CHAPTER II. TWELFTH NIGHT. THIS comedy was first printed in the folio edition of 1623, under the title of Twelfe Night, or What you will.' The text is divided into acts and scenes; and the order of these has been undisturbed in the modern editions. It is scarcely necessary to enter into any detail of the conjectures of the commentators as to the chronology of 'Twelfth Night.' Their guesses have been proved to be very wide of the mark. There was found in the British Museum, in 1828, a little manuscript diary of a student of the Middle Temple, extending from 1601 to 1603*, in which the following decisive passage occurs :— "Feb. 2, 1601 [2]. "At our feast we had a play called 'Twelve night or what you will,' much like the comedy of errors, or Menechmis in Plautus, but most like & neere to that in Italian called Inganni. A good practise in it to make the steward believe his lady widdowe was in love with him, by counterfayting a letter, as from his lady, in generall termes telling him what shee liked best in him, & prescribing his gestures, inscribing his apparaile, &c., and then when he came to practise, making him beleeve they tooke him to be mad." Here is an end then of conjecture. The play was no doubt publicly acted before this performance at the Candlemas feast of the Middle Temple; and it belongs, therefore, to the first year of the seventeenth century, We derive our particulars from Mr. Collier's valuable Annals of the Stage.' He says "I was fortunate enough to meet with it among the Harleian Manuscripts in the Museum." Mr. Hunter, in his Disquisition on the Tempest,' says, "You may remember when, in 1828, I called your attention, at the British Museum, to the discovery which I had then made in the Diary of Manningham, that Twelfth Night' was performed in 1602, before the benchers of the Middle Temple." Mr. Hunter subsequently came to a belief that the Diary' was that of John Manningham, who was entered at the Middle Temple in 1597. or the last of the sixteenth; for it is not found in the list of Meres, in 1598. The romance literature of Europe was a common property, from which the Elizabethan writers of every grade drew materials for their own performances, using them up with all possible variety of adaptation. Italy was the great fountain-head of these fictions; although they might have travelled thither from the East, and gradually assumed European shape and character. In the hands of real poets, such as Boccaccio and Shakspere, the original material was little more than the canvass upon which the artist worked. The commentators upon our poet tell us, with regard to 'Twelfth Night,' "There is great reason to believe that the serious part of this comedy is founded on some old translation of the seventh history in the fourth volume of Belleforest's 'Histoires Tragiques.' Belleforest took the story, as usual, from Bandello. The comic scenes appear to have been entirely the production of Shakspeare." He did create, then, Sir Andrew, and Sir Toby, and Malvolio, and the Clown. But who created Viola, and Olivia, and the Duke? They were made, say the critics, according to the recipe of Bandello: -Item, a twin brother and sister; item, the sister in love, and becoming a page in the service of him she loved; item, the said page sent as a messenger to the lady whom her master loved; item, the lady falling in love with the page; item, the lady meeting with the twin-brother; item, all parties happily matched. All this will be found at great length in Mrs. Lenox's 'Shakspeare Illustrated,' accompanied with many profound remarks upon the poet's stupidity in leaving the safe track of the novelist; which remarks, being somewhat antiquated, may be passed over. Nor is it necessary for us to republish the entire story of 'Apolonius and Silla,' as told in a collection published of before. "In this manner she travelled to Constantinople, where she inquired out the palace of the Duke Apolonius, and, thinking herself now to be both fit and able to play the servingman, she presented herself to the Duke, craving his by Barnaby Rich, "containing very pleasant| her own brother, whom you have heard spoken discourses fit for a peaceable time, gathered together for the only delight of the courteous gentlewomen of England and Ireland." The argument of Rich's story does not infer any great resemblance in the plots of the novel and the drama :-"Apolonius, Duke, having spent a year's service in the wars against the Turk, returning homewards with his company by sea, was driven by force of weather to the isle of Cypres, where he was well received by Pontus, governor of the same isle, with whom Silla, daughter to Pontus, fell so strangely in love, that, after Apolonius was departed to Constantinople, Silla, with one man, followed, and coming to Constantinople she served Apolonius in the habit of a man, and, after many pretty accidents falling out, she was known to Apolonius, who in requital of her love married her." But in the "many pretty accidents" we find a clear resemblance between the poet and the novelist; with the exception that the poet has thrown his own exquisite purity of imagination over the conduct of the two heroines, and that the novelist is not at all solicitous about this matter. The following somewhat long extract, which includes the main points of resemblance, will furnish a very adequate notion of the difference between a dull and tedious narration and a drama running over with imagination, and humour, and wit;-in which the highest poetry is welded with the most intense fun and we are made to feel that the loftiest and the most ludicrous aspect of human affairs can only be adequately presented by one who sees the whole from an eagle-height to which ordinary men cannot soar. But we do not complain that Barnaby Rich was not a Shakspere : "And now, to prevent a number of injuries that might be proffered to a woman that was left in her case, she determined to leave her own apparel, and to sort herself into some of those suits, that, being taken for a man, she might pass through the country in the better safety; and as she changed her apparel she thought it likewise convenient to change her name; wherefore, not readily happening of any other, she called herself Silvio, by the name of service. The Duke, very willing to give succour unto strangers, perceiving him to be a proper smooth young man, gave him entertainment. Silla thought herself now more than satisfied for all the casualties that had happened unto her in her journey, that she might at her pleasure take but the view of the Duke Apolonius, and above the rest of his servants was very diligent and attendant upon him, the which the Duke perceiving, began likewise to grow into good liking with the diligence of his man, and therefore made him one of his chamber: who but Silvio, then, was most near about him, in helping of him to make him ready in a morning in the setting of his ruffs, in the keeping of his chamber? Silvio pleased his master so well, that above all the rest of his servants about him he had the greatest credit, and the Duke put him most in trust. "At this very instant there was remaining in the city a noble dame, a widow, whose husband was but lately deceased, one of the noblest men that were in the parts of Grecia, who left his lady and wife large possessions and great livings. This lady's name was called Julina, who, besides the abundance of her wealth and the greatness of her revenues, had likewise the sovereignty of all the dames of Constantinople for her beauty. To this lady Julina, Apolonius became an earnest suitor, and, according to the manner of lovers, besides fair words, sorrowful sighs, and piteous countenances, there must be sending of loving letters, chains, bracelets, brooches, rings, tablets, gems, jewels, and presents I know not what: ** Thus Apolonius was so busied in his new study, that I warrant you there was no man that could challenge him for playing the truant, he followed his profession with so good a will: and who must be the messenger to carry the tokens and loveletters to the lady Julina but Silvio his man! in him the Duke reposed his only confidence, to go between him and his lady. "Now, gentlewomen, do you think there could have been a greater torment devised. wherewith to afflict the heart of Silla, than herself to be made the instrument to work her own mishap, and to play the attorney in a cause that made so much against herself? But Silla, altogether desirous to please her master, cared nothing at all to offend herself, followed his business with so good a will as if it had been in her own preferment. "Silvio, wondering to hear himself so rightly named, being but a stranger not of above two days' continuance in the city, very courteously came towards her, desirous to hear what she would say." The rest may be imagined. Mr. Collier informs us, in his 'Farther Particulars,' that, after vainly searching for eight years, he in 1839 met with the Italian play of the Inganni,' mentioned in the barrister's Diary. This play, as Mr. Collier thinks, was known to Shakspere; and certainly there is some resemblance between its plot and that of Twelfth Night.' The differences, however, are so considerable, that the parallel would scarcely be worth follow "Julina, now having many times taken the gaze of this young youth Silvio, perceiving him to be of such excellent perfect grace, was so entangled with the often sight of this sweet temptation, that she fell into as great a liking with the man as the master was with herself: and on a time, Silvio being sent from his master with a message to the lady Julina, as he began very earnestly to solicit in his master's behalf, Julina interrupting him in his tale, said, 'Silvio, it is enough that you have said for your master; from henceforth either speak for yourself, or saying out. We have to add that Mr. Hunter nothing at all.' * * * # "And now for a time leaving matters depending as you have heard, it fell out that the right Silvio indeed (whom you have heard spoken of before, the brother of Silla) was come to his father's court, into the isle of Cypres, where, understanding that his sister was departed in manner as you have heard, conjectured that the very occasion did proceed of some liking had between Pedro, her man (that was missing with her), and herself; but Silvio, who loved his sister as dearly as his own life, and the rather for that she was his natural sister both by father and mother; so the one of them was so like the other in countenance and favour that there was no man able to discern the one from the other by their faces, saving by their apparel, the one being a man, the other a woman. "Silvio therefore vowed to his father not only to seek out his sister Silla, but also to revenge the villany which he conceived in Pedro for the carrying away of his sister; and thus departing, having travelled through many cities and towns without hearing any manner of news of those he went to seek for, at the last he arrived at Constantinople, where, as he was walking in an evening for his own recreation on a pleasant green parade without the walls of the city, he fortuned to meet with the lady Julina, who likewise had been abroad to take the air; and as she suddenly cast her eyes upon Silvio, thinking him to be her old acquaintance, by reason they were so like one another, as you have heard before, said unto him, 'I pray you let me have a little talk with you, seeing I have so luckily met you in this place.' mentions that he has traced, in an Italian play called the 'Ingannati' (not the ‘Inganni' of Manningham), the foundation of the serious part of 'Twelfth Night.' There is something to our minds very precious in that memorial of Shakspere which is preserved in the little Table-book of the Student of the Middle Temple: "Feb. 2, 1601 [2]. At our feast we had a play called Twelve night or what you will." What a scene do these few plain words call up before us! The Christmas festivities have lingered on till Candlemas. The Lord of Misrule has resigned his sceptre; the Fox and the Cat have been hunted round the hall; the Masters of the Revels have sung their songs; the drums are silent which lent their noisy chorus to the Marshal's proclamations; and Sir Francis Flatterer and Sir Randle Rackabite have passed into the ranks of ordinary men*. But there is still a feast; and after the dinner a play; and that play Shakspere's Twelfth Night. And the actual roof under which the happy company of benchers, and barristers, and students first listened to that joyous and exhilarating play, full of the truest and most beautiful humanities, especially fitted for a season of cordial mirthfulness, is still standing; and we may walk into that stately hall and think,-Here Shakspere's Twelfth Night' was acted in the Christmas of 1601; and * Consult Dugdale's Origines Juridiciales.' here its exquisite poetry first fell upon the ear of some secluded scholar, and was to him as a fragrant flower blooming amidst the arid sands of his Bracton and his Fleta; and here its gentle satire upon the vain and the foolish penetrated into the natural heart of some grave and formal dispenser of justice, and made him look with tolerance, if not with sympathy, upon the mistakes of less grave and formal fellow-men; and here its evergushing spirit of enjoyment,—of fun without malice, of wit without grossness, of humour without extravagance,-taught the swaggering, roaring, overgrown boy, miscalled student, that there were higher sources of mirth than affrays in Fleet Street, or drunkenness in Whitefriars. Venerable Hall of the Middle Temple, thou art to our eyes more stately and more to be admired since we looked upon that entry in the Table-book of John Manningham! The Globe has perished, and so has the Blackfriars. The works of the poet who made the names of these frail buildings immortal need no associations to recommend them; but it is yet pleasant to know that there is one locality remaining where a play of Shakspere was listened to by his contemporaries; and that play, 'Twelfth Night.' Accepting, though somewhat doubtingly, the statement of the commentators that 'Twelfth Night' was produced as late as 1614, Schlegel says, "If this was really the last work of Shakspere, as is affirmed, he must have enjoyed to the last the same youthfulness of mind, and have carried with him to the grave the whole fulness of his talents."* There is something very agreeable in this theory; but we can hardly lament that the foundation upon which it rests has been utterly destroyed. Shakspere did, indeed, carry "with him to the grave the whole fulness of his talents," but they were talents, perhaps not of a higher order, but certainly employed upon loftier subjects, than those which were called out by the delicious comedies of the Shakspere of forty. His "youthfulness of mind" too, even at this middle period of his life, is something *Lectures on Dramatic Literature,' Black's translation, vol. ii. p. 175. very different from the honeyed luxuriance of his spring-time-more subjected to his intellectual penetration into the hidden springs of human action-more regulated by the artistical skill of blending the poetical with the comic, so that in fact they are not presented as opposite principles constrained to appear in a patchwork union, but are essentially one and the same creation of the highest imaginative power. We are told that of 'Twelfth Night' the scenes in which Malvolio, and Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew appear are Shakspere's own. The Duke, and Olivia, and Viola, and Sebastian, belong to some one else, it is said, because they existed, before he evoked them from their hiding-places, in the rude outlines of storybooks without poetry, and comedies without wit. Honoured be the memories of Bandello and Barnaby Rich, not so much for their own work as for the happy accident by which they saved some popular tradition from oblivion, for a Shakspere to make his own for all ages! Honoured be the learned or unlearned authors of the Inganni' and the Ingannati,' if they suggested to him that their shadowy representations of a wandering brother and sister, coming through mistakes and crosses to love and happiness, had in them dramatic capabilities such as he could deal with! Honoured be they, as we would honour the man, were his name recorded, ! who set the palette of Raphael or made Paganini's violin! Whether a writer invents, in the commonly received meaning of invention,—that is, whether his incidents and characters be spick-and-span new;-or whether he borrows, using the same ordinary phraseology, his incidents and characters from tradition, or history, or written legends, he is not a poet unless his materials are worked up into a perfect and consistent whole: and if the poetry be not in him, it matters little whether he raises his fabric "all out of his own head," as children say, or adopts a bit here and a bit there, and pieces them together with a bit of his own, --for his house will not stand; it is built upon the sands. Now it is this penetration of his own imaginative power in and through all his materials which renders it of little Duke's "That strain again;-it had a dying fall," to the Clown's more account than as a matter of antiquarian | From the first line to the last-from the curiosity where Shakspere picked up hints for the plots of his plays. He might have found the germ of Viola in Barnaby Rich; and he might have altogether invented Malvolio: but Viola and Malvolio are for ever indissolubly united, in the exact proportions in which the poetic and the comic work together for the production of a harmonious effect. The neutral title of 'Twelfth Night'-conveying as it does a notion of genial mirth-might warrant us in thinking that there was a preponderance of the comic spirit. Charles I. appears to have thought so, when, in his copy of the second edition of Shakspere, he altered the title with his own pen to that of Malvolio.'* But Malvolio is not the predominant idea of the comedy; nor is he of that exclusive interest that the whole action, even of the merely comic portions, should turn upon him. When Shakspere means one character to be the centre of the dramatic idea, he for the most part tells us so in his title:Hamlet, Othello, Lear, Macbeth, Timon. Not one of the comedies has such a personal title, for the evident reason that the effect in them must mainly depend upon the harmony of all the parts, rather than upon the absorbing passion of the principal character. The Twelfth Night' is especially of this description. It presents us with the golden and the silver sides of human life,-the romantic and the humorous. But the two precious metals are moulded into one statue. It is scarcely necessary for us to enter into any analysis of the plot of this charming comedy, or attempt any dissection of its characters, for the purpose of opening to the reader new sources of enjoyment. It is impossible, we think, for one of ordinary sensibility to read through the first act without yielding himself up to the genial temper in which the entire play is written. "The sunshine of the breast" spreads its rich purple light over the whole champaign, and penetrates into every thicket and every dingle. This copy, which formerly belonged to Steevens, was purchased for the private library of George III., and was retained when George IV. gave that valuable collection to the nation. It is now in the Queen's Library at Windsor. "With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,”— there is not a thought, nor a situation, that is not calculated to call forth pleasurable feelings. The love-melancholy of the Duke is a luxurious abandonment to one pervading impression-not a fierce and hopeless contest with one o'ermastering passion. It delights to lie "canopied with bowers,"-to listen to "old and antique" songs, which dally with its "innocence," to be "full of shapes," and "high fantastical." The love of Viola is the sweetest and tenderest emotion that ever informed the heart of the purest and most graceful of beings with a spirit almost divine. Perhaps in the whole range of Shakspere's poetry there is nothing which comes more unbidden into the mind, and always in connection with some image of the ethereal beauty of the utterer, than Viola's "She never told her love." The love of Olivia, wilful as it is, is not in the slightest degree repulsive. With the old stories before him, nothing but the refined delicacy of Shakspere's conception of the female character could have redeemed Olivia from approaching to the anti-feminine. But as it is we pity her, and we rejoice with her. These are what may be called the serious characters, because they are the vehicles for what we emphatically call the poetry of the play. But the comic characters are to us equally poetical—that is, they appear to us not mere copies of the representatives of temporary or individual follies, but embodyings of the universal comic, as true and as fresh to-day as they were two centuries and a half ago. Malvolio is to our minds as poetical as Don Quixote; and we are by no means sure that Shakspere meant the poor cross-gartered steward only to be laughed at, any more than Cervantes did the knight of the rueful countenance. He meant us to pity him, as Olivia and the Duke pitied him; for, in truth, the delusion by which Malvolio was wrecked, only passed out of the romantic into the comic through the manifestation of the |