the effect is deeper, the struggle more acute. Scornful "Lady Disdain" is suddenly disarmed, defenceless, her whole nature changed. She sighs and languishes, she has lost her saucy wit, she says she is sick. The catastrophe of the play's serious action leads to her release. The lovely gentle Hero, in her timid reserve, her modest quiet maidenliness, the exact opposite of bold saucy Beatrice, who often goes farther in her speeches than is seemly for a girl, is made the victim of a base intrigue.) The young Florentine, Count Claudio, has lost his heart at first sight, and, through the Prince of Arragon, asks her hand of her father, who willingly accords it. But the Prince's brother, a false and malignant man, who, since their quarrel and his consequent defeat, has only feigned reconciliation, breeds mischief. One of his dependents, who is carrying on a flirtation with Hero's chambermaid, contrives, at his lord's order, to cause the Prince and Claudio to believe, by means of a scandalous trick combined with this girl, that it is Hero who has granted him a nocturnal interview. Everything is ready for the wedding: the monk puts the necessary questions, when Claudio accuses the poor innocent Hero of unchastity, and repulses her hand with contemptuous phrases. Overpowered by this frightful accusation and humiliation, Hero sinks down in a death-like swoon. The Prince and Claudio, deceived by shameful treachery, depart indifferent, while the villainous traitor beholds with evil delight the pain he has inflicted. Only Benedick remains behind, not on Hero's account, whose innocence he also doubts, as is plain from the question he puts to Beatrice, whether she slept on the fatal night in Hero's chamber,—but through sympathy for Beatrice, who he sees is deeply wounded by the degrading occurrence, and whom he longs to help. She recovers her resolute composure through this excitement, the true gold of her character is brilliantly proved. Her piercing insight does not allow her to doubt for an instant the innocence of her slandered friend. Instantly, when even the father, convinced by apparently irrefragable proof, believes in Hero's guilt, and covers her with abuse, she exclaims, "Oh, on my soul, my cousin is belied." After it has been decided, according to the friar's advice, that Hero be considered dead until her innocence is proved, Beatrice, who is left alone with Benedick, does not refuse to listen to his undisguised declaration of love, but will accede only on condition that he takes a bloody revenge on Claudio for the injury done to Hero. Her anger is heartfelt, but it also serves to delay her love confession, since she puts it off indirectly by saying, "Oh, that she were a man! or that she had any friend that would be a man for my sake!" Benedick is naturally ready to be convinced of Hero's innocence; he is firmly resolved to break Claudio's neck as soon as possible. Everything is right between the two. Benedick keeps his word; he challenges Claudio. But when the treachery of which Hero has been the victim comes to light (in how droll a fashion let the reader see for himself), and the marriage so tragically interrupted is happily completed, after Claudio had wept bitter tears of remorse for Hero supposed to be dead, and she, on returning to life, has forgiven her repentant lover, the merry declaration contrived for Benedick and Beatrice takes place, as at first arranged. These two wonderful creatures cannot, however, talk together like ordinary mortals. The serious side of life which met them in Hero's adventure had brought them nearer each other. Profound sympathy for her injured friend has turned Beatrice's love for Benedick into the right channel. Thus she is ready to waive all resistance, and acknowledge willingly and joyfully her love for him who has her heart. We take leave of this splendid couple with the satisfactory conviction, that in their union, following upon their prolonged conflict, they will find the happiness of their lives. CHAPTER VII SHAKESPEARE'S THIRD PERIOD The Women of the Roman Tragedies :—Volumnia-Virgilia— Portia-Cleopatra-Octavia "CORIOLANUS" HAKESPEARE drew the material for three tragedies SHAKES from Roman history. They depict, with wonderful fidelity, three entirely different epochs of Rome's development. Coriolanus deals with the time of the young Republic, when the virile virtues of Rome were nourished by heroic deeds abroad, while at home the virtuous, capable, but also hard and proud patricians were involved in their struggles against the rebellious plebeians. Julius Cæsar brings to view the dying Republic. Antony and Cleopatra the corrupt Roman world, ready to fall a prey to cunning and skilful politicians. Corresponding to these periods we find three fundamentally different female characters, each well delineated in her own way. Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus, is a type of the ancient Roman matron, who becomes real to us by reason of her glowing love for her glorious son. But the sunbeam of this truly womanly sentiment only illuminates in passing the beautiful but cold and statuesque figure of this purely antique woman. That this feeling is far removed from modern sentiment is plain from Volumnia's words on her first appearance: If my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour, than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, |