ght but of part-sharer in the takings of
the theatre. The presumption from all we know of the commercial side of
the play-making of the times is that, for whatever pieces Shakspere
touched up, collaborated in, or composed for his company, he received a
certain payment once for all;[144] since there was no reason why his
partners should treat his plays differently in this regard from the
plays they bought of other men. Doubtless, when his reputation was made,
the payments would be considerable. But the main source of his income,
or rather of the accumulations with which he bought land and house and
tithes at Stratford, must have been his share in the takings of the
theatre--a share which would doubtless increase as the earlier partners
disappeared. He must have speedily become the principal man in the
firm, combining as he did the work of composer, reviser, and adaptor of
plays with that of actor and working partner. We are thus dealing with a
temperament or mentality not at all obviously original or masterly, not
at all conspicuous at the outset for intellectual depth or seriousness,
not at all obtrusive of its "mission;" but exhibiting simply a gift for
acting, an abundant faculty of rhythmical speech, and a power of minute
observation, joined with a thoroughly practical or commercial handling
of the problem of life, in a calling not usually taken-to by
commercially-minded men. What emerges for us thus far is the conception
of a very plastic intelligence, a good deal led and swayed by immediate
circumstances; but at bottom very sanely related to life, and so
possessing a latent faculty for controlling its destinies; not much
cultured, not profound, not deeply passionate; not particularly
reflective though copious in utterance; a personality which of itself,
if under no pressure of pecuniary need, would not be likely to give the
world any serious sign of mental capacity whatever.

In order, then, that such a man as this should develop into the
Shakspere of the great tragedies and tragic comedies, there must concur
two kinds of life-conditions with those already noted--the fresh
conditions of deeply-moving experience and of deep intellectual
stimulus. Without these, such a mind would no more arrive at the highest
poetic and dramatic capacity than, lacking the spur of necessity or of
some outside call, it would be moved to seek poetic and dramatic
utterance for its own relief. There is no sign here of an innate burden
of