1856.] The future Politics of Continental Europe. suggested) for the restoration of Richard Cromwell. The Bill of Indemnity and its circumstances are well known. While this was transpiring in England, all the Continental Courts were paying their fulsome adulations to Charles at Breda. Charles had been peculiarly sensitive, as the grandson of Henri IV., to the slight which he had received from the French court; and all the artifices with which Cardinal Mazarin sought to ingratiate himself into the king's favour proved ineffectual. The foreign ministers were claiming international alliances, and the great men and the little men, now in a state of transition from English republicans to English monarchists, were simultaneously seeking places of the king at Breda. It is impossible to conclude the present review of M. Guizot's work without referring to two characters, who, while they stood aloof from the busy world of party politics, stood also in proud contrast to the turpitude and hypocrisy of the day. We allude, of course, to John Milton and Sir Matthew Hale. The great poet, indeed, had espoused the cause of the Cromwellian party; but it may be questioned whether he was more deeply compromised towards the republicans than many others whom that body had been ready to receive again among their supporters. To the last he remained an unflinching advocate of liberty of conscience, and of a government without monarchy. Even the defender of the regicides, amid the political profligacy of that age, might have found favour with the sovereign, if he would; and the king would have been by no means indifferent to the views of a literary defender of the talents and eminence which he commanded. Sir Matthew Hale, with a yet fairer fame, had withstood the tyranny of Cromwell and the tyranny of the Long Parliament; and he now exerted his influence to obtain from the king such conditions as should combine liberty with order. The present subject, though happily its application to the politics of 445 a our country has long since passed away, is yet replete with interest and with warnings to the Continental Governments. It tells us, first, in the reluctance with which the liberal party went to war, the high moral value of a prescriptive constitution. It tells us, next, how the despotism which pays no regard to popular demands, in an advanced stage of civilization, must ultimately destroy that constitution. We learn from it, also, how signal was the difficulty experienced in framing written in place of a prescriptive Government; and how the attempt produced another despotism, conceding indeed civil rights, but suppressing political privileges, and maintaining itself by the anomaly of a self-constituted system established neither by legal nor by popular sanction, and existing in virtue of military force. Such was the Government of the first Protector. We find, next, the failure of an effort to combine usurpation with a revival of the prescriptive estates of Lords and Commons. Then, we pass to a period of a year consumed by a calendar of revolutions. Finally, we enter upon a period in which prescription and revolution were combined, and the freedom of the people (although this was not fully accomplished until after another revolution) rendered coincident with the rights of monarchy. If there is one practical lesson to be deduced from this fearful history, it rests in the union of the regal and the popular interest-in the fact that monarchy is to be preserved, during a period of enlightenment, by freedom alone, and that the rights of society are to be secured only by the maintenance of an ancient polity. On this mutual confidence, this common dependence, this reciprocal moderation, the interests of social progress and of social civilization are essentially based. That this foundation will prove immovable in England is as certain, as our trust is strong that it will supply the model to which the other monarchical Governments of Europe may even yet be assimilated by their rulers. J. W. W. IT SHAKSPEARE AND HIS NATIVE COUNTY. has often been regretted that none of Shakspeare's acquaintances took the trouble to collect the anecdotes concerning him that must have been floating about for years after his death. What if any Boswell had noted down his sayings, and given us Shakspeare's Table Talk; or his son-in-law, Dr. Hall (for sons-in-law generally do such things, at least in our days), presented us with Shakspeare's Remains and Marginalia? How rich would his table talk have been,-how transcendent over all other,-what precious scraps might there not have been in his stray papers,-what invaluable gems of thought, what studies, what sketches! For in truth we know more of a man's mind from these so-called little things, from notes or passages in books, from letters to intimate friends, from literary memoranda, than from the cold, formal, lifeless biographies which are generally compiled. The former let us into the inner man, to the penetralia of his affections, to the holy of holies of his mind, to his heart of hearts. For all great men have been, and ever will be, reserved. Segregation is a necessary accompaniment to greatness. Does greatness care to have its every deed blazoned abroad?-that were not greatness, but coxcombry. Does greatness love greetings in the market-place?-it leaves this to the fools of fashion. Does greatness care whether it is remembered or not? no, it is too great to care to be remembered. This, then, is the true explanation why Shakspeare has left so few traces of his individual life and character behind. But oh, for some egregious coxcomb, the most vain, if you will, in this vain world, who, in the hope of perpetuating his own little name, had collected a few trifles about the immortal man. There were vain men, no doubt, who would gladly have done it, but the age had not learnt the marketable value of such gossip, and this omission is to be attributed rather to the age than to any deficiency of vain men in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. What positively fulsome memorials are penned of the lives of addle-pated authors in our days; note-book in hand will men sit by the side of some literary dilettante, ready to jot down his second-hand anecdotes. By-and-bye these same retailersfor such has taken place-are vain enough to think that their own autobiographies will interest the public, and sell; and, wonderful enough, they do sell, but don't interest the public. Woe to Shakspeare had he lived among us, if, when living, we had appreciated him. Every action, every word, bad, good, or indifferent, would have been related. The practice is most unjust, especially when a man's sayings are noted down without the context, to say nothing of the manner in which it was spoken; and we fully agree with Mr. Tennyson in his ode on this very subject. So, after all, it is perhaps a matter of rejoicing that we have neither records nor memorials of Shakspeare. When Jerdan and Jay have their biographies, let it be our boast that Shakspeare has none. Still, there seems to be a universal craving to know something about him. Curiosity expends itself in various fashions. What can we do? His house can whisper nothing; there are no lingering echoes of his laughter closeted in the corners of its rooms. And yet men come to that house as if it could tell them something; they think some secret is contained within those four walls-they centre the whole of their curiosity upon that little tenement, forgetful of Stratford and the country round. Depend upon it, if anything more can be discovered concerning Shakspeare, that house holds it not. It has been ransacked and rummaged enough. No, the secret, if there be any, lies out in the open fields and woods round Stratford. The reeds of the Avon are more likely to whisper his life to us, for it flows through the midst of the land where he lived more often, we fancy, than within those four walls to which eager travellers flock. The features of the landscape have not changed, the hills are the same which Shakspeare climbed, the course of the Avon is the same; 1856.] Shakspeare's best Interpreters. Shakspeare would recognise the country, but he would not know his native town, much less his own home, for in his time it stood out in the fields; now it is in a street blocked and bricked round with houses. Descendants of the flowers that he plucked grow in the fields; the offspring of the birds that he loved to hear still chant to us in the woods; these all have perhaps something to tell us; but let us beware not to wander in the dreamy land of fancy and conjecture. Let us not even border upon the probable, but keep to the real; the flowers and the birds are real, and the country is real, and Shakspeare's writings are real, and whatever connexion we may find between them, let that partake of their reality. Let us not forget, too, that the country round Stratford has other claims upon our attention. Shakspeare's mother, Mary Arden, came from the neighbouring village of Wilmecote, pronounced by the country people Wimcot. His wife was from the adjoining hamlet of Shottery, and he was married to her at the village of Luddington, on the banks of the Avon. Verily there is much in the country associated with Shakspeare. Milton, depend upon it, did not speak without a deep meaning when he sang of Shakspeare's 'wood notes wild.' It had a reference to other things than his supposed non-classical education. In his plays are references to the neighbourhood. Justice Shallow's house is placed in the next county of Gloucestershire, where Davy (Second Part of King Henry IV., Act v., Scene 3) serves the guests with leather-coats,' a delicately-flavoured apple still peculiar to these parts. Christopher Sly runs into debt at an ale-house at Wincot, not far from Stratford; and Davy beseeches Justice Shallow (Second Part of King Henry IV., Act v., Scene 1,) to countenance William Visor, of Wincot, against Clement Perkes, of the Hill;' and a friend assures us that to this day whoever holds the Cherry-orchard farm there, is yet called Mr. M. or N. of the Hill. It has been said by the best of critics that a man's book is the best interpreter of himself. So, no doubt, 447 it is; and the best biographer of the man Shakspeare is he who most knows and thoroughly appreciates the poet Shakspeare's plays; and it would be interesting in many poets to trace the effect of their early associations throughout their poems. Coleridge affirmed that the memories of his youth were so graven on his mind, that he could still see the river Otter flowing close to him, and hear its ripple, as when, in long years past, he had wandered by its side. Scenery has often been held, and rightly, to have great effect on the character, especially in youth. The Athenian ever boasted of the situation of violet-crowned' Athens, and the German of to-day praises the beauties of his Rhine; which, however, cannot compensate for the loss of the sea, a loss which is not without its effect on German literature. Traces, no doubt, there are in all poets, of descriptions of scenes in which they have resided. A blind descriptive poet is an impossibility. We are no believers in Homer's blindness. At the same time Thucydides' saying, that the whole earth is the grave of a great man,' will bear reversing; and we may say with equal truth, that all the earth is the birth-place of a great man: for imagination conjures up scenes, and decks out common places with such beauty, that it is hard to fix them to any locality; but we shall revert to this by-and-bye. We have had enough, then, of Shakspeare relics, Garrick mulberry cups, stone fonts, dusty registers, and such dead things. They can tell us nothing. Shakspeare valued not such trumpery, why should we make such ado? Let us leave them to connoisseurs and Wardour-street Jews; half of them are false. It is high time to turn to something living. Here are an old man and woman, Warwickshire bred and born, who are in themselves a glossary of old words. Let us interrogate and talk with them. Every county has its peculiar dialect and provincialisms. Warwickshire is no exception; and how strongly Shakspeare was imbued with them his plays testify. They mark, from internal evidence, not only the era, but the county in which he lived. We are ignorant whether any Warwickshire words were given in the Ireland forgeries, but should imagine not. One of the first peculiarities that will strike a stranger coming into this part of Warwickshire, is the use of Master among the middle and lower orders-the lower especially for Mr. They will speak of Master Smith the carpenter, but never of Mr. Smith. The same use of the word is found in many other parts of England, but never so systematically as in this neighbourhood. Shakspeare might still hear Master Slender,' 'Master Fenton,' and good Master Brook,' so called if they were living now, as in his own days. The word wench, here-which in most parts of England has a bad signification attached to it-means nothing more than a young woman. We have frequently heard a father or a mother call their daughter, as a term of endearment, the little wench. And the common country expression, a chap and his wench,' signifies merely a young fellow and his sweetheart. So Petruchio, in the Taming of the Shrew (Act v., last scene), when everything has been made pleasant, exclaims, Why, there's a wench, come on and kiss me, Kate.' Prince Hal, too (King Henry IV., Act i., Scene 1), calls the sun a fair hot wench, in a flamecoloured taffeta.' Other instances will readily occur to every one. Our readers will all recollect the witch of Brentford (Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iv., Scene 2), the rag, the baggage, the polecat, and ronyon,' that the jealous Ford calls her; and they will, we hope, still further remember the spirit, so widely different to that of his brother dramatists, in which Shakspeare adverts to witches and heretics. It is curious to note that, of all places in England, the belief in witches should be most prevalent in these parts. Several country people, and some, aye, of a higher station, whom we personally know, firmly put faith in them, and on no account would offend a reputed witch. So still, in all the much boasted enlightenment of this nineteenth cen tury, amidst so-called national schools, with parsons and schoolmasters whose names are legion, Shakspeare would find the race of witches not yet extinct; so long is it before a deep-rooted credulity springing from the soil of ignorance, can be eradicated. At the little village of Bishopton, one mile and a-half from Stratford, there still lives a reputed witch; a poor harmless old woman in truth she is, rather eccentric perhaps, but in whom her neighbours suppose certain powers for evil or good to reside. We could relate many stories concerning her imagined spells; nay, we know well educated and otherwise sensible people who dread_her resentment. The phrase, a Dorsington witch,' so called from a tumbledown village not far from where Shakspeare's crab-tree once stood, has passed into a proverb. Well may spirit-rapping and tableturning and millenarian prophets be believed in. Shakspeare's age credited witches and astrology; ours has not cast off these, but taken unto itself several devils still worse. To return to our subject. Rosalind might hear her own expression of the rabbits kindling' (As You Like It, Act iii., Sc. 2), still used. That prince of merry thieves, Autolycus, who so lustily sings in the Winter's Tale, Act iv., Sc. 2., When daffodils begin to peer, With, heigh! the doxy over the dale, might still find plenty of country. people who would understand his cant term for a not over virtuous maid, without a glossary. And they could tell you that pugging tooth,' a few lines further on in the song, meant, not as the glossary explains it, thievish, which is meaningless, but pegging, peg tooth, i. e., the canine or dog tooth: 'the child hasn't its pugging teeth yet,' old women will say. The gadfly is still called the 'brize' (pronounced bree); the shepherd still talks of his eanlings,* i. e., his lambs; the woodman of his 'fardels,' i. e., his fagots, or kids, as they are more commonly called. It is worth noting, too, that the most uncommon words have left the more immediate neighbourhood of Strat * Of Milton's Lycidas; the weanling herds that graze.' 1856.] Shakspearian Words still in use. ford, and can only be found in the more out of the way places, where civilization and refinement have not yet made so much progress. They will linger there for a time, and then will soon be gone; the traces of old Shakspearian lore are fast disappearing; new words are rapidly ousting them. The gardener, though, still speaks of his squashes,' i. e., his immature peas, as Leontes calls his son; and which rare Bully Bottom christens the mother of the fairy, Peasblossom. We have heard rustics talk of 'go shogging off,' even as Falstaff commands his bullies to do. And there are cooks and housekeepers who know very well what the clown's speech in the Winter's Tale (Act iv., Sc. 2) means. 'I must have saffron to colour the warden pies (i. e., composed of a species of pear), and a race (i.e., a stick) of ginger.'" The following is a vocabulary of the principal Shakspearian words which we have from time to time picked up. Many of them we have discovered by questioning countrypeople from various quarters. Very often have we been answered, Ah! I can recollect my grandmother used to say that word, but you will only hear it from the very old folk.' BATLET, rightly explained in the glossary as the instrument with which linen is beaten.' We have heard women speak of their batlettub. Round Stratford it is now commonly called 'a dolly,' or a maiden. BAVIN.-Explained in the glossary as 'brushwood;' it rather means the scraps and scrapings of heather. Bow, still means a yoke: so Touchstone (As You Like It, Act iii., Scene 4), As the ox hath his bow, sir, so man hath his desires.' BRAVERY, still signifies finery. BROKEN-MOUTH, i.e., a mouth which has lost part of its teeth; What a broken-mouth you have,' is a common phrase; so also BROKEN-Tears, i. e., tears which are stopped suddenly by a person's entry. CAGE, i. e., a prison, as in Henry VI., Second Part, called also the hole.' CHILDING, i. e., pregnant. CLAW, to flutter. CoB-loaf, a badly 'setup' loaf, which has a great deal of crust upon it; cob also means a cake. COMMITTED, i. e., cohabited. Thus Othello to the innocent Des 449 demona, What committed, O thou public commoner' (Act iv., Scene 2). So also CUSTOMER, in the same play, still means a common woman. DOUT, literally to do out; the peasants still say, to dout the candle, i. e., to extinguish it. FEEDERS, good-for-nothing servants. FOR WEARIED, i. e., tired out. The following line of Puck's is worth noting, where the preposition is carried on to the verb: - the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. JET, i. e., to strut, to walk proudly. INKLES, explained in the glossary as a species of tape or worsted,' it rather means broidery. Housewives still speak of a piece of inkle; so the servant in the Winter's Tale (Act iv., Scene 3) says of the supposed pedlar, That he hath ribands of all colours inkles, caddises.' These latter we take to mean worsted. IRK, to make uneasy. LATED, i. e., benighted; so in Macbeth (Act iii., Scene 3), Now spurs the lated traveller apace, LIFTER, i. e., a thief. LOON, i. e., a stupid scamp; many a tailor is still so called, since King Stephen's catch was written (Othello, Act ii., Scene 3), where for the sake of the rhyme it is loun. The NINE MEN'S MORRIS, which Titania (Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii., Scene 2) complains is filled up with mud,' has long since been cleared out; and the Warwickshire boys still play at it under the more common but less refined name of Holy-goly.' The Midsummer Night's Dream is rich in local words and allusions. Thus Nick Bottom's aphorism that man is but a patched fool,' is a pleonasm in fact, for the word patch (still) means a fool; and Puck calls Nick himself and his friends a crew of patches.' In the same speech (Act iii., Scene 2) occur the words, an ass' nowl.' It is still so used, both of quadrupeds and bipeds, but always in a sense implying stupidity. Again, Hermia, in the same scene, calls Helena Thou painted Maypole.' One of the few which still stand in our villages may be seen at Welford, about four miles from Stratford. |