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Exciton Quasiparticles Theory Dynamics and Applications
Theory Dynamics and Applications 1st Edition Randy M.
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Microeconomics using Excel
The theory behind each problem is explained and each model is solved using
Excel. In addition, there is online content available as an accompaniment to the
book. Microeconomics using Excel will be of great interest to students studying eco-
nomics as well as to professionals in economic and policy analysis.
Preface vii
Free online content access instructions ix
Symbols x
Introduction 1
PART I
Analysis of price policies 3
PART II
Analysis of structural policies 99
PART IV
Budget policy and priority setting 193
Bibliography 236
Index 238
Preface
This book will give readers a new look at microeconomic analysis. The focus is
on integrating economic theory, policy analysis and spreadsheet modelling. The
book discusses fundamental problems of price, structural and budget policies in
18 chapters. The theory behind each problem is explained and it is shown how
the problem can be modelled and solved using Excel. The models, also available
on the accompanying free online content, may be used as prototypes for further
analyses and specific needs.
The book is targeted at students of economics and other related disciplines at
universities. It may be used as a basic textbook or as a supplement for a variety of
courses. The book is also useful for professionals in economic and policy analysis
combining theoretical background and computer-based analysis for different
questions. The models can also be used and extended for specific problems and
needs.
We would like to express our gratitude to a large number of people who
contributed to this book. We are, in particular, grateful to Kerstin Oertel, Sabine
Plaßmann and Regina Schiffner who helped tirelessly to transform and
improve our manuscript. We would also like to thank Christoph Schaefer-
Kehnert and GFA Consulting Group for their interest and support. We particu-
larly thank our families for their patience and support.
Given the new concept of the book we would be very grateful for suggestions
and criticism from readers. We hope you will enjoy working with the book and
your computer.
This book has additional free content that can be downloaded. To get access to
the material online please follow the instructions provided below.
Instructions:
• Access the Taylor and Francis download website using the link
http://ebookstore.tanf.co.uk/supplements.
• Enter the access code provided with this book.
• If the access code is successfully validated, a web page with details of the
available download content would be displayed.
• Click on the download links to download the file.
• Save the file on your machine.
• The downloaded file could be in .zip format.
• In case you are facing any issue with downloading the file please send a mail
to [email protected].
Symbols
c supply constant
C cost
CS consumer surplus
CV compensating variation
d demand constant
D, DM (Marshallian) demand curve
DH Hicksian demand curve
E consumer expenditure
EE external effect
ES export supply curve
EV equivalent variation
i interest rate
ID import demand curve
IRR internal rate of return
Symbols xi
L Lagrange function
MC marginal cost
p domestic price
pa autarky price
pd demand price
p̃d (·) inverse demand function
ps supply price
p̃s (·) inverse supply function
pu customs union price
pw world market price
PS producer surplus
PV present value of net welfare effects (of a structural policy)
qd quantity demanded
qd (·) demand function
qd (H ) (·) Hicksian demand function
qex quantity exported
qim quantity imported
qs quantity supplied
qs (·) supply function
r protection rate
R producer revenue
t (time) period
T transfer
TB total benefit
y income
xii Symbols
Z objective variable
α weight
ε elasticity
εd demand elasticity
εd price elasticity matrix on the demand side
εd, η matrix of price and income elasticities on the demand side
εs supply elasticity
εs price elasticity matrix on the supply side
λ Lagrange multiplier
Introduction
With this book we want to provide a new look at microeconomic analysis. The
focus is on solving microeconomic problems by integrating economic theory,
policy analysis and spreadsheet modelling. The approach allows a better under-
standing of the link between theory and problem-solving; you will learn how to
model and solve specific problems with Excel; and you will be able to use and
extend the models developed for your own needs.
The book discusses various basic and advanced microeconomic problems and
emphasises a policy orientation. It is divided into four parts:
Objective
In Chapter 1 we discuss the basic concepts of supply, demand and price policies,
and we formulate an appropriate Excel model. In order to do this, supply and
demand functions are defined and the process of price formation on a market
without and with government intervention is illustrated. We then discuss how
various price policies affect political objectives such as producer revenue, consumer
expenditure, foreign exchange or government budget.
Theory
The starting point for the analysis of price policies on a market is the formulation
of supply and demand functions. Let us consider the following linear supply
function:
a 1
p̃ s (q s ) = − + qs (1.1)′
b b
6 Analysis of price policies
where p̃ s (·) – inverse supply function.
c 1
p̃ d (q d ) = − + q d (1.2)′
d d
R ( p) = qs ( p) · p. (1.3)
E ( p) = qd ( p) · p. (1.4)
冢 冣
FE ( p, pw ) = qs ( p) − qd ( p) pw. (1.5)
Thus, foreign exchange is a function of the two exogenous prices and it has a nega-
tive value in the import situation considered. Similarly, we define a government
budget function:
冢
B ( p, pw ) = qd ( p) − qs ( p)冣 冢p − p 冣.
w
(1.6)
The value of this function is positive for the case considered. It would be negative
for a protectionist price policy in an export situation to be established by an export
subsidy. Foreign exchange (expenditure) and government budget (revenue) are
visualised in Figure 1.2.
The values of the defined functions can now be calculated depending on the
values of the exogenous prices and the parameters of the supply and demand
functions. In order to assess the impact of the prices on these functions, it is helpful
to draw the corresponding graphs of these functions. Foreign exchange will thus
be a linear rising function of the domestic price p as the derivative of this function
∂ ∂q s ∂q d w
∂p
FE ( p, pw ) = −
∂p ∂p冢 p 冣 (1.5)′
is a constant. It intersects the price axis at the autarky price pa. The foreign
exchange function is visualised in Figure 1.3.
Figure 1.3 also shows the government budget function with respect to the
domestic price. For the linear supply and demand functions considered, we get a
strictly concave quadratic budget function, intersecting the price axis at free trade
p = pw and autarky at p = pa. At a domestic price level below the world market
price, import subsidies are paid and, hence, budget expenditures occur that
decrease with a rising domestic price. For a domestic price level between free trade
pw and autarky pa, tariffs create budget revenues, with a maximum exactly between
pw and pa. Finally, with higher domestic prices above the autarky price pa, increasing
budget expenditures occur due to export subsidies.
Supply, demand and price policies 9
Figure 1.3 Foreign exchange and government budget as a function of the domestic price.
Based on (1.5) and (1.6), analogous foreign exchange and government budget
functions could be drawn as functions of the world market price pw, taking the
domestic price as a constant. The equations show that the graph of a function in
one price depends on the value of the other price.
Exercise 1
Consider the supply function
qs ( ps ) = a + b ps
qd ( pd ) = c + d pd
Set up a linear market model in Excel and solve the following problems:
(a) Consider a free trade situation with a world market price pw = 10. Calculate
producer revenue, consumer expenditure and foreign exchange.
(b) The country now pursues a price policy setting the domestic price independ-
ently of the world market price. Calculate producer revenue, consumer
expenditure, foreign exchange, and government budget for p = 12 and
p = 18.
(c) How do foreign exchange and government budget develop in a domestic
10 Analysis of price policies
price range 10 ≤ p ≤ 20? Show the graph of the functions and discuss the
shape.
(d) How do foreign exchange and government budget develop for p = 12 and
10 ≤ pw ≤ 20? Show the graph of the functions and discuss the shape. How
does the graph change for p = 18?
(e) The country considers implementing an autarky policy. Calculate equi-
librium price and equilibrium quantity.
Solution
Step 1.1 Enter the value of 10 in cell B4 for the domestic price and the same
value in C4 for the world market price. Enter the values of the parameters
a, b, c and d in the range B8:E8.
Step 1.2 In cell E4, we now define the supply function by entering the formula
= B8 + C8*B4. Respectively, in F4 we define the demand function
with = D8 + E8*B4.
Step 1.3 According to (1.3)–(1.6), enter the formula for producer revenue, con-
sumer expenditure, foreign exchange and government budget in H4 to
K4 and your linear market model is completed (see Figure 1.4). The
values in your model describe the free trade situation with pw = 10.
In order to determine the consequences of a protectionist price policy
(Exercise 1b), you simply set the domestic price at p = 12 and p = 18,
respectively. You obtain the values of the defined variables for an import
and an export situation.
Step 1.4 To solve Exercise 1c you proceed as follows. Enter the value of 10 in
G11 and go again to cell G11. Now select the Excel menu ‘Edit’, ‘Fill’
and ‘Series’, take the option ‘Series in columns’ and enter 20 as the
‘Stop value’. In H9 enter the formula = J3 and copy it to the range
H9:I10. Now select the table range G10:I21 and select ‘Data’ and
‘Table’. Click into the field ‘Column input cell’ and then on B4. You will
get the values for foreign exchange and government budget for domestic
prices from 10 to 20. If you now select the range G9:I21 and then select
the ‘Chart wizard’ icon (e.g. the diagram type ‘Line with markers dis-
played at each data value’) you will get, possibly after some editing, a
diagram as indicated in Figure 1.5.
Figure 1.5 Foreign exchange and government budget as a function of the domestic price
with a world market price of 10 (exercise1.xls).
Figure 1.6 Foreign exchange and government budget as a function of the world market
price with a domestic price of 12 (exercise1d.xls).
Figure 1.7 Foreign exchange and government budget as a function of the world market
price with a domestic price of 18 (exercise1d.xls).
Office or Excel with the Custom option of the original MS-Office CD.
Since we do not really have an optimisation problem in Exercise 1e the
setting of the target cell does not play an important role – but it should
be a cell with a formula (e.g. E4) or you can even select nothing by
leaving the space empty. As changing cells you take the domestic price
(by writing B4 into the appropriate line or by clicking first on this field
Supply, demand and price policies 13
and then on cell B4). As a constraint you add E4 = F4 (show or register).
Thus the Solver is set (see Figures 1.8 and 1.9).
Since our model is a linear one you should click on ‘Options’ and
activate ‘Assume linear model’. Also select ‘Assume non-negative’. This
ensures that the changing cells – in our case the domestic price – will
assume non-negative values (see Figure 1.10). Click ‘OK’ and ‘Solve’
and you will get the domestic price of 15 and the equilibrium quan-
tity of 60. For further details of using the Solver see Winston and
Venkataramanan (2002) or the Excel Help function.
Objective
In Chapter 2 we introduce further indicators for price policies. Based on the
concept of applied welfare economics, welfare functions and their components
are defined and welfare and distributional effects of different price policies are
explained.
Theory
Following the concept of applied welfare economics, the maximum willingness to
pay may be used as a welfare indicator for the consumer. Willingness to pay is
defined as the maximum amount a consumer is prepared to pay for a good or
service. It is therefore a monetary measure of the satisfaction of consuming a
good. In Figure 2.1 willingness to pay, aggregated for all consumers, is illustrated
by the area under the demand curve up to the quantity demanded qd ( p). We also
call this the total benefit of consumption, defined as:
q d ( p)
TB ( p) = 冮
0
p̃d (v) dv (2.1)
with C – cost
v – integration variable, here qs.
W ( p, pw ) = TB ( p) − C ( p) + FE ( p, pw ) (2.3)
with W – welfare,
and
冮
( p)
W ( p, pw ) =
0
p̃d (v) dv − 冮
0
p̃s (v) dv
冢
+ qs ( p) − qd ( p) pw. 冣 (2.3)′
The welfare function as defined in equations (2.3) and (2.3)′ is based on the eco-
nomic activities of consumption, production and trade. Since welfare is an indica-
tor for the satisfaction of a society from the consumption of goods, welfare may
also be defined as an aggregate of the welfare level of different groups: consumers,
producers and taxpayers.
Looking at consumers first, they gain benefits from consumption, but have to
pay for the goods they consume. The expenditure for a certain good cannot be
used to gain satisfaction from the consumption of other goods. Hence, from the
consumers’ point of view, expenditure is the cost of consuming a good. The
difference of total benefit and consumer expenditure is the relevant welfare indi-
cator for consumers, called consumer surplus. Consumer surplus, illustrated in
Figure 2.2 as the difference of the area under the demand curve up to the
quantity demanded qd ( p) and consumer expenditure, is defined as:
q d ( p)
CS ( p) = 冮
0
p̃d (v) dv − qd ( p) p (2.4)
q s ( p)
PS ( p) = q ( p) p −
s
冮0
p̃s (v) dv (2.5)
W ( p, pw ) = CS ( p) + PS ( p) + B ( p, pw ) (2.6)
and
q d ( p) q s ( p)
W ( p, pw ) = 冮
0
p̃d (v) dv − 冮0
p̃s (v) dv
冢
+ qs ( p) − qd ( p) pw. 冣 (2.6)′
Welfare and distribution 19
The welfare functions defined in equations (2.3)′ and (2.6)′ are the same and the
bold-framed areas in Figures 2.1 and 2.2 are identical.
The basic concept of applied welfare economics is widely used and may be
applied without problems for the welfare indicators foreign exchange and govern-
ment budget as well as for cost and producer surplus which are derived from the
supply function. But for welfare indicators derived from the demand function such
as total benefit and consumer surplus, it is important to note that these indicators
represent only an approximation of the relevant welfare indicators and not exact
values. However, such approximation is acceptable as long as we restrict the
analysis to a small fraction of the economy such as a commodity market. On that
basis we can now analyse different problem settings.
One can show, for example, that free trade leads to a maximisation of welfare.
This is the theorem of comparative advantage. A domestic price set above or
below the world market price through government intervention results in an
efficiency loss to society. This welfare loss comprises deadweight losses due to
consumption distortion and production inefficiency, which may be identified as
‘deadweight loss triangles’ in Figures 2.1 and 2.2. Accordingly, one can describe
a welfare function which is strictly concave in p with a maximum at p = pw.
Furthermore, one can show in Figure 2.1 that a protectionist price policy to
reduce foreign exchange expenditure for imports leads to a welfare loss.
Welfare gains from the transition from autarky to free trade depend on the extent
of resource reallocation induced by free trade, indicating a comparative advantage
or disadvantage. Figure 2.3 shows that with an autarky price equal to the world
market price, opening the economy evidently does not cause any change in wel-
fare as no trade takes place. However, both the export case at pw′ and the import
Exercise 2
Consider the supply function
qs ( ps ) = a + b ps
qd ( pd ) = c + d pd
Extend the market model from Exercise 1 by the functions for total benefit, cost
and welfare as well as consumer surplus and producer surplus. Solve the following
problems:
(a) A country has set the domestic price independently from the world market;
the world market price is pw = 10. Show that free trade leads to welfare
maximisation.
(b) How do welfare, consumer surplus and producer surplus develop for p = 12
and p = 14 with pw = 10 compared to free trade?
(c) Depict the graph of the functions for welfare, consumer surplus and pro-
ducer surplus for 5 ≤ p ≤ 15 with pw = 10 and explain the result. How does the
graph change with pw = 12?
(d) Show how, starting from free trade with pw = 10, a step-by-step increase in
the domestic price 10 ≤ p ≤ 20 leads, at the same time, to foreign exchange
increases and welfare losses as compared to free trade.
(e) Depict the gains from trade curve for 10 ≤ pw ≤ 20.
Solution
To start with, the indicators of applied welfare economics have to be integrated
into the linear market model.
Step 2.1 Let us create, based on exercise1.xls, some space for the cost function,
total benefit function and welfare function, which we enter in cells H4
to J4. To do this, you move the function block H3:K4 to K3:N4 (e.g.
highlight H3:K4, go with the cursor over the frame – the cursor
Welfare and distribution 21
becomes an arrow – then select with a pressed left mouse button the
new area and release the left mouse button).
Step 2.2 We begin with the cost function, which we enter in cell H4. Cost is
defined as the area under the inverse supply function. Hence, assuming
the supply function qs = −30 + 6p, we can calculate the cost, for
example, as the difference of the revenue p · qs ( p) and the triangle
( p − 30/6 ) · qs( p)/2. 30/6 = 5 is the intersection of the supply function
with the price axis, and thus the minimum supply price. The Excel
formula in H4 is = B4*E4 − (B4 + B8/C8)*E4/2. Alternatively, we
could determine the cost calculating the trapezium ( p + 30/6 ) · qs( p)/2.
Both calculations may be explained using Figure 2.4.
Step 2.3 Assuming the linear demand function qd ( p) = 120 − 4p, we can calculate
benefit as the trapezium ( p + 120/4 ) · qd ( p)/2. Hence, we enter in I4
the Excel formula: = (B4 − D8/E8)*F4/2. (Note the negative value of
E8 = −4.) The calculation may be explained again using Figure 2.4.
Step 2.4 Now, we can easily derive welfare from the formula total benefit − cost +
foreign exchange in cell J4. Similarly straightforward are the formulas
for producer surplus and consumer surplus in O4 and P4. Producer
surplus is the difference of revenue and cost, while consumer surplus is
the difference of total benefit and expenditure. Compare the results of
your model with the values in Figure 2.5. Choose then for the domestic
Figure 2.5 Linear market model with cost, total benefit, welfare, producer surplus and
consumer surplus at a domestic price of 10 (exercise2.xls).
Figure 2.6 Linear market model with cost, total benefit, welfare, producer surplus and
consumer surplus at a domestic price of 12.
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contempt when she summons him out of the crowd of courtiers in
pursuance of the boon she had craved of the King, if he recovered
by the use of her prescriptions. In her the voice of Nature spoke
more truly than Bertram's passing inclination. As she claims the
precious fee, the blushes in her cheeks whisper,—
"We blush that thou shouldst choose: but, be repuls'd,
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
We'll ne'er come there again."
Bertram feigns compliance with the wishes of the King; but,
determining to get rid of her, he hurries from the marriage rite to the
Florentine wars. There was a technical marriage of two persons who
are not yet wedded, for he does not yet deserve her. The shadow of
her plebeian origin is large enough to obscure her merit; so that
poetic justice requires that he must wait till she is appreciated, when
he will find that he has gained every thing in yielding every thing to
the supremacy of pure womanhood. He flings himself away to the
wars, exclaiming, "Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France."
When she perceives that she is the cause of his expatriation, her
decision is made to leave France, so that he may be free to enter it
again. She becomes a pilgrim, with bared feet, to do penance for
ambitious love, wandering here and there, keeping out of the way
that he may be recalled from the dangers of war:—
"He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free."
By and by, Bertram, believing that she is dead, is overwhelmed with
an access of love for her. His awakened conviction "cries to see
what's done." Supposing that she is departed, he finds that she is
for the first time present. Although he has been full of faults, and
does not hesitate to screen himself by the most ungentlemanly
prevarications, there is a strain of his nature that sounded when he
thought that death had snapped her string. The vibration woke the
tone of Helena, and married him to her without a priest save death.
"Sweet Helen's knell" became the joy-peals of her marriage morn.
Then he receives his true patent of nobility; for her soul converts
him to a man.
In this play, Shakspeare has followed the incidents of an old story;
but, in doing so, Helena grew upon his hands to be so fine that we
dislike to see her submit to a certain one of the circumstances of
that borrowed plot. And we wonder that Shakspeare should not have
shielded her by a better invention.
We are not satisfied to know that such incidents were very common
in the novels of that day, whence Shakspeare derived many of his
plots; for the greatest moments of his genius have taught us
reverently to demand of him more than that he should be content to
take the old threads and weave the old strand over. We expect to
follow them as clews that lead through subtle labyrinths of Nature
where the heart has stored its secrets. Whenever we venture with
him on that raft of some light tale of Boccaccio, we are not surprised
if we drop into deep water whose cresting waves admonish
Shakspeare to brace and fortify the slim float he started on. We do
not relish the idea that Shakspeare is mainly interested to work out a
plot into a good acting play, and so takes the nearest coarse things
that may suit such a purpose. It is true they have been immersed till
they are encrusted all over with his imagination, and their cheapness
is concealed. The Chinese drop a shot into the shell of a pearl oyster,
and by and by reclaim it all cased in an iris. It seems to be a drop
distilled from many sunsets; but the kernel is still a shot. Shakspeare
dips the coarse narratives of the Italian writers into his many-colored
verse; and they are turned into necklaces to heave on the breath of
fair women, and signet-rings to stamp the sense and sovereignty of
manhood. But we expect of Shakspeare something more than
cunning ornament. The splendor of his poetry does not dazzle us so
that we cannot look for hidden meanings and transcendent allusions
to the soul of things, as we so often find in him.
But in her character Shakspeare clearly rose to a conviction that love
may put such emphasis upon a woman that she must declare
herself, notwithstanding the tradition of the sex, that the man's love
must have the opening word. Yet, upon reflection, have not women
always spoken before men ask them? The shyest and most timorous
heart that scuds to covert at every rustle of discovery has already
put man upon its track. Some conniving hour has dropped a softer
tone into the voice which she never heard from her own tongue
before. It surprises her into a faint blush, and surprises him into a
sudden observation; as when a new planet steps into the field of
view, and startles the watcher with one more world. It was but a
blush's shadow, such as a bubble drops on the bed of a clear brook;
but it goes athwart his eyes. As they look whence it came, he sees it
has already pulled down the lids of hers and set them for a snare.
She has spoken: she has made a declaration. With all the enterprise
of Helena, she could not have advertised herself more fully.
There are many dialects and methods of expression; and every
woman will instinctively pronounce her mother-tongue. From Viola to
Helena stretches a whole chromatic scale of tones which do not
transcend the holding bars. Helena was not a type anticipating some
future of an inverted relation of the sexes, when, perhaps, even
seven women might have Scripture for laying hold of one man. But
she bravely testifies of woman the faculty of a love so sacred, and
improvised by a heart so firm and true, so inspired with its own
destiny, that she perceives through a man's indifference what a man
so often perceives through hers, through a firmament barred by
sullen cloud-racks, the clear heaven that will be corresponsive to the
heart. Helena cannot be daunted by the weather. While the storm
lasts, the upper blue is confided to her keeping against the next fine
day. But we shall see Ophelia cower beneath the broken roof of
reason, while the heart is too weak to shore it up against the wild
pother that is breaking round her.
OPHELIA.
Looking across the intervale of our prosaic concerns, we descry the
outlines of Hamlet, as they build on the horizon a symmetry, enticing
depth, weird masses, and a lonely top. We try to recognize the
distinctions of this grand object which has been lifted there for ever
to attract the curiosity of men. It is too remote to be minutely
pictured: the shadows that apprise us of its deep seclusion veil the
openings of paths by which it is to be explored. Stretches of a livelier
color report to us the verdure and perfume of youth: the clouds that
fling their pensive intervals upon it pass off pursued by gladness. But
we perceive whole tracts that slope inwardly to sombreness where
the fancy is interrupted by awe and vague surmise. Whither will
those rifts lead us? Into what places visited by nothing human,
whence we hurriedly return, looking back with a sense of some
invisible pursuit, as if the forest shuddered with an adjuration which
overtook, beneath the ground, our feet? What various latitudes are
repeated along that height, with a zone for every season! It is
shaped by all the weathers of the year: it groups within itself the
smiles, the terrors, the fitful moods of Nature, and puts them into a
distance of sublime effect.
While we are observing it, there grows thither, as if deposited out of
the day, a softening tint; one hardly knows if it be light, or color, or a
vapor, or how it be compounded of them all. But it envelops the
whole outline, and spills over into every opening, a gracious
refinement, an investiture not easily described, a light touch of
gentle qualities which decline to be quoted in the dry list of the
appraiser. It is the tender lady, the maiden with the delicate bloom
of love and the remoteness of it,—the impalpable Ophelia. To detain
and handle is impossible, not because, like some rare sphinx-moth,
the downy wings flutter into hiding; for she is motionless as a stain
of color, restful as a summer afternoon when all the noises sleep:
she is a sentiment that broods without a stir upon the lofty Hamlet;
she gives no sound to challenge your attention, and is unable to
goad her exquisite reserve into any marked behavior. But this
shyness is broad enough to cover Hamlet's variety all over, and does
not let one of his features straggle beyond its subduing purple. She
is the tone of the whole wide landscape that stretches between your
soul and his. What need has she to multiply words, to intensify her
shape upon the background of the action? Small need has she to
borrow the saucy wit of Beatrice, to make up her lips with the
pertness of Rosalind, or compress them with the firmness of Helena.
They just suit the touch of Hamlet's lips when his unbend from
gathering the speech of solemn thoughts. She offers them, and his
cloud empties of its density. She draws off the accumulated sparks
of reason, makes him safe and domestic, steals into him with
content that even he cannot measure, up to the time when a
father's death untuned his prophetic soul. She will learn to prattle
about flowers, but, alas! not steeped like Perdita, in glad
midsummer; not to beguile her lord, but to deck the bride-bed of her
fate. She wears her rue "with a difference." But, in the mean time,
she may neglect Lord Hamlet's books, and keep her mind guiltless of
entertaining views. She would have no fancy for going to school of
Portia, perhaps no taste to learn the "neat cookery" of Imogen. Her
hands are well fashioned to soothe the hours when "the pale cast of
thought" wishes to escape from itself into some fair, open nature,
and to feel its flattery. Because she is not a character, she is a tune:
she is
"That old and antique song we heard last night."
The waters will soon pull "the poor wretch from her melodious lay to
muddy death." So, for a while, let her be the mood she is, the
sentiment that Heaven made her, to glint through palace-windows
across the marble floors and gild Hamlet's high-strung nerves. That
noble mind,—
"The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
The observ'd of all observers,"—
is not playing at the feet of a fatuous woman, with silly, pretty face,
and bird-like chatter of a soulless brain, to marry that misery at last.
Many a superior man ties such a bunch of plumage, with the
minutest mouthful of a body inside of it, into his buttonhole; when it
falls out, the tie drags it, feebly fluttering, across the ground. But
Ophelia has an instinct deep enough to fathom "the courtier's,
soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword;" and he as instinctively
surrenders his depths to that survey, which is none the less sufficing
because it is so artless. No: it is all the more competent to
correspond to his wide temper; the only ladyhood in the land for its
only prince.
Fair flower, half-drooping, half-springing from a cleft in Elsinore's
grim platform, where wafts of ghostly air shudder out of the
midnight of the frosty ocean, and the fate-sisters who take the
breath of heroes are at hand. At length the dreadful secret mingles
with her fragrance, which then comes to us distempered. She does
not know what has happened; but in the sudden death and private
burial of her father, slain by her own lover, she, sitting amid the
relics of a rejected love, listening across the "sweet bells jangled, out
of tune and harsh" of her old lover's soul-chime, intuitively feels 'that
there are
"Tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense."
With what a small outlay of dramatic contrivance has Shakspeare
drawn the pathos of Ophelia's fate! It begins to infect us as soon as
we discover that she loves; for her lover receives the visits of a
murdered father. We know, but she does not, the cause of the
apparent unsettling of the Prince's wits. We can anticipate into what
tragedies that ghost beckons her Lord Hamlet, while she walks
unconsciously so close that her garments, perfumed with rare
ladyhood, brush the greaves of the grisly visitant. Her helplessness is
not cast in a faint, outline against the background of these palace
treacheries and lusts; but it appears in startling vividness, because
she is so pure, so remote from all the wicked world, so slenderly
fitted out to contend with it. Tears are summoned when we see how
simple she is, and fashioned solely for dependence: a disposition,
not a will; a wife for Hamlet's will, but poor to husband one of her
own.
What will become of her? What becomes of the vine when lightning
splits its oak? The clipping tendrils and soft green have lost their
reason for existing when the wood which centuries have grained is
blasted in an hour. She will shrink into herself, will sicken, grow sere,
rustle to and fro. Her leaves will blab loose songs to every wanton
wind. To wither is all that is left to do, since all that she could do
was to love, to climb, to cling, to cloak ruggedness with grace, to
make strength and stature serve to lift and develop all her
beauteous quality.
She is free to love, yet bound by old-fashioned duty toward her
father; and he belongs to the old fashion of supposing that a prince
can only amuse himself, no matter what sweet protestations flow
into her ear. She cannot believe it; nor, when her flighty brother
serves her with long-winded cautions on the same subject, does she
hardly seem to listen. Her answers are so short that she plainly does
not share his solicitude. In fact, she is highly amused to see him play
the prig with the consequential air which only a brother can assume.
Between the lines there are peals of girlish laughter, not printed, as
she turns upon him with the advice to take himself into custody. This
amusement ripples through her retort:—
"Good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede."
The old songs which Ophelia had picked up by no means decide that
she was passionate enough to justify so much advice on the point.
Some nurse who crooned over her, some book of old ballads, such
as Autolycus might leave at the door, was responsible for the scraps
which floated into her unconscious girlhood. It frequently happens to
an unwary, half developed youth that things not excessive in
decorum get established in the memory. They are kept strenuously
secret, unless something demoralizes the brain. When madness
tears her modesty all to tatters, they escape, and wander without a
rag of clothing through her talk. They do not betray that she was
ever less than a true lady. She rebukes Hamlet during the mock play,
when the expectation of unmasking the king ferments in him with
the flightiest remarks, and his tongue rides a steeple-chase over the
bounds of courtesy. She will not listen, and says to him, "You are
naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play." However, she knows her
lord to be a gentleman; for she has often silently felt the effluence of
an honest man whose manners and morals were noble. She pays no
consideration to the family caution.
It is noteworthy how Shakspeare defends Ophelia from our censure
while she is chanting those free ditties of an olden time. We listen to
them in company with the pitying King and Queen: the air seems to
gather pity to tone the rude surprise. She was naturally full of
sensibility; so, when she enters in the first mad scene, entirely
insensible to her misfortune, it both increases our sadness and calls
upon us to create what should be her sane feeling. When that is
done, the songs borrow all the chasteness of misfortune. We are
absorbed in sorrow to see how distraction could violate her sacred
privacy: thinking more of that than of the words, the coarseness
eludes us. We are all bound up in the brother's feeling at this sight,
who cries,—
"O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!"
And the King says, "How do you, pretty lady?" Yes, that she is,
through it all. If she had her wits, and were using them to persuade
us to revenge her, it could not move like these piteous, tender
improprieties.
"Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness."
For she sings without smirching a single petal of the daisies and
pansies, which she so softly distributes, with such an appeal of
forlornness, to bid their fragrance disinfect her language, or to speak
for her in the natural key of her wonted maidenhood. So every heart
exhales in the pity that plays the magic of distance and softens the
unsightliness of her ruin.
Shakspeare has given most touchingly rational applications to her
distribution of the flowers. The flowers themselves are culled in
fancy: she holds no actual nosegay in her hand. She recalls,
together with the long-unheeded songs, all that she learned in
girlhood about the symbolic meanings of flowers; and a light irony
invests some of them. It is plain that the rosemary, for
remembrance, is ideally bestowed upon Laertes, with pansies too: "A
document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted." Rosemary
was supposed to have the quality of strengthening the memory. The
volatile Laertes will have need of it, and of as many thoughts as he
can muster. The fennel ought to be handed to Horatio, and the
columbines should be intended for the king: the one is a symbol of
flattery and is exchanged among courtiers, but Horatio never learned
the useful trade; the others are expressive of ingratitude and
cuckoldom. Was Hamlet's father slain because of that? The
columbines were earned betimes! There's rue for the queen; for she
has great need of repentance. There's rue for herself too. Both need
it; but the queen with a difference, as her moral condition differed
from Ophelia's. We may call it an herb that leads to grace. There's a
daisy. She recognizes it, but ought not to keep it for herself. And
there is no other maiden present. It represents frivolous and light-
thoughted girls. She would give Laertes some violets, if they had not
all withered when his father died. These delicate allusions make us
think that before the distraction set in Ophelia had inklings of the
foul concerns around her. All the more hopeless, then, became the
overthrow of reason.
Hamlet is too finely endowed to sport with her inclining maidenhood.
She has no more calculation than a flower. She lets her beauty bend
towards him without timidity; for she likes that he should sip the
chalice which he will not rudely shatter. After every visit he used to
leave behind him a sense of honor which occupied her heart when
his lips had ceased protesting. Yet she will defer to the father, with
the instinct, perhaps, that more favorable dispositions will transpire.
Polonius, the old stickler for the conventions of royalty, is thoroughly
possessed with the idea that the Prince, from that point of view,
cannot be intending marriage. Some over-subtle critics will have it
that the old schemer is secretly chuckling over the idea that a match
may be made, but that he dreads the king. If Hamlet can only be
brought to the decisive point, and held there, the temper of the
court will be of little consequence. But what method shall be
employed with a prince who so loves to push off upon his moods of
feeling to let them get unhitched and float him from corresponding
facts? A double contrivance occurs to Polonius,—to protect his
daughter from the possible waywardness of a prince, and to pique
him into making a declaration of alliance. This is a delicate
operation; for the king will jealously scrutinize his movements. It
seems as if he was merely protecting his daughter, and keeping faith
with his king, when he urges her not to receive the letters which
besiege her door, nor to admit him any longer to her presence. Then
the sly old rat, not yet gone to burrow behind the arras, hopes to
gnaw into the King by attributing Hamlet's strange behavior to love
for Ophelia. And he has so nicely arranged matters, by prohibiting
letters and visits, that when the King, bending severe brows upon
him, asks, "How hath she received his love?" he can reply, with a
flush of honor, "What do you think of me?"
I cannot find that the context will justify this theory. It is
contradicted by the evident alarm and sorrow which the old man
displays when Ophelia describes the piteous plight of Hamlet after
his repulse; for what does Polonius know about a "father's spirit in
arms" laying waste the Prince's soul? No: he must be deep in love;
and Polonius must hasten to report it to the King.
We recur to the plain theory that Polonius supposes that a king's son
is out of the star of her unaspiring thought, and that such a match
would be against the stomach of the Court. He will cling to his lord
chamberlain's staff and totter with it to the end. The daughter,
respecting his fears, inflicts this harsh repulse upon Hamlet. How we
pity the Prince, who is turned away from her dear house whither he
would have longed to repair, weighed down with his awful secret, to
place his heart upon her restfulness, and let its rhythm soothe the
cracking nerves! Yet she "did return his letters, and denied his
access," perhaps the very morning after he had sworn the platform
oath. There's nothing to depend on left in Denmark. Who next is
false? What truth or feeling escapes the monstrous irony?
But mark how quickly Ophelia's love jumps at the father's plan to
bring them again together, as if by accident, in order that the King
and he may observe, by the nature of the interview, whether he is
mad from love of her. And when he thrusts a book into her hand,
that she may have the pretence of reading when Hamlet enters, she
gladly adopts the whole device; for has she not just heard the
Queen confess that she hopes Hamlet loves her?
"For your part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness; so shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honors."
Can she believe her ears? Hamlet's own mother hopes, as she
afterwards confessed directly above Ophelia's grave, that she may
become the wife of Hamlet. Then all the scruples of Laertes and her
father are groundless. However indisposed the King may feel to such
a match, she has a suitor in the heart of the mother. Welcome the
opportunity, welcome any stratagem, even that of taking his
remembrances from her bosom, to have them returned to her,—a
woman's wile to receive them back more rich than ever with smiles
of a recovered love.
The more common theory is that Ophelia does not suspect the
mother's inclination for such a marriage. The Queen's language is
guarded, and capable of two interpretations; but she spoke in the
presence of the King. Measure the extent of her meaning by the
depth of Ophelia's grave. Still, it is commonly thought that Ophelia
understands the Queen to expect of her to make Hamlet realize the
hopelessness of his passion, trusting to have his disorder dismissed
with his love. In that case, she is merely yielding to the father's
suggestion that these remembrances of his shall be returned; and
the old plotter has arranged this for the King to witness. Filial
deference cannot stoop lower than this sad enforcement; but her
whole life has been the non-assertion of a will. She,
"Of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,"
and who longed to
"Bring him to his wonted way again,"
is still so docile, so subject to the pervading influence of her father's
house, that she declares to Hamlet she has wished for a long time to
redeliver his gifts and letters, "of so sweet breath composed." And
when we hear her say,
"To the noble mind,
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind,"
we have a glimpse of the interview that was brought on by him
when, as she was sewing in her chamber, he forced himself into her
presence, in disordered dress, and with a manner as if he would
dismiss her from his heart. It wounded and distressed her:—
"Oh, woe is me!
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!"
It need not seem unnatural that the fair girl is so obsequious to the
father's will. We find no mother in the house: she is gone, and the
only daughter and only son transfer their love of a mother to the
bereaved father, and cling to him with a devotion that includes a
special submissiveness. They live very much withdrawn into
themselves, and mutually dependent. The gentle daughter consults
in her solitude the wishes and humors, even the whims, of the
father, whose capacity for giving sound advice she perceives to have
greatly aged. She loves to be retired within the old mansion, whose
still life suits a maiden shyness. We come upon her sewing in her
chamber, thinking of Hamlet.
"As patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,"
she sits drooping in silence, remembering her lord, but remembering
too that, when her father pooh-poohed her talk about the Prince's
affection for her, and bade her look out for herself, she sighed and
said, "I shall obey, my lord." She is very much absorbed in contriving
solace for a lonely father. So, when she learns that he has been
killed, and that the blow was dealt by Hamlet, by what freak of
accident she cannot understand,—but "a young maid's wits" prove to
be "as mortal as an old man's life,"—the daughter suddenly empties
every thing out of her heart except affection for the cherished,
fatuous old father: her love for Hamlet is spilled out through that
rent in the arras, as we can notice when all her pretty, distracted
singing yields not a tone that might be an echo of the sweet episode
in her poor little life. For otherwise, when madness broke up her
maidenly reserve, and permitted us to pry into the dispositions of
her soul, we ought to have found there a love for Hamlet as deeply
seated as devotion to a father; but it never was so deep, and never
had time enough to surmount all other considerations. Therefore the
sad wanderings bury the father over and over again, finding a fresh
grave for him each time:—
"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did go,
With true-love showers."
"We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep to think they
should lay him in the cold ground. My brother shall know of it;" and
on the strength of that she culls out rosemary for him.
"They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
And in his grave rain'd many a tear;
Fare you well, my dove!" says this loyal daughter. We echo it, but
with a difference: she is this dove to whom we bid farewell. For
already "in the distance one white arm is seen above the tide,"
clutching at the branches of a willow growing askant a brook; and
our pulse premeditates the funeral strain that goes graveward while
her Prince is looking "at the skull as though Death had written on it
the history of man."
Poor maiden, to be churlishly suspected of making an end of herself,
when we know that "an envious sliver broke" and let her into that
coffin strewn with flowers,—the tributes, not to womanhood in its
capacity to resolve, to outlive destiny, to outdo circumstance with
patience, to contrive escapes from disaster, but simply "sweets to
the sweet," turned as they were to immortal amaranths when
Hamlet's breath endowed them:—
"I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers
Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum."
Then, too late for her, but not for us, to atone for her chariness of
language and action, all her gifted simplicity is revealed to justify the
silent past and to ennoble Hamlet for his heart's choice of such an
unambitious soul. What freighted her might have kept Hamlet riding
on a steady keel upon any ocean that was not phantom-haunted.
Death casts up her freight underneath the cliffs of this stern tragedy,
and we are wreckers all along the shore to recover strays from the
sail that love had chartered.
When the procession enters the churchyard, Hamlet steps aside to
be unperceived. There is not a trait in this scene which does not
illustrate Ophelia's character, and reflect a tender worth upon it.
Hamlet wonders who it is, what person of estate whom they follow,
"and with such maimèd rites." When Laertes steps forward, Hamlet
praises him to Horatio. This deepens our feeling of his
unconsciousness that it is a brother who is burying that beloved
sister. 'Tis our common fashion of noting, with slightly raised
sympathy, the mourners in a train that bears away nothing
particularly dear to us. "What ceremony else?" Nothing more: the
stubborn old priest will not venture his own salvation on another
word for her whose "death was doubtful." Where he got that notion
does not appear in the play. It is like Malcolm's crotchet that Lady
Macbeth took herself off "by self and violent hands." But notions are
the sheet-anchors of formalists. The priest drops his, swings round,
and becomes immovable. He complains, with the whine of a man
who has been imposed upon, that "here she is allow'd her virgin
crants, her maiden strewments," and even a bell! If the sour old
ritualist could have had his way, he would have pitched "shards,
flints, and pebbles" over her. It is not only pity which increases, but
respect, with every line: it takes her part, and magnifies her nature.
There must have been more of her than we used to think. So, when
the requiem is denied, Laertes pronounces it for all when he says,—
"A minist'ring angel shall my sister be,"
as she always had been. And our sentiment recalls the dominant
excellence of her character. If ever the priest himself should come to
grief, and lie howling in that place which is paved with good
intentions and bad practices, she would be the first to toss him a
sprig of "herb o' grace o' Sundays."
When Laertes lets fall the word "sister," Hamlet appears to utter
nothing but ordinary surprise,—"What! the fair Ophelia?"—and his
action goes no further. Some critics have inferred, from this absence
of manifested emotion, that Hamlet never really loved Ophelia, and
that his subsequent passionate outbreak was only inspired by pique
at seeing Laertes take on so with leaping into the grave as if to fill it
with hyperboles of language. It is said that, at the very instant of
hearing her name, a lover would have exclaimed bitterly, would have
rushed forward into the funeral group to agitate its grief afresh with
his own, would have sunk into some gesture of abandonment.
Romeo might have improvised such a scene, but Hamlet was a
different style of lover: he was always "ill at such numbers. His
emotion smouldered underneath all the refinements of intellect and
conscience, and rarely gleamed through the scruples of his will.
When it did gain a moment's mastery, as in that scene of
surrendering love,—
"He raised a sigh so piteous and profound,
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his being,"
it palsied the tongue, and only advertised itself in the pathetic eyes
which fell to such perusal of Ophelia's face, "and to the last bended
their light" on her.
Let us try to conceive the situation at the grave. Hamlet has been
absent in England during Ophelia's distraction. Returning, he strolls
into a churchyard, amuses himself with the old grave-digger,
withdraws aside when the train approaches, so as not to be
recognized by the King. Then comes the discovery that Ophelia is
dead. There was always in Hamlet's brain that time allowed for the
transit of a message between his feeling and his deed. The line
connected with a great many intermediate tracts, in each of which
there was delay. Nothing but an unsyllabled fluid of conjecture
passed all along the way. Dead? How? Was that glad girl the one to
take her own life? Why? There was just time enough for him to hear
that confession of his mother,—
"I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife."
What a remembrance, extorted from death, of the old love that he
never could conceal from the mother's instinct which was so fond
and clear! He listens thus to despair reclaiming former hopes, and it
draws his spirit backward, so that the body cannot move and the
tongue dare not break this sacred silence of his retrospection.
Therefore, Laertes has plenty of time to rant like Pistol in a tavern.
His exaggerated action plunges into the grave of Hamlet's reverie
and breaks it up. The Prince is forced into disgust at hearing a man
vaunt love against his own. All scruples are shrivelled up in anger;
and he instinctively assumes the tone he hears. The old ironical
disgust for sham makes the imitation perfect. Afterward, to Horatio,
he acknowledges that he forgot himself:—
"But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towering passion."
And this passion broke open his respect and prudence, and let loose
the first cry of his love that had ever reached the ears of others. Else
it would have lain buried with Ophelia in the silence of her lover's
breast.
It was too much,—to discover at such a moment what used to be his
mother's expectations; to see the sprinkling of those flowers that
should have been for marriage; to have the old conviction return,
that marriage was impossible for him,—a man whose bed, watched
by a ghost, could have no other tenant; to recall how he ousted
love, that revenge might occupy. It was too much for this heart of
sensitive and noble strain to see the dead girl, and catch through the
rant of Laertes that her prince had indirectly caused her death. His
solid flesh could not melt: the coffin chilled it. But how long could he
listen to this man, whose affected furor showed him to be a person
incapable of deep passion? It fans all that smoulders in him into
smoke and flame. In the rage of a temperament whose trick it
always was to baffle itself, and in the bitterness of being reminded
by her cold beauty that he had to surrender it while it was too young
to die,—it is too masterful. He bursts into Laertes's vein with its own
style,—
"Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou,"
but soon checks himself with a half apology, and subsides.
How mobile and impressible he was, notwithstanding his large
capacity of reason! The latter aided him to dissimulate and to keep
his projects waiting; but the other traits nourished a fancy that easily
turned to mimicry of whatever was transpiring; as when he
assumed, half-consciously, the dandified phrasing of Osric, and
played with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. This plastic fancy jumped
to the high stilts of Laertes, and it stalked to "make Ossa like a
wart."
But his bosom secret has escaped. He turns away, is followed by
Horatio, to whom, before the next scene opens, we hear him
(though no folio nor quarto ever lisped a syllable of it) pouring out
the confidences of a fruitless passion to the only honest man of all
the crowd, the still and trusty comrade. This Shakspeare would have
us understand, I think, by giving Hamlet to say to Horatio, as they
enter the next scene together, "So much for this, sir." So much for
what? we think. Then it dawns upon us that the only other interest
of the moment must have been Ophelia's death.
And we recollect that Horatio was absent at the time of her death,
having gone to meet Hamlet near the sea-coast. So both of them
were ignorant of the occurrence. But now Horatio has been making
inquiries during the time that elapses between the burial and the
next scene. He picks up all the particulars, and has been detailing to
the eager Hamlet all that we know. And Hamlet's entry upon the
next scene is timed exactly when Horatio has ceased narrating.
There is nothing more to tell. Hamlet enters, saying, "So much for
this, sir. Now you shall see the other." That is, I will relate what has
happened to me also, and how a divinity has shaped my ends to this
return. And his brief life is claimed again by the native land on which
a ghost has left the tracks of a murder; for great Heaven has not yet
hunted it down. So
"Lay her i' the earth;
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring,"
to renew the breed which withered with the death of her father.
MACBETH.
MACBETH.
IT is the opinion of Fleay that "'Macbeth,' in its present state, is an
altered copy of the original drama, and the alterations were made by
Middleton." Thomas Middleton wrote twenty-three plays. Among
them was "The Witch," written, perhaps, in 1613, and published in
1617. Shakspeare's "Macbeth" was first played in 1606. It appears in
the Folio of 1623 for the first time in print, as a more finished acting
copy than the other plays. The divisions of acts and scenes and the
stage directions are carefully marked. The death of Shakspeare
occurred in 1616. It is possible that Middleton was the person who
prepared the Folio copy of "Macbeth." Scarce a trace, however, of his
own style can be suspected; for there is only occasionally a verbal
similarity of the charms and incantations employed in "Macbeth" and
"The Witch" of later date. In Act iii. 5, the burden of the song,
"Come away, come away," and, in Act iv. 1, the song, "Black spirits,"
&c., are to be found in "The Witch:" the latter is merely indicated as
a stage direction in "Macbeth." In Act i. 1, we are reminded of
Middleton in "I come, Graymalkin!"[19] and "Paddock calls." He may
have shoved his "Malkin" into that first chant of the witches, and
spoiled its metre. But although the introduction of Hecate, in Act iii.
5, is said to be not Shakspearean enough in relevancy to the play, it
is altogether too Shakspearean in style for Middleton, who never
could have written,—
"Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that, distill'd by magic sleights,
Shall raise such artificial sprites
As by the strength of their illusion
Shall draw him on to his confusion."
And we must notice that Hecate thus introduces and accounts for
the "artificial sprites,"—the apparitions which deceive Macbeth in Act
iv. 1, and entice him to "be bloody, bold, and resolute." This scene is
certainly Shakspeare's. It is therefore probable that he would have
preceded it by some inkling of the deceptive nature of the armed
head, the bloody child, and the child crowned.
On the ground of an apparently un-Shakspearean style of metre in
Act i. 2, which introduces the wounded sergeant, several
commentators credit that scene also to Middleton. It is said to be too
slovenly and bombastic for Shakspeare.
It is unsafe to limit the critical treatment of Shakspeare's verse to
metrical or verbal tests. Æsthetic emergencies will sometimes
overrule the decisions of the sharpest critics who construct
Shakspeare out of reputed peculiarities of his style. He escapes from
them to be raggeder than we think is personal to him, broader than
our taste can tolerate, more thin or more fulsome than his grandest
tone, whenever occasion summons traits which fit into a deeper
consistency than that of style. Then, if the critic of metrical and
verbal niceties is not also a human observer, or is too much
preoccupied with his theory of the Shakspearean method, he will be
apt to disparage some prescriptions of Nature.
It is also a very common procedure to illustrate the excellences of
Shakspeare by comparing them with the inferior work of the
contemporary dramatists. Either Shakspeare at his best ought to be
matched with the other playwrights at their best, or else we ought to
concede that his occasional weaknesses, which are like theirs, are
not theirs, but his own. It is absurd to keep Shakspeare posturing
incessantly in the finest attitude of the several periods of his style.
During the Elizabethan age, England's soil stood thick with true
poets whose fragrance often makes us suspect that Shakspeare is
near. It is dangerous to be too positive upon the matter of sentiment
as well as style. Take for an instance this:—
"I am so light
At any mischief, there's no villainy
But is a tune methinks."
That lightness of heart is Middleton's. It is stray pollen from the
garden of Shakspeare. But nothing is fructified: there is no tune in
the villainous stuff which precedes and follows.
The wounded sergeant easily justifies his mangled metre and ragged
pomposity of style. We should suspect a more polished messenger of
shamming faintness from loss of blood. He talks exactly as a
common soldier should who is fresh from the great fight, puffed up
with "valor's minion," and steadying himself upon reeking lines to
deliver his message of victory. Middleton could not have so caught
the color of the moment.
It is also supposed that Middleton wrote the scene, because when
Ross enters he tells the King that
"Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict."
A discrepancy is charged between this and the report of Angus, in
Scene 3 (acknowledged to be Shakspeare's), who enters with Ross,
and says, concerning the thane of Cawdor,—
"Whether he was combin'd
With those of Norway; or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not."
Perhaps Ross did not either. But he knew that Cawdor "assisted." He
did not say that he was personally engaged in the fight.
The opening chant of the witches is denied to Shakspeare by one
critic, because it seems to occupy the opening scene merely to
inform us that they are to meet somewhere again; and by another it
is attributed to Middleton because it does not flow in the usual
trochaic manner of Shakspeare, and contains imperfect lines.
Middleton may have Paddock and Graymalkin for his share in the
attempt to spoil this grand chant, whose accent ought to have sung
Shakspeare's feeling into the critic's ear; for so the foot of Fate
would fall in order to pitch the key of the tragedy, and lead its crime
into our presence. Its measured step seems to issue out of some
foreboding by Macbeth of his ambition's purpose. The weird sisters
are not merely enjoying a thunderstorm, and wondering when they
shall meet again in similar favorable weather. Their lips put a stress
of destiny upon every syllable. The poet's pen unconsciously follows
in their traces.
The same metre is employed in the "Tempest" and "Midsummer-
Night's Dream," by Ariel, Oberon, and Puck, when they are on
sublunary business. But they
"Foot it featly here and there:"
the lines skim or flutter, and do not tread. The accent is not so
persistent: it does not sound like the hinge on which a pause swings
open to admit the foot of a thing that is burdened with a solemn
message. On the blasted heath of Macbeth, the verses of Ariel would
be like a strayed butterfly:—
"Where the bee sucks, there suck I."
He spurs the omen out of owls and bats, and rides them away from
the chill of the evening, "after summer, merrily." Prospero, hearing
him sing, says, "That's my dainty Ariel." Puck likewise, too mercurial
for chanting, carols with a broom on his shoulder to make a clean
sweep of mischief:—
"And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic."
The lines go lilting like a little boat over the accent which can hardly
raise a ripple. It is a supernature in the best of humor, beguiling or
blessing men and women in a dulcet style.
But the witches chant holding torches of the lightning while the
thunder slowly scans their verse:—
1 Witch. When shall we three meet again,
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?