Rolfe's Comments on Some of the Characters In Shakespeare A Midsummer-night's Dream Rolfe, William J.

Introduction and Comments on Some of the Characters. In: Shakespeare, William. Shakespeare's Comedy of A Midsummer-night's Dream. Ed. William J. Rolfe. New ork: !merican "ook Compan#, $%&': % ( )% and )$* + )),. !-aila.le at: https://archi-e.or0/stream/works&*shak0oo0/works&*shak0oo01d2-u.t3t. Intro: p.$4: 5he plot of the pla# seems to .e the poet's own, e3+ cept for the few hints he ma# ha-e 0ot from Chaucer's 6ni0htes 5ale and the life of 5heseus in North's 7lutarch. 8or the interlude of 7#ramus and 5his.e he was dou.t+ less inde.ted to 9oldin0's translation of :-id and Chaucer's ;e0ende of 9oode Women, !ttempts < ha-e .een made to pro-e that certain poems in which 7uck, or Ro.in 9oodfellow, fi0ures were written .efore the pla#, and that Shakespeare used them = .ut it has .een satisfactoril# pro-ed that the pla# was the earlier. 5he popularit# of the comed# led to the writin0 up of the old fair# stories .# others. >ere, as in other instances, Shakespeare had his imitators and pla0iarists, .ut there is no e-idence that he imitated or pla0iari?ed from an#+ .od#. !s 9rant White remarks, @ 5he plot of ! Aid+ summer+Ni0ht's Bream has no protot#pe in ancient stor#.@ :.eron, 5itania, and Ro.in 9oodfellow were familiar persona0es in the popular fair# m#tholo0# of the time, .ut Shakespeare has made them peculiarl# his own. >e was @ the remodeler, and almost the in-entor of our fair# s#stem.@ 9eneral Comments on the 7la# 5he Aidsummer+ Ni0h f s BreamC as Derplanck re+ marks, @is, in se-eral respects, the most remarka.le com+ position of its author, and has pro.a.l# contri.uted more to his 0eneral fame, as it has 0i-en a more peculiar e-i+ Introduction $E dence of the -ariet# and .rillianc# of his 0enius, than an# other of his dramas. Not that it is in itself the no.lest of his works, or e-en one of the hi0hest order amon0 them = .ut it is not onl# e3Fuisite in its kind G it is also ori0inal and peculiar in its whole character, and of a class .# itself. ... It stands .# itself, without an# parallel = for 5he 5empestC which it resem.les in its pre+ ternatural persona0es and machiner# of the plot, is in $

other respects wholl# dissimilar, is of Fuite another mood in feelin0 and thou0ht, and with, perhaps, hi0her attri+ .utes of 0enius, wants its peculiar fascination. 5hus it is that the loss of this sin0ularl# .eautiful production would, more than that of an# other of his works, ha-e a.rid0ed the measure of its author's fame, as it would ha-e left uC without the means of formin0 an# estimate of the .rilliant li0htness of his ' for0eti-e ' fanc#, in its most sporti-e and lu3uriant -ein. ... It has, in com+ mon with all his comedies, a perpetual intermi3ture of the essentiall# poetical with the purel# lau0ha.le, #et is distin0uished from all the rest .# .ein0 Has Colerid0e has happil# defined its characterI ' one continued specimen of the dramati?ed l#rical.' Its transitions are as rapid, and the ima0es and scenes it presents to the ima0ination as une3pected and as remote from each other, as those of the .oldest l#ric= while it has also that hi0hest perfec+ tion of the I2rric art, the per-adin0 unit# of the poetic spirit G that continued 0low of e3cited thou0ht G which .lends the whole rich and stran0e -ariet# in one common effect of 0a# and da??lin0 .rillianc#.@ AIB. ni0ht's dream G ) $ * ! Aidsummer+Ni0ht's Bream 5he 9erman 9er-inus well sa#s : @ 5hat which Shake speare recei-ed in the rou0h form of fra0mentar# popu+ lar .elief he de-eloped in his pla#ful creation into a .eautiful and re0ulated world. . . . >e has 0i-en form and place to the fair# kin0dom, and with the natural creati-e power of 0enius he has .reathed a soul into his merr# little citi?ens, thus impartin0 a li-in0 centre to their nature and their office, their .eha-iour and their doin0s. >e has 0i-en em.odied form to the in-isi.le, and life to the dead, and has thus stri-en for the poet's 0reatest 0lor# = and it seems as if it was not without con+ sciousness of this his work that he wrote in a strain of self+reliance that passa0e in this -er# pla# : G J 5he poet's e#e, in a fine fren?# rollin0, Both 0lance from hea-en to earth, from earth to hea-en= !nd as ima0ination .odies forth 5he forms of thin0s unknown, the poet's pen 5urns them to shapes and 0i-es to air# nothin0 ! local ha.itation and a name.' @ 5his de.t which our literature owes to Shakespeare in liftin0 the fairies of -ul0ar superstition to the le-el of poetr# is, moreo-er, the keImote of the 0raceful tri.ute )

that >ood pa#s the dramatist in his 7lea of the Aidsum+ mer 8airies, In this charmin0 poem 5itania is repre+ sented as feelin0 a sad fore.odin0 that the fair# race is doomed to e3tinction and o.li-ion. 5he fairies are assem.led in one of their forest haunts when the Kueen addresses them : G Introduction $ % @ J !las,' Fuoth she, ' #e know our fair# li-es !re .ased upon the Lckle faith of menM < MM<MM ;ike human 0ossamers, we perish when We fade and are for0ot in worldl# ken.' @ She has seen old Saturn, or 5ime, ran0in0 the woods, and fears that he is in pursuit of her su.2ects with hostile intent. Just then he appears, and the fairies huddle to0ether like fri0htened sheep, while the Kueen .e0s him to spare them = and then one after another of the fa#s comes forward to plead with him. "ut their appeals, instead of mo-in0 him to merc#, onl# enra0e him = and at last he is on the point of sweepin0 them awa# with his awful sc#the, when the apparition of Shakespeare inter+ poses and tells Saturn .luntl# that he shall not harm or fri0hten his protN0Ns. 5he 0od then turns his wrath a0ainst the presumptuous ad-ocate of the el-es, and .rin0s down his sc#the upon the poet's head= .ut @ the .lade flashed on the dinted 0round Bown throu0h his steadfast foe, #et made no scar :n that immortal shade or deathlike wound = "ut 5ime was lon0 .enum.ed, and stood a2ar. !nd then with .affled ra0e took fli0ht afar.@ 5he 0rateful fairies 0ather a.out their deli-erer, and 5itania cries : G JJ Nod to him, el-es, and flutter round a.out him, !nd Fuite enclose him with #our prett# crowd. !nd touch him lo-in0l#, for that, without him, 5he silkworm now had spun our drear# shroud= "ut he hath Fuite dispersed death's tearful cloud.

)& ! Aidsummer+Ni0ht's Bream

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!nd 5ime's dread effi0# scared Fuite awa#. "ow to him, then, as tho' to me #e .owed. !nd his dear wishes prosper and o.e# Where-er lo-e and wit can find a wa#.@ !nd then 5itania, @ with a 0raceful hand, Wa-es thrice three splendid circles round his head. Which, tho' deserted .# the radiant wand, Wears still the 0lor# which her wa-in0 shedM MMMMMM 9oodl# it was to see that 0lor# shine !round a .row so loft# and .eni0n O @ 5he whole poem is redolent with ima0inati-e .eaut#, and the tri.ute to Shakespeare is one that he himself would ha-e .een deli0hted to accept. 5he title of the pla# of course does not refer to the time of the action, which is the closin0 da#s of !pril and the first of Aa#, .ut to the season that su00ested it, or to which it was appropriate = like 5he WinterC s 5ale, which is a tale JCfor winter,@ not of winter. In choosin0 a name for the Bream, the poet not impro.a.l# had in mind the man# superstitions connected with Aidsum+ mer E-e Hthe e-e of June )'d, precedin0 the festi-al of the Nati-it# of John the "aptistI G a season which, more+ o-er, was @ ancientl# thou0ht to .e producti-e of mental -a0aries,'' or '' midsummer madness,@ as it is called in 5k-eCth Ni0ht Hiii. P. 4$I. John >e#wood, in his Epi+ 0rams and 7ro-er.s, asks : G @ !s mad as a Aarch hare O Where madness comparetI !re not Aidsummer hares as mad as Aarch haresQJ' p.)E: 5here is not the sli0htest reason to .elie-e that Shake+ speare e-er introduces alle0or# into his pla#s, RRRRR 5he most impersonal of dramatists cannot entirel# conceal his personalit# in his pla#s. 5he heart no less than the hand of the creator is ine-ita.l# re-ealed in certain of his creations. 8rom what the# are we know in a measure what he must ha-e .een. 5he @ meanest of mankind,@ thou0h he had .een @ the wisest, .ri0ht+ est @ withal, could ne-er ha-e produced the Shakespearian 5heseus, P

or "rutus, or 7ortia, or Imo0en. 9rapes are not to .e 0athered of thorns at St. !l.an's or an#where else. 5he# do 0row on -arious

!ppendi3 ))$ sorts of -ines= .ut the Stratford 0rapes ha-e an e3Fuisite fla-our that could come onl# from a plant of the finest strain. Bemetrius and ;#sander, >elena and >ermia, are .ut sli0ht sketches, imperfectl# indi-iduali?ed, thou0h not without distinc+ ti-e traits which the critics ha-e seldom trou.led themsel-es to point out. 5he# are, howe-er, inferior G the women in particu' lar G to characters of the same class in ;o-is ;a.our Js ;ost and 5he 5ioo 9entlemen of Derona, >ence some of the critics ha-e as+ sumed that this pla# must .e of earlier date than those G which, on other 0rounds, is clearl# impossi.le, thou0h the Bream Hsee p. lo a.o-eI appears to contain scattered remnants of -er# earl# work. 5he fact is, Shakespeare was .ut sli0htl# interested in the human characters of the present pla#, with the e3ception of 5heseus and "ottom. It was the fairies who chiefl# attracted him, and on whom he la-ished the wealth of his 0enius. 5he# ha-e .een aptl# called J'the fa-ourite children of his romantic fanc#@= and perhaps, as Brake remarks, C in no part of his works has he e3hi.ited a more creati-e and -isionar# pencil, or a finer tone of enthusiasm, than in .od#in0 forth these ' air# nothin0s,J and in 0i-in0 them, in .ri0hter and e-er+dura.le tints, once more S a local ha.itation and a name.' @ Shakespeare's delineation of these little creatures is one of the most remarka.le triumphs of his dramatic art. 5he# are not dimin+ uti-e human .ein0s with superhuman powers, thou0h in some respects the# are like human children. ;ike #oun0 children .efore the# ha-e learned the distinction .etween ri0ht and wron0, the# ha-e no moral sense, and little or no comprehension of such sense in the mortals with whom the# are associated. ;ike children, the# li-e in the present, and are Fuite incapa.le of reflection. 5he# think and feel like the child. 5heir lo-es and their Fuarrels are like those of the child. :.eron and 5itania Fuarrel o-er the possession of the prett# chan0elin0 .o# as two children do a.out a to# which the# .oth want = and later, when 5itania, fascinated with "ottom, ceases to care for the .o# and 0i-es him to :.eron, he 0ets o-er his petulance, releases her from the ma0ic influence of the lo-e+

&)) !ppendi3

2uice, and the# @ make up JJ and are friends a0ain, like children rather than like Wers. 5he tricks the# pla# on the human lo-ers are like those that children pla# on one another, without an# thou0ht of the sufferin0 the# ma# cause the -ictims. JJ ;ord, what fools these mortals .e O @ is 7uck's onl# comment upon the results of his mischief. >e is deli0hted that thin0s .efall preposterousl#, and anticipates more sport when Bemetrius and ;#sander wake up, for JJ then will two at once woo one.@ 5itania feels no mortification when she finds that she has .een enamoured of "ottom with his ass's head. She onl# knows that she loathes him now that she has reco-ered from the infatuation. We cannot help pit#in0 her for the humiliation to which she has .een su.2ected= .ut our pit# is wasted. She is no more capa.le of feelin0 humiliated .# an# such e3perience than a child would .e after it was o-er. She for0ets it, and ne-er recalls it. !s I ha-e intimated. "ottom is the onl# one of the clownish compan# who demands an# special notice. >e is En0lish, like his name, and like all of Shakespeare's low+life folk, no matter in what land or what a0e he places them. 7uck calls him @the shal+ lowest thickskin of the .arren @ set= .ut how he lords it o-er them, and how a.solutel# the# su.mit to his self+conceited domination O Kuince is the nominal mana0er of the pla#, .ut "ottom usurps the office. It is onl# .# flatter# that Kuince, after "ottom has wanted to assume the parts of 5his.e and the lion, persuades him to take that of 7#ramus= for JJ7#ramus is a sweet+faced man= a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's da#= a most lo-el# 0entleman+ like man : therefore #ou must needs pla# 7#ramus.@ It is "ottom who criticises certain thin0s in the tra0ed# @ that will ne-er please,@ G the killin0 of 7#ramus and the introduction of that @ fearful wild+ fowl,@ the lion, amon0 ladies= and it is he who su00ests how these difficulties can .e o.-iated, G .# a prolo0ue which shall e3plain , that 7#ramus is not 7#ramus .ut "ottom the wea-er, and is not killed indeed, and that the lion is no lion .ut Snu0 the 2oiner. It

!ppendi3 ))' is he also who de-ises the in0enious e3pedient of ha-in0 the wall represented .# 'J some man or other,@ with JJ plaster or rou0h+6Tst a.out him to si0nif# wall.@ When "ottom disappears, his companions decide at once that JJ the pla# is marred.@ It is not possi.le that it can 0o on : @ #ou ha-e not a man in all !thens a.le to dischar0e 7#ramus .ut he @= he @hath the .est wit of an# handicraft man in !thens, and the .est person too, and he is a -er# paramour for a sweet -oice.@ 4

!t the performance of the pla# he is the onl# actor who turns aside from his part to speak to the audience in his own person in repl# to 5heseus and Bemetrius= and, the moment after he is dead, he 2umps up, and, a0ain assumin0 the part of sta0e+mana0er, asks 5heseus whether it will please him JJ to see the epilo0ue or to hear a "er0omask dance.@ We cannot dou.t that in "ottom, in a more .roadl# humorous wa# than later in >amlet's talk with the pla#ers, Shakespeare intended a 0ood+natured hit at some of the e3tra-a0ancies and a.surdities of the pla#s and the actors of his time G the pla#s in the Ureles -ein, with parts to tear a cat in, and actors like "ottom, whose chief humour was for the t#rant, spoutin0 such alliterati-e rh#mes as "ottom 0ets off : +G @ 5he ra0in0 rocks !nd shi-erin0 shocks Shall .reak the locks :f prison 0ates= !nd 7hi..us' car Shall shine from Vur, !nd make and mar 5he foolish 8ates@= and the JJ Now, die, die, die, die, die O @ -dth which he finaW# flops on the sta0e. 5he clowns' pla# reminds us of the interlude of 5!i Nine Worihies in the earlier ;o-e's ;a.our's ;ost, where, howe-er, the auditors do not allow the actors so fair a chance, .ut practicall#

))P !ppendi3 .reak up the performance .efore it is Lnall# interrupted .# the arri-al of the messen0er sent to inform the 7rincess that her father is dead. 5he point of the .urlesFue is much the same in .oth

!s we finish thfi plX#T we feel like sa#in0, with our friend "ot+ tom, JJ I ha-e had a most rare -ision I @ :r we askT with 7reciosa in 5YZ Spanish Student, G @ Is this a dream Q :, if it .e a dream, ;et me sleep on, and do not wake me #et I @

8or m#self, I .elie-e, with Camp.ell, that Shakespeare must ha-e en2o#ed writin0 it no less than we en2o# readin0 it. >e sa#s : @ 5he pla# is so purel# delicious, so little intermi3ed with the painful pas+ sions from which poetr# distils her sterner sweets, so fra0rant with hilarit#, so .land and #et so .old, that I cannot ima0ine Shake+ speare's mind to ha-e .een in an# other frame than that of health+ ful ecstas# when the sparks of inspiration thrilled throu0h his .rain in composin0 it. I ha-e heard, howe-er, an old critic o.2ect that Shakespeare mi0ht ha-e foreseen it would ne-er .e a 0ood actin0 pla#= for where could #ou 0et actors tin# enou0h to couch in flower+.lossomsQ . . . "ut supposin0 that it ne-er could ha-e .een acted, I should onl# thank Shakespeare the more that he wrote here as a poet and not as a pla#wri0ht. !nd as a .irth of his ima0ination, whether it was to suit the sta0e or not, can we sup+ pose the 7oet himself to ha-e .een insensi.le of its worthQ Is a mother .lind to the .eaut# of her own childQ NoO nor could Shakespeare .e unconscious that posterit# would doat on this, one of his lo-eliest children. >ow he must ha-e chuckled and lau0hed in the act of placin0 the ass's head on "ottom's shoulders O >e must ha-e foretasted the mirth of 0enerations un.orn at 5itania's doatin0 on the metamorphosed wea-er, and on his callin0 for a re+ past of sweet peas. >is animal spirits must ha-e .ounded with the hunter's 2o# while he wrote 5heseus's description of his well+ tuned do0s and of the 0lor# of the chase. >e must ha-e .een

!ppendi3 )), happ# as 7uck himself while he was descrihin0 the merr# 8air#, and all this time he must ha-e .een self+assured that his 0enius was ' to put a 0irdle round the earth/ and that souls, not #et in .e+ in0, were to en2o# the re-elr# of his fanc#.@