CHARACTERISTICS OF THOUGHT AND MANNER-DATE OF THE HE late Dr. Arnold, a most original and sagacious inquirer into every subject in kind, although requiring to be augmented in degree."-(Introductory Lecture on Modern History.) True as this rule may be, as regards the mass of authors of every age, and even most of those of the very highest rank, it is surely erroneous in reference to Shakespeare, even in the guarded and qualified form in which it is applied to him; and this exception of the great English Poet from so general a law of mind, which has governed the loftiest and most powerful minds, is among the most striking and unequivocal evidences of his superiority. Neither MACBETH nor HAMLET, alone, could give any competent idea of the character of mind and cast of thought, or of the habitual views of life, of the author of OTHELLO; while LEAR, with all its wonderful combination of intellect and passion, would as little lead us to imagine that the same author had written such a tragedy as ROMEO AND JULIET. This play of the TEM PEST, especially, is one of those works for which no other production of the author's prolific fancy could have prepared his readers. It is wholly of a different cast of temper, and mood of disposition, from those so conspicuous in his gayer comedies; while even the ethical dignity and poetic splendour of the MERCHANT OF VENICE, could not well lead the critic to anticipate the solemn grandeur, the unrivalled harmony and grace, the bold originality, and the grave beauty of the TEMPEST. The MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM, as different from its author's other gayer and more purely poetical works, as the TEMPEST is from his graver delineations of deeper thought and stronger passion, is that among his dramas which, from its fairy machinery and the predominance of the imaginative over the real, most naturally presents itself as the counterpart of the TEMPEST. Yet it is as essentially different as if it had been the work of some other contemporary poet; being, indeed, rather a contrast than a resembling counterpart. More abounding in single passages of matchless and varied sweetness or brilliancy, it is less perfect as a whole, and differs still more 'com it in its pervading tone of feeling, and the impression it leaves on the mind. The one is joyous in emper, luxuriant in fancy, and dazzling throughout from its sudden and brilliant contrasts. The other is also filled with high and true poetry, but it is poetry pervaded and controlled by a contemplative philosophy; and it is the calm, solemn light of that philosophy that harmonizes, and mellows down, the richest fancies and boldest inventions into one grave and even severe tone of colour. The two dramas are to each other as the full and strong burst of life, and the balmy fragrance of spring, with its joyous and exhilarating influence, and bright confusion of beauties, compared with the autumnal magnificence of our Indian summer, with its calmness and repose, its yellow radiance,' and all its pensive yet soothing associations and influences. There are several respects in which the TEMPEST thus stands alone, as distinguishable in character from any other of its author's varied creations. Without being his work of greatest power, not equalling several of the other dramas in depth of passion, or in the exhibition of the working of the affections; surpassed by others in brilliancy of poetic fancy or exquisite delicacies of expression, it is nevertheless among the most perfect (perhaps in fact the most perfect) of all, as a work of art, of the most unbroken unity of effect and sustained majesty of intellect. It is too-if we can speak of degrees of originality in the productions of this most creative of all poets-the most purely original of his conceptions, deriving nothing of any consequence from any other source for the plot, and without any prototype in literature of the more important personages, or any model for the thoughts and language, beyond the materials presented by actual and living human nature, to be raised and idealized into the "wild and wondrous" forms of Ariel and Caliban, of the majestic Prospero, and, above all, of his peerless daughter. Miranda is a character blending the truth of nature with the most exquisite refinement of poetic fancy, unrivalled, even in Shakespeare's own long and beautiful series of portraitures of feminine excellence, and paralleled only by the Eve of Milton, who, I cannot but think, was indirectly indebted for some of her most fascinating attributes to the solitary daughter of Prospero. For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm? Pro. Know thus far forth.By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions. Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, And give it way:-I know thou canst not choose.[MIRANDA sleeps. Come away, servant, come! I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel: come! Enter ARIEL. Ari. All hail, great master; grave sir, hail. I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, On the curl'd clouds: to thy strong bidding task Pro. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, And burn in many places; on the topmast, cursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary Ari. Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, And all the devils are here." ACT I. SCENE 2-Hast thou forgot the foul witch, SYCORAX? Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, Pro. Ari. Past the mid season. Pro. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. Pro. How now! moody? speak; tell me. Ari. Sir, in Argier. Pro. O! was she so? I must, Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors: thou, my slave A dozen years; within which space she died, Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in: thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry bears. It was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo: it was mine art, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. Ari. I thank thee, master. Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ari. Pardon, master: This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first, Thou strok'st me, and mad'st much of me; would'st give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me, In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me Could not abide to be with: therefore wast thou Deservedly confin'd into this rock, Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you. For learning me your language! Pro. Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice! If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Cal. No, pray thee!I must obey his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pro. [Aside. So, slave; hence! |
