ples of art. It is not the prominent character of the play; and it was not meant to be so. It is true to the narrative upon which Shakspere founded it; but, what is of more importance, it is true to every natural conception of what Cæsar must have been at the exact moment of his fall. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. THE Life of Antonius, in North's 'Plutarch,' has been followed by Shakspere with very remarkable fidelity; and there is scarcely an incident which belongs to this period of Antony's career which the poet has not engrafted upon his wonderful performance. The poetical power, subjecting the historical minuteness to an all-pervading harmony, is one of the most remarkable efforts of Shakspere's genius. "Of all Shakspere's historical plays," says Coleridge, "Antony and Cleopatra is by far the most wonderful." He again says, assigning it a place even higher than that of being the most wonderful of the historical plays, "The highest praise, or rather form of praise, of this play, which I can offer in my own mind, is the doubt which the perusal always occasions in me, whether the Antony and Cleopatra is not, in all exhibitions of a giant power in its strength and vigour of maturity, a formidable rival of Macbeth, Lear, Hamlet, and Othello." The epithet "wonderful" is unquestionably the right one to apply to this drama. It is too vast, too gorgeous, to be approached without some prostration of the understanding. It pours such a flood of noonday splendour upon our senses, that we cannot gaze upon it steadily. We have read it again and again; and the impression which it leaves again and again is that of wonder. The ANTONY of this play is of course the Antony of Julius Cæsar;-not merely the historical Antony, but the dramatic Antony, drawn by the same hand. He is the orator that showed dead Cæsar's mantle to the Roman people; he is the soldier that after his triumph over Brutus said, "This was a man." We have seen something of his character; we have learnt a little of his voluptuousness; we have heard of the "masker and the reveller;" we have beheld the unscrupulous politician. But we cannot think meanly of him. He is one great, either for good or for evil. Since he fought at Philippi he has passed through various fortunes. Cæsar thus apostrophises him : "When thou once Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel Did Famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, There came an after-time when, at Alexandria, "Our courteous Antony, Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak, And, for his ordinary, pays his heart." This is the Antony that Shakspere, in the play before us, brings upon the scene. Upton has a curious theory, which would partly make Shakspere to belong to the French school. The hero of this play, according to this theory, does not speak "the language of the people." Upton says "Mark Antony, as Plutarch informs us, affected the Asiatic manner of speaking, which much resembled his own temper, being ambitious, unequal, and very rhodomontade. ****This style our poet has very artfully and learnedly interspersed in Antony's speeches." Unquestionably the language of Antony is more elevated than that of Enobarbus, for example. Antony was of the poetical temperament a man of high genius-an orator, who could move the passions dramatically-a lover, that knew no limits to his devotion because he loved imaginatively. When sorrow falls upon him, the poetical parts of his character are more and more developed; we forget the sensualist. But even before the touch of grief has somewhat exalted his nature, he takes the poetical view of poetical things. What can be more exquisite than his mention of Octavia's weeping at the parting with her brother? "The April's in her eyes: it is love's spring, And, higher still:— "Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can Her heart inform her tongue: the swan's down feather, And neither way inclines." This, we think, is not "the Asiatic manner of speaking." · 'Critical Observations,' p. 100. CYMBELINE. It was not the purpose of the poet to make 'Cymbeline' a History. The historical portion is subservient to the main action of the piece-the fortunes of Imogen and Posthumus. But there is enough of that historical portion to justify us in classing it with those which more distinctly belong to the historical series. In 'Cymbeline' we have the ancient Britons presented to us under a rich colouring, whose tints belong to the truth of high art. Shakspere threw the scene with marvellous judgment into the obscure period of British history, when there was enough of fact to give precision to his painting, and enough of fable to cast over it that twilight hue which all poets love. In these scenes we are thrown back into the halffabulous history of our own country, and see all objects under the dim light of uncertain events and manners. We have civilisation contending with semi-barbarism; the gorgeous worship of the Pagan world subduing to itself the more simple worship of the Druidical times; kings and courtiers surrounded with the splendour of "barbaric pearl and gold;" and, even in those days of simplicity, a wilder and a simpler life, amidst the fastnesses of mountains, and the solitude of caves-the hunters' life, who "have seen nothing " "Subtle as the fox for prey, Like warlike as the wolf," but who yet, in their natural piety, know "how to adore the heavens." This is opposed to our common notion of painted savages, living in wretched huts. There was a civilisation amongst the stock from which we are descended, before the Roman refinement. Strabo says that the Britons had the same manners as the Gauls. They wore party-coloured tunics, flowered with various colours in divisions. They had chequered cloaks. They bore helmets of brass upon their heads. They had broad-swords suspended by iron or brazen chains. Some were girded with belts of gold or silver. Pliny tells us that they excelled in the arts of weaving and dyeing cloth, and wove their fine dyed wool, so as to form stripes or chequers. This is the tartan of the Highlanders-" the garb of old Gaul." Their round bronze shields are the ornaments of our antiquarian cabinets. We may, without any violation of historical accuracy, believe that the Romans had introduced their arts te an extent that might have made Cymbeline's palace bear some of the characteristics of a Roman villa. A highly-civilisea people very quickly impart the external forms of their civilisation to those whom they have colonised. If the semi-historical attributes of the drama had been less absorbing, we perhaps might have more readily seen the real course of the dramatic action. We venture to express our opinion, that one predominant idea does exist. The dialogue of the "two Gentlemen" in the opening scene makes us perfectly acquainted with the relations in which Posthumus and Imogen stand to each other, and to those around them. "She's wedded, her husband banish'd." We have next the character of the banished husband, and of the unworthy suitor who is the cause of his banishment; as well as the story of the king's two lost sons. This is essentially the foundation of the past and future of the action. Brief indeed is this scene, but it well prepares us for the parting of Posthumus and Imogen. The course of their affections is turned awry by the wills of others. The angry king at once proclaims himself to us as one not cruel, but weak; he has before been described as "touch'd at very heart." It is only in the intensity of her affection for Posthumus that Imogen opposes her own will to the impatient violence of her father, and the more crafty decision of her step-mother. But she is surrounded with a third evil, "A father cruel, and a step-dame false, Worse, however, even than these, her honour is to be assailed. her character vilified, by a subtle stranger; who, perhaps more in sport than in malice, has resolved to win a paltry wager by the sacrifice of her happiness and that of her husband. What has she to oppose to all this complication of violence and cunning? Her perfect purity-her entire simplicity -her freedom from everything that is selfish-the strength only of her affections. The scene between Iachimo and Imogen is a contest of innocence with guile, most profoundly affecting, in spite of the few coarsenesses that were perhaps unavoidable, and which were not considered offensive in Shakspere's day. This is the first Act; and, if we mistake not the object of Shakspere, these opening scenes exhibit one of the most confiding and gentle of human beings, assailed on every side by a determination of purpose, whether in the shape of violence, wickedness, or folly, against which, under ordinary circum stances, innocence may be supposed to be an insufficient shield. But the very helplessness of Imogen is her protection. In the exquisite second Scene of the second Act, the perfect purity of Imogen, as interpreted by Shakspere, has converted what would have been a most dangerous situation in the hands of another poet, into one of the most refined delicacy.-The immediate danger is passed; but there is a new danger approaching. The will of her unhappy husband, deceived into madness, is to be added to the evils which she has already received from violence and selfishness. Posthumus, intending to destroy her, writes "Take notice that I am in Cambria at MilfordHaven; what your own love will out of this advise you, follow." She does follow her own love ;-she has no other guide but the strength of her affections; that strength makes her hardy and fearless of consequences. It is the one duty, as well as the one pleasure, of her existence. How is that affection requited? Pisanio places in her hand, when they have reached the deepest solitude of the mountains, that letter by which he is commanded to take away her life. One passing thought of herself-one faint reproach of her husband,-and she submits to the fate which is prepared for her. But her truth and innocence have already subdued the will of the sworn servant of her husband. He comforts her, but he necessarily leaves her in the wilderness. The spells of evil wills are still around her : "My noble mistress, Here is a box, I had it from 'he queen." Perhaps there is nothing in Shakspere more beautifully managed, more touching in its romance,-more essentially true to nature, than the scenes between Imogen and her unknown brothers. The gentleness, the grace, the "grief and patience' of the helpless Fidele, producing at once the deepest reverence and affection in the bold and daring mountaineers, still carry forward the character of Imogen under the same aspects. "The bird is dead;" she was sick, and we almost fear that the words of the dirge are true.-But she awakes, and she has still to endure the last and the worst evil-her husband, in her apprehension, lies dead before her. She has no wrongs to think of "O my lord, my lord," is all, in connection with Posthumus, that escapes amidst her tears. The beauty and innocence which saved her from Iachimo,-which conquered Pisanio,which won the wild hunters,-commend her to the Roman general-she is at once protected. But she has holy duties still to perform. It is the unconquerable affection of Imogen |