of a spontaneous omniloquence. In his hands, indeed, the language is like a grand cathedral organ, with its every touch at his instant command, from the softest notes which the most delicate spirit of sense can apprehend, to the lordliest harmonies that mortal hearing is able to sustain.

THE TRAGEDY OF CYMBELINE, as it is called in the original copy, belongs, both by internal and external marks, to the last ten years of the Poet's life, the same period which produced Coriolanus, Antony and Cleopatra, The Tempest, and The Winter's Tale. The only contemporary notice we have of it is from the Diary of Dr. Simon ForInan, who gives with considerable detail the leading incidents of the play as he saw it performed somewhere between April, 1610, and May, 1611. It may be well to add that Cymbeline, as we learn by an entry of Sir Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels, was acted at Court in January, 1633, and was "well liked by the King"; which is to me an interesting fact in reference to that ill-starred Prince, Charles the First, who, whatever may be thought of him as a statesman and ruler, was undoubtedly a man of royal tastes in literature and art.

There is no reason to doubt that Cymbeline was fresh from the mint when Forman saw it. It has the same general characteristics of style and imagery as The Tempest and The Winter's Tale; while perhaps no play in the series abounds more in those overcrammed and elliptical passages which show too great a rush and press of thought for the author's space. The poetry and characterization, also, are marked by the same severe beauty and austere sweetness as in the other plays just named: therewithal the moral sentiment of the piece comes out, from time to time, in just those electric starts which indicate, to my mind, the Poet's last and highest stage of art.

The play was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it makes the last in the volume. It is there placed in the division of Tragedies, as The Winter's Tale is in that of

Comedies; though the two might, I think, with more propriety be set apart in a class by themselves. For in these instances the Poet gave himself up more unreservedly than ever to the freedom and variety of Nature, ordering the elements of dramatic interest in utter disregard of dramatic precedent. For the divisions of Tragedy and Comedy are arbitrary; there is nothing answering to them in human life and why should the Drama be tied to any other conditions than those of human life? And Shakespeare seems to have thought that there was no reason or law of Art why all the forms of human transpiration should not run together just as freely in the Drama as they do in fact. If he had been a pedant, he would not have thought so; but he was not a pedant. Nor have we any reason to suppose that the folio arrangement of the plays was of his ordering: it was the work, no doubt, of the Editors, who classed the plays according to their general affinities; and signs are not wanting that they were sometimes at a loss how to place them.

In its structure, Cymbeline is more complex and involved than any other of the Poet's dramas. It includes no less than four distinct groups of persons, with each its several interest and course of action. First, we have Imogen, Posthumus, Pisanio, and Iachimo, in which group the main interest is centred; then, the King, the Queen, and Prince Cloten, the Queen's shrewd blockhead of a son, who carry on a separate scheme of their own; next, the Imperial representative, Lucius, who comes first as Roman Ambassador to reclaim the neglected tribute, and then as general with an army to enforce it; last, old Belarius and the two lost Princes, who emerge from their hiding-place to bear a leading part in bringing about the catastrophe. All these groups however, though without any concert or any common purpose of their own, draw together with perfect smoothness and harmony in working out the author's plan; the several threads of interest and lines of action being woven into one texture, richly varied indeed, but seeming

as natural as life itself; the more so perhaps, that the actors themselves know not how or why they are thus brought together.

The only part of the drama that has any historical basis is that about the demanding and enforcing of the Roman tribute. This Shakespeare derived, as usual in matters of British history, from Holinshed, who places the scene in the reign of the Emperor Augustus, and a few years before the beginning of the Christian era. The domestic part of the King's action, with all that relates to the Queen and Cloten, except the name of the latter, is, so far as we know, a pure invention of the Poet's; as is also the entire part of Belarius and the King's two sons, except that the names Guiderius and Arviragus were found in Holinshed. The main plot of the drama, except the strong part which Pisanio has in it, is of fabulous origin, the story however being used with the Poet's customary freedom of enrichment and adaptation.

What source Shakespeare drew directly from in this part of the work, is not altogether clear. During the Middle Ages, and under the Feudal system, heads of families were liable to be away from home, often for a long while together, in wars and military expeditions. Then too the hospitalities of those times were large and free, the entertainment of strangers and travellers being made much of in the code of ancient chivalry. Of course the fidelity both of husbands and wives was liable to be sorely tried during these long separations, the former by those whom they were meeting or visiting, the latter by those whom they were entertaining. It might well be, that absent husbands, full of confidence in those to whom and by whom the sacred pledge had been given, sometimes laid wagers on their fidelity, and encouraged or permitted trials of it to be made. Doubtless, also, there was many a polished libertine who took special pride in provoking some arrangement of the kind, or in making such trials without any arrangement. Thus questions turning on that point came to be matter of common and familiar interest, entering into the serious

thoughts of people far more than is the case in our time. So that there was no extravagance in the incident on which the main plot of this drama turns.

The chief points in the story seem to have been a sort of common property among the writers of Medieval Romance. The leading incidents as the wager, the villain's defeat, his counterfeit of success, the husband's scheme of revenge by the death of the wife, her escape, his subsequent discovery of the fraud, the punishment of the liar, and the final reunion of the separated pair- are found in two French romances of the thirteenth century, and in a French miracle-play of still earlier date. There are two or three rather curious indications that the miracle-play was known to Shakespeare, though this could hardly be, unless he read French. A rude version, also, of the story was published in a book called Westward for Smelts, and was entitled "The Tale told by the Fishwife of the Stand on the Green"; placing the scene in England in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and making the persons all English. This, however, cannot be traced further back than the year 1620, and there is no likelihood that the Poet had any knowledge of it. But the completest form of the story is in one of Boccaccio's Novels, the Ninth of the Second Day, where we have the trunk used for conveying the villain into the lady's bedchamber, his discovery of a private mark on her person, and her disguise in male attire. As these incidents are not found in any other version of the tale, they seem to establish a connection between the novel and the play. Boccaccio is not known to have been accessible to the Poet in English; but then it is quite probable, and indeed almost certain, that he was able to read Italian books in the original. The substance of the story is soon told.

Several Italian merchants, meeting in Paris, went to talking about their wives. All agreed in speaking rather disparagingly, except Bernabo, of Genoa, who said his wife. was perfectly beautiful, in the flower of youth, and of unassailable honour. At this, Ambrogiulo became very loose

spoken, boasting that he would spoil her honour, if opportunity were given him. The wager was then proposed and accepted. Going to Genoa, the intriguer soon found that Ginevra had not been overpraised, and that his wager would be lost, unless he could prevail by some stratagem. So he managed to have his chest left in her keeping, and placed in her private chamber. When she was fast asleep, with a taper burning in the room, he crept from his hiding, made a survey of the furniture, the pictures, and at last discovered a mole and a tuft of golden hair on her left breast. Then, taking a ring, a purse, and other trifles, he crept back into the chest.

Returning to Paris, he called the company together and produced his proofs of success. Bernabo was convinced, and went to seeking revenge. Arriving near home, he sent for his wife, and gave secret orders to have her put to death on the road. The servant stopped in a lonely place, and told her of his master's orders; she protested her innocence, and begged his compassion; so he spared her life, and returned with some of her clothes, saying he had killed her. Ginevra then disguised herself in male attire, and got into the service of a gentleman who took her to Alexandria, where she gained the Sultan's favour, and was made captain of his guard. Not long after, she was sent with a band of soldiers to Acre, and there, going into the shop of a Venetian merchant, she saw a purse and girdle which she recognized as her own. On her asking whose they were, and whether they were for sale, Ambrogiulo stepped forth and said they were his, and asked her to accept them as a gift; at the same time telling her they had been presented to him by a married lady of Genoa. Feigning pleasure at the tale, she persuaded him to go with her to Alexandria. Her next care was to have her husband brought thither. Then she prevailed on the Sultan to force from Ambrogiulo a public recital of his villainy; whereupon Bernabo owned that he had caused his wife to be murdered. She now assures the Sultan that, if he will punish the villain and pardon Berna