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picture makes a good enough Christmas card, but it is not Shakespeare. . . . The wretches who inhabit the purliens of the city are live men, pleasant to Shakespeare. . . . Pompey, the irrelevant, talkative clown, half a wit and half a dunce, is one of those humble, cheerful beings willing to help in anything that is going forward, who are the mainstay of human affairs. . . . Even Luciii has his uses; nor is it very plain that in his conversations with the Duke he forfeits Shakespeare's sympathy. . . . Lastly, to omit none of the figures who make up the background, Mistress Overdone pays a strict attention to business, and is carried to prison in due course of law.
One rubs one's eyes. Every one is perfectly familiar with the "tolerance" here described in some dramatists of our own generation; but we had thought it a new discovery. And we are not convinced that it is not . Has Mr. Raleigh forgotten that his "black pit of seething wickedness" is the Duke's own description of Vienna? Has he forgotten the way in which the dramatist manifests his "sympathy" for Lucio at the end of the play? We agree that Shakespeare makes Pompey amusing, as he does Trinculo and Stephano; but his "impartiality" is oddly displayed in degrading the one to be hangman and letting Prospero's dogs loose on the others. We cannot think, then, that Mr. Raleigh has established his muin position.
incidentally, too, there are not a few criticisms which seem too little considered, as though Mr. Raleigh had written in haste, and had not kept his book long enough by him. The inconsistencies inevitable in such an impressionist mode of working might be drawn out into a long list, and they might with advantage bo reduced in a new edition. The discussion on the differences between Tragedy and Comedy is not adequate to the importance of the subject. We are told that "the crude test of life and death gives no
easy criterion." because in The Winter's Tule Mamillins dies of grief and fear. But no serious person ever proposed so crude a test as the death of a single character in a play. The test proposed is the death of the hero. Romeo ami Juliet has always been reckoned a tragedy and Measure for Measure a comedy for this reason. The spectator has a right to know beforehand in what key the play is set and to what depth his feelings are to be moved. Again, is it just to say that "there is not a particle of evidence to show that Shakespeare held any views on the theory of the drama, or that the question was u live one in his mind"? Could there be stronger evidence that he had a theory of tragedy than the fact that his tragedy differs fundamentally from that of his contemporaries, and was never, at any rate after Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy of circumstance but always a tragedy of character? it might even be pleaded that when a friend of Ben Jonson goes so far as to quote Aristotle's "Politics," he may be presumed to have heard of the "Poetics." Again, to say that a profound sense of fate underlies all Shakespeare's tragedies is to use the word "fate" in a different sense from that which it usually bears. The very distinction of the Shakespearian drama is that the fate is, to the largest possible extent, the product of personality; as Mr. Raleigh admits in another place, when speaking of the witches in Macbeth.
But it is time to point out some of Mr. Raleigh's felicities. One of the very best things in the book is the passage upon Shakespeare's "surprises."
it is impossible to say when he will suddenly put forth his vital power and take away the breath of his readers by some astonishing piece of insight which defeats all expectation. He is most natural when he upsets all rational forecasts. We are accustomed to anticipate how others will behave In the matters that most nearly concern us; we seem to know what we shall say to them and to be able to forecast what they will say In answer. We are accustomed, too, to And that our anticipation is wrong. So it is in Shakespeare. His surprises have the same convincing quality; the word once said Is known to have been inevitable.
The illustrations given are Cleopatra's speech to her attendants when Cajsar has left her; Desdemona's dialogue with Emilia when she realizes Othello's suspicion; Macbeth's reply to the messenger who brings him news of the Queen's death, and Othello's speech In the bed-chamber when he looks at the sleeping wife he has come to kill. Again, the chapter on the Theatre Is one of the best. The analysis of the stage effects in the second act of Julius Cwsar Is masterly, and the plea for the boy-actors is one of the most original things ia the book.
It may be doubted whether Shakespeare has not suffered more than
he has gained by the genius of latterday actresses, who bring into the plays a realism and a robust emotion which sometimes obscure the sheer poetic value of the author's conception. The boys were no doubt very highly trained and amenable to Instruction; so that the parts of Rosalind and Desdemona may well have been rendered with a clarity and simplicity which served as a transparent medium for the author's wit and pathos. Poetry, like religion, is outraged when it is made a platform for the exhibition of their own talent and passion by those who are its ministers. With the disappearance of the boy players the poetic drama died in England, and It has had no second life.
It would not be possible in a review to follow Mr. Raleigh in his appraisement of the great Shakespearlau personages. Often we agree, as often we dissent: but the charm of all his criticism Is that it is fresh from the spring, and much more exhilarating than what has been over carefully distilled in the laboratory.
THE SOUL OF THE BLACK.
Next week Mr. Sydney Olivier leaves for the Governorship of Jamaica, and the hopes and best wishes of the country go with him. It is no disparagement to the high standard maintained by our Colonial, Foreign, and Indian Offices to say that the appointment is of special Interest, and has been received with unusual satisfaction. There are many reasons for this, both personal and administrative. Mr. Olivier has shown that It is possible for u hard-working and trusted official In one of our rather rigid public services to follow a distinct line and keep a distinct personality, holding courageously to convictions however unpopular, and continuing to serve the State
with confidence that right reason will in the end prevail. His previous work in Jamaica as Vice-Governor has also disproved the common British fallacy that a man of high intellectual and imaginative power bungles the practical affairs of government. But we wish now to dwell only on one aspect of the appointment. In Jamaica Mr. Olivier will be face to face with one of the greatest problems before the world, and he is among the very few who not only realize its difficulty, but confront it with hope.
That problem arises from the leavings of slavery; it is the fatal inheritance bequeathed from the union of callousness with greed. In his recent
book upon "White Capital and Colored Labor," Mr. Olivier himself says: "On the countries where the white man has, with whatever philanthropic excuse or pretext, enslaved or used the black for his own economic profit, a curse still rests. They are sad lands. The harvest has been reaped and carried; the fortunes are spent; the Industrial system has perished." Jamaica Is one of those sad lands. The whites number barely 15,000; a halfbred stock of about 50,000 mulattoes serve as clerks, artisans, teachers, and even clergy; but outnumbering both these classes put together by about ten to one stands the solid black mass of 600,000 negroes, the descendants of the slaves our fathers Imported from Africa by a lucrative and atrocious trade. There they remain, at first sight as hopeless as one of the mangrove swamps of their ancient home, where vast tree-trunks rising from the slime towards the distant sunlight rot as they grow and fall suddenly, crashing through silence, to sink again into slime among the stench and colorless creatures of the ooze. Earthquake and the ruin of the old sugar industry are bad enough; with them, too, the Governor will have to deal. But the after-growth of slavery Is the great question before him in Jamaica, as it would be In the Southern States or in any country which slavery has touched. That is "the White Mans Burden"—a burden which the white man himself has laid upon the land— and now he finds, to his indignation, that it is not the black man only who has to take it up.
The old solutions no longer satisfy; they are no longer possible. For centuries the cultured races believed quite simply in "slaves by nature," and found the belief convenient When Christ's teaching of equality before God made this belief untenable, slavery was defended for centuries more
as an opportunity for baptism and an open gate by which black souls might enter the fold. That belief was also convenient, and still prevails In the clerical circles of Johannesburg. Then came Carlyle's "poor Quashee, with face deep in pumpkin squash," and an eternal right to be emancipated from idleness. The obvious advantages of forced labor still keep the "poor Quashee" theory alive In various forms. We have seen it quite lately In the proposals for labor conscription and for a taxation that will drive the Kaffirs to the mines In the interests of their own moral redemption. But it is all no good. The latest refinement In excuses is seen to be Inferior to the old Greek plea of "slave by nature." All such justifications betray the furtive greed lurking hardly concealed. Invoking an obvious hypocrisy, they perish of their own cant. In the best English or the negro's kinsmen upon the West Coast, "them live for die."
If we rule out the pretences of philanthropy and religion, one of two courses only remains open: either we must boldly go back to the assertion that the black races are fit for nothing but slavery, and we intend to use them for the production of white man's wealth whether they are fit or not— an assertion which Is growing more and more common In Africa and the Southern States; or else we must resolutely confront the question of race in all its aspects—legal equality, social behavior, possible inter-marriage. If we determine to abandon slavery in reality, as all civilized people have abandoned It In name, we must learn to understand race. But race is a hard thing to understand, and the African race one of the hardest. It is almost impossible to enter into the soul of another race, to see It lying as a constant quality beneath all the Innumerable variations of men and women, and to realize in what aspect it regards the world aud ourselves. Even the members of the race are probably unconscious of their own racial spirit, nor could they define its character. it is a secret possession, an unknown heritage from the passions and affections and beliefs of incalculable lovers for many generations.
The understanding between race and race is as a rule little more intimate than the passing of a liner within sight of the African coast. She moves like a meteor, sparkling with electric light. in the saloon the passengers enjoy their seventh daily meal. On deck a band plays for the fancy-dress ball. Peering out over the dark waters to the thin, black iiue of swamp and forest beyond, a man may say: "Do you smell the Coast?" and then they dance again. But upon that black line and amidst that dump and vegetable smell, the dim broods of men and women are going their usual way. They, too, have their dances, and hearts which "live in the throat" throb to the drum all night. They, too. have their meals. They are slowly killing something, shouting with laughter to see it writhe. They are making charms of man's eyes, and pouring blood into bowls that the spirits may want no blood of living men. Outside the village gate, under a cluster of sticks hung with animal skulls, they are sprinkling meal that the spirits may not cross the palisade. They are tying up a kid for the leopard into whom a well-known villager's soul passos from time to time. The mothers are painting their young in stripes of red and black. The old men are chipping the teeth of grown boys into gaps and points. All round them flit disembodied forms, invisible but dire— spirits of the elements, of disease, of the chase, and of the dead. Amid affection and terror and laughter and toll, the black swarms of forest aud creek go upon their way. aud if the
dancers from the liner landed and questioned them, the dark and seal-like eyes would assume their look of unfathomable silence, and the film which covered them grow impenetrable as a wall.
That is the relation of race to race. in the case of the black races, there are few who get nearer them; there are few who try. Most are content with maintaining race hatred, refusing to live in the same hotel, or to serve in the same office, or travel in the same car, or do the same work. it is a counsel of despair, emphasizing inequality, goading to defiant ill-manners, and suggesting the crimes that lead to lynching. But five years of observant experience among Jamaican negroes have shown Mr. Olivier that there is another way. The soul of the race grew long ago among these dark and mysterious coasts on which the passing liners look. into that soul have entered the vivid imaginings, the fluid consciousness, the emotional passion of unnumbered forefathers. it is singularly open to spiritual and invisible powers—singularly open to the unseen influences of goodwill, affection, and social impulse.
Whilst within the narrow bounds of his rational and practical world, the negro is markedly and even grossly practical; he is at the same time more conscious of the unformulated powers of life, and less under the dominion of the formulated.
The black soul often acts from motives alien to our economics, often from finer motives. it surpasses us in natural courtesy, and almost alone of mankind it equals and resembles us in laughter. Mr. Olivier traces in the African stocks "potentialities exceedingly important and valuable as vehicles for human manifestation," and by the grant of "equality according to capacity," the black soul has received a fairer chance in Jamaica than elsewhere:—
The civilization and morality of the Jamaican negro are not high (he writes); but he is on a markedly different level from his grandfather, the plantation slave, and his great-grandfather, the African savage. The negro in Jamaica has been so far raised, so mnch freedom of civic mixture between the races has been made tolerable, by the continuous application to the race of the theory of humanity and equality; equality, that is, in the essential sense of endowment in the infinite—a share, however obscure and undeveloped, in the inheritance of what we call the Soul.
The result of this theory of humanity and equality is that in Jamaica offences against white women are unknown, and both racial hatred and racial desire are* dying out. The evidence of Professor Royce, of Harvard, is remarkable: "The negro race-ques
tlon," he says, "in our present American sense of that term, seems to be substantially solved." He attributes the solution to "English administration and English reticence"—much higher achievements and qualities than those which our imperialists celebrate with brazen trumpets. Coming fresh from the apparent hopelessness of the question in the States, Professor Royce is certainly over-sanguine. The problem still remains, even in Jamaica, and there, as in other places, it is one of the most serious in our Empire. But Mr. Olivier may be trusted to follow and develop the tradition of administration and reticence, of humanity and equality. He goes to a difficult enterprise with peculiar knowledge and peculiar sympathy. Above all, he goes with hope, and hope has a way of bringing its own fulfilment . That is why all nations honor the men who do not despair of the republic.
WiLD FLOWER GARDENS.
Here and there not man, but the genins of the place, seems to say to himself, "i will make a garden." On the clean slope of a Sussex hill, in the deep quiet of a Surrey wood, in a high hedgerow, on the level surface of a Thames backwater, he—or rather she, for the genins of flower places cannot but be feminine—she, then, sets so splendid a profusion of blossom, and with such care for the exact conditions under which her flowers will bloom most sweetly, that the word "garden" must not be disallowed her. if it is urged that she asks for a word which carries with it a sense of plan and of enclosure, even then she will not be without excuse. Her boundary may be a furrow, or it may be the horizon, but it is never the wrong boundary; and if she is to be asked
questions about care and planning, she can reply not only that it is sometimes the most careful gardeners who meet with the most surprising failures, but that her knowledge is absolute and makes care unnecessary; she cannot make a mistake. She has always made her gardens where she pleased, and has only set in them the flowers which she knew would be pleased to grow.
For sheer prodigality of blossom and color there is, perhaps, nothing in English countryside scenery to compare with the flowers of a Swiss or Tyrolese valley in early summer. But if the effect for a few weeks is unequalled, it is not lasting; there are many weeks in the year in which the Swiss valleys can show nothing to set beside the changing carpets of English