have gone before, except in the rhyming of | perhaps approaches nearest to Shakspeare the tenth syllables. But there is another writer of that period who might have been associated with Fletcher in the production of a drama, and did participate in such stage partnerships who, from some limited resemblances to Shakspere that we shall presently notice, might without any improbability be supposed to have written those portions of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' which are decidedly and essentially different from the style of Fletcher. We select, though probably not the best selection we could make, a passage of the same general character as the invocations so often mentioned, and which may be compared also with Jonson's address to Apollo. It is an invocation to Behemoth : "Terror of darkness! oh thou king of flames! That with thy music-footed horse dost strike The clear light out of crystal, on dark earth, And hurl'st instructive fire about the world, Wake, wake, the drowsy and enchanted night, in the descriptive and didactic, in passages which are less purely dramatic. Dramatic imitation was not his talent. He could not go out of himself, as Shakspeare could shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences, but in himself he had an eye to perceive and a soul to embrace all forms. He would have made a great epic poet, if, indeed, he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his 'Homer' is not so properly a translation as the stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written." Our theory is, that the passages which have been ascribed to Shakspere as a partner in the work of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' are! essentially "descriptive and didactic ;" that to write these passages it was not necessary that the poet should be able to "go out of himself;" that they, for the most part, might enter into the composition of a great epic poem; that the writer of these passages was master, to a considerable extent, of Shakspere's style, especially in its conciseness That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy and its solemnity, although he was ill fitted riddle: Oh, thou great prince of shades, where never sun Sticks his far-darted beams, whose eyes are To shine in darkness, and see ever best to grapple with its more dramatic qualities Webster, in his dedication to 'Vittoria Corombona,' speaks of " that full and heightened style of Master Chapman," in the same sentence with "the laboured and understanding works of Master Jonson." It is in the "full and heightened style" that we shall seek resemblances to parts of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen,' rather than in the "laboured and understanding works." We are supported in this inquiry by the opinion of one of the most subtle and yet most sensible of modern critics, Charles Lamb:"Of all the English play-writers, Chapman | story. Lord Byron somewhere says, speaking of his own play of 'Sardanapalus,' "I look upon Shakspere to be the worst of models, though the most extraordinary of writers." We think, if Shakspere be the worst of models, it is because he is the most extraordinary of writers. His prodigious depth of thought, his unbounded range of imagery, his intense truth of characterization, are not to be imitated. The other qualities which remain as a model lie beneath the surface. Imitate, if it be possible, the structure of his verse; the thought and the imagery are wanting, and the mere versification is a lifeless mass. Dryden says, in his preface to All for Love,' "In my style I have professed to imitate the divine Shakspeare." Open the play at any part, and see if the imitation has produced a resemblance. Rowe tells us that 'Jane Shore' is an imitation of Shakspere. It is a painted daub of the print-shops imitating the colouring of Titian. Otway pieced 'Romeo and Juliet' into his 'Caius Marius,' where the necessity for imitation was actually forced upon him, in making a cento of Shakspere's lines and his own; and yet the last speech of the Romeo of Otway's tragedy substitutes these three lines in the place of "Thus with a kiss I die :" “This world's gross air grows burthensome already. I am all a god; such heavenly joys transport me, That mortal sense grows sick, and faints with lasting." We mention these things to show that men of very high talent have not been able to grapple with Shakspere's style in the way of imitation. A poet, and especially a contemporary poet, might have formed his own style, in some degree, upon Shakspere; not only by the constant contemplation of his peculiar excellences, but through the general character that a man of the very highest genius impresses unconsciously upon the aggregate poetry of his age. This we believe to have been the case with Chapman. He was not an imitator of Shakspere in the ordinary sense of the word; he could not imitate him in his scenes of passion, because he could not "shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences." But, in a limited range, he approached Shakspere, because he had the same earnestness, the same command of striking combinations of language, a rhythm in which harmony is blended with strength, a power of painting scenes by vivid description, a tendency to reflect and philosophize. All this Shakspere had, but he had a great deal more. Is that more displayed in the scenes of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' which have been attributed to him? or, not being present, had Chapman the power of producing these scenes out of his own resources? This is a question which we certainly cannot pretend to answer satisfactorily: all that we can do is to compare a few peculiarities in the first and last acts of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' with passages that offer themselves in those of Chapman's works with which we have an acquaintance. We will begin with a quality which is remarkable enough in passages of "The Two Noble Kinsmen' to distinguish them from those written by Fletcher-we mean the presence of general truths and reflections, propounded always with energy, sometimes with solemnity, not dragged in as a moral at the end of a fable, but arising spontaneously out of the habit of the author's mind. Coleridge doubts the profundity of these thoughts-and we think he is right. We will select a few of such passages from 'The Two Noble Kinsmen ;' and passages of a similar nature, taken somewhat hastily from three or four of Chapman's plays : Two NOBLE KINSMEN. "We come unseasonably; but when could Grief Cull forth, as unpang'd Judgment can, fitt'st time For best solicitation?" "Oh, you heav'nly charmers, What things you make of us! For what we lack We laugh, for what we have are sorry; still Are children in some kind." That never-erring arbitrator, tell us When we know all ourselves; and let us follow The becking of our chance!" CHAPMAN. "Let th' event, Agamemnon's prayer in the third book, to show the sources at least which were open to the writer of the invocations in the fifth act of The Two Noble Kinsmen,' for examples of condensation of thought, majesty of diction, and felicity of epithet : "Sin is a coward, madam, and insults But on our weakness, in his truest valour; "O the good God of Gods, All Fools. "O the strange difference 'twixt us and the stars! They work with inclinations strong and fatal, And nought can do or nothing can prevent." It would be easy to multiply examples of this kind; and it would not be necessary for our purpose to select passages that are very closely parallel. We only desire to show that Chapman is a reflective poet; and that in this respect the tone of thought that may be found in the first and last acts of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' is not incompatible with his habits of composition. We have already selected an invocation by Chapman, with the intent of showing that his style in this detached and complete form of poetry approaches much more closely to the invocations in 'The Two Noble Kins men' than the style of Jonson. Chapman appears to us to delight in this species of oratorical verse, requiring great condensation and majesty of expression, and demanding the nicest adjustment of a calm and stately rhythm. He derived, perhaps, this love of invocation, as well as the power of introducing such passages successfully in his dramas, from his familiarity with Homer; and thus for the same reason his plays have more of the stately form of the epic dialogue than the passionate rapidity of the true drama. We will select one invocation from Chapman's translation of the Iliad,' that of "O Jove, that Ida doth protect, and hast the titles won, Most glorious, most invincible; and thou allseeing sun; All-hearing, all-recomforting; floods, earth, and powers beneath! That all the perjuries of men chastise even Be witnesses, and see performed, the hearty These invocations in his 'Homer' have the necessary condensation of the original. In his own inventions in the same kind he is naturally more diffuse; but his diffuseness is not the diffuseness of Fletcher. Take one example: "Now all ye peaceful regents of the night, Silently-gliding exhalations, Languishing winds, and murmuring fall of waters, Sadness of heart, and ominous secureness, Enchantments, dead sleeps, all the friends of rest, That ever wrought upon the life of man, Extend your utmost strengths; and this charm'd hour Fix like the centre; make the violent wheels Of Time and Fortune stand; and great existence, The maker's treasury, now not seem to be." The time is past when it may be necessary to prove that Chapman was a real poet. There are passages in his plays which show that he was capable not only of giving interest to forced situations and extravagant characters by his all-informing energy, but of pouring out the sweetest spirit of beauty in the most unexpected places. following four lines as an example :— "Here's nought but whispering with us: like a calm Take the Before a tempest, when the silent air Lays her soft ear close to the earth to hearken For that she fears steals on to ravish her." Was ever personification more exquisitely beautiful? The writer of these lines, with his wondrous facility, was equal to anything that did not demand the very highest qualities for the drama; and those qualities we do not think are manifest in the first and last acts of 'The Two Noble Kinsmen,' rich as these are in excellences within the range of such a writer as Chapman, especially when his exuberant genius was under the necessary restraint of co-operation with another writer. CHAPTER III. THE BIRTH OF MERLIN. THE first known edition of this play was published in 1662, under the following title: -The Birth of Merlin: or, the Childe hath found his Father: as it hath been several times Acted with great Applause. Written by William Shakespear and William Rowley.' Of this very doubtful external evidence two of the modern German critics have applied themselves to prove the correctness., Horn has written a criticism of fourteen pages upon 'The Birth of Merlin,' which he decides to be chiefly Shakspere's, possessing a high degree of poetical merit with much deep-thoughted characterization. Tieck has no doubt of the extent of the assistance that Shakspere gave in producing this play :"This piece is a new proof of the extraordinary riches of the period, in which such a work was unnoticed among the mass of intellectual and characteristic dramas. The modern English, whose weak side is poetical criticism, have left it almost to accident what shall be again revived; and we seldom see, since Dodsley, who proceeded somewhat more carefully, any reason why one piece is selected and others rejected." He adds, "None of Rowley's other works are equal to this. What part has Shakspere in it ?—has he taken a part?-what induced him to do so?-can only be imperfectly answered, and by supposition. Why should not Shakspere for once have written for another theatre than his own? Why should he not, when the custom was so common, have written in companionship with another though less powerful poet?" Ulrici takes a different, and, we think, a much juster view. The play, he holds, must have been produced late in Shakspere's life. If he had written in it at all, he would have put out his matured strength. All the essentials,-plan, composition, and character, belong to Rowley. Peculiarities of style and remarkable turns of thought are not sufficient to furnish evidence of authorship, for they are common to other contemporary poets. It is not very easy to trace the exact progress of William Rowley. He was an actor in the company of which Shakspere was a proprietor. We find his name in a document of 1616, and again in 1625. The same bookseller that published 'The Birth of Merlin' associated his name with other writers of eminence besides Shakspere. He is spoken of by Langbaine as an author that flourished in the reign of King Charles I.;" but there is no doubt that he may be considered as a successful writer in the middle period of James I. It is impossible to think that he could have been associated with Shakspere in writing a play until after Shakspere had quitted the stage; and we must therefore bear in mind that Rowley's supposed associate, was at that period the author of 'Othello' and Lear,' of 'Twelfth Night' and 'As You Like It.' 66 A few years after the accession of James I. the fondness of the court for theatrical entertainments, and the sumptuousness of the masks that were got up for its special delight, appear to have produced a natural influence upon the public stage in rendering some of the pieces performed more dependent upon scenery and dresses and processions than in the later years of Elizabeth. The 'Birth of Merlin' belongs to the class of show-plays; and the elaboration of that portion which is addressed merely to the eye has imparted a character to those scenes in which the imagination is addressed through the dialogue. There is an essential want of refinement as well as of intellectual power, partly arising from this false principle of art, which addresses itself mainly to the senses. We have a succession of incidents without any unity of action. The human interest and the supernatural are jumbled together, so as to render each equally unreal. Extravagance is taken for force, and what is merely hideous is offered to us as sublime. The story, of course, belongs to the fabulous history of Britain. Its movements are so complicated that we should despair of tracing it through its scenes of war and love, of devilry and witchcraft. The Britons are invaded by the Saxons, but the British army is miraculously preserved by the power of Anselm, a hermit. The Saxons sue for peace to Aurelius, the King of Britain, but the monarch suddenly falls in love with Artesia, the daughter of the Saxon general, and marries her, against the wishes of all his court. Uter Pendragon, the brother of Aurelius, has been unaccountably missing, and he, it seems, had fallen in love with the same lady during his rambles. Upon the return of Prince Uter to his brother's court, the queen endeavours to obtain from him a declaration of unlawful attachment. Her object is to sow disunion amongst the Britons, to promote the ascendancy of the Saxons. She is successful, and the weak Aurelius joins his invaders. During the progress of these events we have love-episodes with the daughters of Donobert, a British nobleman. The character of Modestia, one of the daughters, who is resolved to dedicate herself to a religious life, is drawn with considerable skill, and she expresses herself with a quiet strength which contrasts advantageously with the turmoil around her:"Noble and virtuous! could I dream of marriage, I should affect thee, Edwin. Oh my soul, Here's something tells me that the best of creatures, These models of the world, weak man and woman, Should have their souls, their making, life, and being, To some more excellent use: if what the sense Calls pleasure were our ends, we might justly blame Great Nature's wisdom, who rear'd a building That gave to man his being, speech, and wisdom, Gave it for thankfulness. To Him alone That made me thus, may I thence truly know, I'll pay to Him, not man, the love I owe." Before The supernatural part of this play is altogether overdone, exhibiting far less skill in the management than a modern fairy spectacle for the Easter holidays. Merlin appears we have a Saxon magician produced who can raise the dead, and he makes Hector and Achilles come into the Saxon court very much after the fashion of the apparition of Marshal Saxe in the great gallery at Dresden (see Wraxall's 'Memoirs). The stage-direction for this extraordinary exhibition is as follows: "Enter PROXIMUS, bringing in HECTOR, attired and armed after the Trojan manner, with target, sword, and battle-axe; a trumpet before him, and a Spirit in flame-colours with a torch: at the other door, ACHILLES, with his spear and falchion, a trumpet, and a Spirit in black before him; trumpets sound alarm, and they manage their weapons to begin the fight, and after some charges the Hermit steps between them, at which, seeming amazed, the Spirits tremble." That the poet who produced the cauldron of the weird sisters should be supposed to have a hand in this child's play is little less than miraculous itself. But we soon cease to take an interest in mere Britons and |
