region of the heart;-but there are none more laughter-provoking. The helplessness of Falstaff, without his horse, is in itself a humorous situation; but how doubly rich does the humour become by the contrast of his nimbleness of mind with his heaviness of body. His soliloquies are always rich, but they are especially so in connexion with the odd situations out of which they grow. Here his own sense of the ludicrousness of his position carries off the ill humour which he feels at those who have placed him in it. "Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?" And then how characteristic is his abuse of his tormentors: "An I have not ballads made upon you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison." In the very act of the robbery, Falstaff's habit of laughing at himself is as predominant as when he is making fun for the prince: “Hang ye gorbellied knaves; are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves, young men tnust live." The robbery is complete. "The thieves have bound the true men." The prince and Poins rob the thieves:

"Each takes his fellow for an officer."

The question here arises whether Falstaff, thus discomfited, was meant by Shakspere for a coward. A long essay, and a very able one, has been written to prove that Falstaff was not a coward.* This essay, which was originally published in 1777, is, considering the time at which it appeared, a remarkable specimen of genial criticism upon Shakspere. The author then stood almost alone in the endeavour to understand the poet in his admiration of him. It would be beside our purpose to furnish any analysis of this essay; and indeed this one disputed point of Falstaff's character is made to assume a disproportionate importance by being the subject of an elaborate defence. Mackenzie, in the Lounger, appears to us to have put the point very neatly: "Though I will not go so far as a paradoxical critic has done, and ascribe valour to Falstaff; yet, if his cowardice is fairly examined, it will be found to be not so much a weakness as a principle. In his very cowardice there is much of the sagacity I have remarked in him; he has the sense of danger, but not the discomposure of fear."

The interval between the double robbery and the fun which is to result from it, carries us back to Hotspur. We are admitted to a glimpse of the dangers which begin to surround him; the falling off of friends,-the confidence that rises over difficulties, even to the point of rashness. But we have a new interest in Hotspur. He has a wife,-one of those women that Shakspere only has painted-timid, restless, affectionate, playful, submissive,-a lovely woodbine hanging on the mighty oak. The indifference of Hotspur to every thought but the one dominant idea, is beautifully wrought out in this little scene; and the whole carries on the action unobtrusively, but decidedly: it has the combined beauty of repose and movement. To those who cannot see the connexion of the action, in Hotspur and his wife at Warkworth and the prince and Falstaff at Eastcheap, we would commend M. Paul Duport.

Shakspere has opened to us a secret, in the scene between the prince and the Drawer. "This scene," says Johnson, “helped by the distraction of the Drawer and the grimaces of the prince, may entertain upon the stage, but affords not much delight to the reader. The author has judiciously made it short." The scene, as we apprehend, was introduced by Shakspere to shew the quality of the prince's wit when unsustained by that of Falstaff. The prince goes to this boy-play with the Drawer, "to drive away the time till Falstaff come." With Poins, who is a cold, gentlemanly hanger-on, the prince has no exuberance; he is playful, smart, voluble, but not witty. Falstaff is necessary to him, to call out the higher qualities of his intellect. He fancies that he is laughing at Falstaff; while, in truth, the sagacity, the readiness, the presence of mind, the covert sarcasm, the unrestrained impudence, and the crowning wit of that extraordinary humourist, at once rouse the prince's mind into a state of activity which, in itself, would be pleasurable, but is doubly fascinating in connexion with the self-complacency which tells him that the man who thus stimulates him has a thousand prominent points to be ridiculed, and that the subject of the ridicule will be the first to enjoy the jest. It would be vain for us to attempt any dissection of the great scene which follows. We would, however, observe that, to our minds, "the incomprehensible lies" which Falstaff tells,— the "two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack,”—the "two rogues in buckram suits," the four, the seven, the nine, the eleven,-the "three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green," are lies that are intended to be received as lies,—an incoherent exaggeration for the purpose of drawing out the real

An Essay on the Dramatic Character of Sir John Falstaff. By Maurice Morgann, Esq.

facts. The unconquerable good humour and elation of spirit which Falstaff displays throughout the whole scene, shew as if he had a glimpse or a shrewd suspicion of the truth. But in the midst of the revelry, the "villainous news abroad" penetrates even to the Boar's Head. Yet the fun never stops; and Falstaff is desirous to "play out the play," even when the sheriff is at the door. When the sheriff demands the " gross fat man," whom the "hue and cry hath followed," the prince replies:

"The man, I do assure you, is not here."

Falstaff was behind the arras. We do not go along with Steevens, who says, "Every reader must regret that Shakspere would not give himself the trouble to furnish Prince Henry with some more pardonable excuse; without obliging him to have recourse to an absolute falsehood, and that too uttered under the sanction of so strong an assurance." We do not agree with Steevens, because, in our belief, it was Shakspere's intention to shew that the prince could not come out of these scenes without a moral contamination. The lie was an inevitable consequence of the participation in the robbery. The money might be restored, but the accomplice must be protected.

Is it by accident that we are now to pass from the region of the highest wit, into the region of the highest poetry? Brilliant as the scenes at the Boar's Head are, they leave an unsatisfactory impression upon the moral sense; and they are meant to do so. The character of Falstaff is essentially anti-poetical. It may appear a truism to say this, and yet he has fancy enough for a large component part of a poet. His wit is for the most part a succession of images; but his imagination sees only the ludicrous aspect of things, and thus the images are all of the earth-they cannot go out of our finite nature. Thus it is, that when in company with Falstaff the prince exhibits no one particle of that enthusiasm which goes to form the chivalrous portion of his after character. Up to this point, then, his nature appears essentially less elevated than the natures of his enemies. Hotspur is a being of lofty passions-Glendower one of wild and mysterious imaginations. How singularly are their characters developed in the scenes at Bangor! The solemn credulity of the reputed magician,-the sarcastic unbelief of the impatient warrior,-are equally indications of men in earnest. Harry of Monmouth up to this time has been playing a part. Excellently as he has played it, he was still only the second actor; for Falstaff beats him out and out, through the rich geniality of his temperament. Falstaff at this time approaches much nearer to the earnestness of Glendower, than Harry does to the exaltation of Hotspur. When Falstaff exclaims "Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world," we feel that he is as sincere as when Glendower says,

"I say, the earth did shake when I was born."

But the poetical elevation of the scenes at Bangor is a fit introduction also to the new situation in which we shall see the prince. It is skilfully interposed between the revels at the Boar's Head, and the penitential interview of Henry with his father. The players, discarding this poetical scene, allow us no resting-place between the debauch and the repentance. In the "private conference" between Henry IV. and his son, the character of Bolingbroke is sustained with what we may truly call historical accuracy. The solemn dignity of the offended father, displaying itself in the very structure of the

verse

"I know not whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me: "-

the calm and calculating prudence with which the king runs over the successful passages of his own history the example that he holds up to his son's ambition, of Percy, who

-doth fill fields with harness in the realm:-"

the striking picture of the dangers with which his throne is surrounded- and the final most bitter reproof

"Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?"

all this exhibits the masterly politician, but it does not shew us the deep passion of the father; nor does it hold up to the prince the highest motives for a change of life. The answer of the prince partakes somewhat of his father's policy. He is not moved to any deep and agonizing remorse; he extenuates the offences that are laid to his charge; his ambition, indeed, is roused and he proposes to

"salve the long grown wounds" of his " intemperance" by redeeming "all on Percy's head." The king is more than satisfied. The change of character of the prince was in progress, but not in completion. It was for the old chroniclers to talk of his miraculous conversion; it was for Shakspere to shew the gradations of its course.

The character of Falstaff is developing; but it is not improving. His sensuality puts on a grosser aspect, when he is alone with Bardolph his satellite. We see, too, that if his vocation be not absolutely to " taking purses," his principles do not stand in the way of his success. When the Hostess asks him for money that he owes, he insults her. When the prince tells him he is good friends with his father, "rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou doest," is the inopportune answer. The prince replies not. He is evidently in a more sober vein. Falstaff, however, has “ a charge of foot;" and the alacrity which he shews is quite evidence enough that Shakspere had no intention to make him a constitutional coward. The prince and he are going to the same battle field. They may exchange a passing jest or two, but the ties of intimate connexion between them seem somewhat loosened. The higher portions of the prince's nature are expanding;-the grosser qualities of Falstaff are coming more and more into view. Shakspere seldom attempts to add any thing by the descriptions of others, to the power which his characters have of developing themselves; but in this case it was necessary to present a distinct image to the spectator of the altered Harry of the Boar's Head, before he came himself upon another scene. The description of Vernon ;-

"I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,-
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat

As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horsemanship; "

this fine description is the preparation for the gallant bearing of the prince in the fifth Act.

The historical action of the first Part of Henry IV. is the first insurrection of the Percies, which was put down by the battle of Shrewsbury. These events are the inevitable consequence of the circumstances which attended the deposition of Richard II. Bolingbroke mounted the throne by the treachery of Richard's friends; his partisans were too great to remain merely partisans :

"King Richard might create a perfect guess,

That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness."

The struggles for power which followed the destruction of the legitimate power, have been here painted by Shakspere with that marvellous impartiality of which we have already spoken, in the notice upon Richard II. Our sympathies would be almost wholly with Hotspur and his friends had not the poet raised up a new interest in the chivalrous bearing of Henry of Monmouth, to balance the noble character of the young Percy. The prudence and moderation of the king, accompanied, too, with high courage, still further divide the interest;-and the guilt of Worcester, in falsifying the issue of his mission, completes this division, and carries out the great political purpose of the poet, which was to shew how, if a nation's internal peace be once broken, the prosperity and happiness of millions are put at the mercy of the weakness and the wickedness of the higher agents, who call themselves the interpreters of a nation's voice. Personal fear and personal ambition are, in all such cases, substituted for the public principles upon which the leaders on either side profess to act. Shakspere shews us in these scenes the hollowness of all motives but those which result from high principles or impulses. Rash, proud, ambitious, prodigal of blood, as Hotspur is, we feel that there is not an atom of meanness in his composition,-and that his ambition is even virtue under a system of opinion that makes "the hero" out of those qualities which have inflicted most suffering upon humanity. When he exclaims

"Let them come;

They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them:
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit,
Up to the ears in blood!"-

our spirit is moved “ as with a trumpet." He would carry us away with him, were it not for the milder courage of young Harry-the courage of principle and of mercy.-Frank, liberal, prudent, gentle, but yet brave as Hotspur himself, the prince shews us that, even in his wildest excesses, he has drunk deeply of the fountains of truth and wisdom. The wisdom of the king is that of a cold and subtle politician;-Hotspur seems to stand out from his followers as the haughty feudal lord, too proud to have listened to any teacher but his own will;-but the prince, in casting away the dignity of his station to commune freely with his fellow men, has attained that strength which is above all conventional power; his virtues as well as his frailties belong to our common humanity-the virtues capable, therefore, of the highest elevation,-the frailties not pampered into crimes by the artificial incentives of social position. His challenge to Hotspur exhibits all the attributes of the gentleman as well as the hero-mercy, sincerity, modesty, courage :—

"In both our armies there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,

If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes,-
This present enterprise set off his head,-
I do not think a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
Το
grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;

And so, I hear, he doth account me too:
Yet this before my father's majesty,-

I am content that he shall take the odds

Of his great name and estimation;

And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight."

Could the prince have reached this height amidst the cold formalities of his father's court? We think that Shakspere meant distinctly to shew that Henry of Monmouth, when he “sounded the very basestring of humility," gathered out of his dangerous experience that spirit of sympathy with human actions and motives from which a sovereign is almost necessarily excluded; and thus the prince himself believes that "in everything the purpose must weigh with the folly." In the march from Harfleur to Agincourt, the Henry V. of Shakspere says, "when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom the gentler gamester is the soonest winner." Where did he learn this? Was it in the same school where his brother, John of Lancaster, learnt the cold treachery which the poet and the historian have both exhibited in his conduct to Scroop, and Mowbray, and Hastings? Henry of Monmouth, when he suppose Falstaff dead, drops a tear over him :

"What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!

I could have better spared a better man.

O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were much in love with vanity."

Henry here shews the restraint which he had really put upon himself in his wildest levities;-but he feels as a man the supposed loss of his "old acquaintance:" John of Lancaster, on the other hand, has no frailties, but he has no sympathies. Falstaff hits off his character in a word or two: "a man cannot make him laugh."

Thus far have we shewn the unity of purpose with which Shakspere, in tracing the course of the civil troubles which followed the usurpation of Henry IV., has exhibited the process by which the character of Henry V. was established. The "mad-wag" of Gadshill is the hero of the field of Shrewsbury:

"Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion."

The Percy lies at his feet. He looks upon his adversary dead, with the same gentle and chivalrous spirit as he manifested towards him living :

"Fare thee well, great heart!"

The second Part of this drama is bound up with the first, through the most skilful management of the poet. Each part was, of course, acted as a distinct play in Shakspere's time. In our own day, the second Part is very seldom produced; but when it is, the players destroy the connecting link, by suppressing one of the finest scenes which Shakspere ever wrote-the scene between Northumberland, Lord Bardolph, and Morton, at Warkworth Castle. Colley Cibber, however, wrenched the scene out of its place; and cutting it up into a dozen bits, stuck it here and there throughout his alteration of Richard III. Many false Cremonas are thus manufactured out of one real one; and the musical dupe is contented with the neck, or the sounding-board, of the true fiddle, while the knave who has broken it up has destroyed the one thing which constituted its highest value the perfect adaptation of all its parts. Let this outrage upon Shakspere, however, pass. We live in a time when it cannot be repeated. The connecting scene between the first and Becond Part brings us back to the Northumberland of Richard II. We have scarcely seen him in the first Part of Henry IV.,-but here we are made to feel that the retribution which awaited his treacherous and selfish actions has arrived. He betrayed Richard to Bolingbroke-he insulted the unhappy king in his hour of misery-he incited his son and his brother to revolt from Henry, and then deserted them in their need. We feel, then, that the misery which produces his "strained passion" is a just visitation :

"Now let not Nature's hand

Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

And darkness be the burier of the dead!"

His cold and selfish policy destroyed his son at Shrewsbury, and he endures to be reproached for it by that son's widow :

"The time was, father, that you broke your word,

When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain."

He again yields to his own fears, even more than to the entreaties of his wife and daughter, and once more waits for "time and 'vantage." His eventual fall, therefore, moves no pity; and we feel that the poet properly dismisses him and his fate in three lines :

"The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,

With a great power of English and of Scots,

Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown."

The conspirators against Henry IV., who are now upon the scene, are far less interesting than those of the former part. We have no character that can at all compare with Hotspur, or Glendower, or Douglas. Hastings has, indeed, the rashness of Hotspur, but without his fire and brilliancy; the Archbishop is dignified and sententious; Lord Bardolph sensible and prudent. Neither the characters nor the incidents afford any scope for the highest poetry. The finest thing in the scenes where the conspirators appear, is the speech of the Archbishop :

"An habitation giddy and unsure

Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart."

:

To the conspirators are opposed John of Lancaster and Westmoreland. In the scene where these leaders (fitting representatives, indeed, of the cruel and treacherous times which we call the days of chivalry) tempt Hastings, and Mowbray, and the Archbishop, to disband their forces, and then arrest them for treason, Shakspere has contrived to make us hate the act and the actors with an intensity