124 Mr. Herbert Beerbohm Tree [May 26, 



immediately in the intellectual sympathy which he seems to lavish 

 on the brutal cynicism of the subtle and brilliant Iago. In one 

 moment he soars to the very heights of poetic ecstasy, in the next he 

 descends with equal ease and apparent zest into the depths of sottish 

 animalism. We find him in the melodious wail of Hamlet, we lose 

 him in the hoggish grunts of Falstaff. What sort of a man Shake- 

 speare was we none of us know. We are led to believe that he was 

 an excellent business man, with a taste for agriculture. In his work 

 he becomes effaced — his spirit is like a Will-o'-the-wisp. His mind 

 is like the Irishman's flea — " you no sooner put your finger upon him, 

 but he isn't there." His was essentially a plastic mind — he was 

 capable of entering into the thoughts of all men, and made their 

 point of view his own. Nowhere did he insist on his personal pre- 

 dilections — he was, in fact, the artist — the creator — he looked upon 

 mankind with all the impartiality of a god, he laid their hearts bare 

 with the imperturbability of an inspired vivisectionist. The abiding 

 hold which the play of 'Hamlet' has exercised over so many suc- 

 cessive generations is mainly due to its wondrous mystery which 

 holds the imagination of an audience enthralled, for, in the conven- 

 tional sense, it cannot be said to be a pattern stage-play. In what a 

 masterful fashion is the key-note of mystery struck in the very first 

 scene on the ramparts ; from the moment when the solitary soldier 

 calls through the night, " Who's there ? " the imagination of the 

 audience is held spellbound ; with such marvellous power is it played 

 upon by the dramatist that from the first scene a modern sceptical 

 audience accepts the supernatural basis of the play. Probably more 

 inspired nonsense has been written on the subject of ' Hamlet ' by the 

 unimaginative commentator than on any subject within the scope of 

 literature. Yet to him who will approach Shakespeare's masterpiece 

 in the right spirit, it will be seen to have that simplicity which is 

 characteristic of all great w r orks. The finest poems which have ever 

 been penned, the greatest pictures which have ever been painted, the 

 greatest inventions which have been given to the world have been 

 distinguished by this quality of simplicity. I have noticed this same 

 characteristic in great men. It is only when we do not yield our- 

 selves up to our imagination that the simple appears incomprehensible. 

 Nearly all the mad doctors have diagnosed Hamlet's case, and nearly 

 all claim him as their own. This is the tendency of the specialist. 

 It is rather a question, I think, as to the sanity of Hamlet's commen- 

 tators. An astounding instance of this super-subtlety — (in itself a 

 symptom of madness) — is shown in the comments of some of the 

 German critics. One of these gravely informs us that the passage, 

 " You know sometimes he walks for hours here in the lobby," proves 

 beyond a doubt that Hamlet was really a fat man, for, in order to 

 reduce his obesity, he took four hours' regular exercise in the lobby ; 

 but, perhaps, our German friend was a specialist in Banting. Another 

 critic, Leo by name, supplies a still more marvellous instance of 

 painstaking misunderstanding of the obvious in his elucidation of 



