But these wise-sounding words are mere commonplaces, unreal and lightly-spoken sentiments, coming from a man in the height of prosperity, like Timon, and with as superficial a knowledge as his, of the lives and characters of men, and they contain no hidden depth or bitterness of meaning. He has never been brought in contact with the ruder lessons of life, and in fact he knows nothing, and has suffered nothing. No trace of real intellectual culture is apparent in any of his speeches, while his whole conduct betrays an utter ignorance of the ways of the world. With him, life is a beautiful dream, and if the thoughts that he mechanically repeats of the natural depravity and deceitfulness of men are wise in themselves, it is but the unconscious wisdom of a dreamer talking in his sleep.

Among the persons to whom Timon, in his universal and indiscriminating hospitality, throws open his doors, is the Cynic, Apemantus, who, with the brutality of language affected by the sect of philosophers to which he belonged, warns his host of the ruin to which his blind generosity is hurrying him. But Timon turns a deaf ear to all he says. In the retorts and gibes of Apemantus, Shakespeare has carefully preserved the style of biting and laconic sententiousness, ascribed by tradition to philosophers of the Cynical school. "What time o' day is 't, Apemantus?" asks one of the lords. "Time to be honest," replies Apemantus. "Fare thee well, fare thee well," says another lord to him. "Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice," says Apemantus. "Shouldst have kept one for thyself, for I mean to give thee none." In Lyly's play of "Alexander and Campaspe," Diogenes is made to speak in just the same manner.

The banquet is served, and Ventidius, whom the generosity of Timon has freed from imprisonment, Alcibiades, and various senators and lords, seat themselves at the table of their genial and light-hearted host.

Timon, who is ever gracious and courteous, even to those who abuse his kindness, invites Apemantus to join them, but as the Cynic refuses, preferring to remain in a corner apart, whence he can observe the company, and pour out his flouts and warnings, Timon gives orders for him to have a table by himself: "Thou art an Athenian; therefore welcome: I myself would have no power: prithee, let my meat make thee silent."

"Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should

Ne'er flatter thee.-O you Gods! what a number

Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not!

It grieves me to see so many dip their meat

In one man's blood; and all the madness is,
He cheers them up too."

Meanwhile the guests make loud protestations of their gratitude and devotion to Timon, who answers warmly :

"O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else. ... Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes!"

Timon is so touched by this thought that it brings the tears into his eyes: tears are contagious, especially after dinner, and one of the lords declares that the words of his noble friend have moved him much. "Much!" ironically repeats Apemantus.

Timon is of a sensitive and affectionate nature. It would be wronging him, and grossly to mistake the delicate shades of his character, if we were to attribute his munificence to selfishness and a love of ostentation, or to vanity and a wish to be flattered, courted, and adored. His heart is full to overflowing, and he is, in truth, the least calculating and the most enthusiastic of mortals. Entirely without either prudence or modera

tion, he is as vehement and indiscriminating in friendship as in all else, lavishing his heart on all around him without thought or question. The spontaneity and extent of his affections have conjured up before him a phantom of Humanity, in the vaguest acceptation of the word, and his special virtue is philanthropy, also taken in its vaguest sense. But this virtue, when it shows itself in an exaggerated form, presupposes a meagre understanding of the realities of life. Every man is not lovable, any more than every man is hateful, and a person whose judgment is clear and sane will always distinguish between them, and not pour out his love or hatred blindly. Had Timon been capable of a little observation and reflection, had common sense not been with him so completely subservient to the emotional part of his nature, he would have seen at once, without the need of bitter experience to teach him, that a true friend is a very rare possession, and that to squander the best treasures of the heart upon every chance passer-by is not the way to obtain any friendship worthy of the

name.

Timon exchanges gifts with his guests, for they make a point of offering him presents-in order to receive sevenfold in return; generosity with them being only that common generosity which consists, as has been said of gratitude, in a lively sense of benefits to come. this they make no secret: "If I want gold," says a senator (Act II., Sc. 1)

"Steal but a beggar's dog
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold:
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight
And able horses."

Of

Flavius, the faithful steward, alarmed at his master's

reckless extravagance, tries in vain to warn him and to

press upon him a knowledge of the true state of his affairs Timon pays no more heed to the pleading voice of his steward than to the coarser tones of Apemantus.

I beseech your honour,

"Flav.
Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.

Tim. Near! why, then, another time I'll hear thee."

The catastrophe is now drawing nigh. Timon's creditors foreseeing that "it cannot hold," decide on asking at once for their money back. Their messengers, who have received instructions to take no denial, arrive at Timon's house just as he is about to entertain Alcibiades and a brilliant company at a banquet, but Flavius not wishing to interrupt the feast begs them to "cease their importunacy till after dinner," in which entreaty Timon joins, characteristically adding to Flavius, "See them well entertained." When the feast is over, Flavius takes Timon aside, and much to his master's amazement enlightens him as to the poverty-stricken condition of his coffers.

"Flav. The greatest of your having lacks a half
To pay your present debts.

Tim.
Let all my land be sold.
Flav. "Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone;
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
Of present dues: the future comes apace. . . .

...

Tim. To Lacedæmon did my land extend.
Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word!
Were it all yours, to give it in a breath,

How quickly were it gone! . . .

Tim. Come, sermon me no further:
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. . .

You shall perceive how you

Mistake my fortunes, I am wealthy in my friends."

The plan to which Timon in his childlike simplicity has recourse, is simply to send to his good friends Lucullus, Lucius, Sempronius, and to beg them to let him have fifty talents. He is now about to learn what such friends

are worth." One cloud of winter showers, these flies are couch'd."

The scenes in which Timon's servants are dismissed by these three lords, are extremely comic, at least in the opinion of French readers, though, it must be observed, they find little favour with English critics, who even doubt their having come from the hand of Shakespeare. Whether they are really written in a manner unworthy of the great poet is a matter for English commentators to decide, and as a rule they cry out against the language as bare, homely, prosaic, familiar and colourless. But putting aside the question of style, on which French critics are little qualified to judge, the ground-work of these scenes greatly pleases the countrymen of Molière, to whose comedies it bears a close resemblance: and here "we may pause for a moment to notice the difference between the spirit of French and that of English or German comedy. In France, comedy is especially a gently modulated satire, a study of the customs and thoughts and ways of mankind; it is a product of the intellect rather than of the imagination, and of careful observation rather than of fancy, while in England and Germany it is essentially a work of the most brilliant imagination, a sort of strange fireworks, resplendent with poetry, with playful and fantastic incidents, and jokes of keenest wit.

An admirable stroke of humour may be noticed in the speech of Lucullus when, lamenting the extravagant habits of Timon, he says, "Many a time and often I ha' dined with him and told him on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him spend less." And again, where Lucius, in speaking of the refusal given by Lucullus to Timon's request, says

"For my own part, I must needs confess I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his" (that is, to the presents Lucullus has