Shakespeare for the young folk ...

Preface

HE purpose of this book needs no apology. The period when Shakespeare may be effectively and profitably introduced to the youthful mind arrives earlier in the life of the child than is generally supposed. The phenomenon of the intelligent youngster, stealing away into the family library to revel in the mysterious delights of the " Tempest," or the " Midsummer Night's Dream," or to steep himself in the soulsearching horrors of " Macbeth," is familiar. To such a student of the magic page, all its critical difficulties are as though they were not, — so unconsciously, yet so swiftly and surely, are they disposed of. The prophet-heart of the poet is laid upon the child-heart : the throb is unison : the nascent powers of the young soul spring to life in the contact.

Now, one of the factors in this curious problem is, undoubtedly, the inalienable right of "skipping." What the young mind can assimilate, it appropriates ; the rest is passed over. It is the loss necessarily incurred in this process that the present version — of story and play together — proposes to supply. In other words, it assumes to "skip" for the child, judiciously ; bridging the dreary void of omitted passages with a lively representation of the original, in which the language of the author is to be reproduced only so far as is consistent with the interest of the young reader, — in this case, the prime consideration. Similar service has been attempted also with reference to single obscure expressions, occurring in connections otherwise attractive ; the aim being to

Vi i PREFACE.

put the reader in possession of the entire work, so far as he is capable of receiving it. In short, the effort is to do systematically and intelligently what thousands of parents and teachers have long been trying to do, in order to awaken in the children a love for the Great Master which should bear its best fruit at a later day. Of all this number perhaps not one has failed to dream, at some time or other, of some such work as the one now offered. The wish would necessarily become the father to the thought. It is in the successful execution of the work that the main difficulty lies ; and this, in the present case, remains to be tested.

In attempting to carry out the plan suggested by the publishers, the editor availed himself of the literary taste and intelligence of Mrs. Louisa T. Craigin, an author well known for her many successful ventures in catering for the youthful mind. To her valuable aid, especially in the earlier stages of its preparation, the present volume owes much of its interest.

That this version makes no pretence to critical accuracy, hardly needs saying. Such a claim would be at war with its very object. Yet, while not assuming to take account of the nice questions which so legitimately occupy the attention of the Shakespearian editors, it is believed to contain no unwarrantable departure from the texts most generally approved. No larger latitude of choice between disputed passages has been used than some of the best authorities habitually indulge in. Wherever a " conjectural emendation," from a respectable source, has seemed to furnish a sense more facile to the young reader, it has been welcomed to the present text, without any very weighty sense of critical responsibility. Any obscure single word or short phrase in the original page has been supplanted by a near-enough synonym, when it could be done without violence to the metre. In all such cases of substitution, the new word or phrase has been enclosed in brackets. But such changes as z/ for the obsolete an; its for his, when the neuter sense is intended ; and the definitive use of would and should, in accordance with the idioms of our own day instead of the interchangeable usage of Shakespeare's, — being regarded as part of the universally accepted modernizing process, — have been adopted without sign or apology. When the substituted expression could not find place in the text, on account of rhythmical difficulties, it has been put in a glossary at the bottom of the page, and referred to by small figures. For more extended elucidation — in the few cases where such has been thought indispensable — recourse has been had to foot-notes, referred to by small letters. Pas-

PREFACE.

Vll sages confessedly obscure, or requiring very elaborate explanation, have been reduced to the form of narrative, with the original language preserved as nearly as possible. In this connection it will be observed, that while, in the effort to keep the narrative spirited and natural, the sponge has passed freely over such archaisms as might tend to repel the young reader, care has been taken to preserve the " marrys " and "pr'ythees," and similar minute colloquialisms, which, as having a certain " smack of the time," he has generally appeared to appreciate and relish.

The plays here given were selected for the double reason, that they represent three distinct types of Shakespeare's dramas, and that, in different ways, they seemed peculiarly adapted to interest the youthful mind.

A favorable reception of the present volume will be acknowledged by the production of others, which are already in preparation.

R. R. R.

mm pi

Jl

Mil

Htniiiiimtmiiuu

IBKi pip

W|l| liPI!

IS*

Mm lis i

Contents

PAGE

Preface . v

Memoir of William Shakespeare 7

Introduction

MONG the earliest of those dramas which were written by Shakespeare for his theatre was one which he called " A Midsummer Night's Dream."

This title immediately leads us to inquire, Who is the dreamer, — the poet, the characters of the drama, or the spectators ? It is not very easy to reply. First, the whole composition seems to have passed through the mind of the poet like a lovely, fantastic dream, — a procession of shadows thrown by a magic lantern on a screen. Then, much that passes in the play seems only fit to be regarded as a dream by the characters themselves, who are made the sport of fairies. And, finally, it comes before the audience under the notion of a dream. It is a curious composition, full of exquisite poetry and the jolliest fun. In it are mingled a strange variety of personages, — dukes, queens, lords, ladies, young lovers, clownish mechanics, and the dearest little elves, from their royal rulers, who king and queen it with a pretty dignity, to the tricksy sprites that plague poor mortals with their pranks. And then the conduct of some of the persons is so strange and unnatural : their jealousies, their petty passions, and their little meannesses are such as midit well have been born in a haunted grove, — the children of magic and the moonlight. We might be amused with their fantastic doings as the shifting shadows of a dream, but would never think of trying them by the waking judgments of the cold, gray morning.

The key to the whole matter is given by Puck, the merry hobgoblin of the play, in these words of the epilogue, or conclusion : —

" If we shadows have offended, Think but this — and all is mended : That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear ; And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend."

We must remember all the way through, then, that the author dreams, — a restless, brilliant, teeming vision, such

" As youthful poets dream On summer eve by haunted stream ; "

and that we are dreaming too, — dreaming with Shakespeare ! Happy mortals we, that we may take him by the hand and fly with him through the wide heaven of his glorious fancy !

It remains to be said, as to the fitness of this title, that though the time of the action is the month of May, which seems to us too early to be called midsummer, we must remember that May in those days was reckoned half a month later than now, and was a great deal warmer. It might have been called the " midsummer's spring," or the beginning of midsummer, as the dawn of the morning is called the " day-spring " in the Bible. Indeed we shall find this very expression used in the play (p. 30), in words addressed by the Queen to the King of the Fairies. This was, more than any other, the fairies' time, when (they say), if you knew where to look, you could see the tiny folk dancing in green circles in the moonlight.

The place of the play is said to be " Athens, and a wood near Athens," but, really, it is just Dream-land, — an Athens, and a grove, and a company of people, that existed nowhere but in the beautiful fancy of Shakespeare.

INTRODUCTION.

No other poet has ever known so well as he how to catch the words and understand the ways of Fairy-land, and explain them to the world of mortals. These words and ways, therefore, it shall be the aim of this little book to give you in the very language of Shakespeare. We will add to this (also in the words of the drama) the doings of the clownish play-actors who are brought into such funny contrast with the fairies. The rest we will tell in clear and simple story, hoping that the day is not far distant when you will read the whole work for yourselves, and then recognize in it the features of an old and beloved friend.

sd^^ i.

Act I. Scene i

"NCE upon a time there lived a mighty hero, Theseus, Duke of Athens. It was he who conquered the. Centaurs, a strange and warlike race, half man and half horse ; who slew the monster Minotaur, with the body of a man and the head of a bull, that devoured thirty Athenian youths and maidens every year ; who sailed with the Argonauts to find the Golden Fleece, which was guarded by a fierce dragon ; and engaged in many other famous expeditions, winning great renown for his exploits. At last he had overcome in battle those terrible warrior-women, the Amazons. At the time our story begins, he had just returned from this final victory, and was about to marry Hippolyta, the Amazon queen, in his palace at Athens. He says

to her, —

Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Great preparations were making for the wedding, which was to take place in four days. While the betrothed lovers were talking of their happiness, Egeus, an old Athenian lord, entered, together with his daughter Hermia, and two young Athenians, named Lysander and Demetrius.

The old man approached the Duke, and said that he came to complain of the conduct of this daughter. The youth Demetrius had his consent to marry her, but Lysander had bewitched her with rhymes, with presents of flowers and sweetmeats, and with songs sung at her window in the moonlight, changing her obedience into stub-

Theseits. Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword. DOm IiaruneSS :

And, my gracious Duke, Be it so she will not here, before your grace, Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, As she is mine, I may dispose of her ; Which shall be either to this gentleman Or to her death, according to our law a Immediately provided in that case.

The Duke then reasoned with Hermia : he told her that Demetrius was a worthy gentleman ; that she ought to obey her father, to whom she owed so much ; and explained to her the Athenian law. But all in vain. The unhappy Hermia was quite sure that she would rather die, or live in a convent, than marry Demetrius.

Then Duke Theseus (perhaps to give the lovers a chance to escape) told the maiden to take a few days to think about it : by the next new moon, which was to a In Solon's time there was a law in Athens giving to a parent power of life and death over his child. Shakespeare seems to have taken it for granted that the law existed even before that.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

be his wedding-day, she must decide either to die for disobedience, or to wed Demetrius, or to vow upon Diana's altar to live a lonely single life.

Demetrius called upon Lysander to "yield his crazy title " to Hermia's hand; but Lysander appealed to the Duke, saying : ■ " I am in rank and wealth as good as Demetrius, and, what is more, the beauteous Hermia loves me. Demetrius cannot deny that he made love to Helena, old Nedar's daughter, and she, sweet lady, still dotes in idolatry on this wicked, inconstant man."

Theseus seems to have heard something about this before : he bade Egeus and Demetrius follow him, upon some business connected with his coming marriage, and, with a last kind word of warning to Hermia, went out with Hippolyta, leaving the two young lovers alone together.

Lysander tried to comfort the weeping Hermia, but said, rather sadly, —

Ah me! for aught that I could ever read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth.

At last Lysander remembered that he had an aunt, living about twenty miles away from Athens ; a widow lady, of great wealth, who loved, him as a son. There they could be married without fear of the sharp Athenian law. If Hermia would meet him the next night in the wood, a league outside the town, where once they went a-Maying, he would wait there for her. Hermia brightened at the thought.

My good Lysander !

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, By his best arrow with the. golden head, In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee !

Hardly had these two lovers decided on their plan of escape, when Helena, the lovely and unhappy young lady of whom Lysander had spoken, came in.

Helena had been a schoolmate of Hermia's. The two girls were very fond of each other. They used to sit side by side, embroidering the same sampler, singing the same songs, and telling each other all their joys, and sorrows. They grew up together like twin cherries on a single stem. Both the girls were thought fair throughout all Athens, but they were quite unlike. Helena was tall and dignified ; mild and gentle in manner, timid and affectionate in disposition. Hermia was short and dark ; a very lively, wide-awake little lady, with a warm heart, a hasty temper, and a ready tongue.

The treatment that Helena had received from Demetrius had made her extremely sad, and Hermia and Lysander wished so much to comfort her, that they were glad to meet her just then, so that they might tell her of their new plans.

Hermia was afraid she might pass by without seeing them, because, poor soul, she was so unhappy that her eyes were always full of tears ; so Hermia called gayly to her : —

God speed, fair Helena ! Whither away ?

Helena. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay.

Demetrius loves your fair: x O happy fair !

Your eyes are lode-stars, 2 and your tongue's sweet air More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear.

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

O ! teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Hermia. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

Helena. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! Hermia. The more I hate the more he follows me.

Helena. The more I love the more he hateth me.

Hermia. His folly, Helen, is no fault of mine.

Helena. None but your beauty's : would that fault were mine ! Hermia. Take comfort : he no more shall see my face : Lysander and myself will fly this place ; And in the wood, where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies.

Farewell, sweet playfellow !

Then Hermia and Lysander went away in different directions, leaving Helena alone. Now Helena ought to have been very glad to know that Hermia and Lysander were going to be so happy, and that Demetrius would soon be free, and so perhaps come back some day to his old love for her. But, instead of that, she only remembered how unhappy she was herself, and how much she wished to see

1 Fairness. 2 Polar stars.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Demetrius, and so she formed a strange plan, — a plan which would seem quite unbecoming a maiden, except in a dream. She said to herself, —

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight ; Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, Pursue her ; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is dear recompense : But herein mean I to enrich my pain, [With him to go] thither, and back again.

With these words Helena went away to find Demetrius.

^™woflBt?«(ii h?^

ROOM IN THE COTTAGE OF QUINCE THE CARPENTER.

II

Act I. Scene 2.

ATHENS was now full of rejoicing over the approaching marriage of Theseus and Queen Hippolyta. All the people wanted to do something in honor of the great occasion and to show their love. Among the rest, a number pf rough workingmen — " rude mechanicals, hard-handed men, that worked for bread upon Athenian stalls " — met in a cottage to talk over their plan, which was to act a play before the Duke and his bride " on his wedding-day at night," as they said.

They were a queer company for such a purpose, and comical work they made of it, as you will see. First, there was Quince, the carpenter, who seems to have planned and managed the whole affair, perhaps because he was a carpenter and did everything by rule. Next in importance came Bottom, the weaver, who was a general favorite, and was thought by his friends, as well as by himself, to be very bright and witty. He was certainly conceited enough ; for he was quite sure no one could do anything so well as he : and he actually wanted to take all the principal parts in the play himself ! F?'a,7icis Flute, the bellows-mender, was a little fellow, with a small, squeaky voice ; which was the reason that he was chosen for the woman's part. Snug, the joiner, was a quiet, peaceable man, slow of speech, and

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

2 3

" slower yet of study." Starveling, the tailor, was a snip of a chap, who stuttered and stammered whenever he attempted to speak. And at the end of the list stood Snout, the tinker, who was timorous and doubtful. He saw the dark side of everything, and when anybody spoke of a difficulty, it seemed to him that there was no possible way of overcoming it.

These poor fellows really wished to do something that would be a credit to themselves and a high compliment to the Duke ; but they were, so ignorant that, without knowing or meaning it in the least, they only made themselves ridiculous. The tragedy which they meant should be pathetic and heart-breaking was funny instead ; and the only tears it caused were those that came from laughing.

Having met in the carpenter's cottage as agreed, they looked to Quince as their leader, who thus began : —

Is all our company here ?

Bottom. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the [writing].

Quince. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess on his wedding-day at night.

Botto7ii. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on ; then read the names of the actors, and so go on to appoint.

Quince. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe. ■

Bottom. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

Quince. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the weaver.

Bottom. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

Quince. You. Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Bottom. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ?

Quince. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

Bottom. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it : if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes ; I will move stones ; I will condole in some measure. To the rest : — yet my chief humor is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles 1 rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

" The raging rocks, And shivering shocks, Shall break the locks

Of prison-gates : And Phibbus' 2 car Shall shine from far And make and mar

The foolish fates."

This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. — This is Ercles' vein, 3 a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.

1 Hercules. 2 Phoebus's car, — the sun. " 3 Style. s

SHAKESPEARE FOR THE YOUNG FOLK.

Bottom. A part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

Quince. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Flute. Here, Peter Quince.

Quince. You must take Thisbe on you.

Flute. What is Thisbe ? a wandering knight ?

Quince. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flute. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman : I have a beard coming.

Quince. That 's all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. a

Bottom. If I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I '11 speak in a monstrous little voice, thus, thus : " Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear ! thy Thisbe dear, and lady dear ! "

Quince. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisbe.

a In Shakespeare's time, the female parts were acted by boys or young men, and if the actor's face was not sufficiently smooth, he was permitted to wear a mask. The poet assumes the same customs to have existed in the more ancient times.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Bottom, Well, proceed.

Quince. Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Starveling. Here, Peter Quince.

Quince. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe's mother.— Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince.

Quince. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisbe's father. — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part ; — and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am

slow of study.

Quince. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bottom. Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that it will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will roar, that I will make the Duke say, " Let him roar again : let him roar again."

Quince. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us, every mother's son.

Bottom. But I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove: I will roar you as if 't were any nightingale.

Quince. You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a [handsome] man, as one shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely, gentlemanlike man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus.

Bottom. Well, I will undertake it.

Quince. Then, masters, here are

your parts ; and I am to entreat

you, request you, and desire you, to

[learn] them by to-morrow night, and

All. That would hang us, every mother's son.

earn I tnem Dy io-munuw mgNi, auu . meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight : there will we ie hearse In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties,' such as our play wan s. I pray you, fail me not. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. At the duke's oak we meet.

And so the company separated.

" a Properties- Articles wanted on the stage for the proper performance of a play. The man who has charge of such things in a theatre is still called ^property-man.

A WOOD NEAR ATHENS.

Act II. Scene i

HE dream now changes, as dreams will, and the new scene is a fairy-haunted wood near Athens. Oberon, the king, and Titania, the queen of the fairies, had always lived happily together, dancing in the moonlight, hunting the butterflies, sporting amid the flowers, and singing with the nightingales. But a change had come upon them. Titania had stolen from an Indian king a lovely little child, whose mother had been her dear friend, and Oberon had begged for the pretty boy as his page ; but Titania had refused to give him up. This made a mighty quarrel.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Titania and her fairies kept as far away as possible from Oberon and his elves ; for whenever they did meet, the royal couple looked so angrily at each other that all the little people were glad to hide in the acorn cups for fear.

Puck (or Robin Goodfellow, as he was sometimes called) was a mischievous little sprite, always in close attendance on King Oberon, and ready to do his bidding, if need be, in the twinkling of an eye. Puck was full of fun and mischief, and never quite happy unless he was plaguing or misleading somebody. But he seemed to do it more for the sport of the thing than because he had any wicked intention.

Fairies are always most at home in the lovely, shadowy woods, where the grass is the greenest and the flowers are the fairest ; and Titania loved to sport there with

her train of little followers.

One of these came by chance to a mossy dell, seeking dew-drops (which are the fairies' pearls), just as Puck entered the wood from the other side. Now Puck was on the lookout for a good place for King Oberon's midnight revels, and, spying Titania' s elf, he greeted him in fairy fashion, thus : —

Puck. How now, spirit,! whither wander you ?

Fairy. Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moony sphere ; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her [circles on] the green : The cowslips tall her pensioners a be : In their gold coats spots you see.

Those be rubies, fairy favors, In those freckles live their savors: I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

a The allusion is to Queen Elizabeth's band of Gentlemen Pensioners, who were chosen from among the handsomest and tallest young men of family and fortune. They were dressed in habits richly garnished with gold lace.

Farewell, thou lob ' of spirits : a I '11 be gone.

Our queen and all her elves come here anon.

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night.

Take heed the queen come not within his sight ; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath. 2 Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king: She never had so sweet a changeling ; b And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove, or green, By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 3 But they do square, 4 that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.

Fairy. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, Called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he, That frights the maidens of the villagery ; Skims milk, and sometimes labors in the quern, 5 And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn ; And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm ; 6

1 Lubber. ' 2 Savage and angry. 3 Bright.

a Lob of spirits — Puck was a clumsy fellow in shape, though quick enough in motion. He was so different in appearance from the other fairies, that this spirit recognized him at first sight. Milton, describing Robin Goodfellow in L 1 Alleg>-o, says, —

"Then lies him down the lubber fiend."

b Changeling — It was a common superstition that fairies stole beautiful children, leaving elves in their places. In the " Pranks of Puck," ascribed to Ben Jonson, we have these

lines : —

" When larks 'gin sing, Away we fling, And babes new-born steal as we go ; An elf instead Leave we in bed, And wind out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! "

( See the piece, given entire at the end of this play.)