a fiction. But if, with this indispensable disadvantage, the poet succeeds in exciting the sympathy of the spectator, and makes him for awhile forget the humble appliances of his art, then the drama may be said to be triumphant. In reference to this subject, it should not be forgotten that many characters and effects have been brought upon the stage, which certainly never had any existence in the history of human affairs. These are as essentially opposed to fact as the fairies and ghosts of Shakspere; and yet we do not object to them, because we say that they are "natural." But, are not Titania and Oberon natural? Is not Ariel natural? Is not Caliban natural? nay, is he not a thousand times more natural and more impressive than the pompous perfections and inflated heroes of the French stage?

I shall not attempt to classify the merits of Shakspere's tragedies; but, as a comparison has frequently been instituted between the four great tragedies, "MACBETH," "HAMLET," "OTHELLO," and "LEAR," I may venture to recur to them. In "MACBETH," it is said, there is an unity of interest, a rapidity of event, and a combination of the human and supernatural, that place it the first, in these respects, in point of excellence. "LEAR" is more sublime, I think, all human and passionate as it is, and has meanings more profound than the other, and exhibits greater variety and contrast of character. "HAMLET" beyond the rest developes and lays bare the innermost thoughts and workings of a single mind. But, to my thinking, "OTHELLO" is the most substantial and complete of all his plays. Less refined than "HAMLET," less imaginative than "MACBETH," and less terrible and impressive than "LEAR," it is, for variety and development of character, more complete than the others "MACBETH" is chiefly a tragedy of events. There are no characters, except those of Macbeth and his awful wife. Macbeth himself, indeed, is an entire biography; and the "Lady" is grandly drawn: but otherwise the play (with deep respect be it said) is meagre in character. "LEAR"-in which we are whirled about by the passion of the scene, as the old discrowned heartbroken king is by the fury of the elements, is more loosely hung together than "OTHELLO;" and Hamlet, who at first sight appears to be more thoroughly pourtrayed than any other personage of the stage, will be found, I think, to exhibit his own thoughts, chiefly on abstract and indifferent subjects, rather than to develop his character; always the main object in dramatic fiction. In "OTHELLO," on the other hand, there are seven characters completely and thoroughly distinguished. There are Brabantio (the model of Priuli), Cassio, Roderigo, Iago, Emilia, Desdemona, "the gentle lady married to the Moor," and finally Othello, the Moor, himself; and to these must be superadded the most absorbing human interest, remarkable variety in the characters, and the most compact and natural story of any within the compass of the English drama. Shakspere has drawn the Moor with great magnanimity. He has disdained the ordinary notes of preparation, and has gone at once to the main purpose of the play. At first view, nothing appears more unskilful and hopeless than to attempt to extract great interest from Othello. The qualities of the Moor seem precisely those which are opposed to the results which are afterwards so clearly derived from them. What is to be done with a man of extreme simplicity? one who is brave, honest, tranquil, ‘ generous, confiding, free from jealousy ("not easily jealous"), and little else? one whose perilous paths and romantic adventures are already traversed? The period of his wooing (always a great refuge for the dramatist) is over, and he comes quietly before us, without any obvious impediment in his way, from which we can foresee a tragic result. He has been moderate in his attachment; and his love, crowned with success, is a principle rather than a sentiment. It is a manifestation of his opinion, the assent of his mind to the high deserts of his bride, and not a humour, the quality of which is determined by the ebb or flow of his blood. He loved Des-lemona, not for her beauty, but for her

gentleness, her pity, her virtues. She felt compassion for his toils and dangers; and he "loved her that she did pity them." His love accordingly is not like common love, which is a wilful passion, subject to all "the skiey influences," but is a tranquil, contented affection. Apparently, it is quite secure; sheltered, by his own nature and her truth, from all accidents. But wait! there is still one point from which it is assailable; and there Shakspere, in his penetration, has struck. He sees the seeds of trouble in Othello; the "colour burned upon him." He sees that his tranquillity arises not from temperament but education. He has been transplanted into the camp, and tamed, ever since he was seven years old

"(Since these arms of mine had seven years' pith),"

by the habits of military obedience. But he is still the son of a burning soil. The Moor, indeed, is a person of great energy; not shewing itself in impetuous sallies, but in the grave and decisive conduct of a man accustomed to command. It is only when he quits this character, and loses all self-control, that his African blood boils over and consumes him. It is then that his passions rise up in rebellion against him. He has lost, as he imagines, not a phantasm, conceived in imagination or a dream, but a wife unequalled, on whom his soul was set, and whom his deliberate judgment entirely approved. admiration was not a fancy but a conviction, resting upon the intrinsic worth of her he loved. All, therefore-affection, judgment, the grave opinion of a cautious mind, the hopes and habits of a life now settled down into happiness,- -are torn up by the roots and overset. We behold his mind utterly wrecked; and the spirit, which fretfulness and impatience never weakened, now rages without check, and uncontrollable.

His

One of the characteristic marks of Othello is his language. Shakspere forgot nothing. Othello is exhibited not only as a soldier, a tender husband, and a jealous man, but also as a Moor. As the drama proceeds, we see the Moorish blood running through and colouring everything he utters; as the red dawn flows in upon and illuminates the eastern sky. His words are as oriental as his dress,-ample, picturesque, and mag

nificent.

In running over the many dramas of Shakspere, a thousand things occur to me that appear to deserve remark. There are his love of external nature, his graphic pictures, his humour, his sense of beauty, his appreciation of colours, of odours ("the air smells wooingly here"), of sweet sounds, and of everything valuable which the world affords. Observe how admirably his plays commence. You always hear the true note of preparation, the key-note at the beginning. Observe the difference between his men and women: the men embodying the active principle; the women (with a few exceptions, such as Lady Macbeth and Beatrice) the passive virtues. The men are restless and ambitious, and cut their way to fortune: the women seem moulded to inhabit the circle in which they move. Observe the difference between his poetry and that of Fletcher and others. The latter are poetical in soliloquy or narration only. They cannot make their images bear upon active life. But, look at Shakspere! his passion springs out of the passion or humour of the time:

"Rouse thyself! and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from thy neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air."

But I should require a volume were I to reckon up his minuter beauties, or to attempt to proceed serialim through his plays; and I must, therefore, rest content with having said a few of the many things that press upon me for utterance. Saying what I have said, I leave the rest to future writers.

$ 3.

If the judgment and general intellect of Shakspere be great, so is his style worthy of the thoughts which it enshrines. It is, beyond comparison, the most dramatic style extant. Some persons have insisted that he had no style, and have elevated thiswhich, if it existed, would be a defect-into a positive merit. To my thinking, the hand of Shakspere can be traced more readily than that of any other dramatic writer. The style of Beaumont and Fletcher, or rather of Fletcher, is also very distinguishable from that of others; it is in fact so peculiar, that it degenerates into mannerism. But though the style of Shakspere is his own, it contains a flexibility or variety-a power of adapting itself to the different exigencies of the drama-that rescues it from mannerism and monotony. With what incomparable skill his verse is fashioned; strong and firm without harshness, musical without weakness. An author and critic of great merit (Mr. Leigh Hunt) is disposed to prefer the versification of Beaumont and Fletcher to that of Shakspere; who, he thinks, was led away by the attractiveness of Marlowe's verse. This opinion has been so ably and fairly encountered by Mr. George Darley, in his preface to the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, that it leaves me little to do beyond referring to it. I may be permitted, however, to observe, that the verse of almost all our early dramatists was confined to ten syllables; and that the verse of Shakspere, judging by his undoubted plays, cannot in fact be said to have been founded on that of Marlowe. The verse of Marlowe, like the verse of Peele, is wanting in dramatic fitness. It is too much like that in which narrative or epic poetry is conveyed. It is better, undoubtedly, than the verse of Peele, or of any other of his cotemporaries, but in frequency, and especially in variety, of its pauses, it is often deficient. If Shakspere indeed be (contrary to my surmise) the author of "TITUS ANDRONICUS," it must be admitted that he was, at the outset of his career, an imitator of the verse of Marlowe but not otherwise.

:

In addition to the reasons urged by Mr. Darley against the versification of Beaumont and Fletcher, there is one other, namely, that the use of double and triple endings (which in fact constitutes their peculiarity) has a tendency to retard the dialogue, in all cases; and, therefore, should be very rarely used, except in soliloquy or narrative passages. In those cases, where the object is not to hurry on the interest, but in fact to operate as a relief or pause from the excitement of the play, these endings may be adopted with advantage; and accordingly we find that Shakspere, who knew how to profit by all things, has recourse to this species of verse, in the soliloquies of Hamlet and other places. In those parts where events are rapidly proceeding, or where the carte and tierce of dialogue is fiercely going on, these endings are abandoned as an incumbrance.

3

In' point of fitness, Shakspere's style surpasses that of all other writers. Let it be observed, how to the common people, as clowns, servants, &c., he allots common prosaic speech, differing, however, in each case, as the character to whom it is allotted differs from others; and being grave or humorous, terse or loose, accordingly. But to the greater personages of the drama-whether raised by native heroism or intellect, or born to a high condition, he gives noble and imaginative language, always appropriate and always adapted to sustain the purposes of the play. It is true that the individual character of certain historical persons, such as Richard the Second and Henry the Sixth, may seem scarcely to justify the fine poetry which they sometimes utter, but it is the condition of a king

dethroned that requires it. Not that kings or heroes are for ever in the "Ercles'" vein. Shakspere knew that they jested and became prosaic like other men. And these occasional descents from high verse to familiar words, in the same person, may be defended on various grounds; sometimes by the quality of the people addressed, sometimes by the circumstance on which the dialogue turns, sometimes by the elevation or tension of the character being lowered or relaxed, in order to accommodate it to some exigency in the drama, or to produce some desirable effect.

The language of Richard the Third is that of a man of the world, bold, practical, and to the point while that of Macbeth is speculative and imaginative. Yet both are ambitious men, and both brave men; only ambition in one case seems to advance upon an infirm and yielding nature and to excite it, and in the other it is sought by a resolute spirit, in whom the passion seems to have existed from his birth. The language of Henry the Eighth (a successful tyrant) differs from John, a tyrant surrounded by trouble. The lover Romeo differs from the lover Troilus: the capricious Cleopatra from the wanton Cressid: Thersites from Apemantus: and even Richard the Second (although both are kings, both weak, and both in the same state of adversity) from the husband of Margaret of Anjou. The same differences might be shewn by analyzing the characters of Shakspere separately, and tracing the gradations and shades of language from the commencement to the end of the play. In Lear alone, there is first the generous kingly opening; then the violent language (degenerating into that awful curse) of a wilful monarch thwarted in his humour and self-love; then the bitter language produced by ingratitude; then the sublime pathos; then the babblings and wandering of madness; and, finally, the recurrence of tenderness towards his "joy, although the last not least," the true-hearted Cordelia, which immediately precedes his death.

I have, upon a former occasion, alluded to two distinguishing peculiarities in Shakspere's style. One is that his speeches, instead of being directed or limited, for the time, to one person or one subject only, radiate (so to speak), or point on all sides, dealing with all persons present, and with all subjects that can be supposed to influence the speaker. The other distinction is, that the most subtle and profound reflections frequently enrich and are involved (parenthetically) in the dialogue, without impeding it: such as, in "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA," where Antony speaks of

In comparison with that of Shakspere, Ben Jonson's style is crabbed, Beaumont and Fletcher's weak, loose, and disjointed, and Massinger's like that of a rhetorician. There is not in these, or in any other dramatic author, as far as I can recollect, a merit, be it of modulation or language, that has not been surpassed over and over again by Shakspere.

It has been said that there is something occult in the language of true poetry: and, as there is something mysterious in the source of poetry, it may be that there is something mysterious and occult in its demonstrations; and that it is intelligible only, in its fullest extent, to persons of an apprehensive or imaginative intellect (so to speak), being themselves a-kin to poets. Yet perhaps, after all, it may be only the exquisite propriety

and taste found in their words and phrases, that (in those parts where there is an absence of any strong evidence of imagination), determines the difference between the true poet, and the mere copyist or compounder of verse.

§ 7.

I have already adverted to the benefits which Shakspere conferred upon his country; but I shall indulge myself in a few words more upon the subject.

There have been three events in the literary history of England, which, it is said, tended beyond others to raise the public mind out of the barbarism and ignorance of our early times. These were the translation of the Bible, the works of Bacon, and the dramas of Shakspere. The first, whatever peril may have attended it by severing the Christian church into many sects, assuredly rescued our predecessors from much idolatry and the domination of an ambitious priesthood, and gave an impulse and independence to thought in matters of infinite moment. In like manner, Bacon dissipated the clouds which hung about science, and liberated Reason from the thraldom of precedent and custom. And, finally, Shakspere arose, like a sun, scattering the darkness, and developing the shape and life of all things; a discoverer (beyond Cadmus or Columbus) of all the varieties of the human race, of all the good and evil, and power and weakness that belong to man. He has left nothing untouched, from the king dividing his dominions, to the insect "that we tread upon;" from the princely philosopher to the braggart and the idiot. His light has shone upon all things, has penetrated all things, and drawn from all things a lesson and a moral, capable of invigorating the intellect and expanding the affections of every being capable of thought. Nor is it alone by what this great writer teaches, but by what he suggests, that we are to estimate his value. It is one of the unfailing signs of a true poet, that the seeds of wisdom which he strews before us should germinate and bring forth fruit. He does not borrow, for our edification, the commonplaces which have been familiar to us from our cradle, and which have ceased to incite us; he does not propound to us barren truths (facts); but he bears us away to "fresh fields" and "pastures," fertile as well as "new;" and amidst the mysteries and startling objects of a strange region, he leaves us to profit as best we may.

If Bacon educated the reason, Shakspere educated the heart; yet not alone the heart but the reason also. He knew that by conquering the affections one great road to the intellect would be won. Moreover, in letting loose his imagination, he liberated at the same time the imaginations of other men; lifting them, as it were, to his own height and point of vision, and teaching them how to soar, and think, and speculate, in a manner never displayed before. He united the wisdom of the historian and the moralist. To the subtlety of a metaphysician he joined the acuteness of a writer on dialectics. He surpassed Eschylus in grandeur, Euripides in pathos, Aristophanes in wit. If the dramas of Shakspere were resorted to as mere exercises of the intellect, they would be beyond all value. There is no school in which so much, or things so various, may be tauglit. There is in them, it is true, neither Latin nor Greek, neither hexameter nor pentameter. We hear nothing of the steam-engine, nor of the northwest passage (although sounds come to us

"From the still vexed Bermoothes");

nothing of geometry or arithmetic, except that Michael Cassio was "an arithmetician."