He
whose intellect and sensibilities inspired him with nothing but contempt
and loathing for the mass of mankind, the aristocrat who in a dozen
plays sneers at the greasy caps and foul breaths of the multitude, fell
in love with Dogberry, and Bottom, Quickly and Tearsheet, clod and
clown, pimp and prostitute, for the laughter they afforded. His humour
is rarely sardonic; it is almost purged of contempt; a product not of
hate but of love; full of sympathy; summer-lightning humour, harmless
and beautiful.
Sometimes the sympathy fails and the laughter grows grim, and these
lapses are characteristic. He hates false friends and timeservers, the
whole tribe of the ungrateful, the lords of Timon's acquaintance and his
artists; he loathes Shylock, whose god is greed and who battens on
others' misfortunes; he laughs at the self-righteous Malvolio and not
with him, and takes pleasure in unmasking the pretended ascetic and
Puritan Angelo; but for the frailties of the flesh he has an ever-ready
forgiveness. Like the greatest of ethical teachers, he can take the
publican and the sinner to his heart, but not the hypocrite or the
Pharisee or the money-lender.
Pages:
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216