Part 3 (1/2)

Thousands of people have stolen stones from the Coliseum to make huts for themselves. So thousands of writers have taken the thoughts of others with which to adorn themselves. These are plagiarists. But the man who takes the thought of another, adds to it, gives it intensity and poetic form, throb and life,--is in the highest sense original.

Shakespeare found nearly all of his facts in the writings of others and was indebted to others for most of the stories of his plays. The question is not: Who furnished the stone, or who owned the quarry, but who chiseled the statue?

We now know all the books that Shakespeare could have read, and consequently know many of the sources of his information. We find in _Pliny's Natural History_, published in 1601, the following: ”The sea Pontis evermore floweth and runneth out into the Propontis; but the sea never retireth back again with the Impontis.” This was the raw material, and out of it Shakespeare made the following:

”Like to the Pontic Sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the h.e.l.lespont------

”Even so my b.l.o.o.d.y thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er turn back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.”

Perhaps we can give an idea of the difference between Shakespeare and other poets, by a pa.s.sage from ”Lear.” When Cordelia places her hand upon her father's head and speaks of the night and of the storm, an ordinary poet might have said:

”On such a night, a dog Should have stood against my fire.”

A very great poet might have gone a step further and exclaimed:

”On such a night, mine enemy's dog Should have stood against my fire.”

But Shakespeare said:

”Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, Should have stood, that night, against my fire.”

Of all the poets--of all the writers--Shakespeare is the most original.

He is as original as Nature.

It may truthfully be said that ”Nature wants stuff to vie strange forms with fancy, to make another.”

VIII.

THERE is in the greatest poetry a kind of extravagance that touches the infinite, and in this Shakespeare exceeds all others.

You will remember the description given of the voyage of Paris in search of Helen:

”The seas and winds, old wranglers, made a truce, And did him service; he touched the ports desired,”

And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive,

”He brought a Grecian queen whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo, and makes stale the morning.”

So, in Pericles, when the father finds his daughter, he cries out:

”O Helica.n.u.s! strike me, honored sir; Give me a gash, put me to present pain, Lest this great sea of joys, rus.h.i.+ng upon me, O'erbear the sh.o.r.es of my mortality.”

The greatest compliment that man has ever paid to the woman he adores is this line:

”Eyes that do mislead the morn.”

Nothing can be conceived more perfectly poetic.