover in the plays anything that throws light upon the circumstances or personages of this curious triangular drama. At the outset, I must admit that save in these three plays I can find no mention whatever of Shakespeare's betrayer, Lord Herbert. He was “a false friend,” the plays tell us, a “common friend without faith or love,” “a friend of an ill fashion”; young, too, yet trusted; but beyond this summary superficial characterization there is silence. Me judice Lord Herbert made no deep or peculiar impression on Shakespeare; an opinion calculated to give pause to the scandal-mongers. For there can be no doubt whatever that Shakespeare's love, Mistress Fitton, the “dark lady” of the sonnet-series from 128 to 152 is to be found again and again in play after play, profoundly modifying the poet's outlook upon life and art. Before I take in hand this identification of Miss Fitton and her influence upon Shakespeare, let me beg the reader to bear in mind the fact that Shakespeare was a sensualist by nature, a lover, which is as rare a thing as consummate genius. The story of his idolatrous passion for Mary Fitton is the story of his life. This is what the commentators and critics hitherto have failed to appreciate. Let us now get at the facts and see what light the dramas throw upon the chief personage of the story, Mistress Fitton. The study will probably teach us that Shakespeare was the most impassioned lover and love-poet in all literature.

History tells us that Mary Fitton became a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth in 1595 at the age of seventeen. From a letter addressed by her father to Sir Robert Cecil on January 29th, 1599, it is fairly certain that she had already been married at the age of sixteen; the union was probably not entirely valid, but the mere fact suggests a certain recklessness of character, or overpowering sensuality, or both, and shows that even as a girl Mistress Fitton was no shrinking, timid, modest maiden. Wrapped in a horseman's cloak she used to leave the Palace at night to meet her lover, Lord William Herbert. Though twice married, she had an illegitimate child by Herbert, and two later by Sir Richard Leveson.

This extraordinary woman is undoubtedly the sort of woman Shakespeare depicted as the “dark lady” of the sonnets. Nearly every sonnet of the twenty-six devoted to his mistress contains some accusation against her; and all these charges are manifestly directed against one and the same woman. First of all she is described in sonnet 131 as “tyrannous”; then in sonnet 133 as “faithless”; in sonnet 137 as “the bay where all men ride ... the wide world's commonplace”; in sonnet 138 as “false”; in 139, she is “coquettish”; 140, “proud”; “false to the bonds of love”; “black as hell... dark as night”—in both looks and character; “full of foul faults “; “cruel”; “unworthy,” but of “powerful” personality; “unkind—inconstant... unfaithful... forsworn.”

Now, the first question is: Can we find this “dark lady” of the sonnets in the plays? The sonnets tell us she was of pale complexion with black eyes and hair; do the plays bear out this description? And if they do bear it out do they throw any new light upon Miss Fitton's character? Did Miss Fitton seem proud and inconstant, tyrannous and wanton, to Shakespeare when he first met her, and before she knew Lord Herbert?

The earliest mention of the poet's mistress in the plays is to be found, I think, in “Romeo and Juliet.” “Romeo and Juliet” is dated by Mr. Furnival 1591-1593; it was first mentioned in 1595 by Meres; first published in 1597. I think in its present form it must be taken to date from 1597. Romeo, who as we have already seen, is an incarnation of Shakespeare, is presented to us in the very first scene as in love with one Rosaline. This in itself tells me nothing; but the proof that Shakespeare stands in intimate relation to the girl called Rosaline comes later, and so the first introductory words have a certain significance for me. Romeo himself tells us that “she hath Dian's wit,” one of Shakespeare's favourite comparisons for his love, and speaks of her chastity, or rather of her unapproachableness; he goes on:

  “O she is rich in beauty, only poor
  That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.”

which reminds us curiously of the first sonnets. In the second scene Benvolio invites Romeo to the feast of Capulet, where his love, “the fair Rosaline,” is supping, and adds:

  “Compare her face with some that I shall shew,
  And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.”

Romeo replies that there is none fairer than his love, and Benvolio retorts:

  “Tut! You saw her fair, none else being by.”

This bantering is most pointed if we assume that Rosaline was dark rather than fair.

In the second act Mercutio comes upon the scene, and, mocking Romeo's melancholy and passion, cries:

  “I conjure thee, by Rosaline's bright eyes,
  By her high forehead and her scarlet lip....”

This description surprises me. Shakespeare rarely uses such physical portraiture of his personages, and Mercutio is a side of Shakespeare himself; a character all compact of wit and talkativeness, a character wholly invented by the poet.

A little later my suspicion is confirmed. In the fourth scene of the second act Mercutio talks to Benvolio about Romeo; they both wonder where he is, and Mercutio says:

  “Ah, that same pale-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
  Torments him so that he will sure run mad.”

And again, a moment later, Mercutio laughs at Romeo as already dead, “stabbed with a white wench's black eye.” Now, here is confirmation of my suspicion. It is most unusual for Shakespeare to give the physical peculiarities of any of his characters; no one knows how Romeo looked, or Juliet or even Hamlet or Ophelia; and here he repeats the description.

The only other examples we have as yet found in Shakespeare of such physical portraiture is the sketching of Falstaff in “Henry IV.” and the snapshot of Master Slender in “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” as a “little wee face, with a little yellow beard,—a cane-coloured beard.” Both these photographs, as we noticed at the time, were very significant, and Slender's extraordinarily significant by reason of its striking and peculiar realism. Though an insignificant character, Slender is photographed for us by Shakespeare's contempt and hatred, just as this Rosaline is photographed by his passionate love, photographed again and again.

Shakespeare's usual way of describing the physical appearance of a man or woman, when he allowed himself to do it at all, which was seldom, was what one might call the ideal or conventional way. A good example is to be found in Hamlet's description of his father; he is speaking to his mother:

  “Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself,
    An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,
  A station like the herald Mercury
    New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill.”

In the special case I am considering Rosaline is less even than a secondary character; she is not a personage in the play at all. She is merely mentioned casually by Benvolio and then by Mercutio, and even Mercutio is not the protagonist; yet his mention of her is strikingly detailed, astonishingly realistic, in spite of its off-hand brevity. We have a photographic snapshot, so to speak, of this girl: she “torments” Romeo; she is “hard-hearted”; a “white wench” with “black eyes”; twice in four lines she is called now “pale,” now “white”—plainly her complexion had no red in it, and was in startling contrast to her black eyes and hair. Manifestly this picture is taken from life, and it is just as manifestly the portrait of the “dark lady” of the sonnets.

As if to make assurance doubly sure, there is another description of this same Rosaline in another play, so detailed and striking, composed as it is of contrasting and startling peculiarities that I can only wonder that its full significance has not been appreciated ages ago. To have missed its meaning only proves that men do not read Shakespeare with love's fine wit.

The repetition of the portrait is fortunate for another reason: it tells us when the love story took place. The allusion to the “dark lady” in “Romeo and Juliet” is difficult to date exactly; the next mention of her in a play can be fixed in time with some precision. “Love's Labour's Lost” was revised by Shakespeare for production at Court during the Christmas festivities of 1597. When the quarto was published in 1598 it bore on its title-page the words, “A pleasant conceited comedy called 'Love's Labour's Lost.' As it was presented before Her Highnes this last Christmas. Newly corrected and augmented By W. Shakespeare.” It is in the revised part that we find Shakespeare introducing his dark love again, and this time, too, curiously enough, under the name of Rosaline. Evidently he enjoyed the mere music of the word. Biron is an incarnation of Shakespeare himself, as we have already seen, and the meeting of Biron and his love, Rosaline, in the play is extremely interesting for us as Shakespeare in this revised production, one would think, would wish to ingratiate himself with his love, more especially as she would probably be present when the play was produced. Rosaline is made to praise Biron, before he appears, as a merry man and a most excellent talker; but when they meet they simply indulge in a tourney of wit, in which Rosaline more than holds her own, showing indeed astounding self-assurance, spiced with a little contempt of Biron; “hard-hearted” Mercutio called it. Every word deserves to be weighed:

  “Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

  Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

  Biron. I know you did.

  Ros. How needless was it, then, to ask the question!

  Biron. You must not be so quick.

  Ros. 'Tis long of you that spur me with such questions.

  Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.

  Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

  Biron. What time o' day?

  Ros. The hour that fools should ask.

  Biron. Now fair befall your mask!

  Ros. Fair fall the face it covers!

  Biron. And send you many lovers!

  Ros. Amen, so you be none.

  Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.”

Clearly this Rosaline, too, has Dian's wit and is not in love with Biron, any more than the Rosaline of “Romeo and Juliet” was in love with Romeo.

The next allusion is even more characteristic. Biron and Longaville and Boyet are talking; Longaville shows his admiration for one of the Princess's women, “the one in the white” he declares, is a most sweet lady....”

  Biron. What is her name in the cap?

  Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap.

  Biron. Is she wedded or no?

  Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

  Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu.”

This, “To her will, sir, or so,” is exactly in the spirit of the sonnets: every one will remember the first two lines of sonnet 135:

“Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;”

That, “To her will, sir, or so,” I find astonishingly significant, for not only has it nothing to do with the play and is therefore unexpected, but the character-drawing is unexpected, too; maids are not usually wedded to their will in a double sense, and no other of these maids of honour is described at all.

A little later Biron speaks again of Rosaline in a way which shocks expectation. First of all, he rages at himself for being in love at all. “And I, forsooth in love! I, that have been love's whip!” Here I pause again, it seems to me that Shakespeare is making confession to us, just as when he admitted without reason that Jaques was lewd. Be that as it may, he certainly goes on in words which are astounding, so utterly unforeseen are they, and therefore the more characteristic:

  “Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
  And, among three, to love the worst of all;”

The first line of this couplet, that he is perjured in loving Rosaline may be taken as applying to the circumstances of the play; but Shakespeare also talks of himself in sonnet 152 as “perjured,” for he only swears in order to misuse his love, or with a side glance at the fact that he is married and therefore perjured when he swears love to one not his wife. It is well to keep this “perjured” in memory.

But it is the second line which is the more astonishing; there Biron tells us that among the three of the Princess's women he loves “the worst of all.” Up to this moment we have only been told kindly things of Rosaline and the other ladies; we had no idea that any one of them was bad, much less that Rosaline was “the worst of all.” The suspicion grows upon us, a suspicion which is confirmed immediately afterwards, that Shakespeare is speaking of himself and of a particular woman; else we should have to admit that his portraiture of Rosaline's character was artistically bad, and bad without excuse, for why should he lavish all this wealth of unpleasant detail on a mere subsidiary character? He goes on, however, to make the fault worse; he next speaks of his love Rosaline as—

    “A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
  With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
    Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed;
  Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
    And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
  To pray for her! Go to! it is a plague.”

It is, of course, a blot upon the play for Biron to declare that his love is a wanton of the worst. It is not merely unexpected and uncalled-for; it diminishes our sympathy with Biron and his love, and also with the play. But we have already found the rule trustworthy that whenever Shakespeare makes a mistake in art it is because of some strong personal feeling and not for want of wit, and this rule evidently holds good here. Shakespeare-Biron is picturing the woman he himself loves; for not only does he describe her as a wanton to the detriment of the play; but he pictures her precisely, and this Rosaline is the only person in the play of whom we have any physical description at all. Moreover, he has given such precise and repeated photographs of no other character in any of his plays:

  “A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
  With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes.”

This is certainly the same Rosaline we found depicted in “Romeo and Juliet”; but the portraiture here, both physical and moral, is more detailed and peculiar than it was in the earlier play. Shakespeare now knows his Rosaline intimately. The mere facts that here again her physical appearance is set forth with such particularity, and that the “hard-heartedness” which Mercutio noted in her has now become “wantonness” is all-important, especially when we remember that Miss Fitton was probably listening to the play. Even at Christmas, 1597, Shakespeare's passion has reached the height of a sex-duel. Miss Fitton has tortured him so that he delights in calling her names to her face in public when the play would have led one to expect ingratiating or complimentary courtesies. It does not weaken this argument to admit that the general audience would not perhaps have understood the allusions.

It is an almost incredible fact that not a single one of his hundreds of commentators has even noticed any peculiarity in this physical portraiture of Rosaline; Shakespeare uses this realism so rarely one would have thought that every critic would have been astounded by it; but no, they all pass over it without a word, Coleridge, Mr. Tyler, all of them.

The fourth act of “Love's Labour's Lost” begins with a most characteristic soliloquy of Biron:

  “Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing
  myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a
  pitch—pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word.”

Here Biron is manifestly playing on the “pitch-balls” his love has for eyes, and also on the “foul faults” Shakespeare speaks of in the sonnets and in Othello. Biron goes on:

  “O, but her eye—by this light, but for her eye, I
  would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do
  nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By
  heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and
  to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and
  here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets
  already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady
  hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!”

This proves to me that some of Shakespeare's sonnets were written in 1597. True, Mr. Tyler would try to bind all the sonnets within the three years from 1598 to 1601, the three years which Shakespeare speaks about in sonnet 104:

                       “Three winters cold
  Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
  Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
  In process of the seasons have I seen.
  Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
  Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.”

Lord Herbert first came to Court in the spring of 1598, and so sonnet 104 may have represented the fact precisely so far as Herbert was concerned; but I am not minded to take the poet so literally. Instead of beginning in the spring of 1598, some of the sonnets to the lady were probably written in the autumn of 1597, or even earlier, and yet Shakespeare would be quite justified in talking of three years, if the period ended in 1601. A poet is not to be bound to an almanack's exactitude.

In the fourth act of “Love's Labour's Lost,” when Biron confesses his love for “the heavenly Rosaline,” the King banters him in the spirit of the time:

  “King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

  Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
  A wife of such wood were felicity.
  O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?
  That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,
  If that she learn not of her eye to look:
  No face is fair that is not full so black.”

Here we have Shakespeare again describing his mistress for us, though he has done it better earlier in the play; he harps upon her dark beauty here to praise it, just as he praised it in sonnet 127; it is passion's trick to sound the extremes of blame and praise alternately.

In the time of Elizabeth it was customary for poets and courtiers to praise red hair and a fair complexion as “beauty's ensign,” and so compliment the Queen. The flunkeyism, which is a characteristic of all the Germanic races, was peculiarly marked in England from the earliest times, and induced men, even in those “spacious days,” not only to overpraise fair hair, but to run down dark hair and eyes as ugly. The King replies:

  “O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
    The hue of dungeons and the school of night;
  And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.”

Biron answers:

  “Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
    O, if in black my lady's brow be deck'd
  It mourns that painting and usurping hair
    Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
  And therefore is she born to make black fair.
    Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
  For native blood is counted painting now;
    And therefore red that would avoid dispraise,
  Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.”

Our timid poet is bold enough, when cloaked under a stage-name, to uphold the colour of his love's hair against the Queen's; the mere fact speaks volumes to those who know their Shakespeare.

Sonnet 127 runs in almost the same words; though now the poet speaking in his own person is less bold:

  “In the old age black was not counted fair,
    Or, if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
  But now is black beauty's successive heir,
    And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:
  For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
    Fairing the soul with art's false borrow'd face,
  Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
    But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
  Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
    Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
  At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
  Slandering creation with a false esteem:
  Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe
  That every tongue says beauty should look so.”

There can be no doubt that in this Rosaline of “Romeo and Juliet” and of “Love's Labour's Lost,” Shakespeare is describing the “dark lady” of the second sonnet-series, and describing her, against his custom in play-writing, even more exactly than he described her in the lyrics.

There is a line at the end of this act which is very characteristic when considered with what has gone before; it is clearly a confession of Shakespeare himself, and a perfect example of what one might call the conscience that pervades all his mature work:

  “Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn.”

We were right, it seems, in putting some stress on that “perjured” when we first met it.

In the second scene of the fifth act, which opens with a talk between the Princess and her ladies, our view of Rosaline is confirmed. Katherine calls Rosaline light, and jests upon this in lewd fashion; declares, too, that she is “a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,” in fact, tells her that she is

  “A light condition in a beauty dark.”

All these needless repetitions prove to me that Shakespeare is describing his mistress as she lived and moved. Those who disagree with me should give another instance in which he has used or abused the same precise portraiture. But there is more in this light badinage of the girls than a description of Rosaline. When Rosaline says that she will torture Biron before she goes, and turn him into her vassal, the Princess adds,

  “None are so surely caught when they are catch'd
  As wit turned fool.”

Rosaline replies,

  “The blood of youth burns not with such excess
  As gravity's revolt to wantonness.”

This remark has no pertinence or meaning in Rosaline's mouth. Biron is supposed to be young in the play, and he has never been distinguished for his gravity, but for his wit and humour: the Princess calls him “quick Biron.” The two lines are clearly Shakespeare's criticism of himself. When he wrote the sonnets he thought himself old, and certainly his years (thirty-four) contrasted badly with those of Mary Fitton who was at this time not more than nineteen.

Late in 1597 then, before William Herbert came upon the scene at all, Shakespeare knew that his mistress was a wanton:

  “Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed;
  Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard.”

Shakespeare has painted his love for us in these plays as a most extraordinary woman: in person she is tall, with pallid complexion and black eyes and black brows, “a gipsy,” he calls her; in nature imperious, lawless, witty, passionate—a “wanton”; moreover, a person of birth and position. That a girl of the time has been discovered who united all these qualities in herself would bring conviction to almost any mind; but belief passes into certitude when we reflect that this portrait of his mistress is given with greatest particularity in the plays, where in fact it is out of place and a fault in art. When studying the later plays we shall find this gipsy wanton again and again; she made the deepest impression on Shakespeare; was, indeed, the one love of his life. It was her falseness that brought him to self-knowledge and knowledge of life, and turned him from a light-hearted writer of comedies and histories into the author of the greatest tragedies that have ever been conceived. Shakespeare owes the greater part of his renown to Mary Fitton.





CHAPTER V. THE SONNETS: PART III.

The most interesting question in the sonnets, the question the vital importance of which dwarfs all others, has never yet been fairly tackled and decided. As soon as English critics noticed, a hundred years or so ago, that the sonnets fell into two series, and that the first, and longer, series was addressed to a young man, they cried, “shocking! shocking!” and registered judgement with smug haste on evidence that would not hang a cat. Hallam, “the judicious,” held that “it would have been better for Shakespeare's reputation if the sonnets had never been written,” and even Heine, led away by the consensus of opinion, accepted the condemnation, and regretted “the miserable degradation of humanity” to be found in the sonnets. But before giving ourselves to the novel enjoyment of moral superiority over Shakespeare, it may be worth while to ask, is the fact proved? is his guilt established?

No one, I think, who has followed me so far will need to be told that I take no interest in white-washing Shakespeare: I am intent on painting him as he lived and loved, and if I found him as vicious as Villon, or as cruel as a stoat, I would set it all down as faithfully as I would give proof of his generosity or his gentleness.

Before the reader can fairly judge of Shakespeare's innocence or guilt, he must hold in mind two salient peculiarities of the man which I have already noted; but which must now be relieved out into due prominence so that one will make instinctive allowance for them at every moment, his sensuality and his snobbishness.

His sensuality is the quality, as we have seen, which unites the creatures of his temperament with those of his intellect, his poets with his thinkers, and proves that Romeo and Jaques, the Duke of “Twelfth Night” and Hamlet, are one and the same person. If the matter is fairly considered it will be found that this all-pervading sensuality is the source, or at least a natural accompaniment of his gentle kindness and his unrivalled sympathy.

Shakespeare painted no portrait of the hero or of the adventurer; found no new word for the virile virtues or virile vices, but he gave immortal expression to desire and its offspring, to love, jealousy, and despair, to every form of pathos, pleading and pity, to all the gentler and more feminine qualities. Desire in especial has inspired him with phrases more magically expressive even than those gasped out by panting Sappho when lust had made her body a lyre of deathless music. Her lyric to the belovèd is not so intense as Othello's:

                      “O, thou weed
  Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
  That the sense aches at thee”;

or as Cleopatra's astonishing:

              “There is gold, and here
  My bluest veins to kiss”;

—the revelation of a lifetime devoted to vanity and sensuality, sensuality pampered as a god and adored with an Eastern devotion.

I do not think I need labour this point further; as I have already noticed, Orsino, the Duke of “Twelfth Night,” sums up Shakespeare's philosophy of love in the words:

  “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
  The appetite may sicken, and so die.”—

Shakespeare told us the truth about himself when he wrote in sonnet 142, “Love is my sin.” We can expect from him new words or a new method in the painting of passionate desire.

The second peculiarity of Shakespeare which we must establish firmly in our minds before we attempt to construe the sonnets is his extraordinary snobbishness.

English snobbishness is like a London fog, intenser than can be found in any other country; it is so extravagant, indeed, that it seems different in kind. One instance of this: when Mr. Gladstone was being examined once in a case, he was asked by counsel, Was he a friend of a certain lord? Instead of answering simply that he was, he replied that he did not think it right to say he was a friend of so great a noble: “he had the honour of his acquaintance.” Only in England would the man who could make noblemen at will be found bowing before them with this humility of soul.

In Shakespeare's time English snobbishness was stronger than it is to-day; it was then supported by law and enforced by penalties. To speak of a lord without his title was regarded as defamation, and was punished as such more than once by the Star Chamber. Shakespeare's position, too, explains how this native snobbishness in him was heightened to flunkeyism. He was an aristocrat born, as we have seen, and felt in himself a kinship for the courtesies, chivalries, and generosities of aristocratic life. This tendency was accentuated by his calling. The middle class, already steeped in Puritanism, looked upon the theatre as scarcely better than the brothel, and showed their contempt for the players in a thousand ways. The groundlings and common people, with their “greasy caps” and “stinking breath” were as loathsome to Shakespeare as the crop-headed, gain-loving citizens who condemned him and his like pitilessly. He was thrown back, therefore, upon the young noblemen who had read the classics and loved the arts. His works show how he admires them. He could paint you Bassanio or Benedick or Mercutio to the life. Everybody has noticed the predilection with which he lends such characters his own poetic spirit and charm. His lower orders are all food for comedy or farce: he will not treat them seriously.

His snobbishness carries him to astounding lengths. One instance: every capable critic has been astonished by the extraordinary fidelity to fact he shows in his historical plays; he often takes whole pages of an earlier play or of Plutarch, and merely varying the language uses them in his drama. He is punctiliously careful to set down the fact, whatever it may be, and explain it, even when it troubles the flow of his story; but as soon as the fact comes into conflict with his respect for dignitaries, he loses his nice conscience. He tells us of Agincourt without ever mentioning the fact that the English bowmen won the battle; he had the truth before him; the chronicler from whom he took the story vouched for the fact; but Shakespeare preferred to ascribe the victory to Henry and his lords. Shakespeare loved a lord with a passionate admiration, and when he paints himself it is usually as a duke or prince.

Holding these truths in our mind, Shakespeare's intense sensitiveness and sensuality, and his almost inconceivable snobbishness, we may now take up the sonnets.

The first thing that strikes one in the sonnets is the fact that, though a hundred and twenty-five of them are devoted to a young man, and Shakespeare's affection for him, and only twenty-six to the woman, every one of those to the woman is characterized by a terrible veracity of passion, whereas those addressed to the youth are rather conventional than convincing. He pictures the woman to the life; strong, proud, with dark eyes and hair, pale complexion—a wanton with the rare power of carrying off even a wanton's shame. He finds a method new to literature to describe her. He will have no poetic exaggeration; snow is whiter than her breasts; violets sweeter than her breath: