The impulsive need for visuals

As a genre of artistic expression, the illustration of Shakespeare's works has as its benchmark Nicholas Rowe's 1709 six-volume edition in octavo format, which includes engravings of scenes at the beginning of each play. The literary reputation of the Stratford poet, dead for nearly a century, was growing by leaps and bounds, and Rowe believed that publishing a critical, illustrated edition of Shakespeare's works made reasonably good business sense.

Too bad he used the corrupt Fourth Folio for his text. In Rowe's defense, it should be remembered that the First Folio and the various quartos of Shakespeare's plays had not yet been recognized as the all-but-sacrosanct textual goldmines that they were to become in later years.

The Bodleian Library at Oxford even made the horrifying, epic mistake of getting rid of their First Folio, which they figured they should do in light of their acquisition of a Third Folio in 1664. A bit like discarding an old phone book, evidently.

The Bodleian later saw the wisdom of buying that First Folio back when the opportunity presented itself in 1905. The whole episode is probably not on their highlight reel.

It was during the early 1700s that Shakespeare's literary reputation was beginning to take on the monumental status it would achieve by the end of the century. The enormous success of his plays and of particular players (none more so than David Garrick) in London's theaters during the 1730's and thereafter would put Shakespeare's name on the lips of the statesmen of the age as well as the man on the street. And before the century was done, the phenomenal Shakespearean actress Sarah Siddons would rule the stage and the hearts of the London theatrical set.

Yet despite Shakespeare's undeniable mastery of scene-painting through language, many book buyers still seemed to enjoy the pictorial assistance that illustrations provided for the mind's eye.

A case in point is the engraving above, from an 18th-century octavo copy of The Merchant of Venice (T. Bensley, Fleet Street, London, 1798). It shows the Prince of Morocco in astonished disappointment as he realizes he has picked the wrong casket and failed in his pursuit of the desirable but elusive Portia, standing behind him with her lady-in-waiting, Nerissa. 

Despite Shakespeare's vivid word-picture of this gregarious, exotic character, the scene itself offered a memorable opportunity for graphic recreation, in this case with a William Ridley engraving. Without doubt, the engravings also added to both the aesthetic and monetary value of the books, making them worth more but also more expensive to produce. By this time Shakespeare was becoming the colossus of the English literature: his works were among the safest of safe bets.