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according to the barrister's diary, "Twelfth-Night" possesses the greatest resemblance, cannot be determined until the lost comedy is recovered. In what way Shakspeare has made use of the novel of Bandello, if that be the source from which he drew, may be seen in Echtermeyer, Henschel, and Simrock (ii. 161; iii. 254, f.), where it will appear that in such a case the piece, so far as invention is concerned, is altogether Shakspeare's own property.

2. AS YOU LIKE IT. THE COMEDY OF ERRÒRS.THE WINTER'S TALE.

The noble comedy of "As You Like It" is also of the mixed class, but with a decided preponderance of the fanciful element. Of two princely brothers, one is in possession of the ducal throne, of which we are not told how-he has unjustly dispossessed the other, who, with his followers, are leading a wild and fantastic sort of life in the Forest of Arden; of another pair of noble brothers, the younger is persecuted by the elder, and takes refuge in the forest with the banished Duke; two princesses, the daughters of the two dukes, are deeply attached to each other, so that upon the banishment of one the other accompanies her in her flight also to the forest; a merry and a melancholy fool, with shepherds and shepherdesses, drawn to the truth of nature, with a few light touches-such are the principal personages of the piece, which, in harmonious and graceful grouping, and pleasing contrasts, animate the wilds of the wood of Arden, and by their diversified situations, relations, and character, condition every thing, and of themselves bring about whatever happens in the piece. Separately considered, nothing appears directly to contradict nature; no being or event singly is supernatural or unusual; viewed singly, each character, situation, and transaction, might belong to the most ordinary reality. It is only by the presence of lions and serpents in an European forest, that we are gently reminded that we are standing within the intellectual domain of poetical fancy. But still more strongly does the whole, as it organically developes itself, and by the action of the several parts on each other, and

their relation to the whole-in short, the sum of the circumstances, situations, transactions, and incidents, give us to understand that it is by no means the purpose of the drama to exhibit ordinary reality, but, on the contrary, a view of life taken from a peculiar poetic position-in other words, a fanciful reflection of it in the mirror of irony and humour. For, when we take a closer look at the whole, we are soon compelled to admit that the like does not and could not come to pass in reality, but that such a romantic mode of living, in the solitude of a forest, is but a poctical dream; that caprice and humour do not so absolutely rule human life; that a character like that of the unjust Duke would not be so easily converted by the religious old hermit, nor a man like Oliver de Boys be suddenly diverted from his hatred by one magnanimous action of his persecuted and injured brother.

But it will be asked, where, then, amid this apparent want of nature and reality, is the poetic truth of the piece, and what is the position from which it contemplates human life? To answer this question it must be borne in mind, that the general comic view of things forms the basis of the whole piece, and that, consequently, it is by means of contrast, and not directly, that human life is here illustrated, and that by chance, humour, and caprice, being made to annihilate and subvert each other, the true director of human life, which is nothing less than the eternal order of things, is brought to light. This becomes clearly manifest, when we behold the arbitrary caprice which led to the banishment of the good old Duke, brought to an end by a like capricious whim ; and how, in like measure, fickle humour restores a good understanding between the two brothers Oliver and Orlando de Boys; and how the fanciful loves of Rosalind and Orlando, of Celia and Oliver, which owed their origin to a singular concurrence of circumstances, are rendered happy by a no less arbitrary play of caprice and accident; and how, in the same way, the coyness of the shepherdess Phebe is overcome, and she is united to her faithful and goodhumoured simpleton of a lover.

Thus is the general comic view reflected in the whole, and thus does it form the foundation and platform on which all moves. When, then, we come to ask what special position the poet has here taken, and what is the special ground-idea of the piece, the title of the play

But, as already On the other hand,

will, in the first place, afford us some information on this head. The words "As You Like It," are but a phrase of courtesy, which says and means but little. This title, like "What You Will," has also been referred to the relation between the piece and the public (e. g. by A. W. Schlegel), and been so interpreted as to be made to convey the sense that the poem might assume any form and appearance at the pleasure of the spectator. remarked, this is not and cannot be the case. it is quite possible that the title may (as Tieck thinks) contain an allusion to Ben Jonson's unreasonable attacks on Shakspeare's easy and apparently irregular and arbitrary compositions. But, on the one hand, the allusion does not hold exactly; Jonson's words are, "If You Like It," whereas the superscription to Shakspeare's piece is, "As You Like It;" and this difference, if it does not upset, certainly shakes Tieck's explanation: "If You Like It,—this is a comedy par excellence"-and the same is the case with the equally far-fetched allusion to the words "If you like it, so, and yet will be yours in dutie, if you be mine in favours," which form the opening of Thomas Lodge's Pastoral and chivalric rcmance (Rosalynd, Euphues Golden Legacy, 1590), from which Shakspeare derived the materals of "As You Like It." On the other hand, any subordinate allusion which the title may convey of this kind, will not by any means exclude a reference to the contents and ground-idea of the whole. Shakspeare might possibly choose or alter the title of his comedy, with a sidelong look of derision at the pedantic assumption of his adversary; but, at the same time, I am confident he would never have adopted it, if it did not possess an objective justification in its applicability to the subjectmatter of the drama. And, in fact, it is easy enough to point out this reference, as soon as we have apprehended the whole in its life-giving and animating ground-idea. In this comedy, life itself is contemplated in the light it would appear, if it were presented to a man, as it were, on a salver, with the courteous invitation to take it as he likes it. Throughout the whole piece, every one does just as he likes; every one, with unrestrained wilfulness and caprice, gives himself up either to evil or to good as the fit strikes him ; every one looks upon, turns, and shapes-life as he fancies. The forest of Arden is the stage, and with its fresh and free forest air, and its

mysterious gloom, at the same time the fitting scene for the realisation of such a view of life. That out of which the whole action proceeds, on which the entire representation is based, and on which likewise the fantastic character of the whole consists, is not so much any external objective, as an internal and subjective contingency-the humour and caprice of the acting personages in their influence on one another.

It is true that on this account the whole cannot be justifiable, except within the comic view of things; such a view of life, in truth, can be nothing but irony; such a position for the contemplation of life is at best an isolated and exclusive one; such a view is not the whole truth. However, irony, on the other hand, does not consist merely in taking and exhibiting the absolutely false for the truth; but the essence of irony depends on that sharp dialectic of the mind, which seizes a matter, or a one-sided view in its naked onesidednesss, and shews how in such exclusiveness it becomes its direct opposite. In fact, the above view of life conveys the profound truth, that the mind of man, by its free-will and faculty of self-determination, can really shape, turn, and direct his own life as he likes. But, however true this may be, still it is only one side of the truth that is here brought forward; its other equally important aspect, which exhibits the eternal harmony and law-the everlasting counsels of God, ruling and superintending the history of the world, and every individual life,—is entirely overlooked, and like the reverse of a coin, turned away from our regard in darkness and obscurity. But, although Shakspeare has set forward the first side in full light, still it was far from his intention to offer it as the full and perfect truth. On the contrary, he places the whole on the airy summit of the comic point of view, and while he allows it to unfold itself, to develope itself in its full and sharp exclusiveness, the dialectic of irony which it involves within itself urges it forward till it passes into its direct contrary. Contradictions, humour, caprice, and folly, destroy themselves, and at last the good and the rational prevail, and the whole terminates in an intrinsic harmony which is only possible in the empire of true liberty, and not in that of caprice and humour.

This dialectic of irony, and therein the fundamental meaning of the whole drama, appears at its greatest height in the two fools.

The melancholy Jacques is not drawn as a fool by profession; he appears merely as a comic, foolish character; but his profound superficiality, his witty sentimentality, his merry sadness, have struck root so deeply in his inmost being, that it shews throughout but the one stamp of folly and perversity. All these contrasts are in fact found in his character; his profoundness is really profound, but at the same time, when held up to the light, very superficial; his soft, tender sensitiveness is however full of sharp hooks and edges, and his melancholy in fact is in the highest degree merry and sportive. While all the other characters seem to regard life as a gay toy and merry pomp, he, with similar one-sidedness, takes it for a sombre funeral train, in which every mourner, weeping and wailing, is advancing to his own grave. The gay and festive play of the others bears, however, in itself, and eventually passes over into, a deep seriousness; so in like manner, in this case, the dull melancholy funeral train changes insensibly and involuntarily into a procession of fools. The merry fool, Touchstone, on the other hand, is the genuine English clown-the fool with the jingling cap-and-bells, who is and professes to be a fool, and so makes sport of himself and all the rest of the world. In this personification of irony, all the perversities and contradictions of the represented view of life are collected together; but on this obverse is stamped the profound truth and wisdom which lies hidden on the reverse of the whole. While the other lovers are in chase of some fancied ideal of beauty, amiability, and virtue, and yet, after all, run into the arms of, very ordinary and every-day sort of beings, he takes for himself an ill-favoured piece of flesh of a country girl-he loves her because he chooses her-and he chooses her because he loves her. This is, indeed, the wilfulness of love, as it is depicted by Shakspeare in his comedies, in its full force. But it is even this very unreasonableness that renders it the wonderful and fatal power which seizes upon the heart and life of man without his knowledge or consent; while at the same time it represents that higher power, which, uninfluenced by human caprice and subjectivity, guides the life and history of mankind with unseen hand. Lastly, while all the other personages have adopted the solitary and free life of the forest, either through external circumstances or internal impulse-in short, on good reason, and of their free will-he alone has come there without

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