or, in fact, deeper motives proceeding from the inmost nature of the characters. The characters themselves— even though clearly and correctly delineated-are generally drawn in light, hurried outlines-but are full of life, gay and bold in action, and quick in decision; they appear, as already said, either inconstant, variable, going from one extreme to the other, or possess such a vast amount of imagination, sensitiveness and love for what is romantic and adventurous, that their conduct to a prosaic mind can only appear thoughtless, capricious and arbitrary, and such a mind would be inclined to delare them all fools, oddities and fantastic creatures (in the same way as Sir Oliver Martext in the play itself, iii. 3, calls the whole company in the forest fantastical knaves'). And, in fact, all do exactly what and as they please; each gives him or herself up, in unbridled wilfulness, to good or evil, according to his or her own whims, moods or impulses whatever the consequences may prove to be. Each looks upon, and turns and shapes life as it pleases him or herself. The Forest of Arden is their stage, and with its fresh and free atmosphere, its mysterious chiaro-scuro, its idyllic scenery for huntsmen and shepherds, is, at the same time, the fitting scene for the realisation of a mode and conception of life such as is here described. It is a life such as not only must please the dramatic personages themselves, but would please every one, were such a life only possible; it is the poetical reflex of a life as you like it, light and smooth in its How, unencumbered by serious tasks, free from the fetters of definite objects, and from intentions difficult to realise; an amusing play of caprice, of imagination, and of wavering sensations and feelings. A life like this, however, is possible only in the Forest of Arden, in the midst of similar scenery, under similar circumstances and conditions, and with similar companions and surroundings. At court, in more complicated relations, in a state of impure feelings and selfish endeavours, it would lose its poetical halo, its innocence and gaiety, and become untruth, hypocrisy, injustice and violence, as is proved by the reigning Duke, his courtiers and Oliver de Bois. The point of the piece seems to me to lie in this contrast; but care had to be taken not to make the point too pointed, not to make it a serious mo al conflict. If Shakspeare wished to give the play a humorous character, the gay appearance of as you like it,' he could not solve the contrast except by allowing selfish injustice and violent arbitrariness to becon.e untrue to themselves, and to turn into their opposites-of course, in perfect accordance with the plan, the meaning and spirit of the whole, but nevertheless entirely without motives. This, at the same time, unravels the other complications into which the play of accident and caprice and their own' as we like it, have involved the dramatic personages, and the piece closes in perfect harmony inasmuch as what is right and rational is everywhere happily brought about. Thus the dominion, and the very ground hitherto held by accident and caprice, excessive imagination and adventurous romance, is entirely withdrawn from them.* Shakspeare's intention—that is, the sense in which he conceived Lodge's narrative and transformed it into a drama-which, as I think, is clearly enough manifested in the spirit and character of the whole, as well as reflected in the several parts, is concentrated, and, so to say, condensed in the second and more personal contrast in which the two fools of the piece stand to one another. They and the unimportant figure of the shepherdess whom Touchstone chooses as his sweetheart, are the only persons whom Shakspeare did not find in Lodge's narrative, but freely invented. This addition, however, is in so far of great importance as it alone gives the original subject-matter a different character and colouring, and, * Gervinus, in his moralising tendency burdens even this light creation of Shakspeare's humour (which, as it were, itself plays with its deeply-hidden meaning) with a highly important and dull moral. According to him it is self-control, equanimity, and calmness in external suffering and internal passion, the value of which has to be set forth. But it is impossible to discuss such subjects with him, for in fact he is naturally wanting in all sense for what is humorous, fantastic, and romantic. Shakspeare is dear to him only because he finds his works to contain a solid, historico-political moral, such as he (justly) delights in. But, however right he may be in this, he nevertheless overlooks the fact that Shakspeare is a poet as well, and that consequently he delights in what is poetical even in the form of what is humorous, fantastic and romantic. This, in my opinion, is so clearly evident in As You Like It, that there is no necessity to give any special refutation of Gervinus' opinion. VOL. II. so to say, forms the ideal norm, which determines the other alterations introduced by Shakspeare. The two fools, by virtue of the contrast in which they stand to each other, mutually complete each other. The melancholy Jacques is not the fool by profession, he appears rather to be simply a comic character par excellence; but his meditative superficiality, his witty sentimentality, his merry sadness have taken so complete a hold of his nature, that it seems to contradict itself, and therefore upon a closer examination distinctly bears the impress of folly, although it cer tainly is an original kind of folly. The contradiction into which he has fallen, he involuntarily and unconsciously carries about with him, for it is rooted in his very life and character. Of good birth and education, and not without the taste for what is good and noble, but easily led, weak, wanting in independence, and a slave to his easilyexcited feelings, he had in his day been a profligate, who in indulging his caprices, desires and passions, had drained the enjoyments of life to the very dregs. And because he found no lasting satisfaction in them, he has withdrawn himself from the world-not having strength or inclination to conceive life from its other and right side-but continues to cherish and foster his inclinations, caprices and humours; these, however, have now taken the form of sentimental melancholy, and express themselves more in speeches full of black views of life, than in actions. This melancholy, this contempt of life and men, this sentimental slander and slanderous sentimentality not only please and amuse himself, but he carries them ostentatiously about, and has found a fitting soil for them in the company around the good Duke. In reality he only acts the melancholy misanthrope, the world-despising hermit, he is himself unconscious of the part he is playing, is not conscious that he is wearing a mere mask behind which lie concealed his old love of life, his old caprices, inclinations and sympathies. His observations therefore are in most cases certainly meditative and profound, and he fancies that on their wings he will be able to rise far above the sphere of ordinary mortals; but he is not aware that this meditation when carefully examined is after all very superficial in its contradictory one-sidedness. His effemi nate sentimentality he considers to be genuine, deep feeling, and yet it is not only full of witty points, but, so to say, the bow from which he shoots forth the arrows of his scorn and slander. His melancholy does not call forth tears of sorrow but of joy, and these cause more merriment than the most exuberant frolic, not only to others but in reality to himself also. While the other characters in the foreground look upon life more or less in the light of a gay and festive game of humour and of frolic, he apparently regards it as a sombre funeral procession, where every mourner, in tears and lamentations, is advancing towards his own grave. However, while in the case of the other personages, the merriment of the play bears within itself a hidden seriousness, in his case, on the contrary, the solemn funeral procession changes insensibly into a merry procession of fools. Thus he is always his own counterpart, and at the same time always the very thing which he attacks and combats. In a word, he is exactly like the fool by profession, the personification of capriciousness, as well as of the love of wit and ridicule, except that he unconsciously and involuntarily wears a cloak of melancholy and sentimentality. Hence his honest admiration of the real, acknowledged fool, and his wish to be able himself to play the part of the privileged fool. The fool whom Jacques so envies, who is his counterpart and mental kinsman, is the merry clown Touchstone. He is a genuine old English clown-in the Shakspearian form such as we have already met with in What You Will'; a fool with the jingling cap and bells, one who is and wishes to be a fool; the same personification of caprice and ridicule, and with the same keen perception of the faults and failings of mankind as Jacques, but a fool with his own knowledge and consent, and not merely passive but active also. He speaks, acts and directs his whole life in accordance with the capricious folly and foolish capriciousness which he considers to be the principles of human existence. While therefore the other lovers are in pursuit of their high ideals of beauty, amiability and virtue, and yet do not in reality attain anything beyond the common human standard, he takes to himself quite an ordinary, silly, ugly, peasant girl; he loves her, in fact, just because she pleases him, and she pleases him just because he loves her. This is the obstinacy of love in its full force, as conceived by Shakspeare in his comedies. And yet this capriciousness which apparently ridicules itself, at the same time, contains a significant trait in which he exhibits his inmost nature, a trait of what is simple, natural, and common to all men, in contrast to what is exaggerated and unnatural, and to all that which is sentimental, eccentric and fantastic-a genuine human trait which, however, he had hitherto been unable to show. While, further, all the other characters have chosen the secluded free life of the Forest of Arden on account of their outward circumstances or inward impulse, in short, with good reason or free will, he alone has gone there without any occasion or reason whatever; he has even done so against his own inclination as the good cheer at court suited him far better; in other words he has done so deliberately in the actual sense of the word. And yet it is just in this that he again, under the mask of folly, shows a trait of genuine human nature, noble unselfishness and fidelity. Lastly, while all the other characters appear more or less like the unconscious playballs of their own caprices and whims, feelings and impulses, he proves himself to be the one that makes game both of himself and of all the others; by this very means, however, he shows his true independence and freedom. And inasmuch as he consciously and intentionally makes himself a fool and gives free reins to his caprices, freaks and humours, he, at least, shows that he possesses the first necessary elements of true freedom, the consciousness of, and sovereignty over himself. He the professed Fool may frankly be declared the most rational person of the whole curious company, for he alone invariably knows his own mind; in regarding everything as sheer folly, he, at the same time takes it up in the humour in which it is meant to be understood. Accordingly, in Touchstone (who, as it were, personifies the humour which pervades the whole), we find all the perversities and contradictions of a life and mode of life as you like it reflected in a concave mirror; but this exterior, at the same time, conceals the poetic truth of the reverse side |