PR 2883 
 .15 
 Copy 1 
 
 DcG 31 1900 
 
Art's Tribute 
 
 To 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 V 
 
 By LORAINE PRATT IMMEN 
 SMICHIGAN ' 
 
 » i "■ - 
 
 Tart First 
 
T 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Artists 
 
 Stratford on Avon, 
 
 "tRpckford, Photographer, N. Y.' 
 
 Hamlet, 
 
 Carl Von Hafften, 
 
 Ferd. Tiloty. 
 
 Tempest, 
 
 G. Romney, 
 
 William Kaulbach, 
 
 Joseph Wright. 
 
97478 
 
 Library of Congress 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 DEC 311900 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 Oelivarad to 
 
 ORDER DIVISION 
 
 JAN 14 1901 
 
 1890-1900 
 Dedicated to the 
 
 L. L. C. Shakespeare 
 Study Group, 
 
 Grand Rapids, Michigan, 
 
 By 
 Its Chairman. 
 
 Copyrighted 1900. 
 
" Yea, he, 
 The pride of England, glistened like a star, 
 And beckoned us to Stratford.'''' 
 
 WITH me in memory, on a lovely day in Sep- 
 tember, 1883, to the garden of England situated 
 in the heart of Warwickshire where the Avon 
 flows downward to the Severn, to the birth and 
 burial place of the immortal Shakespeare, Stratford on 
 Avon, to Henley Street where stands the house where he 
 was born, up the narrow oak stairs into the low roofed 
 birth room, which receives its only light from a large win- 
 dow, the small panes of which are covered with penciled 
 and inked autographs of famous men and women. 
 
 Passing the later home, New Place, we walk through 
 the churchyard thickly strewn with graves, to the gray 
 walls of the perpendicular Gothic structure, with its Nor- 
 man six sided spire and tower with fretted battlements — 
 Holy Trinity church. We enter, examine the vellum 
 Register Book, pausing at " W. Shakespeare, son of J. S. 
 Baptized 26th of April, 1564," then pass into the church 
 proper, where it is impossible fully to describe the sense 
 of peace that falls on the soul of the traveler as through 
 the eastern window of the chancel he sees "the sunshine 
 stream in upon the grave of Shakespeare and gild his bust 
 
upon the wall above it." I would ask you to place your 
 hand on the gray stone with the epitaph, 
 
 " GOOD FREND for JESVS SAKE FORBEARE, 
 To-DIGG the DVST ENCLOASED HEARE : 
 BLES'E be ye MAN yt SPARES THES STONES, 
 And CVRST be HE yt MOVES MY BONES/' 
 that you might perhaps catch a little inspiration better to 
 understand the depth of the mines of thoughts he has left 
 us. 
 
 ' ' Shakespeare ! 
 The great master of the maxims of life and conduct." 
 
 — Daniel Webster. 
 
 " The world is a dictionary of the mind. Language 
 is but a multitude of pictures. Every brain is a gallery of 
 art and every soul is to a greater or less degree an artist. 
 To express desires, longings, ecstasies, prophecies and 
 passions in form and color, to put love, hope, heroism and 
 triumph in marble, to paint dreams and memories with 
 words, to portray the purity of dawn, glory of noon, ten- 
 derness of twilight, splendor and mystery of night with 
 sounds, to enrich the common things of earth with gems 
 and jewels of the mind — this is art." 
 
 Not alone have the great musical composers paid their 
 tribute to Shakespeare in operas and musical settings of 
 his songs, but artists, with their magic brushes glowing 
 with color, upon their beloved canvas have painted scenes 
 of the dramas that will long delight the eye and feast the 
 soul. English, French, German and American painters 
 have paid in art their tribute, a few of which we have 
 placed in part first of the six to be issued pertaining to 
 Shakespeare. 
 
" Hamlet is the greatest creation in literature 
 that I know of, though there may be else- 
 where finer scenes and passages of poetry." 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 RINCE HAMLET leaves Wittenburg, upon hear- 
 ing of his father's death, and returns to his home 
 at Elsinore to find his mother hastily married to 
 his uncle Claudius, who has contrived to be 
 elected King of Denmark. Hamlet's friend Horatio tells 
 him of meeting Hamlet's father's ghost, and the next even- 
 ing Hamlet goes with Horatio to the portico of the palace, 
 accompanied by Marcellus, to see if he, too, cannot meet 
 the spirit of his father. He succeeds in doing so and 
 promises him that his , uncle shall be punished for his 
 murder. 
 
 Carl Von Hafften has given us a magnificent concep- 
 tion of Elsinore, with its castle, stormy sky, dashing 
 waves, upon the night that Hamlet first meets his father's 
 ghost : 
 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly : it is very cold. What 
 
 hour now ? 
 Hor. I think it lacks twelve. Look, my lord, it comes ! 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
ELSINORE. 
 
Ham. I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee Hamlet, King, 
 father, royal Dane : answer me ! 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
 Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements : 
 
 It will not speak : then I will follow it. It waves 
 me still * * * speak ; I'll go no further. 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit. * * * Brief let me be. — 
 Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 My custom always in the afternoon, 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
 And in the porches of my ears did pour 
 The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And with a sudden vigour it does posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine : 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
 Of life, of crown, of Queen, at once dispatch'd , 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousell'd, disappointed, unanel'd ; 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head. 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 Adieu ! Remember me. 
 
PLAYERS' SCENE. 
 
Ham. Hold, hold, my heart ; 
 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 
 But bear me stiffly up. — Remember thee ! 
 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 
 In this distracted globe. * * * 
 
 Now to my word ; 
 
 It is, 'Adieu, adieu ! Remember me ! ' 
 
 I have sworn't. 
 
 Conrad Diehl's conception of the Players' Scene is 
 superior to the one by Abbey at the Paris Exposition 
 of i goo. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech I pray you as I pronounced it 
 to you, trippingly on the tongue. 
 {Room i?i the Castle. Enter King, Queen and Others. ) 
 Ham. to Oph. They're coming to the play ; I must be 
 idle, get you a place. 
 {Play proceeds, the poisoii is poured into the sleepers ears.) 
 Ham. to Oph. He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. 
 His name's Gonzago : you shall see anon how the 
 murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 Oph. The King rises. 
 
 Ham. What, frightened with false fire ? 
 Queen. How fare's my lord ? 
 King. Give me some light ! Away ! 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 The hart ungalled play ; 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep, 
 Thus runs the world away. 
 
OPHELIA. 
 
By the prearranged theatrical performance Hamlet 
 convicts his uncle of the murder. Hamlet loves Polonius' 
 daughter, but, absorbed in the wrongs done to his father, 
 neglects her. This, together with Hamlet's unintentional 
 killing of her father, drives her insane. She is accidentally 
 drowned. 
 
 Ferd. Piloty, born in Munich in 1828, a history and 
 genre painter, has painted a perfect picture of Ophelia — 
 mark how closely he has kept to the description given by 
 the Queen to Ophelia's brother, Laertes : 
 
 Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, 
 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream : 
 
 There with fantastic garlands did she come, 
 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: 
 
 There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds 
 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke, 
 
 When down her weedy trophies and herself 
 
 Fell in the weeping brook. 
 
 Laertes and Hamlet met at Ophelia's grave, later 
 Hamlet stabs and kills the King, and the Queen drinks of 
 the poisoned cup by mistake and dies. In a fight between 
 Hamlet and Laertes the latter is wounded and dying says : 
 "Exchange forgivenesses with me, noble Hamlet." Ham- 
 let drinks some of the poison in the cup and dies. 
 
 "The rest is silence." 
 
THE AMERICAN DRAMA, THE TEMPEST. 
 
 " Fetch dew from the still vexed Bermoothes. " 
 " O, brave New World, that has such people in't. " 
 
 " This drama, the latest of Shakespeare's writ- 
 ings, carved out of the poet's own ideal stock 
 and one of Shakespeare's perfectest works." 
 
 — Hudson. 
 
 A play that makes for righteousness. 
 
 N AN island of the sea, in a cave hewn out of solid 
 rock, lived Prospero and his beautiful daughter 
 Miranda, he spending his time (by his knowledge 
 of astrology and magic) releasing many good 
 
 spirits which had been enchanted by the witch Sycorax, 
 who died shortly before he came to the island ; Ariel was 
 one and Caliban another of the spirits. When Miranda 
 was fifteen years old her father believed her education 
 complete and wished to have her settled in life and return 
 to the world that he, with her, had been so long separa- 
 ted from. 
 
 Ruling the winds and waves, he raises a storm and 
 contrives that a ship returning from Tunis to Naples, con- 
 taining Alonso, King of Naples, and his son Ferdinand, 
 the King's brother Sebastian, his usurping brother Antonio 
 and good Gonzalo, shall be wrecked on this island. 
 
STORM SCENE. 
 
While the storm is raging he tells Miranda the story of 
 their lives. Finally he meets and forgives his brother 
 Antonio for usurping his dukedom. Miranda and Ferdi- 
 nand love and all return to Prospero's native land, where 
 after their arrival the nuptials of the lovers are celebrated 
 and "honor, riches, marriage-blessings" await them. 
 
 The tempest is this world in miniature and begins in 
 storm and apparent chaos. G. Romney, born in Lanca- 
 shire 1734, died 1802, a painter, who painted with few col- 
 ors, with exceeding grace and sentiment and great breadth 
 of treatment, painted the first scene of this drama. 
 
 Ant. Mercy on us ! We split, we split ! — 
 
 Farewell, my wife and children ! 
 
 Farewell, brother ! 
 Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
 
 O ! I have suffered 
 
 With those that I saw suffer ! 
 Pros. Be collected ; 
 
 There's no harm done, 
 
 Sit down ; 
 
 For thou must now know further. 
 
 Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, 
 
 Thy father was the Duke of Milan * * * 
 
 And thou a princess and only heir. 
 
 * * * To my younger brother Antonio I entrusted 
 my affairs of state, and devoted myself in retire- 
 ment to profound study. My brother, deeming 
 himself the duke, with aid of Alonso, King of 
 
Naples, a foe of mine, effected my downfall, 
 carried us on board a ship and when out at sea 
 forced us into a small boat without sail or mast, 
 but my good lord Gonzalo had hidden water 
 and provisions on board and some of my inval- 
 uable books ; our food lasted until we landed 
 on this island, and ever since my pleasure has 
 been to instruct my darling child. This tem- 
 pest I have raised so that by accident the King 
 of Naples and your treacherous uncle might be 
 brought to this shore. 
 
 Mir. Alack, what trouble 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pros. O, a cherubin 
 
 Thou wast that did preserve me ! Thou didst 
 
 smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from Heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, 
 Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Ariel brings Ferdinand to Prospero and seeing him 
 Miranda asks : 
 
 "What is't ? A spirit ? 
 
 I might call him 
 
 A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
 
 I ever saw so noble." 
 
And Ferdinand : 
 
 "O, if a virgin, 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, 
 
 I'll make you 
 
 The Queen of Naples." 
 
 Prospero says : 
 
 " Soft, sir ! one word more. — 
 
 (Aside). They are both in either's powers; but 
 
 this swift business 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
 Make the prize light." 
 
 Prospero then imposes severe duties upon him. 
 
 The beautiful love scene between Ferdinand and Mi- 
 randa is painted by William Kaulbach, 1805- 1874, the star 
 of contemporary German art. 
 
 Ferd. There be some sports are painful, and their labour 
 Delight in them sets off ; 
 This my mean task 
 
 Would be as heavy to me as 'tis odious, but 
 The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, 
 And makes my labours pleasures : 
 O, she is 
 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, 
 And he's compos'd of harshness. 
 I must remove 
 
 Some thousands of these logs and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction. 
 
LOVERS' SCENE. 
 
Mir. Alas, now, pray you 
 
 Work not so hard. I would the lightning had 
 
 Burnt up those logs that you are enjoined to pile ! 
 
 Pray, set it down and rest you : 
 
 If you'll sit down, 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while ; pray give me that ; 
 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you ; and I should do it 
 
 With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 
 
 And yours 'tis 'gainst. 
 
 Ferd. No, precious creature ; 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mir. * * * I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; nor have I seen 
 
 More that I may call men than you, 
 
 And my dear father, but — 
 
 * * * I would not wish 
 
 Any companion in the world but you. 
 
 Do you love me ? 
 
 Ferd. Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
 Do love, prize, honor you. 
 
 Pros. (In the distance). So glad of this as they, I can 
 not be, 
 Who are surprised withal, but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. 
 
PROSPERO AND LOVERS. 
 
Joseph Wright (Eng., 1754 - 1796), who equaled Wil- 
 son in portrait painting and was a rival of Gainsborough, 
 painted Scene 1 in Act IV. 
 
 If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
 Your compensation makes amends, for I 
 Have given you here a third of mine own life, 
 Or that for which I live ; who once again 
 I tender to thy hand ; all thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love ; and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test ; here, afore Heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
 Do not smile at me that I boast her off, 
 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 * * * 
 
 Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter. 
 
 May Ferdinand always care for Miranda as tenderly 
 in wifehood as her dear noble father Prospero did in baby- 
 hood, childhood and young womanhood. 
 
 "Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness." — Pericles. 
 
 Jan - 17 1001 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 106 029 6 i