Atlantic Monthly | Page 6

how all conditions, how all minds, (As well of glib and
slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their

services to Lord Timon; his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious
nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All
sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that
few things loves better Than to abhor himself; even he drops down The
knee before him, and returns in peace, Most rich in Timon's nod.
There was almost a necessity that the spectator should be made
acquainted with the character of Timon before his appearance; for his
profuseness could be illustrated, after being known, better than it could
make itself known in dialogue and action in which he should bear a
part. And of the hundreds of English plays opening with an explanation
or narrative of foregone matters, there is none where the formality is
concealed by a more ingenious artifice than is used in this scene. The
spectator is fore-possessed with Timon's character, and (in the outline
the Poet is proceeding to give) with a suspicion that he is going to see
him ruined in the course of the piece; and this is accomplished in the
description of a panegyric, incidentally, briefly, picturesquely, artfully,
with an art that tutors Nature, and which so well conceals itself that it
can scarcely be perceived except in this our microscopic analysis. Here
also we have Apemantus introduced beforehand. And with all this, the
Painter and Poet speak minutely and broadly in character; the one sees
scenes, the other plans an action (which is just what his own creator
had done) and talks in poetic language. It is no more than the text
warrants to remark that the next observation, primarily intended to
break the poet's speech, was also intended to be the natural thought and
words of a
Painter. I saw them speak together.
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feigned Fortune to be
throned: the base of the mount Is ranked with all deserts, all kinds of
natures That labor on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states;
amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixed, One do
I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand
wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.
Painter. 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill,

methinks, With one man beckoned from the rest below, Bowing his
head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well
expressed In our condition.
Poet. Nay, Sir, but hear me on.
The artifice is to secure the attention of the spectator. The interruptions
give naturalness and force to the narrative; and the questions and
entreaties, though addressed to each other by the personages on the
stage, have their effect in the front. The same artifice is employed in the
most obvious manner where Prospero (Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2) narrates
his and her previous history to Miranda. The Poet continues:--
All those which were his fellows but of late (Some better than his value)
on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain
sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and
through him Drink the free air.
Painter. Ay, marry, what of these?
The Poet has half deserted his figure, and is losing himself in a new
description, from which the Painter impatiently recalls him. The text is
so artificially natural that it will bear the nicest natural construction.
Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, Spurns down her
late beloved, all his dependants, Which labored after him to the
mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not
one accompanying his declining foot.
Painter. 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That
shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune More pregnantly than
words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
[_Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the servant of Ventidius
talking with him_.
Thus far (and it is of no consequence if we have once or twice forgotten

it while pursuing our analysis) we have fancied ourselves present,
seeing Shakspeare write this, and looking into his mind. But although
divining his intentions, we have not made him intend any more than his
words show that he did intend. Let us presently fancy, that, before
introducing his principal character, he here turns back to see if he has
brought in everything that is necessary. It would have been easier to
plan this scene after the rest of the play had been done,--and, as already
remarked, it may have been so written; but when the whole