No. VIII.

CRITICAL REMARKS ON OTHELLO CONCLUDED.

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IT has been observed of Shakspeare that he has not often exhibited the delicacy of female character, and this has been sufficiently apologized for, from the uncivilized age in which he lived; and women never appearing upon stage in his time, might have made him less studious in this department of the drama. Indeed, when we consider his strength of mind, his imagination, which delighted in whatever was bold and daring, we should almost think it impossible that he could enter into all the softness and refinement of love. But in spite of all these disadvantages, he has shown that, in whatever view he chose to behold human nature, he could perform it superior to any other; for nowhere in the writings of Shakspeare, or any where else, have we found the female character drawn with so much tenderness and beauty as in that of Desdemona. The gentleness with which she behaves to all with whom she converses, the purity, the modesty, the warmth of her love, her resignation in the deepest distress, together with her personal accomplishments, attract our highest regard; but that which chiefly distinguishes her, is that ex

quisite sensibility of imagination which interested her so much in the dangers of Othello's youthful adventures; a passion natural enough indeed, though it is not every one who is capable of experiencing it. Othello, as we have seen, was naturally of an heroic and amiable disposition; but when by his bold undertakings he is exposed to imminent dangers, he would then shine in his brightest colours: all his magnanimity and all his address are brought to view; at that moment all the generous affections of the soul would be drawn towards him,-admiration of his virtues, wishes for his success, and solicitude for his safety. And when the best feelings of the heart are thus lavished on a certain object, it is no wonder it should settle into fixed love and esteem.

Such was the sublimated passion of Desdemona, inspired solely by internal beauty. The person of Othello had every thing to cool desire: possessing not only the black complexion and the swarthy features of the African, he was also declined, as he says, into the vale of years. But his mind was every thing to Desdemona; it supplied the place of youth by its ardour, and of every personal accomplishment by its strength, its elevation, and softness. Where, in all the annals of love, do we find so pure and so disinterested a passion, supported with so much dignity and nature? She loved him for the dangers he had passed; upon this fleeting and incorporeal idea did she rest her affections, upon abstract feelings and qualities of the mind, which

must require in her all that warmth of imagination, and liveliness of conception, which distinguish the finest genius.

The character of this exquisite lady is always consistently supported. Her behaviour towards Cassio shows, in a particular manner, her liberal and benevolent heart; and her conversation with Emilia about the heinousness of infidelity is a striking picture of innocent purity: it is artfully introduced, and adds much to the pathos of the tragedy. The circumstances of ordering her wedding sheets to be put on her bed, and the melancholy song of a willow, are well imagined, and waken the mind to expect some dreadful revolution. Indeed, throughout the whole scene before her death an awful solemnity reigns. The mind of Desdemona seems to be in a most agitated condition she starts an observation about Lodovico, and immediately falls into her gloomy thoughts, paying no attention to the answer of Emilia, though connected with an anecdote that would have at another time raised her curiosity. This absence of mind shows beyond the power of language her afflicted and tortured state. But what gives a finishing stroke to the terror of this midnight scene, is the rustling of the wind, which the affrighted imagination of Desdemona supposes to be one knocking at the door. This circumstance, which would have been overlooked as trifling by an inferior writer, has a most sublime effect in the hands of Shakspeare; and till the fatal catastrophe,

the same horribly interesting sensations are kept up. Othello enters her bedchamber with a sword and candle, in that perturbation and distraction of mind which marked his behaviour since the supposed discovery of her guilt, remains of tenderness still struggling with revenge in his bosom; and a conversation is protracted, during which the mind is arrested in a state of the most dreadful suspense that can well be imagined.

Had Othello been actuated by cruelty alone in this action; had he, to gratify a savage nature, put Desdemona to death, the scene would have been shocking, and we should have turned from it with aversion. But instigated as he is by the noble principles of honour and justice, and weighing at the same time the reluctance with which he performs it, and the great sacrifice which he makes to his finest feelings, it on these accounts produces those mournfully pleasing sensations, which to attain is the highest praise of the tragic poet.

In the final unravelling of the plot, there is often great difficulty; it is the grand point to which the author aims in the course of successive scenes,

and upon the proper execution of it depends much

of the merit of the work. Here Shakspeare has not fallen off. The same high tone of passion is preserved. Upon the discovery of Desdemona's innocence, and the intrigues of Iago, all the characters act a very consistent and natural part. Othello's distraction is painted in an inimitable manner. Unwilling to believe that he had acted

upon false grounds, and confounded with contrary evidence, he knows not where to betake himself. After uttering a few incoherent speeches, which show in the strongest light a mind rent with grief and remorse, he gradually recovers himself; and resuming, as much as possible, his natural composure and firmness, he looks around him a little, and deliberately views his wretched situation; but finding no peace for him on earth, he terminates his existence.h

Iago also stands forth in the group a just monument of his own crimes. Seeing the proof too plain against him, he can brave it out no longer. He sees no prospect of escape from any quarter; his own arts are now of no avail; and he knows that he deserves no pity: he gives up all for lost, and resolves upon a state of dumb desperation, most expressive of the horror of his mind. In this state, we have the satisfaction to see him dragged to deserved punishment.'

"No eloquence," remarks Schlegel, " is capable of painting the overwhelming force of the catastrophe in Othello, the pressure of feelings which measure out in a moment the abysses of eternity."-Lectures on Dramatic Literature, vol. ii. p. 192.

"Iago," as I have elsewhere observed, "the most cool and malignant villain which the annals of iniquity have ever recorded, would, from the detestation which accompanies his every action, be utterly insupportable in the representation, were it not for the talents, for the skill and knowledge in the springs and principles of human thought and feeling, which he constantly displays, and which, fortunately for the moral of the