to the circumstances in which it is placed: that perfect command over her own feelings, that complete self-possession necessary to this extraordinary situation, is consistent with all that we imagine of Hermione; in any other woman it would be so incredible as to shock all our ideas of probability." The same critics who found fault with Hermione for her obstinate and sullen seclusion of sixteen years, have found a stumblingblock in the Living Statue. The scene is extravagant, absurd, unnatural, incredible; and so it is to critics without feeling, passion, fancy, imagination, to all of which that wondrous scene appeals, and over all of which it triumphs. The delusion is like reality, and the reality like delusion, and in delight they both are dreadful. The sixteen years are swallowed up in that one moment. Never was the passion of joy so tragic. Had Leontes been a nobler being, it had proved mortal. But our words are tame-here are paragraphs poured forth in true inspiration. "This scene, then, is not only one ofthe most picturesque and striking instances of stage effect to be found in the ancient or modern drama, but, by the skilful manner in which it is prepared, it has, wonderful as it appears, all the merit of consistency and truth. The grief, the love, the remorse, and impatience of Leontes, are finely contrasted with the astonishment and admiration of Perdita, who, gazing on the figure of her mother like one entranced, looks as if she were also turned to marble. There is here one little instance of tender remembrance in Leontes, which adds to the charming impression of Her mione's character. 'Chide me, dear stone! that I may say indeed Thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!" The effect produced on the different persons of the drama by this living statueand effect which at the same moment is, and is not illusion-the manner in which the feelings of the spectators become entangled between the conviction of death and the impression of life, the idea of a deception and the feeling of a reality, and the exquisite colouring of poetry and touches of natural feeling with which the whole is wrought up,-till wonder, expectation, and intense pleasure, hold our pulse and VOL. XXXIII. NO. CCIII. And by Polixenes, The very life seems warm upon her lip,' appear strangely applied to a statue, such as we usually imagine it-of the cold colourless marble; but it is evident that in this scene Hermione personates one of those images or effigies, such as we may the stone, or marble, was coloured after see in the old gothic cathedrals, in which nature. upon one of these effigies, either at Basle I remember coming suddenly or at Fribourg, which made me start: the figure was large as life; the drapery of crimson, powdered with stars of gold; the face, and eyes, and hair tinted after the life, though faded by time; it stood in a gothic niche, over a tomb, as I think, and in a kind of dim uncertain light. It would have been very easy for a living person to represent such an effigy, particularly if it had been painted by that 'rare Italian master, Julio Romano,' who, as we are informed, was the reputed author of this wonderful statue. "The moment when Hermione descends from her pedestal to the sound of soft music, and throws herself without speaking into her husband's arms, is one of inexpressible interest. It appears to me that her silence during the whole of this scene (except where she invokes a blessing on her daughter's head) is in the finest taste as a poetical beauty, besides being an admirable trait of character. The misfortunes of Hermione, her long religious seclusion, the wonderful and almost supernatural part she had just enacted, have invested her with such a sacred and awful charm, that any words put into her mouth, must, I think, have injured the solemn and profound pathos of the situation. "There are several among Shakspeare's characters which exercise a far stronger power over our feelings, our fancy, our understanding, than that of Hermione; but not one,-unless perhaps Cordelia, constructed upon so high and pure a principle. It is the union of gentleness with power which constitutes the perfection of mental grace. Thus, among the ancients, with whom the graces were also the charities, one and the same word signified equally strength and virtue. This feeling, carried into the fine arts, was the secret of the antique grace-the grace of repose. The I same eternal nature-the same sense of immutable truth and beauty, which revealed this sublime principle of art to the ancient Greeks, revealed it to the genius of Shakspeare; and the character of Hermione, in which we have the same largeness of conception and delicacy of execution, the same effect of suffering without passion, and grandeur without effort, is an instance, I think, that he felt within himself, and by intuition, what we study all our lives in the remains of ancient art. The calm, regular, classical beauty of Hermione's character is the more impressive from the wild and gothic accompaniments of her story, and the beautiful relief afforded by the pastoral and romantic grace which is thrown around her daughter Perdita." had fallen upon her unawares.' Thus Belphoebe, in the Fairy Queen, issues from the flowering forest with hair and garments all besprinkled with the leaves and blossoms they had entangled in her flight; and so arrayed by chance and heedless hap,' takes all parts with 'stately presence and with princely port,' most like to Perdita." The character of Paulina is well understood by our fair critic, who, in several places, speaks of the use Shakspeare delighted so powerfully to make of the great principle of eontrast. She observes, that it is admirable how Hermione and Paulina, while sufficiently approximated to afford all the pleasure of contrast, are never brought too nearly in contact on the scene or in the dialogue. Only in the last scene, when, with solemnity befitting the occasion, Paulina wishes the majestic figure to "descend, and be stone no more," and where she presents her daughter to her, "Turn, good lady! our Perdita is found." To have done otherwise, she remarks, would have been a fault in taste, and would have necessarily weakened the effect of both characters-either the serene grandeur of Hermione would have sub dued and overawed the fiery spirit of Paulina, or the impetuous temper of the latter must have disturbed in some respect our impression of the calm, majestic, and somewhat melancholy beauty of Hermione. Of Perdita, Mrs Jameson speaks in another part of her work, under the class of "Characters of Passion and Imagination;" but we cannot resist the temptation of introducing here some of her fine sentences concerning that incomparable “ union of the pastoral and romantic with the classical and poetical, as if a Dryad of the woods had turned shepherdess. The perfections with which the poet has so lavishly endowed her, sit upon her with a certain careless and picturesque grace, as though they 6 'Tis surely the loveliest pastoral poem in the world, this of Florizel and Perdita. All unknown to Hermione, in her sad seclusion, has her lost child been leading a life of beautiful innocence and happiness; and the princely son of the man whom her infatuated husband had suspected her of loving too well, has woo'd and won the royal shepherdess. There is something infinitely delightful in such an alliance, that finally heals and restores, and brings all disturbances within the dominion of reconciliation and peace. "The qualities which impart to Perdita her distinct individuality, are the beautiful combination of the pastoral with the elegant-of simplicity with elevation -of spirit with sweetness. The exquisite delicacy of the picture is apparent. To understand and appreciate its effective truth and nature, we should place Perdita beside some of the nymphs of Arcadia, or of the Italian pastorals, who, however graceful in themselves, when opposed to Perdita, seem to melt away into mere poetical abstractions: As, in Spenser, the fair but fictitious Florimel, which the subtle enchantress had moulded out of snow, ' vermeil tinctured,' and informed with an airy spirit, that knew all wiles of woman's wits,' fades and dissolves away, when placed next to the real Florimel, in her warm, breathing, human, loveliness. "Perdita does not appear till the fourth act, and the whole of the charac ter is developed in the course of a single scene, (the third,) with a completeness of effect which leaves nothing to be re quired-nothing to be supplied. She is first introduced in the dialogue between herself and Florizel, where she compares her own lowly state to his princely rank, and expresses her fears of the issue of their unequal attachment. With all ber timidity, and her sense of the distance which separates her from her lover, she breathes not a single word which could lead us to impugn either her delicacy or her dignity." The impression of her perfect beauty and airy elegance of demeanour -the artless manner in which her innate nobility of soul shines forth through her partial disguise-her natural loftiness of spirit, breaking out when she is menaced and reviled by the king, as one whom his son has degraded himself by merely looking on-the immediate recollection of herself, and of her humble state; and her hapless love, so full of beauty, tenderness, and naturethat sense of truth and rectitude, that upright simplicity of mind which disdains all crooked and indirect means, and would not stoop for an instant to dissemblance, while it is mingled with a noble confidence in her love, and in her lover-to all these delightful traits and touches our attention is turned with the finest perception of the natural and poetical, in the accompanying extracts, which breathe of beauty like the groves in spring. "This love of truth, this conscientiousness, which forms so distinct a feature in the character of Perdita, and mingles with its picturesque delicacy a certain firmness and dignity, is maintained consistently to the last. When the two lovers fly together from Bohemia, and take refuge in the court of Leontes, the real father of Perdita, Florizel, presents himself before the king with a feigned tale, in which he has been artfully instructed by the old counsellor Camillo. During this scene, Perdita does not utter a word. In the strait in which they are placed, she cannot deny the story which Florizel relates; she will not confirm it. Her silence, in spite of all the compliments and greetings of Leontes, has a peculiar and characteristic grace; and at the conclusion of the scene, when they are betrayed, the truth bursts from her as if instinctively, and she exclaims with emotion, The heavens set spies upon us-will not have Our contract celebrated.' "After this scene Perdita says very little. The description of her grief, while listening to the relation of her mother's death, and of her deportment as she stands gazing on the statue of Hermione, fixed in wonder, admiration, and sorrow, as if she too were marble · O royal piece! There's magic in thy majesty, which has From thy admiring daughter ta'en the spirits, Standing like stone beside thee!' are touches of character conveyed indirectly, and which serve to give a more finished effect to this beautiful picture.” of sorrow restored to life and light, From Hermione, after many years turn we to Desdemona, after a few months' bliss delivered into the darkthat can render sorrow majestic is "All ness of death and the grave. gathered around Hermione all that can render misery heart-breaking is assembled round Desdemona! The wronged but self-sustained virtue of Hermione commands our veneration; the injured and defenceless innocence of Desdemona so wrings the soul,' that all for pity we could die!"" Wordsworth's fine line is familiar to all ears. 66 "The gentle lady married to the Moor." Yet Desdemona displays at times, 66 a transient quoth our fair critic, energy, arising from the power of affection; but gentleness gives the prevailing tone to the character. So thought Othello. "Then of so gentle a condition!" Iago. Aye, too gentle." Poison presented in a flower! Yet gentle as she is to excess-to passiveness-to non-resistance-it is here truly said, that to us who perceive her character as a whole, the extreme gentleness is portrayed with such exceeding refinement, that the effect never approaches to feebleness. If it ever do, Oh, Heavens! think on the face of the Moor when madden'd! Desdemona says, that when he rolled his eyes, he was "fatal then;" so it would seem that she had seen him in fits before he thought of smothering her with pillow and bolster. Once only in her whole life had she ever prevaricated; about the handkerchief, when Othello said, "there's magic in the web of it." Nor do we remember to have heard the remark Mrs Jamieson makes on that prevarication:-"Desdemona, whose soft credulity, whose turn for the marvellous, whose susceptible imagination had first directed her thoughts and affections to Othello, is precisely the woman to be frightened out of her senses by such a tale as this, and betrayed by her fears into a momentary tergiversation. It is most natural in such a being, and shows us that even in the sweetest Good friend, go to him-for by this light of heaven I know not how I lost him : here I kneel:- Or that I do not yet, and ever did, So completely did Shakspeare enter into the angelic refinement of the character. "Endued with that temper which is the origin of superstition in love as in religion, which, in fact, makes love itself a religion,-she not only does not utter an upbraiding, but nothing that Othello does or says, no outrage, no injustice can tear away the charm with which her imagination had invested him, or impair her faith in his honour; Would you had never seen him!' exclaims Emilia. "And there is one stroke of consummate delicacy, surprising, when we remember the latitude of expression prevailing in Shakspeare's time, and which he allowed to his other women generally she says, on recovering from her stupefaction Des. So would not I!-my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks and frowns, Have grace and favour in them." " The character is felt rightly by this her most eloquent eulogist of her virtues-to be vitally the same as that of Miranda. Throughout the whole of the dialogue appropriated to Desdemona, there is not, it is hinted, one general observation. Words are with her the vehicle of sentiment, and never of reflection; just as they always are with the Lady of the Enchanted Isle, and with no other of Shakspeare's female characters of any importance or interest-not even Ophelia. "Desdemona, as a character, comes nearest to Miranda, both in herself as a woman, and in the perfect simplicity and unity of the delineation; the figures are differently draped-the proportions are the same. There is the same modesty, tenderness, and grace; the same artless devotion in the affections, the same predisposition to wonder, to pity, to admire ; the same almost etherial refinement and delicacy; but all is pure poetic nature within Miranda and around her: Desdemona is more associated with the palpable realities of every-day existence, and we see the forms and habits of society tinting her language and deportment: no two beings can be more alike in character-nor more distinct as individuals.' Othello, beyond all doubt, was a blackamoor. "To spells and mixtures powerful o'er the blood," her farther simply imputed Desdemona's love, and lago, with devilish malignity, to another cause, "aye there's the point." But Shakspeare knew better-and saw how it was beguiled into her bosom by "disparity of age, character, country, complexion." We who are admitted into the se Am I that name, Iago? Des. That, which she says my lord did say I cret, says Mrs Jameson; see her was. love rise naturally and necessarily out of the leading propensities of her nature. "At the period of the story a spirit of wild adventure had seized all Europe. The discovery of both Indies was yet recent; over the shores of the western hemisphere still fable and mystery hung, with all their dim enchantments, visionary terrors, and golden promises; perilous expeditions and distant voyages were every day undertaken from hope of plunder, or mere love of enterprise; and from these the adventurers returned with tales of Antres vast and desarts wild-of cannibals that did each other eat-of Anthropophagi, and men whose heads did grow beneath their shoulders.' With just such stories did Raleigh and Clifford, and their followers, return from the New World and thus by their splendid or fearful exaggerations, which the imperfect knowledge of those times could not refute, was the passion for the romantic and • marvellous nourished at home, particu- What was a general feature of his time, And to his honours and his valiant parts "The confession and the excuse for lo, and in her absence. The last two effect-lies in the character of Desdemona. No woman differently constituted could have excited the same intense and painful compassion, without losing something of that exalted charm, which invests her from beginning to end, which we are apt to impute to the interest of situation, and to the poetical colouring, but which lies, in fact, in the very essence of the character. Desdemona, with all her timid flexibility and soft acquiescence, is not weak; for the negative alone is weak, and the mere presence of goodness and affection implies in itself a species of power;-power without consciousness, power without effort, power with repose that soul of grace!" "I will only add, that the source of the pathos throughout-of that pathos which at once softens and deepens the tragic You have seen a large lustrous star, shining so resplendently that many other fair lights were around none but itself was regarded, although their queen, when all at once a long deep line of clouds, that had arisen, you knew not whence, before some strong gust in the upper region, has wholly hidden it, and brought darkness over all the heavens. Dim hours glimmer by, and, lo! again the same luminary, less bright but not less beauteous, is burning in the zenith. Such a star was Hermione. You have seen a milder, a meeker orbdewy in its first rising-and ere long struggling in its "innocent brightness," through melancholy mists, till strangled by a savage tempest. An image of Desdemona! And when the cloud-rack is driving fast, yet glimpses of blue sky are interspersed peacefully among the shifting congregation of vapours, ever and anon an Urn of Light reappears and retires, now with a mournful and now almost with a joyful beauty, in its lonely pilgrimage along the wooded ridges of the mountains. Imogen! Of those Three Ladies, which is the loveliest and the best? "Of all Shakspeare's women, considered as individuals rather than as heroines, Imogen is the most perfect. There is no female portrait that can be compared to Imogen as a womannone in which so great a variety of tints are mingled together in such She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them'comprise whole volumes of sentiment and perfect harmony. In her we have metaphysics." all the fervour of youthful tenderness, all the romance of youthful beauty, all the enchantment of ideal grace,-the bloom of beauty, the brightness of intellect, and the dig |