nity of rank, taking a peculiar hue from the conjugal character which is shed over all like a consecration and a holy charm." It is thus that this delightful writer expresses generally her conception of a character, and then she proceeds to evolve it, and to illustrate it by the most beautiful and apt quotations. Who lived in court, which it is rare to do, A sample to the youngest; to the more mature And with what beauty and delicacy is her conjugal and matronly character discriminated! Her love for her husband is as deep as Juliet's for her lover, but without any of that headlong vehemence, that fluttering amid hope, fear, and transportthat giddy intoxication of heart and sense, which belongs to the novelty of passion, which we feel once, and but once, in our lives. We see her love for Posthumus acting upon her mind with the force of an habitual feeling, heightened by enthusiastic passion, and hallowed by the sense of duty. She asserts and justifies her affection with energy indeed, but with a a calm and wife-like dignity " Cym. Thou took'st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness. You bred him as my playfellow, and he is "It is true, that the conjugal tenderness of Imogen is at once the chief subject of the drama, and the pervading charm O lady, weep no more! lest I give cause Posthumus. My queen! my mistress! To be suspected of more tenderness " * of her character; but it is not true, I think, that she is merely interesting from her tenderness and constancy to her husband. We are so completely let into the essence of Imogen's nature, that we feel as if we had known and loved her before she was married to Posthumus, and that her conjugal virtues are a charm superadded, like the colour laid upon a beautiful ground work. Neither does it appear to me, that Posthumus is unworthy of Imogen, or only interesting on Imogen's account. His character, like those of all the other persons of the drama, is kept subordinate to hers; but this could not be otherwise, for she is the proper subject the heroine of the poem. Every thing is done to ennoble Posthumus, and justify her love for him; and though we certainly approve him more for her sake than for his own, we are early prepared to view him with Imogen's eyes; and not only excuse, but sympathize in her admiration of one Who sat 'mongst men like a descended god.' Imogen. No, I rather added a lustre to it. Sir, "When Posthumus is driven into exile, he comes to take a last farewell of his wife: 'Imogen. My dearest husband, Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, Look here, love, "Imogen, in whose tenderness there is nothing jealous or fantastic, does not seriously apprehend that her husband will woo another wife when she is dead. It is one of those fond fancies which women are apt to express in moments of feeling, merely for the pleasure of hearing a protestation to the contrary. When Posthumus leaves her, she does not burst forth in eloquent lamentation, but that silent, stunning, overwhelming sorrow, which renders the mind insensible to all things else, is represented with equal force and simplicity. " Imogen. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. Cym. I Cym. Past grace? obedience? Imogen. Past hope, and in despair-that way past grace.'" With blue of heaven's own tinct! I' th' bottom of a cowslip! Under her breast (Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging-by my life I kiss'd it, and it gave me present hunger To feed again, though full." These are all descriptions of her loveliness given by the licentious Iachimo, and yet how its purity purifies even his thoughts-how the chaste composure of her sleep, too holy to be voluptuous, subdues his passion, and arrests his steps in adiniration and worship! Secretly wedded, we almost forget that Imogen is not a virgin. Mrs Jameson remarks that the stupid obstinate malignity of Cloten, and the wicked machinations of the Queen, "A father cruel and step-dame false, A foolish suitor to a wedded lady," justify whatever might need excuse in the conduct of Imogen-as her concealed marriage, and her flight from her father's court-and serve to call out several of the most beautiful and striking parts of her character-particularly that decision and vivacity of temper which in her harmonize so beautifully with exceeding delicacy, meekness, and submission. In the scene with her detested suitor there is at first a careless majesty of disdain-but when he dares to provoke her by reviling the absent Posthumus, her indignation heightens her scorn, and her scorn sets a keen edge on her indignation. And here we cannot omit noticing another of those fine observations that drop so naturally from the mind of feminine genius. "One thing more must be particularly remarked, because it serves to individualize the character from the beginning to the end of the poem. We are constantly sensible that Imogen, besides being a tender and devoted woman, is a princess and a beauty, at the same time that she is ever superior to her position and her external charms. There is, for instance, a certain airy majesty of deportment -a spirit of accustomed command breaking out every now and then― justification. For Posthumus is not, as in the original tale, the challenger, but the challenged, and could hardly, except on a moral principle much too refined for those rude times, have declined the wager without compromising his own courage, and his faith in the honour of Imogen. His conduct, therefore, was foolish, no doubt; but it was not base-nor was his order to Pisanio to kill her cruel (for the times); since he believed on damning evidence, that "thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed -the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me." But if he were cruel in commanding her to be killed, remember his agony over the bloody token of Imogen's death, in the field between the British and Roman camps. Though he even then believed her guilty, he passionately desired that Pisanio " had saved the noble Imogen to repent." And what makes him "disrobe himself of his Italian weeds, and suit himself as does a British peasant?" He answers "So I'll die for thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life is every breath a death." His guilt against her still believed guilty, he longs to cleanse by such expiation. There. fore, honour to the loyal Leonatus. It is hard to say whether Imogen appears more admirable in the interview with the false Italian who at tempts her honour, or in the scene with Pisanio, near Milford Haven, when she is told she is to die for infidelity to her husband's bed. "In the interview between Imogen and Iachimo, he does not begin his attack on her virtue by a direct accusation against Posthumus; but by dark hints and half-uttered insinuations, such as Iago uses to madden Othello, he intimates that her husband, in his absence from her, has betrayed her love and truth, and forgotten her in the arms of another. All that Imogen says in this scene is comprised in a few lines-a brief question or a more brief remark. The proud and delicate reserve with which she veils the anguish she suffers, is inimitably beautiful. The strongest expression of reproach he can draw from her, is only, My lord, I fear, hath forgot Britain.' When he continues in the same strain, she exclaims in an agony, 'Let me hear no more!' When he urges her to revenge, she asks, with all the simplicity of virtue, How should " I be revenged? And when he explains to her how she is to be avenged, her sudden burst of indignation, and her immediate perception of his treachery, and the motive for it, are powerfully fine it is not only the anger of a woman whose delicacy has been shocked, but that of a princess insulted in her court. Away! I do contemn mine ears, that have So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st, as base as strange. Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far From thy report, as thou from honour; and Solicit'st here a lady that disdains Thee and the devil alike.' "It has been remarked by Hazlitt, that her readiness to pardon Iachimo's false imputation, and his designs against herself, is a good lesson to prudes, and may show that where there is a real attachment to virtue, there is no need of an outrageous antipathy to vice.' "This is true; but can we fail to perceive that the instant and ready forgiveness of Imogen is accounted for, and rendered more graceful and characteristic by the very means which Iachimo employs to win it? He pours forth the most enthusiastic praises of her husband, professes that he merely made this trial of her out of his exceeding love for Posthumus, and she is pacified at once; but with exceeding delicacy of feeling she is represented as maintaining her dignified reserve and her brevity of speech to the end of the scene." we do not find in Desdemona or Hermione. 'False to his bed !-what is 't to be false? "This is followed by that affecting lamentation over the falsehood and injustice of her husband, in which she betrays no atom of jealousy or wounded self-love, but observes, in the extremity of her anguish, that after his lapse from truth, all good seeming would be discredited,' and she then resigns herself to his will with the most entire submission." and is standing, in boy's clothes, before the cave of Belarius. She enters, and how perfectly beautiful the picture in the few following lines! Belarius says to the noble boys, Guiderius and Averagas, Here were a fairy! Guid. What's the matter, sir? In her seeming death in that cave, Imogen is more beautiful even than in her own chamber, when lachimo describes her as she lies in sleep. All gentlest and tenderest epithets of love, and sorrow, and pity, are lavished on the fair Fidele, then Imogen has now "Forgot that rarest treasure of her thought to be a corpse, by those cheek, Exposing it unto the greedy bite young poets, and princes, and para- "Say! come not in! But that it eats our victuals, I should Milford-haven; which is the way?" think The most touching words her pale lips could have uttered-and we feel, as she returns to sorrow and suffering, as if these funereal obsequies had been celebrated but in a dream! Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy! Imo. Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter'd here, I called; and thought To have begged or bought what I have took: Good troth nor would not, I have stolen nought; I would have left it on the board, so soon Guid. Money, youth? Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckoned, but of those Imo. I see you are angry. for But what heart has not kindled at the sudden love and friendship of those two young nobles of nature for the beautiful boy Imogen, their pity Mrs Jameson, with the best taste, says but little of Imogen in the cave. She alludes to the preservation of her feminine character under her masculine attire, her delicacy, her modesty, and her timidity, which are all managed with the most perfect consistency and unconscious grace. Nor must we, says she, forget that her" neat cookery," which is so prettily eulogised by Guiderius"He cut our roots in characters, And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick, And he her dieter," formed part of the education of a princess in those remote times. To say more of such painting and such poetry, so wild as almost to be preternatural, and yet natural all over, and of wondrous elevation, she herself felt would be worse than needless, and in her delight and admiration her eloquent lips are mute. But we must give the beautiful conclusion of her critique : It "The catastrophe of this play has been much admired for the peculiar skill with which all the various threads of interest are gathered together at last, and entwined with the destiny of Imogen. may be added, that one of its chief beauties is the manner in which the character of Imogen is not only preserved, but rises upon us to the conclusion with added grace: her instantaneous forgiveness of her husband before he even asks it, when she flings herself at once into his arms, 'Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?' and her magnanimous reply to her father, when he tells her, that by the discovery of her two brothers she has lost a king dom 'No-I have gain'd two worlds by it'— clothing a noble sentiment in a noble image, give the finishing touches of excellence to this most enchanting portrait. "On the whole, Imogen is a lovely compound of goodness, truth, and affection, with just so much of passion, and intellect, and poetry, as serve to lend to the picture that power and glowing richness of effect which it would otherwise have wanted; and of her it might be said, if we could condescend to quote from any other poet with Shakspeare open before us, that her person was a paradise, and her soul the cherub to guard it.' 333 We come now to Cordelia. Words worth says, that to her "The meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." To weep over a flower, would scarcely, under any circumstances, except association with miserable sufferings of the heart, be becoming in a man not only full-grown, but "somewhat declined into the vale of years." Yet tears flow from profound depths; and we wish Wordsworth, in place of that startling assertion, would express some of those thoughts inspired by the sight of "the meanest flower that blows," that are "too deep for tears." less well of purest affection, but its waters sleep in silence and obscurity. Every thing in her seems to lie beyond our view, and affects us in a manner which we feel rather than perceive. The character appears to have no surface, no salient points on which the fancy can readily seize; there is little external developement of intellect, less of passion, and still less of imagination." It is completely made out in the course of a few scenes, and we are surprised to find, that in these few scenes there are materials enough for twenty heroines. She then gives us her idea of Cordelia's character: They would probably be not a little lachrymose. But Mrs Jameson rightly says, that "there is in the beauty of Cordelia's character, an effect too sacred for words, and almost 'too deep for tears;' within her heart is a fathom " "It appears to me that the whole character rests upon the two sublimest principles of human action, the love of truth and the sense of duty; but these, when they stand alone, (as in the Antigone,) are apt to strike us as severe and cold. Shakspeare has, therefore, wreathed them round with the dearest attributes of our feminine nature, the power of feeling and inspiring affection. The first part of the play shews us how Cordelia is loved, the second part how she can love. To her father she is the object of a secret preference; his agony at her supposed unkindness draws from him the confession, that he had loved her most, and thought to set his rest on her kind nursery.' Till then she had been his best object, the argument of his praise, balm of his age, most best, most dearest!' The faithful and worthy Kent is ready to brave death or exile in her de. fence; and afterwards a farther impression of her benign sweetness is conveyed in a simple and beautiful manner, when we are told that since the lady Cordelia went to France, her father's poor fool had much pined away.' We have her sensibility when patience and sorrow strove which should express her goodliest ;' and all her filial tenderness when she commits her poor father to the care of the physician, when she hangs over him as he is sleeping, and kisses him as she contemplates the wreck of grief and majesty." We have then, accompanied by illustrative quotations,, unpretending but admirable remarks on Cordelia's mild magnanimity, as it shines out in her farewell to her sisters, of whose evil qualities she is perfectly aware,-in the modest pride with which she replies to the Duke of Burgundy-the motives with which she takes up arms, "not for ambition but a dear father's rights,"-in her 6 |