Thomas Beddoes to Fanny Thompson, [?1800/1801]
Before Anna took up the pen, I was going to say to you a thing which will appear very common-place. But in truth, seeing Macbeth, put me in mind of recommending it to you, to pay a good deal of attention to Shakspeare. When I was almost a child, I read Shakspeare, and I was pleased with the incidents in his plays, and the story. But his obscurities, and my inability to feel that excellence which makes me think him so highly worthy of your attention, was an immense drawback upon my pleasure; and, except the passages to be found in all selections of poetry, I saw nothing of Shakspeare for some years. Meanwhile, I met with the criticisms of Voltaire and other French writers, and the objections which I now feel to be so paltry, alienated me more from him, and this sentiment was strengthened by the childish and now forgotten idolatry paid him by Garrick. I have since been more slow to conclude that an object was worthless, because admiration was injudiciously shewn. It could not fail that Shakspeare should fall in my way soon after leaving school, and that I should look into him. That was enough. I soon, but at first with reluctance, was obliged to acknowledge his powers. By degrees, he seemed a being of an order superior to all those who have left any thing written behind them; and the experiment of Monday convinces me that I am not likely to change my opinion. I knew exactly every step in the developement of Macbeth’s character; and the single passages (some of them worth a volume of the best productions of others) which paint so vividly what passes within the several characters, were familiar to me. – However I found that Shakspeare did not want the recommendation of novelty, which is so necessary to almost every thing human besides; and it would be impossible to convey to you an idea of the anguish I suffered, when L— spoke to me while the play was going on. But it is time for me to tell you that, it is not altogether because he has courted the gay, and the tender, and the terrible graces, with such success, that whatever falls short of him is feeble, and whatever tries to go beyond him, borders upon the disgusting, that I mention him to you; nor because reading him once, is but a preparation for a greater pleasure in reading him again. It is, because along with the riches of his fancy, he throws out in his fits of playfulness observations upon life, that would set up half a dozen moral philosophers. M— would laugh were you to tell her that I mentioned Hartley to you; and you may think my language pedantic, if I tell you that Shakspeare first dramatized what Hartley afterwards analysed; and by studying both, then looking around you, and observing what passes in your own mind, you will, if I mistake not, understand yourself and other people better; and I know in general, and am confirmed by a passage in your letter in believing, that this would give you much satisfaction.
I am sorry that Shakspeare has given no lessons applicable at once, to young women of the present age; he would have lessoned them so agreeably and so forcibly – I only mean that he has drawn no character, which can be a pattern for you, for instance, in the particulars of conduct. Women were then, except a queen by chance, insignificant characters in comparison of what they are now. He has passages, however, applicable to all situations; and these, and the characters he has traced with such peculiar happiness, will enable you to make out what he does not immediately supply. Were I a Shakspeare and wished to impress something very useful upon young women like you, what do you think it would be? Why, in earnest, to learn to see and hear themselves admired with little emotion. It is impossible for men to have eyes and mouths, and not to express, by both, what they feel on seeing a lovely young woman. But then, it might be worth her while, to consider whether she should ascribe much merit, even to those who express those feelings in the most agreeable manner. You will easily believe that almost every man who marries a handsome woman, merely for that quality, repents and makes his wife repent. Many would admit this and act in the face of it. We poor human creatures are always losing the benefit of those rules which are drawn from a multitude of examples, because we place ourselves above, at least, apart, from others. I would lay a wager, that almost all the women who have figured in certain trials, said or thought that it was very wrong in general, but their’s was a peculiar case. But as it is not your fault, I dare say you will take care it shall not be your misfortune, that you are what all women wish to be. It is common to all persons of any taste to admire the poor Apollo and Venus, which have so suffered on the road from Rome to Paris; and I suppose, if handsome ladies were to lay stress upon this consideration, and to apply it, they would not so lavishly reward the slenderest of all species of merit, and which is shared by so many.
Published: Stock, pp. 288–90