d on English soil, but its shadowy
{168} glades foster a life so free from care and trouble that it
becomes to us a symbol of Nature's healing, sweetening influence. Here
an exiled Duke and his faithful followers have found a refuge where,
free from the envy and bickerings of court, they "fleet the time
carelessly, as they did in the Golden Age." To them comes the youth
Orlando, fleeing from the treachery of a wicked elder brother and from
the malice of the usurping Duke. To them comes Rosalind, daughter of
the exiled Duke, who has lived at the usurper's court, but has, in her
turn, been exiled, and who brings with her Celia, the usurper's
daughter, and Touchstone, the lovable court fool. And through these
newcomers the Duke and his friends are brought into contact with a
shepherd and shepherdess as unreal and as charming as those of Dresden
china, and with other country folk who smack more strongly of the soil.
In the forest, Rosalind, who has for safety's sake assumed man's
attire, again meets Orlando, and the love between them, born of their
first meeting at court, becomes stronger and truer amid scenes of
delicate comedy and merry laughter. Once in Arden, Orlando ceases to
brood morosely over the wrongs done him; Rosalind's wit becomes sweeter
while losing none of its keenness; and Touchstone feels himself no
longer a plaything, but a man. So we are not surprised when Oliver,
the wicked brother, lost in the forest and rescued from mortal danger
by the lad he has always sought to injure, awakens to his better self;
nor when the usurping Duke, leading an armed expedition against the man
he has deposed, is converted at the forest's edge by an old hermit,
abandons the throne to {169} its rightful occupant, and enters upon the
religious life. Thus the old Duke comes into his own again, wiser and
better than before; and if, among the many marriages which fill the
last act with the chiming of marriage bells, there are some which seem
little likely to bring lasting happiness, the magic of the woods does
much to dissipate our doubts. Only Jaques, the melancholy philosopher,
fails to share in the general rejoicing and the glad return. He has
been too hardened by the pursuit of his own pleasure and is too shut in
by his delightfully cynical philosophy to feel quickly the forest's
touch. Yet not even his brilliant perversities can sadden the joyous
atmosphere; it is only made the more enjoyable by force of contrast.
Si