fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,"-which produces the effect of mere physical terror. Instead of "the flower that is softly shed on the earth, yet putting forth undying odours," we have the rank and loathsome weeds of the charnel-house. It is some praise to our age that any new attempts to “ improve" Shakspere would not be tolerated. It is a higher praise that the endeavour to revive upon the stage what the greatest master of the dramatic art really wrote has, in some few instances, received adequate encouragement. But we have yet a great deal to learn, and a great deal to unlearn, before the principle upon which 'Romeo and Juliet' was written would be thoroughly appreciated by an audience. With the millions that read Shakspere throughout the civilized world there is no difficulty.

Coleridge has described the homogeneousness-the totality of interest—which is the great characteristic of this play, by one of those beautiful analogies which could only proceed from the pen of a true poet :

"Whence arises the harmony that strikes us in the wildest natural landscapes,-in the relative shapes of rocks, the harmony of colours in the heaths, ferns, and lichens, the leaves of the beech and the oak, the stems and rich brown branches of the birch and other mountain-trees, varying from verging autumn to returning spring, -compared with the visual effect from the greater number of artificial plantations?-From this, that the natural landscape is effected, as it were, by a single energy modified ab intra in each component part. And as this is the particular excellence of the Shaksperean drama generally, so is it especially characteristic of the 'Romeo and Juliet.'" +

6

Schlegel carried out the proofs of this assertion in an Essay on Romeo and Juliet ;'‡ in which, to use his own words, he “went through the whole of the scenes in their order, and demonstrated the inward necessity of each with reference to the whole; showed why such a particular circle of characters and relations was placed around the two lovers; explained the signification of the mirth here and there scattered; and justified the use of the occasional heightening given to the poetical colours."§ Schlegel wisely did this to exhibit what is more remarkable in Shakspere than in any other poet," the thorough formation of a work, even in its minutest part, according to a leading idea-the dominion of the animating spirit

* Retrospective Review.

Charakteristiken und Kritiken.

Literary Remains, vol. ii., p. 150.

§ Lectures, vol. ii., p. 127.

The general criticism of

over all the means of execution." * Schlegel upon 'Romeo and Juliet' is based upon a perfect comprehension of this great principle upon which Shakspere worked. Schlegel, we apprehend, succeeded Coleridge in giving a genial tone to criticism upon Shakspere-for Coleridge first lectured on the drama in 1802, and Schlegel in 1808; and Schlegel may also have owed something indirectly to Coleridge,—to that master-mind who filled other minds as if they were conduits from his exhaustless fountain. But he in himself is a most acute and profound critic; and what he has done to make Shakspere properly known, even in this country, where our perception of his greatness had long been obscured amidst the deep gloom of the critical fog that had hung over us for more than a century, ought never to be forgotten. The following is the close of a celebrated passage from Schlegel, upon 'Romeo and Juliet,' which has often been quoted ;—but it is altogether so true and so beautiful, that we cannot resist the pleasure of circulating it still more widely:—

"Whatever is most intoxicating in the odour of a southern spring, languishing in the song of the nightingale, or voluptuous on the first opening of the rose, is breathed into this poem. But, even more rapidly than the earliest blossoms of youth and beauty decay, it hurries on from the first timidly-bold declaration of love and modest return, to the most unlimited passion, to an irrevocable union; then, amidst alternating storms of rapture and despair, to the death of the two lovers, who still appear enviable, as their love survives them, and as by their death they have obtained a triumph over every separating power. The sweetest and the bitterest, love and hatred, festivity and dark forebodings, tender embraces and sepulchres, the fulness of life and self-annihilation, are all here brought close to each other; and all these contrasts are so blended in the harmonious and wonderful work into a unity of impression, that the echo which the whole leaves behind in the mind resembles a single but endless sigh." +

In selecting these passages to establish in the minds of our readers the great principle of the unity of feeling which so thoroughly pervades the 'Romeo and Juliet,' and which constitutes the "particular excellence of the Shaksperean drama," we have indirectly furnished the proof of the assertion with which we set out, that the tragical part of the story, from the first scene to the last, is held in subjection to the beautiful. The structure of the play essentially required this.-Coleridge has said that "Shakspeare meant the Ro+ Ibid., p. 186.

*Lectures, vol. ii., p. 153.

meo and Juliet' to approach to a poem;" but, of course, Coleridge meant a poem entirely modified by the dramatic power. We shall venture to trespass upon the attention of our readers, whilst we examine the conduct of the story and the development of the characters under this aspect. When we have arrived at a due conception of the principle of art on which this drama was constructed— that of sublimating all that is literal and common in human actions and human thoughts, by the force of passion and imagination, throwing their rich colours upon the chief actors, and colouring, upon an indispensable law of harmony, all the groups around them —we shall reject, as utterly unworthy, all that miscalled criticism which takes its stand upon a material foundation, and, dealing with high poetry as if it were a thing of demonstrations and syllogisms, tells us that Shakspere's comic scenes are here "happily wrought, but his pathetic strains are always polluted with some unexpected depravations. His persons, however distressed, have a conceit left them in their misery, a miserable conceit."*

The first scenes of nearly every play of Shakspere are remarkable for the skill with which they prepare the mind for all the after scenes. We do not see the succession of scenes; the catastrophe is unrevealed. But we look into a dim and distant prospect, and by what is in the foreground we can form a general notion of the landscape that will be presented to us, as the clouds roll away, and the sun lights up its wild mountains or its fertile valleys. When Sampson and Gregory enter "armed with swords and bucklers"—when we hear, "a dog of the house of Montague moves me”—we know that these are not common servants, and live not in common times: with them the excitement of party-spirit does not rise into strong passion,-it presents its ludicrous side. They quarrel like angry curs, who snarl, yet are afraid to bite. But the "furious Tybalt' in a moment shows us that these hasty quarrels cannot have peaceful endings. The strong arm of authority suspends the affray; but the spirit of enmity is not put down. The movement of this scene is as rapid as the quarrel itself. It produces the effect upon the mind of something which startles—almost terrifies; which passes away into repose, but which leaves an ineffaceable impression upon the senses. The calm immediately succeeds. Benvolio's speech,

at once shows us that we are entering into the region of high poetry.

* Johnson's concluding Remarks on Romeo and Juliet.'

Coleridge remarks that the succeeding speech of old Montague exhibits the poetical aspect of the play even more strikingly :

66

Many a morning hath he there been seen,

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew."

It is remarkable that the speech thus commencing, which contains twenty lines as highly wrought as anything in Shakspere, is not in the first copy of this play. The experience of the artist taught him where to lay on the poetical colouring brighter and brighter. How beautifully these lines prepare us for the appearance of Romeo-the now musing, abstracted Romeo-the Romeo, who, like the lover of Chaucer,

66 Solitary was ever alone,

And waking all the night, making moan."

The love of Romeo was unrequited love. It was a sentiment rather than a passion—a love which displayed itself "in the numbers that Petrarch flowed in"'—a love that solaced itself in antithetical conceits upon its own misery, and would draw consolation from melancholy associations. It was the love without the "true Promethean fire." But it was the fit preparation for what was to follow. The dialogue between Capulet and Paris prepares us for Juliet-the "hopeful lady of his earth," who

"Hath not seen the change of fourteen years."

The old man does not think her "ripe to be a bride;" but we are immediately reminded of the precocity of nature under a southern sun, by another magical touch of poetry, which tells us of youth and freshness of summer in "April”—of "fresh female buds" breathing the fragrance of opening flowers. Juliet at length comes. We see the submissive and gentle girl; but the garrulity of the Nurse carries us back even to the

"Prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd."

Neither Juliet nor Romeo had rightly read their own hearts. He was sighing for a shadow-she fancied that she could subject her feelings to the will of others :

"I'll look to like, if looking liking move;

But no more deep will I endart mine eye,

Than your consent gives strength to make it fly."

、

The preparation for their first interview goes forward: Benvolio has persuaded Romeo to go to Capulet's feast. There is a slight pause in the action, but how gracefully is it filled up! Mercutio comes upon the scene. Coleridge has described him as "that exquisite ebullience and overflow of youthful life, wafted on over the laughing waves of pleasure and prosperity, as a wanton beauty that

VOL. VII.

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distorts the face on which she knows her lover is gazing enraptured, and wrinkles her forehead in the triumph of its smoothness! Wit ever wakeful, fancy busy and procreative as an insect, courage, an easy mind that, without cares of its own, is at once disposed to laugh away those of others, and yet to be interested in them, these and all other congenial qualities, melting into the common copula of them all, the man of rank and the gentleman, with all its excellences and all its weaknesses, constitute the character of Mercutio!"* Is this praise of Mercutio overcharged? We think not, looking at him dramatically. He is placed by the side of Romeo, to contrast with him, but also to harmonize. The poetry of Mercutio is that of fancy :—the poetry of Romeo is that of imagination. The wit of Mercutio is the overflow of animal spirits, occasionally polluted, like a spring pure from the well-head, by the soil over which it passes:- -the wit of Romeo is somewhat artificial, and scarcely self-sustained ;—it is the unaccustomed play of the intellect when the passions "have come to the clenching point,”—but it is under control-it has no exuberance which, like the wit of Mercutio, admits the colouring of the sensual and the sarcastic. The courage of Mercutio is, in the same way, the courage of high animal spirits, fearless of consequences, and laughing even when it has paid the penalty of its rashness—" Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man." The courage of Romeo is reflective and forbearing,—

"I do protest, I never injur'd thee."

But when his friend has fallen, his "newly entertained revenge" casts off all control:

"Away to heaven respective lenity!"

Then, again, how finely the calm, benevolent good sense of Benvolio blends with these opposites!

But the masquerade waits. We have here the realization of youth and freshness which Capulet promised to Paris; but at the moment when we see "the guests and the maskers" we have a touch, in the expression of the old man's natural feelings, which tells us how perishable these things are:-

"I have seen the day,

That I have worn a visor; and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please ;-'t is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone!"

But Juliet appears, and we think not of decay.

66

We forget that

one generation pushes another off the stage." The very first

* Literary Remains, vol. ii.