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it relates to whatever is most interesting in human life. Whoever therefore has a contempt for poetry, has a contempt for himself and humanity.
2. That the language of poetry is superior to the language of painting; because the strongest of our recollections relate to feelings, not to faces.
3. That the greatest strength of genius is shown in describing the strongest passions : for the power of the imagination, in works of invention, must be in proportion to the force of the natural impressions, which are the subject of them.
4. That the circumstance which balances the pleasure against the pain in tragedy, is, that in proportion to the greatness of the evil, is our sense and desire of the opposite good excited ; and that our sympathy with actual suffering is lost in the strong impulse given to our natural affections, and carried away with the swelling tide of passion, that gushes from and relieves the heart. Sansui to
RICHARD II. is a play little known compared with Richard III., which last is a play that every unfledged candidate for theatrical fame chooses to strut and fret his hour upon the stage in ; yet we confess that we prefer the nature and feeling of the one to the noise and bustle of the other; at least, as we are so often forced to see it acted. In RICHARD II., the weakness of the king leaves us leisure to take a greater interest in the misfor. tunes of the man. After the first act, in which the arbitrariness of his behavior only proves his want of resolution, we see him staggering under the unlooked-for blows of fortune, bewailing his loss of kingly power, not preventing it, sinking under the aspiring genius of Bolingbroke, his authority trampled on, his hopes failing him, and his pride crushed and broken down under insults and injuries, which his own misconduct has provoked, but which he has not courage or manliness to resent. The change of tone and behavior in the two competitors for the throne, ac cording to their change of fortune, from the capricious sentence of banishment passed by Richard upon Bolingbroke, the sup pliant offers and modest pretensions of the latter on his return, to the high and haughty tone with which he accepts Richard's resignation of the crown after the loss of all his power, the use which he makes of the deposed king to grace his triumphal pro gress through the streets of London, and the final intimation of his wish for his death, which immediately finds a servile execu. tioner, is marked throughout with complete effect, and without the slightest appearance of effort. The steps by which Bolingbroke mounts the throne, are those by which Richard sinks into the grave. We feel neither respect nor love for the deposed monarch; for he is as wanting in energy as in principle: but we pity him, for he pities himself. His heart is by no means hardened against himself, but bleeds afresh at every new stroke of mischance; and his sensibility, absorbed in his own person, and unused to misfortune, is not only tenderly alive to its own sufferings, but without the fortitude to bear them. He is, how. ever, human in his distresses; for to feel pain and sorrow, weakness, disappointment, remorse and anguish, is the lot of humanity, and we sympathize with him accordingly. The sufferings of the man make us forget that he ever was a king.
The right assumed by sovereign power to trifle at its will with the happiness of others as a matter of course, or to remit its exercise as a matter of favor, is strikingly shown in the sentence of banishment so unjustly pronounced on Bolingbroke and Mowbray, and in what Boling broke says when four years of his banishment are taken off, with as little reason."
“How long a time lies in one little word!" Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings."
A more affecting image of the loneliness of a state of exile can hardly be given, than by what Bolingbroke afterwards observes of his having “sighed his English breath in foreign clouds;" or than that conveyed in Mowbray's complaint at being banished for life.
“ The language I have learned these forty years,
How very beautiful is all this, and, at the same time, how very English too!
RICHARD II. may be considered as the first of that series of English historical plays, in which is hung armor of the in
vincible knights of old," in which their hearts seem to strike against their coats of mail, where their blood tingles for the fight, and words are but the harbingers of blows. Of this state of accomplished barbarism, the appeal of Boling broke and Mow. bray is an admirable specimen. Another of these “keen encounters of their wits," which serve to whet the talkens' swords, is wbere Aumerle answers in the presence of Bolingbroke to the charge which Bagot brings against him, of being an accessory in Gloster's death.
* FrTzWATER. If that thy valor stand on sympathies,
AUMERLE. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see the day.
Pency. Aumerle, thou liest; bis honor is as true,
AUMENLE. And if I do not, may my hands rot of
Surry. My Lord Fitzwater, I remember well
FIT WATER. My lord, 't is true: you were in presence then :
SURRY. As false, by bearin, as heav'n itself is true
FrTzWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse :
The truth is, that there is neither truth nor honor in all these noble persons: they answer words with words, as they do blows with blows, in mere self-defence: nor have they any principle whatever but that of courage in maintaining any wrong they dar, commit, or any falsehood which they find it useful to assert. How different were these noble knights and “ barons bold” from their more refined descendants in the present day, who, instead of deciding questions of right by brute force, refer everything to convenience, fashion, and good breeding! In point of any abstract love of truth or justice, they are just the same now that they were then.
The characters of old John of Gaunt, and of his brother York, uncles to the King, the one stern and foreboding, the other honest, good-natured, doing all for the best, and therefore doing nothing, are well kept up. The speech of the former, in praise of Eng. land, is one of the most eloquent that ever was penned. We should, perhaps, hardly be disposed to feed the pampered egotism of our countrymen by quoting this description, were it not that the conclusion of it (which looks prophetic) may qualify any improper degree of exultation.
“ This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,