Dreyfus’ wife, Lucie, was permitted to send
him books. The author he wanted most was Shakespeare. In Dreyfus: A Family Affair, 1789-1945 (1991), Michael Burns writes: “Not
the playwright dissected by Taine in his study of English literature (and
stripped, according to Dreyfus, of all grandeur), but the humorous, passionate,
sympathetic Shakespeare, the prisoner `never understood better than during this
tragic epoch [that is, during his imprisonment], and who, like Dreyfus, may
also have turned to Montaigne as a source of inspiration.” Burns reports
Dreyfus enjoyed the comedies but found in King
Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Macbeth and Richard III “poetic
variations on the themes he had been attempting to describe in letters to his
wife and family.” Burns writes:
“…he learned from Lear—that most
`heart-rending play’ that exposes all the `steps of human misery’—the `bitter
irony of Shakespeare’s moral philosophy.’ For Dreyfus Lear was the definitive
treatise on the `weakness of the human condition,’ a confirmation of how `the wicked rarely profit from their crimes, while the good are rarely rewarded for
their Virtue.’ All of Shakespeare’s works become a compendium of allegories of
all of Dreyfus’s dilemmas.”
Burns’ book is excellent. A reader wrote to
me on Sunday:
“I think Lear Shakespeare’s finest play. I have
always been fascinated with an exchange between Edgar and his father. Most people,
anyone familiar with the play, recall Edgar’s words to his father when
Gloucester says he will go no farther: `No farther, sir; a man may rot
even here.’
“Now,
everybody knows Edgar’s famous response: `What, in ill thoughts again? Men must
endure / Their going hence, even as their coming hither: / Ripeness is all.’
“Few
remember, however, Gloucester’s response: `And that’s true too.’”
1 comment:
Yes, keep on with King Lear, that inexhaustible treasure house of the relevant and timely. Each year I knew the news would be full of Lear when it came time to teach the play. In this play it is not so much the grand soliloquies as the pithy parts that last. So many seem like titles of books waiting to be written:
Striving to do better, oft we mar what’s well
Nothing almost sees miracles/ but misery
Take physic, pomp
Ay, and no too was no good divinity
Thou art the thing itself
Our means secure us, and our mere defects/ Prove our commodities
The worst is not/ So long as we can say “This is the worst”
I am not ague proof
A moral fool
Thy life’s a miracle
I see it feelingly
A dog's obeyed in office
Where I could not be honest I never yet was valiant
And take upon’s the mystery of things
Reason in madness
Know thou this, that men are as the time
I imagine Dreyfus rattling off Shakespeare to the heavens and his six guards. Another novel.
Post a Comment