If, however, there be any lurking notion in your correspondent's mind, that the scene in Antony and Cleopatra (Act III. Sc. 1) referred to by X. Z. (Vol. iii., p. 139.) is, judging from certain coincidences of expression, an interpolation, and not by Shakspeare, I beg at once to be allowed to express my total dissent from such a view. Whether, also, there may have been any secondary allusion to some known event of the day, as X. Z. supposes, and as is by no means improbable, I cannot say; but I protest against its being said that the scene referred to is "totally unconnected with what goes before, and what follows." Antony is the hero of the play; and this scene shows the culminating point of Antony's fortunes, when his very successes turn against him.
To return to Henry VIII., the compliment to the Queen, to which your correspondent refers, is, as he very justly observes, brought in in a very forced manner. This, to my mind, is very strong evidence; otherwise I should not think it unworthy of Shakspeare. And it still has to be borne in mind, that he would have had to accommodate his characters and circumstances to the views of another writer. Shakspeare's spirit was too catholic, too universal, to have allowed, in a work entirely his own, even his Wolsey to have made use of the term "a spleeny Lutheran;" yet neither in the passage in which this expression occurs, nor in the one above referred to, is the versification characteristic of Fletcher. For my own part, however, I cannot recognise Shakspeare's spirit in this antagonism of creeds, which is, perhaps, even more strongly displayed in the prophetic speech of Cranmer's in the last scene, wherein he says, "God shall be truly known!" It may be said, that in both these instances the expressions are true to the characters of Wolsey and Cranmer. It may be so; for both are wanting in that ideal elevation which Shakspeare never fails to give. That, with this reservation, he becomes the mouth-piece of each character, is most true; and a curious instance of the writer's utter forgetfulness of his assumed character of contemporary with the events he is relating, occurring in Act. IV. Sc. 2 where Griffiths says—
"He was most princely: ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,"—
has no parallel in Shakspeare's works. To John Fletcher, indeed, at the close of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, these things were known; but scarcely to the attendant of Queen Katherine, who has but just narrated the circumstances, then newly happened, of Wolsey's fall. On maturer consideration, then, I am inclined to think that the whole of the scene (Act III. Sc. 2.) to which your correspondent refers, was originally written by Fletcher, although, as it now stands, it is strongly marked by the hand of Shakspeare. In the same category, also, I am inclined to place Scenes 3. and 4. of Act II. It will be observed that these changes are not inconsistent with the view I had previously taken; the effect being merely, that I am inclined to ascribe a little more than in the first instance to the hitherto unsuspected participator in the work. I am not sure, too, that I shall not be coming nearer to Mr. Spedding; as, if I am not mistaken, it is in some of these scenes that he imagines he detects "a third hand;" a theory which, though I do not adopt, I certainly have not confidence enough to reject altogether. But this view affects so very small a portion of the play, that it is of very little consequence.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF TENNYSON
That great poets are sometimes obscure, needs no proof. That the greatest poets will necessarily be so to the ordinary reader, seems to me equally indisputable.
Not without effort can one enter into the spontaneous thought of another, or even of himself in another mood. How much more when that other is distinguished from his fellows by the greatness and singularity of his thoughts, and by the extreme subtilty of their connecting links. Obscurity is not a blemish but an excellence, if the pains of seeking are more than compensated by the pleasures of finding, the luxury of μαθησις, where the concentrated energy of a passage, when once understood, gives it a hold on the imagination and memory such as were ill sacrificed to more diluted clearness.
Grandis præfatio tenui incepto—a sort of apology to Tennyson for implying that he needs illustration. Some time ago I made a few notes on particular passages in Locksley Hall, which I now enclose. Some of them are, I dare say, superfluous—some, possibly, erroneous. If so, they will stand a fair chance of being corrected in your valuable publication.
By the bye, if a "Notes and Queries" had existed in the days of Æschylus, we might have been saved from many a recourse to "corrupt text" and "lacunæ admodum deflendæ."
Stanza 2. "Dreary gleams:" in apposition with "curlews." I know the construction of this line has puzzled a good many readers.
Stanza 23. "Yet it shall be." Yet "decline" thou certainly wilt.
Stanza 28. "He will answer," &c. With an oath, it may be—at the least with a coarse rebuff.
Stanza 29. "The heart's disgrace." The disgrace, the injury, and degradation the heart has suffered—its prostitution to a mercenary service by a marriage of interest.
Stanza 34. "Never." Alas! I never can.
Stanza 35. "In division of the records of the mind." In dividing my recollections of her into two groups, and erasing the one.
Stanza 38. "The poet is" (as I think has been already pointed out) Dante.
Stanza 40. "He hunts," &c. He—thy husband.
Stanza 42. "Never, never," &c. Never again! (joys never to return) sung by the ghosts of years departed.
Stanza 51. "I have but an angry fancy"—my only qualification.
Stanza 53. "But the jingling of the guinea," &c. But there is no fighting now: the nations get over their quarrels in another way—by the jingling of the guinea, instead of the clang of arms.
Stanzas 54. "Mother-age."; 93. "Mother-age, for mine I know not."
This mother-age is a great difficulty. At first I took it for the past of history, but now understand by it the past of his own life, at least its earliest and brightest period—that age which had been as a mother, the only mother he ever knew.
Stanza 70. "Youthful joys." The bright hopes of his youth. (?)
Stanza 75. "Blinder motions," Less rational, less well-guided emotions.
Stanza 91. "The distance." The distant future, the "good time coming."
There are some lines in In Memoriam (I have not the book at hand, but any reader thereof will instantly recollect them), which indicate Tennyson's acquaintance with and appreciation of Jeremy Taylor, who thus expresses the thoughts of the "wild fellow in Petronius," suggested by the sight of a floating corpse.
"That peradventure this man's wife, in some part of the Continent, safe and warm, looks next month for the good man's return or, it may be, his son knows nothing of the tempest: or his father thinks of that affectionate kiss which is still warm upon the good old man's cheek ever since he took a kind farewell; and he weeps with joy to think how blessed he shall be when his beloved boy returns into the circle of his father's arms."—Holy Dying.
Compare with "Sure never moon to evening," &c., in the same poem, and I think the same place:
"Nec nox ulla diem, neque noctem aurora secuta est,
Quæ non audierit mistos vagitibus ægris
Ploratus mortis comites, et funeris atri."