[3] Jahrbuch der deutschen Shakespearegesellschaft, iii. pp. 334-361.
[XIV]
CONVALESCENCE—TRANSFORMATION—THE NEW TYPE
The last, wildest words of this bitter outbreak had been spoken. The dark cloud had burst and the skies were slowly clearing.
It seems as though the blackest of his griefs had been lightened in the utterance, and now that the steady crescendo had burst into its most furious forte, he breathed more freely again. He had said his say; Timon had called for the extinction of humanity by plague, sexual disease, slaughter, and suicide. The powers of cursing could go no farther.
Shakespeare has shouted himself hoarse and his fury is spent. The fever is over and convalescence has set in. The darkened sun shines out once more, and the gloomy sky shines blue again.
How and why! Who shall say?
In all the obscurity of Shakespeare's life-history, nowhere do we feel our ignorance of his personal experiences more acutely than here. Some have sought an explanation in the resignation which comes with advancing years, and of which we certainly catch glimpses in his latest works. But Shakespeare neither was, nor felt himself, old at forty-five; and the word resignation is meaningless in connection with this marvellous softening of his long exasperated mood. It is more than a mere reconciliation; it is a revival of that free and lambent imagination which has lain so long in what seemed to be its death-swoon. There is no play of fancy in resignation.