Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare Part 22

The following sheets were written in consequence of a friendly conversation, turning by some chance upon the Character of FALSTAFF, wherein the Writer, maintaining, contrary to the general Opinion, that this Character was not intended to be shewn as a Coward, he was challenged to deliver and support that Opinion from the Press, with an engagement, now he fears forgotten, for it was three years ago, that he should be answered thro' the same channel: Thus stimulated, these papers were almost wholly written in a very short time, but not without those attentions, whether successful or not, which seemed necessary to carry them beyond the Press into the hands of the Public. From the influence of the foregoing circ.u.mstances it is, that the Writer has generally a.s.sumed rather the character and tone of an Advocate than of an Inquirer;-though if he had not first _inquired_ and been _convinced_, he should never have attempted to have amused either himself or others with the subject.-The impulse of the occasion, however, being pa.s.sed, the papers were thrown by, and almost forgotten: But having been looked into of late by some friends, who, observing that the Writer had not enlarged so far for the sake of FALSTAFF alone, but that the Argument was made subservient to Critical amus.e.m.e.nt, persuaded him to revise and convey it to the Press. This has been accordingly done, though he fears something too hastily, as he found it proper to add, while the papers were in the course of printing, some considerations on the _Whole_ Character of FALSTAFF; which ought to have been accompanied by a slight reform of a few preceding pa.s.sages, which may seem, in consequence of this addition, to contain too favourable a representation of his Morals.

The vindication of FALSTAFF'S Courage is truly no otherwise the object than some old fantastic Oak, or grotesque Rock, may be the object of a morning's ride; yet being proposed as such, may serve to limit the distance, and shape the course: The real object is Exercise, and the Delight which a rich, beautiful, picturesque, and perhaps unknown Country, may excite from every side. Such an Exercise may admit of some little excursion, keeping however the Road in view; but seems to exclude every appearance of labour and of toil.-Under the impression of such Feelings, the Writer has endeavoured to preserve to his Text a certain lightness of air, and chearfulness of tone; but is sensible, however, that the manner of discussion does not _every where_, particularly near the commencement, sufficiently correspond with his design.-If the Book shall be fortunate enough to obtain another Impression, a separation may be made; and such of the heavier parts as cannot be wholly dispensed with, sink to their more proper station,-a Note.

He is fearful likewise that he may have erred in the other extreme; and that having thought himself int.i.tled, even in argument, to a certain degree of playful discussion, may have pushed it, in a few places, even to levity. This error might be yet more easily reformed than the other.-The Book is perhaps, as it stands, too bulky for the subject; but if the Reader knew how many pressing considerations, as it grew into size, the Author resisted, which yet seemed int.i.tled to be heard, he would the more readily excuse him.

The whole is a mere Experiment, and the Writer considers it as such: It may have the advantages, but it is likewise attended with all the difficulties and dangers, of _Novelty_.

On The Dramatic Character Of Sir John Falstaff.

The ideas which I have formed concerning the Courage and Military Character of the Dramatic Sir _John Falstaff_ are so different from those which I find generally to prevail in the world, that I shall take the liberty of stating my sentiments on the subject; in hope that some person, as unengaged as myself, will either correct and reform my error in this respect; or, joining himself to my opinion, redeem me from, what I may call, the reproach of singularity.

I am to avow, then, that I do not clearly discern that Sir _John Falstaff_ deserves to bear the character so generally given him of an absolute Coward; or, in other words, that I do not conceive _Shakespeare_ ever meant to make Cowardice an essential part of his const.i.tution.

I know how universally the contrary opinion prevails; and I know what respect and deference are due to the public voice. But if to the avowal of this singularity I add all the reasons that have led me to it, and acknowledge myself to be wholly in the judgment of the public, I shall hope to avoid the censure of too much forwardness or indecorum.

It must, in the first place, be admitted that the appearances in this case are singularly strong and striking; and so they had need be, to become the ground of so general a censure. We see this extraordinary Character, almost in the first moment of our acquaintance with him, involved in circ.u.mstances of apparent dishonour; and we hear him familiarly called _Coward_ by his most intimate companions. We see him, on occasion of the robbery at _Gads-Hill_, in the very act of running away from the Prince and _Poins_; and we behold him, on another of more honourable obligation, in open day light, in battle, and acting in his profession as a Soldier, escaping from _Douglas_ even out of the world as it were; counterfeiting death, and deserting his very existence; and we find him, on the former occasion, betrayed into those _lies_ and _braggadocioes_ which are the usual concomitants of Cowardice in Military men, and pretenders to valour.

These are not only in themselves strong circ.u.mstances, but they are moreover thrust forward, prest upon our notice as the subject of our mirth, as the great business of the scene: No wonder, therefore, that the word should go forth that _Falstaff_ exhibited as a character of Cowardice and dishonour.

What there is to the contrary of this, it is my business to discover.

Much, I think, will presently appear; but it lies so dispersed, is so latent, and so purposely obscured, that the reader must have some patience whilst I collect it into one body, and make it the object of a steady and regular contemplation.

But what have we to do, may my readers exclaim, with principles _so latent_, _so obscured_? In Dramatic composition the _Impression_ is the _Fact_; and the Writer, who, meaning to impress one thing, has impressed another, is unworthy of observation.

It is a very unpleasant thing to have, in the first setting out, so many and so strong prejudices to contend with. All that one can do in such case, is, to pray the reader to have a little patience in the commencement; and to reserve his censure, if it must pa.s.s, for the conclusion. Under his gracious allowance, therefore, I presume to declare it as my opinion, that Cowardice _is not_ the _Impression_ which the _whole_ character of _Falstaff_ is calculated to make on the minds of an unprejudiced audience; tho' there be, I confess, a great deal of something in the _composition_ likely enough to puzzle, and consequently to mislead the Understanding.-The reader will perceive that I distinguish between _mental Impressions_ and the _Understanding_.-I wish to avoid every thing that looks like subtlety and refinement; but this is a distinction which we all comprehend.-There are none of us unconscious of certain feelings or sensations of mind which do not seem to have pa.s.sed thro' the Understanding; the effects, I suppose, of some secret influences from without, acting upon a certain mental sense, and producing feelings and pa.s.sions in just correspondence to the force and variety of those influences on the one hand, and to the quickness of our sensibility on the other. Be the cause, however, what it may, the fact is undoubtedly so; which is all I am concerned in. And it is equally a fact, which every man's experience may avouch, that the Understanding and those feelings are frequently at variance. The latter often arise from the most minute circ.u.mstances, and frequently from such as the Understanding cannot estimate, or even recognize; whereas the Understanding delights in abstraction, and in general propositions; which, however true considered as such, are very seldom, I had like to have said _never_, perfectly applicable to any particular case. And hence, among other causes, it is, that we often condemn or applaud characters and actions on the credit of some logical process, while our hearts revolt, and would fain lead us to a very different conclusion.

The Understanding seems for the most part to take cognizance of _actions_ only, and from these to infer _motives_ and _character_; but the sense we have been speaking of proceeds in a contrary course; and determines of _actions_ from certain _first principles of character_, which seem wholly out of the reach of the Understanding. We cannot indeed do otherwise than admit that there must be distinct principles of character in every distinct individual: The manifest variety even in the minds of infants will oblige us to this. But what _are_ these first principles of character? Not the objects, I am persuaded, of the Understanding; and yet we take as strong Impressions of them as if we could compare and a.s.sort them in a syllogism. We often love or hate at first sight; and indeed, in general, dislike or approve by some secret reference to these _principles_; and we judge even of conduct, not from any idea of abstract good or evil in the nature of actions, but by referring those actions to a supposed original character in the man himself. I do not mean that we _talk_ thus; we could not indeed, if we would, explain ourselves in detail on this head; we can neither account for Impressions and pa.s.sions, nor communicate them to others by _words_: Tones and looks will sometimes convey the _pa.s.sion_ strangely, but the _Impression_ is incommunicable.

The same causes may produce it indeed at the same time in many, but it is the separate possession of each, and not in its nature transferable: It is an imperfect sort of instinct, and proportionably dumb.-We might indeed, if we chose it, candidly confess to one another that we are greatly swayed by these feelings, and are by no means so _rational_ in all points as we could wish; but this would be a betraying of the interests of that high faculty, the Understanding, which we so value ourselves upon, and which we more peculiarly call our own. This, we think, must not be; and so we huddle up the matter, concealing it as much as possible, both from ourselves and others. In Books indeed, wherein character, motive, and action, are all alike subjected to the Understanding, it is generally a very clear case; and we make decisions compounded of them all: And thus we are willing to approve of _Candide_, tho' he kills my Lord the Inquisitor, and runs thro' the body the Baron of _Thunder-ten-tronckh_, the son of his patron, and the brother of his beloved _Cunegonde_: But in real life, I believe, _my Lords the Judges_ would be apt to inform the _Gentlemen of the Jury_ that my _Lord the Inquisitor_ was _ill killed_; as _Candide_ did not proceed on the urgency of the moment, but on the speculation only of future evil. And indeed this clear perception, in Novels and Plays, of the union of character and action not seen in nature, is the princ.i.p.al defect of such compositions, and what renders them but ill pictures of human life, and wretched guides of conduct.

But if there was _one man_ in the world who could make a more perfect draught of real nature, and steal such Impressions on his audience, without their special notice, as should keep their hold in spite of any error of their Understanding, and should thereupon venture to introduce an apparent incongruity of character and action, for ends which I shall presently endeavour to explain; such an imitation would be worth our nicest curiosity and attention. But in such a case as this, the reader might expect that he should find us all talking the language of the Understanding only; that is, censuring the action with very little conscientious investigation even of _that_; and transferring the censure, in every odious colour, to the actor himself; how much soever our hearts and affections might secretly revolt: For as to the _Impression_, we have already observed that it has no tongue; nor is its operation and influence likely to be made the subject of conference and communication.

It is not to the _Courage_ only of _Falstaff_ that we think these observations will apply: No part whatever of his character seems to be fully settled in our minds; at least there is something strangely incongruous in our discourse and affections concerning him. We all like _Old Jack_; yet, by some strange perverse fate, we all abuse him, and deny him the possession of any one single good or respectable quality. There is something extraordinary in this: It must be a strange art in _Shakespeare_ which can draw our liking and good will towards so offensive an object. He has wit, it will be said; chearfulness and humour of the most characteristic and captivating sort. And is this enough? Is the humour and gaiety of vice so very captivating? Is the wit, characteristic of baseness and every ill quality, capable of attaching the heart and winning the affections? Or does not the apparency of such humour, and the flashes of such wit, by more strongly disclosing the deformity of character, but the more effectually excite our hatred and contempt of the man? And yet this is not our _feeling_ of _Falstaff_'s character. When he has ceased to amuse us, we find no emotions of disgust; we can scarcely forgive the ingrat.i.tude of the Prince in the new-born virtue of the King, and we curse the severity of that poetic justice which consigns our old good-natured companion to the custody of the _warden_, and the dishonours of the _Fleet_.

I am willing, however, to admit that if a Dramatic writer will but preserve to any character the qualities of a strong mind, particularly Courage and ability, that it will be afterwards no very difficult task (as I may have occasion to explain) to discharge that _disgust_ which arises from vicious manners; and even to attach us (if such character should contain any quality productive of chearfulness and laughter) to the cause and subject of our mirth with some degree of affection.

But the question which I am to consider is of a very different nature: It is a question of fact, and concerning a quality which forms the basis of every respectable character; a quality which is the very essence of a Military man; and which is held up to us, in almost every Comic incident of the Play, as the subject of our observation. It is strange then that it should now be a question, whether _Falstaff_ is or is not a man of Courage; and whether we do in fact contemn him for the want, or respect him for the possession of that quality: And yet I believe the reader will find that he has by no means decided this question, even for himself.-If then it should turn out that this difficulty has arisen out of the Art of _Shakespeare_, who has contrived to make secret Impressions upon us of Courage, and to preserve those Impressions in favour of a character which was to be held up for sport and laughter on account of actions of apparent Cowardice and dishonour, we shall have less occasion to wonder, as _Shakespeare_ is a Name which contains All of Dramatic artifice and genius.

If in this place the reader shall peevishly and prematurely object that the observations and distinctions I have laboured to establish are wholly unapplicable; he being himself unconscious of ever having received any such Impression; what can be done in so nice a case, but to refer him to the following pages; by the number of which he may judge how very much I respect his objection, and by the variety of those proofs which I shall employ to induce him to part with it; and to recognize in its stead certain feelings, concealed and covered over perhaps, but not erazed, by time, reasoning, and authority?

In the mean while, it may not perhaps be easy for him to resolve how it comes about, that, whilst we look upon _Falstaff_ as a character of the like nature with that of _Parolles_ or of _Bobadil_, we should preserve for him a great degree of respect and good-will, and yet feel the highest disdain and contempt of the others, tho' they are all involved in similar situations. The reader, I believe, would wonder extremely to find either _Parolles_ or _Bobadil_ possess himself in danger: What then can be the cause that we are not at all surprized at the gaiety and ease of _Falstaff_ under the most trying circ.u.mstances; and that we never think of charging _Shakespeare_ with departing, on this account, from the truth and coherence of character? Perhaps, after all, the _real_ character of _Falstaff_ may be different from his _apparent_ one; and possibly this difference between reality and appearance, whilst it accounts at once for our liking and our censure, may be the true point of humour in the character, and the source of all our laughter and delight. We may chance to find, if we will but examine a little into the nature of those circ.u.mstances which have accidentally involved him, that he was intended to be drawn as a character of much Natural courage and resolution; and be obliged thereupon to repeal those decisions which may have been made upon the credit of some general tho' unapplicable propositions; the common source of error in other and higher matters. A little reflection may perhaps bring us round again to the point of our departure, and unite our Understandings to our instinct.-Let us then for a moment _suspend_ at least our decisions, and candidly and coolly inquire if Sir _John Falstaff_ be, indeed, what he has so often been called by critic and commentator, male and female,-a _Const.i.tutional Coward_.

It will scarcely be possible to consider the Courage of _Falstaff_ as wholly detached from his other qualities: But I write not professedly of any part of his character, but what is included under the term, _Courage_; however, I may incidentally throw some lights on the whole.-The reader will not need to be told that this Inquiry will resolve itself of course into a Critique on the genius, the arts, and the conduct of _Shakespeare_: For what is _Falstaff_, what _Lear_, what _Hamlet_, or _Oth.e.l.lo_, but different modifications of _Shakespeare_'s thought? It is true that this Inquiry is narrowed almost to a single point: But general criticism is as uninstructive as it is easy: _Shakespeare_ deserves to be considered in detail;-a task hitherto unattempted.

It may be proper, in the first place, to take a short view of all the parts of _Falstaff_'s Character, and then proceed to discover, if we can, what _Impressions_, as to Courage or Cowardice, he had made on the persons of the Drama: After which we will examine, in course, such evidence, either of _persons_ or _facts_, as are relative to the matter; and account as we may for those appearances which seem to have led to the opinion of his Const.i.tutional Cowardice.

The scene of the robbery, and the disgraces attending it, which stand first in the Play, and introduce us to the knowledge of _Falstaff_, I shall beg leave (as I think this scene to have been the source of much unreasonable prejudice) to _reserve_ till we are more fully acquainted with the whole character of _Falstaff_; and I shall therefore hope that the reader will not for a time advert to it, or to the jests of the Prince or of _Poins_ in consequence of that unlucky adventure.

In drawing out the parts of _Falstaff_'s character, with which I shall begin this Inquiry, I shall take the liberty of putting Const.i.tutional bravery into his composition; but the reader will be pleased to consider what I shall say in that respect as spoken hypothetically for the present, to be retained, or discharged out of it, as he shall finally determine.

To me then it appears that the leading quality in _Falstaff_'s character, and that from which all the rest take their colour, is a high degree of wit and humour, accompanied with great natural vigour and alacrity of mind. This quality, so accompanied, led him probably very early into life, and made him highly acceptable to society; so acceptable, as to make it seem unnecessary for him to acquire any other virtue. Hence, perhaps, his continued debaucheries and dissipations of every kind.-He seems, by nature, to have had a mind free of malice or any evil principle; but he never took the trouble of acquiring any good one. He found himself esteemed and beloved with all his faults; nay _for_ his faults, which were all connected with humour, and for the most part grew out of it. As he had, possibly, no vices but such as he thought might be openly professed, so he appeared more dissolute thro' ostentation. To the character of wit and humour, to which all his other qualities seem to have conformed themselves, he appears to have added a very necessary support, _that_ of the profession of a _Soldier_. He had from nature, as I presume to say, a spirit of boldness and enterprise; which in a Military age, tho'

employment was only occasional, kept him always above contempt, secured him an honourable reception among the Great, and suited best both his particular mode of humour and of vice. Thus living continually in society, nay even in Taverns, and indulging himself, and being indulged by others, in every debauchery; drinking, whoring, gluttony, and ease; a.s.suming a liberty of fiction, necessary perhaps to his wit, and often falling into falsity and lies, he seems to have set, by degrees, all sober reputation at defiance; and finding eternal resources in his wit, he borrows, s.h.i.+fts, defrauds, and even robs, without dishonour.-Laughter and approbation attend his greatest excesses; and being governed visibly by no settled bad principle or ill design, fun and humour account for and cover all. By degrees, however, and thro' indulgence, he acquires bad habits, becomes an humourist, grows enormously corpulent, and falls into the infirmities of age; yet never quits, all the time, one single levity or vice of youth, or loses any of that chearfulness of mind which had enabled him to pa.s.s thro'

this course with ease to himself and delight to others; and thus, at last, mixing youth and age, enterprize and corpulency, wit and folly, poverty and expence, t.i.tle and buffoonery, innocence as to purpose, and wickedness as to practice; neither incurring hatred by bad principle, or contempt by Cowardice, yet involved in circ.u.mstances productive of imputation in both; a b.u.t.t and a wit, a humourist and a man of humour, a touchstone and a laughing stock, a jester and a jest, has Sir _John Falstaff_, taken at that period of his life in which we see him, become the most perfect Comic character that perhaps ever was exhibited.

It may not possibly be wholly amiss to remark in this place, that if Sir _John Falstaff_ had possessed any of that Cardinal quality, Prudence, alike the guardian of virtue and the protector of vice; that quality, from the possession or the absence of which, the character and fate of men in this life take, I think, their colour, and not from real vice or virtue; if he had considered his wit not as _princ.i.p.al_ but _accessary_ only; as the instrument of power, and not as power itself; if he had had much baseness to hide, if he had had less of what may be called mellowness or good humour, or less of health and spirit; if he had spurred and rode the world with his wit, instead of suffering the world, boys and all, to ride him;-he might, without any other essential change, have been the admiration and not the jest of mankind:-Or if he had lived in our day, and instead of attaching himself to one Prince, had renounced _all_ friends.h.i.+p and _all_ attachment, and had let himself out as the ready instrument and Zany of every successive Minister, he might possibly have acquired the high honour of marking his shroud or decorating his coffin with the living rays of an Irish at least, if not a British Coronet: Instead of which, tho' enforcing laughter from every disposition, he appears, now, as such a character which every wise man will pity and avoid, every knave will censure, and every fool will fear: And accordingly _Shakespeare_, ever true to nature, has made _Harry_ desert, and _Lancaster_ censure him:-He dies where he lived, in a Tavern, broken-hearted, without a friend; and his final exit is given up to the derision of fools. Nor has his misfortunes ended here; the scandal arising from the misapplication of his wit and talents seems immortal. He has met with as little justice or mercy from his final judges the critics, as from his companions of the Drama.

With our cheeks still red with laughter, we ungratefully as unjustly censure him as a coward by nature, and a rascal upon principle: Tho', if this were so, it might be hoped, for our own credit, that we should behold him rather with disgust and disapprobation than with pleasure and delight.

But to remember our question-_Is Falstaff a const.i.tutional coward?_

With respect to every infirmity, except that of Cowardice, we must take him as at the period in which he is represented to us. If we see him dissipated, fat,-it is enough;-we have nothing to do with his youth, when he might perhaps have been modest, chaste, "_and not an Eagle's talon in the waist_." But _Const.i.tutional __ Courage_ extends to a man's whole life, makes a part of his nature, and is not to be taken up or deserted like a mere Moral quality. It is true, there is a Courage founded upon _principle_, or rather a principle independent of Courage, which will sometimes operate in spite of nature; a principle which prefers death to shame, but which always refers itself, in conformity to its own nature, to the prevailing modes of honour, and the fas.h.i.+ons of the age.-But Natural courage is another thing: It is independent of opinion; It adapts itself to occasions, preserves itself under every shape, and can avail itself of flight as well as of action.-In the last war, some Indians of America perceiving a line of Highlanders to keep their station under every disadvantage, and under a fire which they could not effectually return, were so miserably mistaken in our points of honour as to conjecture, from observation on the habit and stability of those troops, that they were indeed the women of England, who wanted courage to run away.-That Courage which is founded in nature and const.i.tution, _Falstaff_, as I presume to say, possessed;-but I am ready to allow that the principle already mentioned, so far as it refers to reputation only, began with every other Moral quality to lose its hold on him in his old age; that is, at the time of life in which he is represented to us; a period, as it should seem, approaching to _seventy_.-The truth is that he had drollery enough to support himself in credit without the point of honour, and had address enough to make even the preservation of his life a point of drollery. The reader knows I allude, tho' something prematurely, to his fict.i.tious death in the battle of Shrewsbury. This incident is generally construed to the disadvantage of _Falstaff_: It is a transaction which bears the external marks of Cowardice: It is also aggravated to the spectators by the idle tricks of the Player, who practises on this occasion all the att.i.tudes and wild apprehensions of fear; more ambitious, as it should seem, of representing a _Caliban_ than a _Falstaff_; or indeed rather a poor unwieldy miserable Tortoise than either.-The painful Comedian lies spread out on his belly, and not only covers himself all over with his robe as with a sh.e.l.l, but forms a kind of round Tortoise-back by I know not what stuffing or contrivance; in addition to which, he alternately lifts up, and depresses, and dodges his head, and looks to the one side and to the other, so much with the piteous aspect of that animal, that one would not be sorry to see the ambitious imitator calipashed in his robe, and served up for the entertainment of the gallery.-There is no hint for this mummery in the Play: Whatever there may be of dishonour in _Falstaff_'s conduct, he neither does or says any thing on this occasion which indicates terror or disorder of mind: On the contrary, this very act is a proof of his having all his wits about him, and is a stratagem, such as it is, not improper for a buffoon, whose fate would be singularly hard, if he should not be allowed to avail himself of his Character when it might serve him in most stead. We must remember, in extenuation, that the executive, the destroying hand of _Douglas_ was over him: "_It was time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid him scot and lot too._" He had but one choice; he was obliged to pa.s.s thro' the ceremony of dying either in jest or in earnest; and we shall not be surprized at the event, when we remember his propensities to the former.-Life (and especially the life of _Falstaff_) might be a jest; but he could see no joke whatever in dying: To be chopfallen was, with him, to lose both life and character together: He saw the point of honour, as well as every thing else, in ridiculous lights, and began to renounce its tyranny.

But I am too much in advance, and must retreat for more advantage. I should not forget how much opinion is against me, and that I am to make my way by the mere force and weight of evidence; without which I must not hope to possess myself of the reader: No address, no insinuation will avail. To this evidence, then, I now resort. The Courage of _Falstaff_ is my Theme: And no pa.s.sage will I spare from which any thing can be inferred as relative to this point. It would be as vain as injudicious to attempt concealment: How could I escape detection? The Play is in every one's memory, and a single pa.s.sage remembered in detection would tell, in the mind of the partial observer, for fifty times its real weight. Indeed this argument would be void of all excuse if it declined any difficulty; if it did not meet, if it did not challenge opposition. Every pa.s.sage then shall be produced from which, in my opinion, any inference, favourable or unfavourable, has or can be drawn;-but not methodically, not formally, as texts for comment, but as chance or convenience shall lead the way; but in what shape soever, they shall be always distinguis.h.i.+ngly marked for notice. And so with that attention to truth and candour which ought to accompany even our lightest amus.e.m.e.nts I proceed to offer such proof as the case will admit, that _Courage_ is a part of _Falstaff_'s _Character_, that it belonged to his const.i.tution, and was manifest in the conduct and practice of his whole life.

Let us then examine, as a source of very authentic information, what Impressions _Sir John Falstaff_ had made on the characters of the Drama; and in what estimation he is supposed to stand with mankind in general as to the point of Personal Courage. But the quotations we make for this or other purposes, must, it is confessed, be lightly touched, and no particular pa.s.sage strongly relied on, either in his favour or against him. Every thing which he himself says, or is said of him, is so phantastically discoloured by humour, or folly, or jest, that we must for the most part look to the spirit rather than the letter of what is uttered, and rely at last only on a combination of the whole.

We will begin then, if the reader pleases, by inquiring what Impression the very Vulgar had taken of _Falstaff_. If it is not that of Cowardice, be it what else it may, that of a man of violence, or _a Ruffian in years_, as _Harry_ calls him, or any thing else, it answers my purpose; how insignificant soever the characters or incidents to be first produced may otherwise appear;-for these Impressions must have been taken either from personal knowledge and observation; or, what will do better for my purpose, from common fame. Altho' I must admit some part of this evidence will appear so weak and trifling that it certainly ought not to be produced but in proof Impression only.

The _Hostess Quickly_ employs two officers to arrest _Falstaff_: On the mention of his name, one of them immediately observes, "_that it may chance to cost some of them their lives, for that he will stab._"-"_Alas a day,_" says the hostess, "_take heed of him, he cares not what mischief he doth; if his weapon be out, he will foin like any devil; He will spare neither man, woman, or child._" Accordingly, we find that when they lay hold on him he resists to the utmost of his power, and calls upon _Bardolph_, whose arms are at liberty, to draw. "_Away, varlets, draw Bardolph, cut me off the villain's head, throw the quean in the kennel._"

The officers cry, _a rescue, a rescue!_ But the Chief Justice comes in and the scuffle ceases. In another scene, his wench _Doll Tearsheet_ asks him "_when he will leave fighting ... and patch up his old body for heaven._"

This is occasioned by his drawing his rapier, on great provocation, and driving _Pistol_, who is drawn likewise, down stairs, and hurting him in the shoulder. To drive _Pistol_ was no great feat; nor do I mention it as such; but upon this occasion it was necessary. "_A Rascal bragging slave,_" says he, "_the rogue fled from me like quicksilver_": Expressions which, as they remember the cowardice of _Pistol_, seem to prove that _Falstaff_ did not value himself on the adventure. Even something may be drawn from _Davy, Shallow_'s serving man, who calls _Falstaff_, in ignorant admiration, the _man of war_. I must observe here, and I beg the reader will notice it, that there is not a single expression dropt by these people, or either of _Falstaff_'s followers, from which may be inferred the least suspicion of Cowardice in his character; and this is I think such an _implied negation_ as deserves considerable weight.

But to go a little higher, if, indeed, to consider _Shallow_'s opinion be to go _higher_: It is from him, however, that we get the earliest account of _Falstaff_. He _remembers him a Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk_: "_He broke,_" says he, "_Schoggan's head at the Court-Gate when he was but a crack thus high._" _Shallow_, throughout, considers him as a great Leader and Soldier, and relates this fact as an early indication only of his future Prowess. _Shallow_, it is true, is a very ridiculous character; but he picked up these Impressions somewhere; and he picked up none of a contrary tendency.-I want at present only to prove that _Falstaff_ stood well in the report of common fame as to this point; and he was now near seventy years of age, and had pa.s.sed in a Military line thro' the active part of his life. At this period common fame may be well considered as the _seal_ of his character; a seal which ought not perhaps to be broke open on the evidence of any future transaction.

But to proceed. _Lord Bardolph_ was a man of the world, and of sense and observation. He informs _Northumberland_, erroneously indeed, that _Percy_ had beaten the King at Shrewsbury. "_The King,_" according to him, "_was wounded; the Prince of Wales and the two Blunts slain, certain n.o.bles_, whom he names, _had escaped by flight, and the Brawn Sir John Falstaff was taken prisoner._" But how came _Falstaff_ into this list? Common fame had put him there. He is singularly obliged to Common fame.-But if he had not been a Soldier of repute, if he had not been brave as well as fat, if he had been _mere brawn_, it would have been more germane to the matter if this lord had put him down among the baggage or the provender. The fact seems to be that there is a real consequence about Sir _John Falstaff_ which is not brought forward: We see him only in his familiar hours; we enter the tavern with _Hal_ and _Poins_; we join in the laugh and _take a pride to gird at him_: But there may be a great deal of truth in what he himself writes to the Prince, that tho' he be "_Jack Falstaff with his Familiars, he is __SIR JOHN__ with the rest of Europe._" It has been remarked, and very truly I believe, that no man is a hero in the eye of his valet-de-chambre; and _thus_ it is, we are witnesses only of _Falstaff_'s weakness and buffoonery; our acquaintance is with _Jack Falstaff_, _Plump Jack_, and _Sir John Paunch_; but if we would look for _Sir John Falstaff_, we must put on, as _Bunyan_ would have expressed it, the spectacles of observation. With respect, for instance, to his Military command at Shrewsbury, nothing appears on the surface but the Prince's familiarly saying, in the tone usually a.s.sumed when speaking of _Falstaff_, "_I will procure this fat rogue a Charge of foot_"; and in another place, "_I will procure thee Jack a Charge of foot; meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall._" Indeed we might venture to infer from this, that a Prince of so great ability, whose wildness was only external and a.s.sumed, would not have procured, in so nice and critical a conjuncture, a Charge of foot for a known Coward. But there was more it seems in the case: We now find from this report, to which _Lord Bardolph_ had given full credit, that the world had its eye upon _Falstaff_ as an officer of merit, whom it expected to find in the field, and whose fate in the battle was an object of Public concern: His life was, it seems, very material indeed; a thread of so much dependence, that _fiction_, weaving the fates of Princes, did not think it unworthy, how coa.r.s.e soever, of being made a part of the tissue.

We shall next produce the evidence of the Chief Justice of England. He inquires of his attendant, "_if the man who was then pa.s.sing him was __FALSTAFF__; he who was in question for the robbery._" The attendant answers affirmatively, but reminds his lord "_that he had since done good service at Shrewsbury_"; and the Chief Justice, on this occasion, rating him for his debaucheries, tells him "_that his day's service at Shrewsbury had gilded over his night's exploit at Gads Hill._" This is surely more than Common fame: _The Chief Justice_ must have known his whole character taken together, and must have received the most authentic information, and in the truest colours, of his behaviour in that action.

But, perhaps, after all, the Military men may be esteemed the best judges in points of this nature. Let us hear then _Coleville_ of the dale, _a Soldier, in degree a Knight, a famous rebel, and_ "_whose betters, had they been ruled by him, would have sold themselves dearer_": A man who is of consequence enough to be guarded by _Blunt_ and _led to present execution_. This man yields himself up even to the very Name and Reputation of _Falstaff_. "_I think_," says he, "_you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me._" But this is but one only among the men of the sword; and they shall be produced then by _dozens_, if that will satisfy. Upon the return of the King and Prince Henry from Wales, the Prince seeks out and finds _Falstaff_ debauching in a tavern; where _Peto_ presently brings an account of ill news from the North; and adds, "_that as he came along he met or overtook a dozen Captains, bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, and asking every one for __SIR JOHN FALSTAFF__._" He is followed by _Bardolph_, who informs _Falstaff_ that "_He must away to the Court immediately; a dozen Captains stay at door for him._" Here is Military evidence in abundance, and _Court evidence_ too; for what are we to infer from _Falstaff_'s being sent for to Court on this ill news, but that his opinion was to be asked, as a Military man of skill and experience, concerning the defences necessary to be taken. Nor is _Shakespeare_ content, here, with leaving us to gather up _Falstaff_'s _better character_ from inference and deduction: He comments on the fact by making _Falstaff_ observe that "_Men of merit are sought after: The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on._" I do not wish to draw _Falstaff_'s character out of his own mouth; but this observation refers to the fact, and is founded in reason. Nor ought we to reject what in another place he says to the Chief Justice, as it is in the nature of an appeal to his knowledge. "_There is not a dangerous action_," says he, "_can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it._" The Chief Justice seems by his answer to admit the fact. "_Well, be honest, be honest, and heaven bless your expedition._" But the whole pa.s.sage may deserve transcribing.

Ch. Just. "_Well, the King has served you and Prince Henry. I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland._"

Fals. "_Yes, I thank your pretty sweet wit for it; but look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for I take but two s.h.i.+rts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: If it be a hot day, if I brandish any thing but a bottle, would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it. Well I cannot last for ever.-But it was always the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too common. If you will needs say I am an old man you should give me rest: I would to G.o.d my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scour'd to nothing with perpetual motion._"

Ch. Just. "_Well be honest, be honest, and heaven bless your expedition._"

_Falstaff_ indulges himself here in humourous exaggeration;-these pa.s.sages are not meant to be taken, nor are we to suppose that they were taken, literally;-but if there was not a ground of truth, if _Falstaff_ had not had such a degree of Military reputation as was capable of being thus humourously amplified and exaggerated, the whole dialogue would have been highly preposterous and absurd, and the acquiescing answer of the _Lord Chief Justice_ singularly improper.-But upon the supposition of _Falstaff_'s being considered, upon the whole, as a good and gallant Officer, the answer is just, and corresponds with the acknowledgment which had a little before been made, "_that his days service at Shrewsbury had gilded over his night's exploit at Gads Hill.-You may thank the unquiet time,_" says the Chief Justice, "_for your quiet o'erposting of that action_"; agreeing with what _Falstaff_ says in another place;-"_Well, G.o.d be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them._"-Whether this be said in the true spirit of a Soldier or not, I do not determine; it is surely not in that of a mere Coward and Poltroon.

It will be needless to shew, which might be done from a variety of particulars, that _Falstaff_ was known and had consideration at Court.

_Shallow_ cultivates him in the idea that _a friend at Court is better than a penny in purse_: _Westmorland_ speaks to him in the tone of an equal: Upon _Falstaff_'s telling him that he thought his lords.h.i.+p had been already at Shrewsbury, _Westmorland_ replies,-"_Faith Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too; the King I can tell you looks for us all; we must away all to night._"-"_Tut,_" says Falstaff, "_never fear me, I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream._"-He desires, in another place, of my lord John of Lancaster, "_that when he goes to Court, he may stand in his good report._" His intercourse and correspondence with both these lords seem easy and familiar. "_Go,_" says he to the page, "_bear this to my Lord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earl of Westmorland, and this_ (for he extended himself on all sides) _to old Mrs. Ursula_," whom, it seems, the rogue ought to have married many years before.-But these intimations are needless: We see him ourselves in the _Royal Presence_; where, certainly, his buffooneries never brought him; never was the Prince of a character to commit so high an indecorum, as to thrust, upon a solemn occasion, a mere Tavern companion into his father's Presence, especially in a moment when he himself deserts his looser character, and takes up that of _a Prince indeed_.-In a very important scene, where _Worcester_ is expected with proposals from _Percy_, and wherein he is received, is treated with, and carries back offers of accommodation from the King, the King's attendants upon the occasion are _the Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, the Earl of Westmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff_.-What shall be said to this?

_Falstaff_ is not surely introduced here in vicious indulgence to a mob audience;-he utters but one word, a buffoon one indeed, but aside, and to the Prince only. Nothing, it should seem, is wanting, if decorum would here have permitted, but that he should have spoken one sober sentence in the Presence (which yet we are to suppose him ready and able to do if occasion should have required; or his wit was given him to little purpose) and Sir _John Falstaff_ might be allowed to pa.s.s for an established Courtier and counsellor of state. "_If I do grow great,_" says he, "_I'll grow less, purge and leave sack, and live as a n.o.bleman should do._"

n.o.bility did not then appear to him at an unmeasurable distance; it was, it seems, in his idea, the very next link in the chain.

But to return. I would now demand what could bring _Falstaff_ into the Royal Presence upon such an occasion, or justify the Prince's so public acknowledgment of him, but an established fame and reputation of Military merit? In short, just the like merit as brought Sir _Walter Blunt_ into the same circ.u.mstances of honour.