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plead with warm mother-love for her son's life, but our hearts are soon turned away because we perceive that her fundamental character-traits arc falsehood, hypocrisy, sensuality, and unbridled thirst for vengeancc. She counsels the Emperor to become reconciled with the family of Titus, who had taken part against Saturninus while aiding Bassianus to carry off his bride, Lavinia, by force. She succccds, too, in effecting the reconciliation, whispering to the Emperor that he may leave vengeance to her; she will annihilate the whole hated race, in atonement for the death of her son, whose life she had begged in vain. The second act shows her in her entire inhuman depravity. Through a perversity difficult to explain, she is seized with a passion that may almost be called bestial in its violence for the hidcous and atrociously wicked Moor, Aaron. She gives expression to this passion in shameless words which sound frightful in the mouth of a woman. Surprised by Bassianus and Lavinia, and upbraided by the latter in words which also cannot be called womanly, she induces her sons, Chiron and Demetrius, to stab Bassianus by telling them an absolutely false. tale concerning her meeting with the two, sparing Lavinia only for a fate worse than the most painful death. All Lavinia's entreaties are in vain. Incited by their mother, the sons make the helpless woman their victim, they then cruelly mutilate her, tearing out her tongue and cutting off her hands, so that she can neither speak nor write an account of the horrible and inhuman deed. In this scene the characterisation of Tamora reaches its climax; what follows throws no new light upon a figure which arouses only disgust and hatred. This woman is ruled by every evil passion, ready for every dreadful deed, given over to the most unbridled sensuality-in short, a female monster, whose destruction, when she is lured, with incredible want of skill, into the toils of her enemies, we note without any fceling of regret.

Lavinia is a pure, innocent being, who clings with tender love to father and brothers. Her terrible fate fills us with heartfelt pity. But her delineation is entirely colourless, and, if we may so express ourselves, indifferent. She has nonc of the striking power, nonc of the unspeakable charm, of some others of Shakespeare's women. In the scene where she surpriscs the Empress in her criminal rendezvous with thc Moor, she uses ugly and unfcmininc words, inappropriate to so gentle and docile a being. As a whole, we take leave of the play and of its two female figures with a sensation that we should be more content if we could find satisfactory grounds for denying it Shakespeare's authorship.



The material for this play, which, from good evidence, we know to have been much admired, is derived from a Greek novel of the fifth or sixth century, whose hero was called Appollonius of Tyre. The same story, always under the same name, is found in innumerable romances, popular tales and poems. The maker, whether it be Shakespeare or another, had at least two English versions of the legend to refer to. The fable belongs to that class of tales which, on account of the many events and adventures it contains, were continually used as material for dramatic work, because they pleased and satisfied the public appetite for shows full of action.

But the task of bestowing on cpic material a dramatic form is inadequately executed in this piece. Narrative and pantomime are called to the aid of dramatic representation. Repeated prologues help out the halting action, which comprises the whole life of Pericles, from youth to late manhood, and is only held together by the unity of his personality. A certain moralising tendency links the opening of the play with the close. The criminal relation between the daughter of Antiochus and her own

father, with which it begins, is evidently set in opposition to the immovable steadfastness with which Marina, at the end of the drama, defends her innocence against threatening dangers, against seduction, and against violence. Not only is she victorious in the struggle, but she disscminates a purifying and ameliorating influence over men who are sunk deep in immorality and sensuality. This moralising tendency is insisted on in the play as strongly as in the old Moralities, and hence it is far removed from the manner in which Shakespeare hides skilfully, as under a veil, the moral teachings he intends to preach under cover of the action of his later works. It must, therefore, be concluded that Pericles was not an original play, but an older picce which Shakespeare worked over, introducing many changes and improvements. On carcsul examination, we can discover passages which reveal the master's hand. The figure of Marina, the daughter of Pericles, is of infinite loveliness, presented with much of the refinement to which we are accustomed in the female characters of Shakespeare's riper works. True she is only sketched, but in detached traits and in the whole conception we already note his profound knowledge and great skill in interpreting the female heart. It would be unjust to the poet to exclude this pure lovely creation from a work devoted to Shakespeare's female characters. Whatever our conviction as regards the authorship of the whole play of Pericles, the figure of Marina unmistakably bears the stamp of Shakespeare's genius. Pericles, returning to his own country with his wife Thaisa, the daughter of King Simonides of Pentapolis, is overtaken by a tempest. Thaisa, during the awful storm, amid fearful suffering, has given birth to a daughter, and now lies in a swoon, which all, including Pericles, cake for death. The superstition of the crew, who believe that the ship, and therefore they themselves, are inevitably doomed to destruction if the supposed corpse remains on board, forces Pericles to commit his wife in a wooden casket to the deep. He does this most unwillingly, for the body, though apparently dead, still maintains life. The storm subsides, and Pericles with the child, whom he has named Marina, because she was born at sea, and an old woman, his wife's nurse, arrive safely at Tarsus, where his friend Clcon and Queen Dionyza are the rulers. After a while he hears news of troubles in his capital, Tyre, which force him to return thither in great haste, leaving Marina and her nurse Lychorida with his friends, whom he implores that they tend the child carefully, and give her an education suitable to her father's princely station. Both Cleon and Dionyza pledge themselves by a sacred promise faithfully to fulfil the part of parents to the little creature, according to Pericles' wishes. Pericles takes leave of them with heartfelt thanks. The prologue to the third act relates that Marina has grown up a lovely and fascinating girl, who wins all hearts, having been by Cleon's care carefully educated in all sciences and arts, especially in music. But cruel envy steals into the heart of Dionyza, and causes her to forget all womanly tenderness and pity. Her own daughter is cast into the shade by Marina, and Dionyza cannot bear to see how the stranger receives universal homage, and how her own daughter, Philotea, when she seeks to vie with Marina in any accomplishment, such as song or embroidery, is always vanquished; as

“ With the dove of Paphos might the crow

Vie feathers white."

All praise bestowed upon Marina is given in a grudging spirit. Dionyza resolves to destroy Marina, who has no protector, for her faithful nurse, Lychorida, is dead. She orders her servant Leonine to slay the "goodly creature," as the murderer himself calls her. Leonine consents, albeit unwillingly. Marina appears in all her sweetness, bewailing with profound grief the death of her faithful nurse, and of the mother lost to her so carly:

Ah me, poor maid !
Born in a tempest, when my mother died.
This world to me is like a lasting storm,
Whirring me from my friends.

With hateful hypocrisy, Dionyza exhorts her not to lament so over her nurse's death, lest Pericles, on his return, which is soon expected, consider her troubled eyes and pale cheeks as a sign that they have not tended her properly. With well-feigncd kindness she advises the poor child to take a walk on the sea-shore in the fresh air, and gives her the servant who has promised to put her to death as a companion. When this man tells her that he has been ordered by his mistress to kill her, she breaks into moving lamentations and protestations of innocence. She cannot understand why Dionyza seeks her life. She says:

I never did her hurt in all my life,
I never spake bad word or did ill turn
To any living crcature :
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:
I trud upon a worm against my will, but I wept for it.

She appeals to Leonine's gentle heart:

I saw you lately
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought :
Good sooth, it show'd well in you.

She calls upon him, with pretty flattery, to come between her and his lady, and "save the weaker." But Leonine is deaf to her entreaties, and would have carried out his deadly purpose, were he not hindered by an occurrence that indeed saves Marina's life, but reserves her for a fate compared to which sudden death were a blessing. Pirates land while she is struggling for dear life with Leonine, and carry her off. Pericles, on his arrival in Tarsus, is informed by Dionyza, who has been told by Leonine that he slew Marina, and by Cleon, who abhors the crime, but will

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