Nothing probably would have surprised him more or moved him to such incredulous smiling as to have been told that in three hundred years his fame would surpass that of any other Englishman ever born! He would have put aside the prophecy with good-humoured laughter and would never have given it another thought. For his wordly aims were perfectly straightforward and simple; they were, plainly--to earn a sufficient competence and to stand on an independent footing with his fellows, to live with his family in ease and comfort, and to end his days in peace in the town where he was born. No ideal could be more free from arrogance. His whole career is an object lesson of infinite Greatness to the infinitely Little! The vital centre of Shakespeare’s marvellous power is surely his impersonality. His creative spirit moved behind the passing show of kings and queens and historic events, moulding them to his mood, but never displaying itself. Like light it shed colour on whatsoever it illumined. So little may we guess of Shakespeare’s personality from his writings that he has made of himself an Enigma. We cannot even tell what form of creed he professed, though we know and feel that the devout worship of an invisible and intelligent Force behind Nature filled him with highest faith and purest service towards God. We cannot find out his special likes or dislikes, save in slight indications here and there, such as his plainly indicated abhorrence of Jews--and Germans! Great as is the professed admiration of the Teuton for our English Master-Mind, we wonder how he can get over such lines as these:-- “A German from the waist downward, all slops!” _Much Ado About Nothing._ “Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one.”--_Cymbeline._ “Three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.” _Merry Wives of Windsor._ “Holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners.” _Henry V._ “Like a German clock, Still a’repairing, ever out of frame.” _Love’s Labour’s Lost_. While the discussion between Portia and Nerissa in the _Merchant of Venice_ caps all:-- NERISSA: How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew? PORTIA: Very vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon when he is drunk; when he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. One other thing we may perceive, and that is our Poet’s scorn of pettiness and treachery. Individual deceit--public or private hypocrisy--these seem to Shakespeare’s mind unforgivable. The “black-handed” hit--the cruel slander--the malicious lie--against these he delivers his most trenchant blows; but farther than this we are unable to penetrate into the kingdom of his heart or sentiment.