Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare Part 23

But it may be objected that his introduction into this scene is a piece of indecorum in the author. But upon what ground are we to suppose this? Upon the ground of his being a notorious Coward? Why, this is the very point in question, and cannot be granted: Even the direct contrary I have affirmed, and am endeavouring to support. But if it be supposed upon any other ground, it does not concern me; I have nothing to do with _Shakespeare_'s indecorums in general. That there are indecorums in the Play I have no doubt: The indecent treatment of _Percy_'s dead body is the greatest;-the familiarity of the significant, rude, and even ill disposed _Poins_ with the Prince, is another;-but the admission of _Falstaff_ into the Royal Presence (supposing, which I have a right to suppose, that his Military character was unimpeached) does not seem to be in any respect among the number. In camps there is but one virtue and one vice; Military merit swallows up or covers all. But, after all, what have we to do with indecorums? Indecorums respect the propriety or impropriety of exhibiting certain actions;-not their _truth_ or _falshood_ when exhibited.

_Shakespeare_ stands to us in the place of _truth_ and _nature_: If we desert this principle, we cut the turf from under us; I may then object to the robbery and other pa.s.sages as indecorums, and as contrary to the truth of character. In short we may rend and tear the Play to pieces, and every man carry off what sentences he likes best.-But why this inveterate malice against poor _Falstaff_? He has faults enough in conscience without loading him with the infamy of Cowardice; a charge, which, if true, would, if I am not greatly mistaken, spoil all our mirth.-But of that hereafter.

It seems to me that, in our hasty judgment of some particular transactions, we forget the circ.u.mstances and condition of his whole life and character, which yet deserve our very particular attention. The author, it is true, has thrown the most advantageous of these circ.u.mstances into the _back ground_, as it were, and has brought nothing _out of the canva.s.s_ but his follies and buffoonery. We discover, however, that in a very early period of his life he was familiar with _John_ of _Gaunt_; which could hardly be, unless he had possessed much personal gallantry and accomplishment, and had derived his birth from a distinguished at least, if not from a n.o.ble family.

It may seem very extravagant to insist upon _Falstaff_'s birth as a ground from which, by any inference, Personal courage may be derived, especially after having acknowledged that he seemed to have deserted those points of honour which are more peculiarly the accompanyments of rank. But it may be observed that in the Feudal ages rank and wealth were not only connected with the point of honour, but with personal strength and natural courage.

It is observable that Courage is a quality which is at least as transmissible to one's posterity as features and complexion. In these periods men acquired and maintained their rank and possessions by personal prowess and gallantry; and their marriage alliances were made, of course, in families of the same character: And from hence, and from the exercises of their youth, we must account for the distinguished force and bravery of our antient Barons. It is not therefore beside my purpose to inquire what hints of the origin and birth of _Falstaff_, _Shakespeare_ may have dropped in different parts of the Play; for tho' we may be disposed to allow that _Falstaff_ in his old age might, under particular influences, desert the point of honour, we cannot give up that unalienable possession of Courage, which might have been derived to him from a n.o.ble or distinguished stock.

But it may be said that _Falstaff_ was in truth the child of invention only, and that a reference to the Feudal accidents of birth serves only to confound fiction with reality: Not altogether so. If the ideas of courage and _birth_ were strongly a.s.sociated in the days of _Shakespeare_, then would the a.s.signment of high birth to _Falstaff_ carry, and be intended to carry along with it, to the minds of the audience the a.s.sociated idea of Courage, if nothing should be specially interposed to dissolve the connection;-and the question is as concerning this intention, and this effect.

I shall proceed yet farther to make a few very minute observations of the same nature: But if _Shakespeare_ meant sometimes rather to _impress_ than explain, no circ.u.mstances calculated to this end, either directly or by a.s.sociation, are too minute for notice. But however this may be, a more conciliating reason still remains: The argument itself, like the tales of our Novelists, is a _vehicle_ only; _theirs_, as they profess, of moral instruction; and _mine_ of critical amus.e.m.e.nt. The vindication of _Falstaff_'s Courage deserves not for its own sake the least sober discussion; _Falstaff_ is the word only, _Shakespeare_ is the _Theme_: And if thro' this channel I can furnish no irrational amus.e.m.e.nt, the reader will not, perhaps, every where expect from me the strict severity of logical investigation.

_Falstaff_, then, it may be observed, was introduced into the world,-(at least we are told so) by the name of _Oldcastle_.(41) This was a.s.signing him an origin of n.o.bility; but the family of that name disclaiming any kindred with his vices, he was thereupon, as it is said, ingrafted into another stock(42) scarcely less distinguished, tho' fallen into indelible disgraces; and by this means he has been made, if the conjectures of certain critics are well founded, the Dramatic successor, tho', having respect to chronology, the natural _proavus_ of another Sir _John_, who was no less than a Knight of the most n.o.ble order of the Garter, but a name for ever dishonoured by a frequent exposure in that Drum-and-trumpet Thing called _The first part of Henry_ VI., written doubtless, or rather exhibited, long before _Shakespeare_ was born,(43) tho' afterwards repaired, I think, and furbished up by him with here and there a little sentiment and diction. This family, if any branch of it remained in _Shakespeare_'s time, might have been proud of their Dramatic ally, if indeed they could have any fair pretence to claim as such _him_ whom _Shakespeare_, perhaps in contempt of Cowardice, wrote _Falstaff_, not _Fastolfe_, the true Historic name of the Gartered Craven.

In the age of Henry IV. a Family crest and arms were authentic proofs of gentility; and this proof, among others, _Shakespeare_ has furnished us with: _Falstaff_ always carried about him, it seems, _a Seal ring of his Grandfather's, worth_, as he says, _forty marks_: The Prince indeed affirms, but not seriously I think, that this ring was _copper_. As to the existence of the _bonds_, which were I suppose the negotiable securities or paper-money of the time, and which he pretended to have lost, I have nothing to say; but the ring, I believe, was really gold; tho' probably a little too much alloyed with baser metal. But this is not the point: The _arms_ were doubtless genuine; they were borne by his Grandfather, and are proofs of an antient gentility; a gentility doubtless, in former periods, connected with wealth and possessions, tho' the gold of the family might have been trans.m.u.ting by degrees, and perhaps, in the hands of _Falstaff_, converted into little better than copper. This observation is made on the supposition of _Falstaff_'s being considered as the head of the family, which I think however he ought not to be. It appears rather as if he ought to be taken in the light of a cadet or younger brother; which the familiar appellation of _John_, "the only one (as he says) given him by his brothers and sisters," seems to indicate. Be this as it may, we find he is able, in spite of dissipation, to keep up a certain _state_ and _dignity_ of appearance; retaining no less than four, if not five, followers or men servants in his train. He appears also to have had apartments in town, and, by his invitations of _Master Gower_ to dinner and to supper, a regular table: And one may infer farther from the Prince's question, on his return from Wales, to _Bardolph_, "_Is your master_ here _in London_,"

that he had likewise a house in the country. Slight proofs it must be confessed, yet the inferences are so probable, so buoyant, in their own nature, that they may well rest on them. That he did not lodge at the Tavern is clear from the circ.u.mstances of the arrest. These various occasions of expence,-servants, taverns, houses, and wh.o.r.es,-necessarily imply that _Falstaff_ must have had some funds which are not brought immediately under our notice. That these funds were not however adequate to his style of living is plain: Perhaps his train may be considered only as inc.u.mbrances, which the pride of family and the habit of former opulence might have brought upon his present poverty: I do not mean absolute poverty, but call it so as relative to his expence. To have "_but seven groats and two-pence in his purse_" and a page to bear it, is truly ridiculous; and it is for that reason we become so familiar with its contents, "_He can find_," he says, "_no remedy for this consumption of the purse, borrowing does but linger and linger it out; but the disease is incurable_." It might well be deemed so in his course of dissipation: But I shall presently suggest one source at least of his supply much more constant and honourable than that of borrowing. But the condition of _Falstaff_ as to opulence or poverty is not very material to my purpose: It is enough if his birth was distinguished, and his youth noted for gallantry and accomplishments. To the first I have spoken, and as for the latter we shall not be at a loss when we remember that "_he was in his youth a page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk_"; a situation at that time sought for by young men of the best families and first fortune. The house of every great n.o.ble was at that period a kind of Military school; and it is probable that _Falstaff_ was singularly adroit at his exercises: "_He broke Schoggan's head_," (some boisterous fencer I suppose) "_when he was but a crack thus high_." _Shallow_ remembers him _as notedly skilful at backsword_; and he was at that period, according to his own humourous account, "_scarcely an eagle's talon in the waist, and could have crept thro' an alderman's thumb ring_." Even at the age at which he is exhibited to us, we find him _foundering_, as he calls it, _nine score and odd miles_, with wonderful expedition, to join the army of Prince _John_ of _Lancaster_; and declaring, after the surrender of _Coleville_, that "_had he but a belly of any indifferency, he were simply the most active fellow in Europe_." Nor ought we here to pa.s.s over his Knighthood without notice.

It was, I grant, intended by the author as a dignity which, like his Courage and his wit, was to be debased; his knighthood by low situations, his Courage by circ.u.mstances and imputations of cowardice, and his wit by buffoonery. But how are we to suppose this honour was acquired? By that very Courage, it should seem, which we so obstinately deny him. It was not certainly given him, like a modern City Knighthood, for his wealth or gravity: It was in these days a Military honour, and an authentic badge of Military merit.

But _Falstaff_ was not only a Military Knight, he possess'd an honourable _pension_ into the bargain; the reward as well as retainer of service, and which seems (besides the favours perhaps of Mrs. _Ursula_) to be the princ.i.p.al and only solid support of his present expences. But let us refer to the pa.s.sage. "_A pox of this gout, or a gout of this pox; for one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe: It is no matter if I do halt, I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable._" The mention _Falstaff_ here makes of a pension, has I believe been generally construed to refer rather to _hope_ than _possession_, yet I know not why: For the possessive MY, _my pension_, (not _a_ pension) requires a different construction. Is it that we cannot enjoy a wit till we have stript him of every worldly advantage, and reduced him below the level of our envy? It may be perhaps for this reason among others that _Shakespeare_ has so obscured the better parts of _Falstaff_ and stolen them secretly out of our feelings, instead of opening them fairly to the notice of our understandings. How carelessly, and thro' what bye-paths, as it were, of casual inference, is this fact of a pension introduced! And how has he a.s.sociated it with misfortune and infirmity! Yet I question, however, if, in this one place, the _Impression_ which was intended be well and effectually made. It must be left to the reader to determine if, in that ma.s.s of things out of which _Falstaff_ is compounded, he ever considered a pension as any part of the composition: A pension however he appears to have had, one that halting could only seem to make more reasonable, not more honourable. The inference arising from the fact, I shall leave to the reader. It is surely a circ.u.mstance highly advantageous to _Falstaff_ (I speak of the pensions of former days), whether he be considered in the light of a soldier or a gentleman.

I cannot foresee the temper of the reader, nor whether he be content to go along with me in these kind of observations. Some of the incidents which I have drawn out of the Play may appear too minute, whilst yet they refer to principles which may seem too general. Many points require explanation; something should be said of the nature of _Shakespeare_'s Dramatic characters;(44) by what arts they were formed, and wherein they differ from those of other writers; something likewise more professedly of _Shakespeare_ himself, and of the peculiar character of his genius. After such a review we may not perhaps think any consideration arising out of the Play, or out of general nature, either as too minute or too extensive.

_Shakespeare_ is, in truth, an author whose mimic creation agrees in general so perfectly with that of nature, that it is not only wonderful in the great, but opens another scene of amazement to the discoveries of the microscope. We have been charged indeed by a Foreign writer with an overmuch admiring of this _Barbarian_: Whether we have admired with knowledge, or have blindly followed those feelings of affection which we could not resist, I cannot tell; but certain it is, that to the labours of his Editors he has not been overmuch obliged. They are however for the most part of the first rank in literary fame; but some of them had possessions of their own in Parna.s.sus, of an extent too great and important to allow of a very diligent attention to the interests of others; and among those Critics more professionally so, the ablest and the best has unfortunately looked more to the praise of ingenious than of just conjecture. The character of his emendations are not so much that of _right_ or _wrong_, as that, being in the extreme, they are always _Warburtonian_. Another has since undertaken the custody of our author, whom he seems to consider as a sort of wild Proteus or madman, and accordingly knocks him down with the b.u.t.t-end of his critical staff, as often as he exceeds that line of sober discretion, which this learned Editor appears to have chalked out for him: Yet is this Editor notwithstanding "a man, take him for all in all," very highly respectable for his genius and his learning. What however may be chiefly complained of in these gentlemen is, that having erected themselves into the condition, as it were, of guardians and trustees of _Shakespeare_, they have never undertaken to discharge the disgraceful inc.u.mbrances of some wretched productions which have long hung heavy on his fame. Besides the evidence of taste, which indeed is not communicable, there are yet other and more general proofs that these inc.u.mbrances were not incurred by _Shakespeare_: The _Latin_ sentences dispersed thro' the imputed trash is, I think, of itself a decisive one. _Love's Labour lost_ contains a very conclusive one of another kind; tho' the very last Editor has, I believe, in his critical sagacity, suppressed the evidence, and withdrawn the record.

Yet whatever may be the neglect of some, or the censure of others, there are those who firmly believe that this wild, this uncultivated Barbarian has not yet obtained one half of his fame; and who trust that some new Stagyrite will arise, who instead of pecking at the surface of things will enter into the inward soul of his compositions, and expel, by the force of congenial feelings, those foreign impurities which have stained and disgraced his page. And as to those _spots_ which will still remain, they may perhaps become invisible to those who shall seek them thro' the medium of his beauties, instead of looking for those beauties, as is too frequently done, thro' the smoke of some real or imputed obscurity. When the hand of time shall have brushed off his present Editors and Commentators, and when the very name of _Voltaire_, and even the memory of the language in which he has written, shall be no more, the _Apalachian_ mountains, the banks of the _Ohio_, and the plains of _Sciota_ shall resound with the accents of this Barbarian: In his native tongue he shall roll the genuine pa.s.sions of nature; nor shall the griefs of _Lear_ be alleviated, or the charms and wit of _Rosalind_ be abated by time. There is indeed nothing perishable about him, except that very learning which he is said so much to want. He had not, it is true, enough for the demands of the age in which he lived, but he had perhaps too much for the reach of his genius, and the interest of his fame. _Milton_ and he will carry the decayed remnants and fripperies of antient mythology into more distant ages than they are by their own force int.i.tled to extend; and the _Metamorphoses_ of _Ovid_, upheld by them, lay in a new claim to unmerited immortality.

_Shakespeare_ is a name so interesting, that it is excusable to stop a moment, nay it would be indecent to pa.s.s him without the tribute of some admiration. He differs essentially from all other writers: Him we may profess rather to feel than to understand; and it is safer to say, on many occasions, that we are possessed by him, than that we possess him. And no wonder;-He scatters the seeds of things, the principles of character and action, with so cunning a hand, yet with so careless an air, and, master of our feelings, submits himself so little to our judgment, that every thing seems superior. We discern not his course, we see no connection of cause and effect, we are rapt in ignorant admiration, and claim no kindred with his abilities. All the incidents, all the parts, look like chance, whilst we feel and are sensible that the whole is design. His Characters not only act and speak in strict conformity to nature, but in strict relation to us; just so much is shewn as is requisite, just so much is impressed; he commands every pa.s.sage to our heads and to our hearts, and moulds us as he pleases, and that with so much ease, that he never betrays his own exertions. We see these Characters act from the mingled motives of pa.s.sion, reason, interest, habit, and complection, in all their proportions, when they are supposed to know it not themselves; and we are made to acknowledge that their actions and sentiments are, from those motives, the necessary result. He at once blends and distinguishes every thing;-every thing is complicated, every thing is plain. I restrain the further expressions of my admiration lest they should not seem applicable to man; but it is really astonis.h.i.+ng that a mere human being, a part of humanity only, should so perfectly comprehend the whole; and that he should possess such exquisite art, that whilst every woman and every child shall feel the whole effect, his learned Editors and Commentators should yet so very frequently mistake or seem ignorant of the cause. A sceptre or a straw are in his hands of equal efficacy; he needs no selection; he converts every thing into excellence; nothing is too great, nothing is too base. Is a character efficient like _Richard_, it is every thing we can wish: Is it otherwise, like _Hamlet_, it is productive of equal admiration: Action produces one mode of excellence, and inaction another: The Chronicle, the Novel, or the Ballad; the king, or the beggar, the hero, the madman, the sot, or the fool; it is all one;-nothing is worse, nothing is better: The same genius pervades and is equally admirable in all. Or, is a character to be shewn in progressive change, and the events of years comprized within the hour;-with what a Magic hand does he prepare and scatter his spells! The Understanding must, in the first place, be subdued; and lo! how the rooted prejudices of the child spring up to confound the man! The Weird sisters rise, and order is extinguished. The laws of nature give way, and leave nothing in our minds but wildness and horror. No pause is allowed us for reflection: Horrid sentiment, furious guilt and compunction, air-drawn daggers, murders, ghosts, and inchantment, shake and _possess us wholly_. In the mean time the _process_ is completed. _Macbeth_ changes under our eye, _the milk of human kindness is converted to gall; he has supped full of horrors_, and his _May of life is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf_; whilst we, the fools of amazement, are insensible to the s.h.i.+fting of place and the lapse of time, and, till the curtain drops, never once wake to the truth of things, or recognize the laws of existence.-On such an occasion, a fellow, like _Rymer_, waking from his trance, shall lift up his Constable's staff, and charge this great Magician, this daring _practicer of arts inhibited_, in the name of _Aristotle_, to surrender; whilst _Aristotle_ himself, disowning his wretched Officer, would fall prostrate at his feet and acknowledge his supremacy.-O supreme of Dramatic excellence! (_might he say_) not to me be imputed the insolence of fools. The bards of _Greece_ were confined within the narrow circle of the Chorus, and hence they found themselves constrained to practice, for the most part, the precision, and copy the details of nature. I followed them, and knew not that a larger circle might be drawn, and the Drama extended to the whole reach of human genius. Convinced, I see that a more compendious _nature_ may be obtained; a nature of _effects_ only, to which neither the relations of place, or continuity of time, are always essential. Nature, condescending to the faculties and apprehensions of man, has drawn through human life a regular chain of visible causes and effects: But Poetry delights in surprise, conceals her steps, seizes at once upon the heart, and obtains the Sublime of things without betraying the rounds of her ascent: True Poesy is _magic_, not _nature_; an effect from causes hidden or unknown. To the Magician I prescribed no laws; his law and his power are one; his power is his law. Him, who neither imitates, nor is within the reach of imitation, no precedent can or ought to bind, no limits to contain. If his end is obtained, who shall question his course? Means, whether apparent or hidden, are justified in Poesy by success; but then most perfect and most admirable when most concealed.(45) But whither am I going! This copious and delightful topic has drawn me far beyond my design; I hasten back to my subject, and am guarded, for a time at least, against any further temptation to digress.

I was considering the dignity of _Falstaff_ so far as it might seem connected with or productive of military merit, and I have a.s.signed him _reputation_ at least, if not _fame_, n.o.ble connection, birth, attendants, t.i.tle, and an honourable pension; every one of them presumptive proofs of Military merit, and motives of action. What deduction is to be made on these articles, and why they are so much obscured may, perhaps, hereafter appear.

I have now gone through the examination of all the Persons of the Drama from whose mouths any thing can be drawn relative to the Courage of _Falstaff_, excepting the Prince and _Poins_, whose evidence I have begged leave to _reserve_, and excepting a very severe censure pa.s.sed on him by Lord _John_ of _Lancaster_, which I shall presently consider: But I must first observe that, setting aside the jests of the Prince and _Poins_, and this censure of _Lancaster_, there is not one expression uttered by any character in the Drama that can be construed into any impeachment of _Falstaff_'s Courage;-an observation made before as respecting some of the Witnesses;-it is now extended to all: And though this silence be a negative proof only, it cannot, in my opinion, under the circ.u.mstances of the case, and whilst uncontradicted by facts, be too much relied on. If _Falstaff_ had been intended for the character of a _Miles Gloriosus_, his behaviour ought and therefore would have been commented upon by others.

_Shakespeare_ seldom trusts to the apprehensions of his audience; his characters interpret for one another continually, and when we least suspect such artful and secret management: The conduct of _Shakespeare_ in this respect is admirable, and I could point out a thousand pa.s.sages which might put to shame the advocates of a formal Chorus, and prove that there is as little of necessity as grace in so mechanic a contrivance.(46) But I confine my censure of the Chorus to its supposed use of comment and interpretation only.

_Falstaff_ is, indeed, so far from appearing to my eye in the light of a _Miles Gloriosus_, that, in the best of my taste and judgment, he does not discover, except in consequence of the robbery, the least _trait_ of such a character. All his boasting speeches are humour, mere humour, and carefully spoken to persons who cannot misapprehend them, who cannot be imposed on: They contain indeed, for the most part, an unreasonable and imprudent ridicule of himself, the usual subject of his good humoured merriment; but in the company of ignorant people, such as the Justices, or his own followers, he is remarkably reserved, and does not hazard any thing, even in the way of humour, that may be subject to mistake: Indeed he no where seems to suspect that his character is open to censure on this side, or that he needs the arts of imposition.-"_Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day_" is spoken, whilst he breathes from action, to the Prince in a tone of jolly humour, and contains nothing but a light ridicule of his own inactivity: This is as far from real boasting as his saying before the battle, "_Wou'd it were bed-time, __HAL__, and all were well_," is from meanness or depression. This articulated wish is not the fearful outcry of a _Coward_, but the frank and honest breathing of a _generous fellow_, who does not expect to be seriously reproached with the character. Instead, indeed, of deserving the name of a vain glorious _Coward_, his modesty perhaps on his head, and whimsical ridicule of himself, have been a princ.i.p.al source of the imputation.

But to come to the very serious reproach thrown upon him by that _cold blooded_ boy, as he calls him, _Lancaster_.-_Lancaster_ makes a solemn treaty of peace with the _Archbishop of York, Mowbray_, &c. upon the faith of which they disperse their troops; which is no sooner done than _Lancaster_ arrests the Princ.i.p.als, and pursues the _scattered stray_: A transaction, by the bye, so singularly perfidious, that I wish _Shakespeare_, for his own credit, had not suffered it to pa.s.s under his pen without marking it with the blackest strokes of Infamy.-During this transaction, _Falstaff_ arrives, joins in the pursuit, and takes Sir _John Coleville_ prisoner. Upon being seen by _Lancaster_ he is thus addressed:-

"Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?

When every thing is over, then you come: These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back."

This may appear to many a very formidable pa.s.sage. It is spoken, as we may say, in the hearing of the army, and by one int.i.tled as it were by his station to decide on military conduct; and if no punishment immediately follows, the forbearance may be imputed to a regard for the Prince of Wales, whose favour the delinquent was known so unworthily to possess. But this reasoning will by no means apply to the real circ.u.mstances of the case. The effect of this pa.s.sage will depend on the credit we shall be inclined to give to _Lancaster_ for integrity and candour, and still more upon the facts which are the ground of this censure, and which are fairly offered by _Shakespeare_ to our notice.

We will examine the evidence arising from both; and to this end we must in the first place a little unfold the character of this young Commander in chief;-from a review of which we may more clearly discern the general impulses and secret motives of his conduct: And this is a proceeding which I think the peculiar character of _Shakespeare_'s Drama will very well justify.

We are already well prepared what to think of this young man:-We have just seen a very pretty manuvre of his in a matter of the highest moment, and have therefore the less reason to be surprized if we find him practising a more petty fraud with suitable skill and address. He appears in truth to have been what _Falstaff_ calls him, _a cold, reserved, sober-blooded boy_; a politician, as it should seem, by nature; bred up moreover in the school of _Bolingbroke_ his father, and tutored to betray: With sufficient courage and ability perhaps, but with too much of the knave in his composition, and too little of enthusiasm, ever to be a great and superior character. That such a youth as this should, even from the propensities of character alone, take any plausible occasion to injure a frank unguarded man of wit and pleasure, will not appear unnatural. But he had other inducements. _Falstaff_ had given very general scandal by his distinguished wit and noted poverty, insomuch that a little cruelty and injustice towards him was likely to pa.s.s, in the eye of the grave and prudent part of mankind, as a very creditable piece of fraud, and to be accounted to _Lancaster_ for virtue and good service. But _Lancaster_ had motives yet more prevailing; _Falstaff_ was a Favourite, without the power which belongs to that character; and the tone of the Court was strongly against him, as the misleader and corrupter of the Prince; who was now at too great a distance to afford him immediate countenance and protection. A scratch then, between jest and earnest as it were, something that would not too much offend the prince, yet would leave behind a disgraceful scar upon _Falstaff_, was very suitable to the temper and situation of parties and affairs. With these observations in our thought, let us return to the pa.s.sage: It is plainly intended for disgrace, but how artful, how cautious, how insidious is the manner! It may pa.s.s for sheer pleasantry and humour: _Lancaster_ a.s.sumes the familiar phrase and _girding_ tone of _Harry_; and the gallows, as he words it, appears to be in the most danger from an encounter with _Falstaff_.-With respect to the matter, 'tis a kind of _miching malicho_; it means mischief indeed, but there is not precision enough in it to int.i.tle it to the appellation of a formal charge, or to give to _Falstaff_ any certain and determined ground of defence. _Tardy tricks_ may mean not Cowardice but neglect only, though the _manner_ may seem to carry the imputation to both.-The reply of _Falstaff_ is exactly suited to the qualities of the speech;-for _Falstaff_ never wants ability, but conduct only. He answers the general effect of this speech by a feeling and serious complaint of injustice; he then goes on to apply his defence to the vindication both of his diligence and courage; but he deserts by degrees his serious tone, and taking the handle of pleasantry which _Lancaster_ had held forth to him, he is prudently content, as being sensible of _Lancaster_'s high rank and station, to let the whole pa.s.s off in buffoonery and humour. But the question is, however, not concerning the adroitness and management of either party: Our business is, after putting the credit of _Lancaster_ out of the question, to discover what there may be of truth and of fact either in the charge of the one, or the defence of the other. From this only, we shall be able to draw our inferences with fairness and with candour. The charge against _Falstaff_ is already in the possession of the reader: The defence follows.-

Fals. "_I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet but that rebuke and check were the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I in my poor and old motion the expedition of thought? I speeded hither within the very extremest inch of possibility. I have foundered ninescore and odd posts_ (deserting by degrees his serious tone, for _one_ of more address and advantage), _and here, travel-tainted as I am, have I in my pure and immaculate valour taken Sir John Coleville of the dale, a most furious Knight and valorous enemy._"

_Falstaff_'s answer then is that he used all possible expedition to join the army; the not doing of which, with an implication of Cowardice as the cause, is the utmost extent of the charge against him; and to take off this implication he refers to the evidence of a fact present and manifest,-the surrender of _Coleville_; in whose hearing he speaks, and to whom therefore he is supposed to appeal. Nothing then remains but that we should inquire if _Falstaff_'s answer was really founded in truth; "_I speeded hither_" says he, "_within the extremest inch of possibility_": If it be so, he is justified: But I am afraid, for we must not conceal any thing, that _Falstaff_ was really detained too long by his debaucheries in London; at least, if we take the Chief Justice's words very strictly.

"Ch. Just. _How now, Sir John? What are you brawling here? Doth this become your __PLACE__, your __TIME__, your __BUSINESS__? You should have been well on your way to York._"

Here then seems to be a delay worthy perhaps of rebuke; and if we could suppose _Lancaster_ to mean nothing more by _tardy tricks_ than idleness and debauch, I should not possibly think myself much concerned to vindicate _Falstaff_ from the charge; but the words imply, to my apprehension, a designed and deliberate avoidance of danger. Yet to the contrary of this we are furnished with very full and complete evidence.

_Falstaff_, the moment he quits London, discovers the utmost eagerness and impatience to join the army; he gives up his gluttony, his mirth, and his ease. We see him take up in his pa.s.sage some recruits at _Shallow_'s house; and tho' he has pecuniary views upon _Shallow_, no inducement stops him; he takes no refreshment, he cannot _tarry dinner_, he hurries off; "_I will not_," says he to the Justices, "_use many words with you. Fare ye well, Gentlemen both; I thank ye, I must a dozen miles to night._"-He misuses, it is true, at this time the _King's Press d.a.m.nably_; but that does not concern me, at least not for the present; it belongs to other parts of his character.-It appears then manifestly that _Shakespeare_ meant to shew _Falstaff_ as really using the utmost speed in his power; he arrives almost literally _within the extremest inch of possibility_; and if _Lancaster_ had not accelerated the event by a stroke of perfidy much more subject to the imputation of Cowardice than the _Debauch_ of _Falstaff_, he would have been time enough to have shared in the danger of a fair and honest decision. But great men have, it seems, a privilege; "_that in the __GENERAL'S__ but a choleric word, which in the __SOLDIER WERE__ flat blasphemy._" Yet after all, _Falstaff_ did really come time enough, as it appears, to join in the villainous triumphs of the day, to take prisoner _Coleville of the dale, a most furious Knight and valorous enemy_.-Let us look to the fact. If this incident should be found to contain any striking proof of _Falstaff_'s Courage and Military fame, his defence against _Lancaster_ will be stronger than the reader has even a right to demand. _Falstaff_ encounters _Coleville_ in the field, and, having demanded his name, is ready to a.s.sail him; but _Coleville_ asks him if he is not Sir _John Falstaff_; thereby implying a purpose of surrender.

_Falstaff_ will not so much as furnish him with a pretence, and answers only, that _he is as good a man_. "_Do you yield Sir, or shall I sweat for you?_" "_I think_," says Coleville, "_you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me._" This fact, and the incidents with which it is accompanied, speak loudly; it seems to have been contrived by the author on purpose to take off a rebuke so authoritatively made by _Lancaster_.

The fact is set before our eyes to confute the censure: _Lancaster_ himself seems to give up his charge, tho' not his ill will; for upon _Falstaff_'s asking leave to pa.s.s through Glosters.h.i.+re, and artfully desiring that, upon _Lancaster_'s return to Court, _he might stand well in his report, Lancaster_ seems in his answer to mingle malice and acquittal.

"_Fare ye well, Falstaff, I in my condition shall better speak of you than you deserve._" "_I would_," says _Falstaff_, who is left behind in the scene, "_You had but the wit; 'twere better than your Dukedom._" He continues on the stage some time chewing the cud of dishonour, which, with all his facility, he cannot well swallow. "_Good faith_" says he, accounting to himself as well as he could for the injurious conduct of _Lancaster_, "_this sober-blooded boy does not love me._" This he might well believe. "_A man_," says he, "_cannot make him laugh; there's none of these demure boys come to any proof; but that's no marvel, they drink no sack._"-_Falstaff_ then it seems knew no drinker of sack who was a Coward; at least the instance was not home and familiar to him.-"_They all_," says he, "_fall into a kind of Male green sickness, and are generally fools and Cowards._" Anger has a privilege, and I think _Falstaff_ has a right to turn the tables upon _Lancaster_ if he can; but _Lancaster_ was certainly no fool, and I think upon the whole no Coward; yet the Male green sickness which _Falstaff_ talks of seems to have infected his manners and aspect, and taken from him all external indication of gallantry and courage. He behaves in the battle of Shrewsbury beyond the promise of his complexion and deportment: "_By heaven thou hast deceived me Lancaster_," says Harry, "_I did not think thee Lord of such a spirit!_" Nor was his father less surprized "_at his holding Lord Percy at the point with l.u.s.tier maintenance than he did look for from such an unripe warrior._" But how well and unexpectedly soever he might have behaved upon that occasion, he does not seem to have been of a temper to trust fortune too much or too often with his safety; therefore it is that, in order to keep the event in his own hands, he loads the Die, in the present case, with villainy and deceit: The event however he piously ascribes, like a wise and prudent youth as he is, without paying that wors.h.i.+p to himself which he so justly merits, to the special favour and interposition of Heaven.

"Strike up your drums, pursue the scattered stray.

Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day."

But the profane _Falstaff_, on the contrary, less informed and less studious of supernatural things, imputes the whole of this conduct to thin potations, and the not drinking largely of good and excellent _sherris_; and so little doubt does he seem to entertain of the Cowardice and ill disposition of this youth, that he stands devising causes, and casting about for an hypothesis on which the whole may be physically explained and accounted for;-but I shall leave him and Doctor _Cadogan_ to settle that point as they may.

The only serious charge against _Falstaff_'s Courage, we have now at large examined; it came from great authority, from the Commander in chief, and was meant as chastis.e.m.e.nt and rebuke; but it appears to have been founded in ill-will, in the particular character of _Lancaster_, and in the wantonness and insolence of power; and the author has placed near, and under our notice, full and ample proofs of its injustice.-And thus the deeper we look unto _Falstaff_'s character, the stronger is our conviction that he was not intended to be shewn as a Const.i.tutional coward: Censure cannot lay sufficient hold on him,-and even malice turns away, and more than half p.r.o.nounces his acquittal.

But as yet we have dealt princ.i.p.ally in parole and circ.u.mstantial evidence, and have referred to _Fact_ only incidentally. But _Facts_ have a much more operative influence: They may be produced, not as arguments only, but Records; not to dispute alone, but to decide.-It is time then to behold _Falstaff_ in actual service as a soldier, in danger, and in battle. We have already displayed one fact in his defence against the censure of _Lancaster_; a fact extremely unequivocal and decisive. But the reader knows I have others, and doubtless goes before me to the action at _Shrewsbury_. In the midst and in the heat of battle we see him come forwards;-what are his words? "_I have led my Rag-o-m.u.f.fians where they are peppered; there's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive._" But to _whom_ does he say this? To himself only; he speaks _in soliloquy_.

There is no questioning the fact, _he had_ led _them_; _they were peppered_; _there were not __THREE__ left alive._ He was in luck, being in bulk equal to any two of them, to escape unhurt. Let the author answer for that, I have nothing to do with it: He was the Poetic maker of the whole _Corps_, and he might dispose of them as he pleased. Well might the Chief justice, as we now find, acknowledge _Falstaff_'s services in this day's battle; an acknowledgment which amply confirms the fact. A Modern officer, who had performed a feat of this kind, would expect, not only the praise of having done his duty, but the appellation of a hero. But poor _Falstaff_ has too much wit to thrive: In spite of probability, in spite of inference, in spite of fact, he must be a Coward still. He happens unfortunately to have more Wit than Courage, and therefore we are maliciously determined that he shall have no Courage at all. But let us suppose that his modes of expression, even _in soliloquy_, will admit of some abatement;-how much shall we abate? Say that he brought off _fifty_ instead of _three_; yet a Modern captain would be apt to look big after an action with two thirds of his men, as it were, in his belly. Surely _Shakespeare_ never meant to exhibit this man as a Const.i.tutional coward; if he did, his means were sadly destructive of his end. We see him, after he had expended his Rag-o-m.u.f.fians, with sword and target in the midst of battle, in perfect possession of himself, and replete with humour and jocularity. He was, I presume, in some immediate personal danger, in danger also of a general defeat; too corpulent for flight; and to be led a prisoner was probably to be led to execution; yet we see him laughing and easy, offering a bottle of sack to the Prince instead of a pistol, punning, and telling him, "_there was that which would __SACK__ a city._"-"_What, is it a time_," says the Prince "_to jest and dally now?_"

No, a sober character would not jest on such an occasion, but a Coward could not; he would neither have the inclination, or the power. And what could support _Falstaff_ in such a situation? Not principle; he is not suspected of the Point of honour; he seems indeed fairly to renounce it.

"_Honour cannot set a leg or an arm; it has no skill in surgery:-What is it? a word only; meer air. It is insensible to the dead; and detraction will not let __ it live with the living._" What then but a strong natural const.i.tutional Courage, which nothing could extinguish or dismay?-In the following pa.s.sages the true character of _Falstaff_ as to Courage and Principle is finely touched, and the different colours at once nicely blended and distinguished. "_If Percy be alive, I'll __PIERCE__ him. If he do come in my way, __SO__:-If he do not, if I come in __HIS__ willingly, let him make a Carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath; give me life; which if I can save, __SO__; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end._" One cannot say which prevails most here, profligacy or courage; they are both tinged alike by the same humour, and mingled in one common ma.s.s; yet when we consider the superior force of _Percy_, as we must presently also that of _Douglas_, we shall be apt, I believe, in our secret heart, to forgive him. These pa.s.sages are spoken in soliloquy and in battle: If every soliloquy made under similar circ.u.mstances were as audible as _Falstaff_'s, the imputation might perhaps be found too general for censure. These are among the pa.s.sages that have impressed on the world an idea of Cowardice in _Falstaff_;-yet why? He is resolute to take his fate: If _Percy_ do come in his way, _so_;-if not, he will not seek inevitable destruction; he is willing to save his life, but if that cannot be, why,-"honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end." This surely is not the language of Cowardice: It contains neither the Bounce or Whine of the character; he derides, it is true, and seems to renounce that grinning idol of Military zealots, _Honour_. But _Falstaff_ has a kind of Military free-thinker, and has accordingly incurred the obloquy of his condition. He stands upon the ground of natural Courage only and common sense, and has, it seems, too much wit for a hero.-But let me be well understood;-I do not justify _Falstaff_ for renouncing the point of honour; it proceeded doubtless from a general relaxation of mind, and profligacy of temper. Honour is calculated to aid and strengthen natural courage, and lift it up to heroism; but natural courage, which can act as such without honour, is natural courage still; the very quality I wish to maintain to _Falstaff_. And if, without the aid of honour, he can act with firmness, his portion is only the more eminent and distinguished. In such a character, it is to his actions, not his sentiments, that we are to look for conviction. But it may be still further urged in behalf of _Falstaff_, that there may be false honour as well as false religion. It is true; yet even in that case candour obliges me to confess that the best men are most disposed to conform, and most likely to become the dupes of their own virtue. But it may however be more reasonably urged that there are particular tenets both in honour and religion, which it is the grossness of folly not to question. To seek out, to court a.s.sured destruction, without leaving a single benefit behind, may be well reckoned in the number: And this is precisely the very folly which _Falstaff_ seems to abjure;-nor are we, perhaps, int.i.tled to say more, in the way of censure, than that he had not virtue enough to become the dupe of honour, nor prudence enough to hold his tongue. I am willing however, if the reader pleases, to compound this matter, and acknowledge, on my part, that _Falstaff_ was in all respects the _old soldier_; that he had put himself under the sober discipline of discretion, and renounced, in a great degree at least, what he might call the Vanities and Superst.i.tions of honour; if the reader will, on his part, admit that this might well be, without his renouncing, at the same time, the natural firmness and resolution he was born to.

But there is a formidable objection behind. _Falstaff_ counterfeits basely on being attacked by _Douglas_; he a.s.sumes, in a cowardly spirit, the appearance of death to avoid the reality. But there was no equality of force; not the least chance for victory, or life. And is it the duty then, _think we still_, of true Courage, to meet, without benefit to society, _certain death_? Or is it only the phantasy of honour?-But such a fiction is highly disgraceful;-true, and a man of nice honour might perhaps have _grinned_ for it. But we must remember that _Falstaff_ had a double character; he was a _wit_ as well as a _soldier_; and his Courage, however eminent, was but the _accessary_; his wit was the _princ.i.p.al_; and the part, which, if they should come in compet.i.tion, he had the greatest interest in maintaining. Vain indeed were the licentiousness of his principles, if he should seek death like a bigot, yet without the meed of honour; when he might live by wit, and encrease the reputation of that wit by living. But why do I labour this point? It has been already antic.i.p.ated, and our improved acquaintance with _Falstaff_ will now require no more than a short narrative of the fact.

Whilst in the battle of _Shrewsbury_ he is exhorting and encouraging the Prince who is engaged with the _Spirit Percy_-"_Well said Hal, to him Hal_,"-he is himself attacked by the _Fiend Douglas_. There was no match; nothing remained but death or stratagem; grinning honour, or laughing life. But an expedient offers, a mirthful one,-Take your choice _Falstaff_, a point of honour, or a point of drollery.-It could not be a question;-_Falstaff_ falls, _Douglas_ is cheated, and the world laughs.

But does he fall like a Coward? No, like a buffoon only; the superior principle prevails, and _Falstaff_ lives by a stratagem growing out of his character, to prove himself _no counterfeit_, to jest, to be employed, and to fight again. That _Falstaff_ valued himself, and expected to be valued by others, upon this piece of saving wit, is plain. It was a stratagem, it is true; it argued presence of mind; but it was moreover, what he most liked, a very laughable joke; and as such he considers it; for he continues to counterfeit after the danger is over, that he may also deceive the Prince, and improve the event into more laughter. He might, for ought that appears, have concealed the transaction; the Prince was too earnestly engaged for observation; he might have formed a thousand excuses for his fall; but he lies still and listens to the p.r.o.nouncing of his epitaph by the Prince with all the waggish glee and levity of his character. The circ.u.mstance of his wounding _Percy_ in the thigh, and carrying the dead body on his back like luggage, is _indecent_ but not cowardly. The declaring, though in jest, that he killed _Percy_, seems to me _idle_, but it is not meant or calculated for _imposition_; it is spoken to the _Prince himself_, the man in the world who could not be, or be supposed to be, imposed on. But we must hear, whether to the purpose or not, what it is that _Harry_ has to say over the remains of his old friend.

_P. Hen._ What, old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? Poor _Jack_, farewell!

I could have better spared a better man.

Oh! I shou'd have a heavy miss of thee, If I were much in love with vanity.

Death hath not struck so fat a _deer_ to-day, Tho' many a _dearer_ in this b.l.o.o.d.y fray; Imbowelled will I see thee by and by; Till then, in blood by n.o.ble _Percy_ lye.

This is wonderfully proper for the occasion; it is affectionate, it is pathetic, yet it remembers his vanities, and, with a faint gleam of recollected mirth, even his plumpness and corpulency; but it is a pleasantry softned and rendered even vapid by tenderness, and it goes off in the sickly effort of a miserable pun.(47)-But to our immediate purpose,-why is not his Cowardice remembered too? what, no surprize that _Falstaff_ should lye by the side of the n.o.ble _Percy_ in the bed of honour! No reflection that flight, though unfettered by disease, could not avail; that fear could not find a subterfuge from death? Shall his corpulency and his vanities be recorded, and his more characteristic quality of Cowardice, even in the moment that it particularly demanded notice and reflection, be forgotten? If by sparing a better man be here meant a _better soldier_, there is no doubt but there were better Soldiers in the army, more active, more young, more principled, more knowing; but none, it seems, taken for all in all, more acceptable. The comparative _better_ used here leaves to _Falstaff_ the praise at least of _good_; and to be a good soldier, is to be a great way from Coward. But _Falstaff_'s goodness, in this sort, appears to have been not only enough to redeem him from disgrace, but to mark him with reputation; if I was to add with _eminence_ and _distinction_, the funeral honours which are intended his obsequies, and his being bid, till then, _to lye in blood by the n.o.ble Percy_, would fairly bear me out.

Upon the whole of the pa.s.sages yet before us, why may I not reasonably hope that the good natured reader (and I write to no other), not offended at the levity of this exercise, may join with me in thinking that the character of _Falstaff_, as to valour, may be fairly and honestly summed up in the very words which he himself uses to _Harry_; and which seem, as to this point, to be intended by _Shakespeare_ as a _Compendium_ of his character. "_What_," says the Prince, "_a Coward, Sir John Paunch!_"

_Falstaff_ replies, "_Indeed I am not __JOHN OF GAUNT__ your grandfather, but yet __NO COWARD__, Hal._"

The robbery at _Gads-Hill_ comes now to be considered. But _here_, after such long argumentation, we may be allowed to breath a little.

I know not what Impression has been made on the reader; a good deal of evidence has been produced, and much more remains to be offered. But how many sorts of men are there whom no evidence can persuade! How many, who, ignorant of _Shakespeare_, or forgetful of the text, may as well read heathen Greek, or the laws of the land, as this unfortunate Commentary?

How many, who, proud and pedantic, hate all novelty, and d.a.m.n it without mercy under one compendious word, Paradox? How many more, who, not deriving their opinions immediately from the sovereignty of reason, hold at the will of some superior lord, to whom accident or inclination has attached them, and who, true to their va.s.salage, are resolute not to surrender, without express permission, their base and ill-gotten possessions. These, however habited, are the mob of mankind, who hoot and holla, hiss or huzza, just as their various leaders may direct. I _challenge_ the whole Pannel as not holding by free tenure, and therefore not competent to the purpose either of condemnation or acquittal. But to the men of very nice honour what shall be said? I speak not of your men of good service, but such as Mr. -- "_Souls made of fire_, and _children of the sun_." These gentlemen, I am sadly afraid, cannot in honour or prudence admit of any composition in the very nice article of Courage; _suspicion_ is _disgrace_, and they cannot stay to parley with dishonour.

The misfortune in cases of this kind is that it is not easy to obtain a fair and impartial Jury: When we censure others with an eye to our own applause, we are as seldom sparing of reproach, as inquisitive into circ.u.mstance; and bold is the man who, tenacious of justice, shall venture to weigh circ.u.mstances, or draw lines of distinction between Cowardice and any apparently similar or neighbour quality: As well may a lady, virgin or matron, of immaculate honour, presume to pity or palliate the soft failing of some unguarded friend, and thereby confess, as it were, those sympathetic feelings which it behoves her to conceal under the most contemptuous disdain; a disdain, always proportioned, I believe, to a certain consciousness which we must not explain. I am afraid that poor _Falstaff_ has suffered not a little, and may yet suffer by this fastidiousness of temper. But though we may find these cla.s.ses of men rather unfavourable to our wishes, the Ladies, one may hope, whose smiles are most worth our ambition, may be found more propitious; yet they too, through a generous conformity to the _brave_, are apt to take up the high tone of honour. Heroism is an idea perfectly conformable to the natural delicacy and elevation of their minds. Should we be fortunate enough therefore to redeem _Falstaff_ from the imputations of Cowardice, yet plain Courage, I am afraid, will not serve the turn: Even their heroes, I think, must be for the most part in the bloom of youth, or _just where youth ends, in manhood's freshest prime_; but to be "_Old, cold, and of intolerable entrails; to be fat and greasy; as poor as Job, and as slanderous as Satan_";-Take him away, he merits not a fair trial; he is too offensive to be turned, too odious to be touched. I grant, indeed, that the subject of our lecture is not without his infirmity; "_He cuts three inches on the ribs, he was short-winded_," and his breath possibly not of the sweetest. "_He had the gout_," or something worse, "_which played the rogue with his great toe._"-But these considerations are not to the point; we shall conceal, as much as may be, these offences; our business is with his _heart_ only, which, as we shall endeavour to demonstrate, lies in the right place, and is firm and sound, notwithstanding a few indications to the contrary.-As for you, _Mrs._ MONTAGUE, I am grieved to find that _you_ have been involved in a popular error; so much you must allow me to say;-for the rest, I bow to your genius and your virtues: You have given to the world a very elegant composition; and I am told your manners and your mind are yet more pure, more elegant than your book. _Falstaff_ was too gross, too infirm, for your inspection; but if you durst have looked nearer, you would not have found Cowardice in the number of his infirmities.-We will try if we cannot redeem him from this universal censure.-Let the venal corporation of authors duck _to the golden fool_, let them shape their sordid quills to the mercenary ends of unmerited praise, or of baser detraction;-_old Jack_, though deserted by princes, though censured by an ungrateful world, and persecuted from age to age by Critic and Commentator, and though never rich enough to hire one literary prost.i.tute, shall find a Voluntary defender; and that too at a time when the whole body of the _Nabobry_ demands and requires defence; whilst their ill-gotten and almost untold gold feels loose in their una.s.sured grasp, and whilst they are ready to shake off portions of the enormous heap, that they may the more securely clasp the remainder.-But not to digress without end,-to the candid, to the chearful, to the elegant reader we appeal; our exercise is much too light for the sour eye of strict severity; it professes amus.e.m.e.nt only, but we hope of a kind more rational than the History of Miss _Betsy_, eked out with the Story of Miss _Lucy_, and the Tale of Mr. _Tw.a.n.k.u.m_: And so, in a leisure hour, and with the good natured reader, it may be hoped, to friend, we return, with an air as busy and important as if we were engaged in the grave office of measuring the _Pyramids_, or settling the antiquity of _Stonehenge_, to converse with this jovial, this fat, this roguish, this frail, but, I think, _not cowardly_ companion.

Though the robbery at _Gads-Hill_, and the supposed Cowardice of _Falstaff_ on that occasion, are next to be considered, yet I must previously declare, that I think the discussion of this matter to be _now_ unessential to the reestablishment of _Falstaff_'s reputation as a man of Courage. For suppose we should grant, in form, that _Falstaff_ was surprized with fear in this single instance, that he was off his guard, and even acted like a Coward; what will follow, but that _Falstaff_, like greater heroes, had his weak moment, and was not exempted from panic and surprize? If a single exception can destroy a general character, _Hector_ was a _Coward_, and _Anthony_ a _Poltroon_. But for these seeming contradictions of Character we shall seldom be at a loss to account, if we carefully refer to circ.u.mstance and situation.-In the present instance, _Falstaff_ had done an illegal act; the exertion was over; and he had unbent his mind in security. The spirit of enterprize, and the animating principle of hope, were withdrawn:-In this situation, he is unexpectedly attacked; he has no time to recall his thoughts, or bend his mind to action. He is not now acting in the Profession and in the Habits of a Soldier; he is a.s.sociated with known Cowards; his a.s.sailants are vigorous, sudden, and bold; he is conscious of guilt; he has dangers to dread of every form, present and future; prisons and gibbets, as well as sword and fire; he is surrounded with darkness, and the Sheriff, the Hangman, and the whole _Posse Commitatus_ may be at his heels:-Without a moment for reflection, is it wonderful that, under these circ.u.mstances, "_he should run and roar, and carry his guts away with as much dexterity as possible_"?

But though I might well rest the question on this ground, yet as there remains many good topics of vindication, and as I think a more minute inquiry into this matter will only bring out more evidence in support of _Falstaff_'s const.i.tutional Courage, I will not decline the discussion. I beg permission therefore to state fully, as well as fairly, the whole of this obnoxious transaction, this unfortunate robbery at _Gads-Hill_.