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 Platic '1. 
 
 M-'oxifA Petes cIt irnrf deP cSrSC'aljf 
 
 o S' r s: 
 
HAMLET. MACBETH. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 OUTLINES 
 
 TO 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 
 DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED 
 
 'T 
 
 BY 
 
 MORITZ RETZSCH. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. WITH EXPLANATIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 « 
 
 C. A. BOETTIGER, v. MILT’ITZ, AND PROE. ULRICL 
 
 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 CHESJNUT HILL, MASS. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 1872. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 THE MERRY WIVES OE WINDSOR. 
 
 THE TEMPEST. OTHELLO. 
 

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 170»32 
 
PLATE I. 
 
 M A M 
 
 HOULD the English ever erect a temple to the greatest of their Poets, 
 as temples to Homer were built of old in Chios and Smyrna, this 
 Apotheosis, drawn by the inspired pencil of Moritz Retzsch, might 
 serve for the design of the allegorical sculpture of the pediment. For, in 
 order to complete the pyramidal group required in this case, the river-gods of 
 the Thames and Avon, in the position of the Ilissus or Moeander in the well- 
 known deification of Homer, might easily be added on the right and left, at the 
 extremities of the eagle’s wings. 
 
 On the eagle which the German artist has made the bearer of his Bard 
 a more arduous task is imposed than on that in Homer’s apotheosis. He has to 
 carry the Poet and his throne. But his head, raised as if with wistful look to 
 the Poet, tells us plainly that it is a pleasing burden which his wings are 
 wafting to the assembly of Bards, in those regions of light above the clouds. 
 Lost in the contemplation of the great Poet, he needs not the bowl of am- 
 brosia which Hebe or Ganymede holds out to him. And who knows whether 
 he may not be one of those two eagles which, flying round the globe, met at 
 last at Delphi as the central point of the ancient world! Shakespeare’s fame 
 too has found its way to every region of the earth to which the trident of 
 Britain has penetrated 
 
 The Poet, in slumber, is borne upward to the partially visible circle of 
 the great Bards of bygone ages, among whom Homer, in the middle Hischylus, 
 and Ossian, are easily distinguishable. I say, in slumber-, but, reader, figure 
 not to yourself that twinbrother of Death, who assists him to carry off the 
 corpse of Sarpedon. No: this slumberer too has visions — visions such as 
 “the Poet’s eye in a fine frenzy” inwardly discovers — such as have ever 
 been given to all prophets, seers, and genuine bards. The things that are written 
 in the open book lying upon the knees of the Seer, are the celestial inspira- 
 tions of those ecstatic visions, on account of which it was that Antiquity repre- 
 sented its Tires'ias, Thamyris, Demodocus, and Homer, as blind. 
 
 L E T 
 
 But Heaven preserve us all from those ecstatic visions in Tragedy, from 
 those caricatures and absurdities in comedy, which, sailing at random between 
 heaven and earth , ihight more aptly be called abortions of delirious fever than 
 poems. The imagination of the inspired Bard borrows its materials and com- j 
 poses only from the study of Nature. The mirror which Nature holds up to 
 the Poet, is converted only by his judicous contemplation of it into a magic 
 mirror. Retzsch ingeniously denotes this by the right hand, that holds the 
 pen , resting on the heap of one of the figures of Nature , which , with the cor- 
 responding figure on the other side , forms at the same time the support of the 
 Poet’s throne. It is almost superfluous to observe that this ancient symbol of 
 the niagna mater rerum., which, under the form of the great Diana of Ephesus, 
 comprehended the quintessence of all Asiatic- Grecian personification of the 
 gods, is copied, in the head-covering, in the numerous breasts, and in the enve- 
 lope of the lower extremities, from antiquity; but we may remark that the two 
 flames issuing electrically from the tips of the fingers of both figures, are em- 
 blematic of modern physics and the new discoveries in natural philosophy ; and ; 
 that thereby the stamp of a different age from the olden time is impressed 
 upon them. Here reigns the modern picturesque principle of art. The plastic 
 principle of classic Antiquity did not, in its primitive severity, admit of any 
 representation of flames. For the rest, these tongues of fire were invariably 
 emblems of the spirit which descends from above, and of the inspiration which 
 warms and invigorates the inward life. And in what bosom did this flame burn 
 more powerfully than in that of Shakespeare , unrivalled in his way! And how 
 has it spread! Has not the bosom of every well organised human being 
 become a receptacle for it, in which it is never extinguished? The goddess 
 of Victory, it is true, is not seen dancing on the horns of the back of the 
 Poet’s seat, because he did not live in an age when contests earned wreaths 
 for the conqueror, but the wreaths of his earthly fame are nevertheless hung 
 upon them. There, where nought decays, they will not wither. 
 
 The true wreath of the Apotheosis, the wreath of stars, is brought by 
 the Tragic and the Comic Muse, who hover over him. The Artist has so distinctly 
 characterised them, that no doubt can arise respecting their nature and office. 
 
2 
 
 Melpomene’s serious countenance, and her simply noble bearing and attitude, 
 form the finest counterpart to the light freedom of Thalia’s manner. Her garment, 
 descending in moveable folds, flutters more elegantly about her. Her brow 
 is more serene. Melpomene’s tragic mask covers part of her forehead, and 
 heightens the gravity and solemnity of her downcast look. She holds the sword, 
 which, when she appeared as child-slayer to Medea, she once exchanged for 
 the club of Hercules. The shepherd’s crook was always an attribute of the 
 Comic Muse, and was intended by the ancients to denote the rural origin of 
 Comedy. Two genii of Fame, grasping the supporting pillars of the throne, 
 belong to the winged escort of the Bard and complete the group. 
 
 PLATE II. 
 
 The Prologue. It would be the triumph of the Artist if all the fourteen 
 j sketches occupied with the actual story of Hamlet could be given here, so 
 connected together by an intrinsic necessity that, without any explanatory text, 
 
 I the spectator might discover a progressive action, and in each situation there 
 
 I 
 
 i represented an indispensable link in the chain of the whole. The difficulties 
 of this task are too great to he completely overcome. The plate before us 
 serves as an ingenious introduction to the whole, which, as tending to render 
 it more intelligible, could not well be dispensed with. The atrocious fratricide 
 and the way in which it was committed are here exhibited. And from this nefarious 
 deed immediately follow the apparition of the murdered monarch, which deranges 
 I Hamlet’s reason, and all the succeeding circumstances thence arising in this piece, 
 
 I which has justly been said to belong to the whole world. 
 
 ! The action is represented precisely as it is related by the Ghost of the 
 
 murdered father to his son , and as the latter afterwards instructs the players 
 to repeat it in the performance which he calls “The Mouse-trap”. The theft 
 I of the royal crown, and the pouring of the poisonous juice {hebenon , not 
 j henbane) into the ear of the sleeping King, are naturally placed together 
 in the same moment. Of course, the Artist was at liberty to adopt a summer- 
 house of Gothic architecture, standing in a garden, though the Poet’s idea 
 j went no farther than a turf-bank in an orchard. 
 
 As regards the representation of King Claudius, Retzsch intended in the 
 external appearance to exhibit the moral ugliness of this “vice of Kings,” this 
 “King of shreds and patches,” as Hamlet himself calls him in his conversation 
 with his mother, this “wretch whose natural gifts were poor” — and hence 
 originated this impersonation full of sneaking perfidy and cunning in the 
 countenance, and having altogether the aspect of an aged villain. 
 
 The form and decoration of the seat upon which the King, overcome by 
 sleep, has laid his crown, are not without significance. It stands upon lion’s 
 claws, above which is carved a cherub’s head. The artist designed the lion’s claws 
 to denote strength, and the cherub’s heat clemency, upon which the power of 
 all thrones and crowns is founded. As the supporter of the arch at the en- 
 trance of the summer-house, the Artist devised a singular figure, perhaps the 
 symbol of extreme age, which, in German, is sometimes described by the term 
 stein-alt (stone-old). The eyes of this figure, turned towards the murderous 
 scene, denote, according to the intention of the Artist, that, where even the 
 stones have eyes, and, as the old proverb says, the walls have ears, no crime 
 can remain concealed. In the niche above the royal couch stands the statue 
 of Justice, that Nemesis of Grecian antiquity, who punished excessive pride 
 and every misdeed, and who here appears with the later attributes of measuring 
 and chastising retribution, with the sword which she seems to hold over the 
 head of the murderer , and with the scales and the emblematic eye on the 
 fillet that binds her brow. Gravely and sternly she looks straight-forward. 
 The counterpart to the hissing snake on which she sets her foot need not long 
 be sought for — 
 
 The serpent that did sting thy father’s life. 
 
 Now wears his crown. — 
 
 On the left, a spider emblematically descends upon a butterfly, which has 
 innocently settled on a pot of flowers. 
 
 PLATES III AND IV. 
 
 The artist, in the first of these scenes, presents Hamlet to us with the sword 
 still at his side. 
 
 In taking the oath itself, where the grouping of the three figures exhibits 
 the mingled expression of horror and listening attention, the Artist has con- 
 tented himself with faintly marking the sign of the cross upon the blade, 
 though properly the hilt should represent the cross on which oaths are sworn. 
 
 P L A T E V. 
 
 Hamlet, lost in meditation, speaking to himself, advances, as the principal 
 person, to the centre of the scene. Aside, at a window, apparently engaged 
 in reading, sits Ophelia and listens to him with looks of mingled love, sorrow, 
 and pity. On the opposite side, behind a drapery which forms a partition, 
 the King and Polonius are hearkening to the words of Hamlet: the former 
 with a heart brooding over plans of mischief and destruction ; the latter as the 
 officious courtier, but meaning no harm, to assist the King to catch something. 
 
1 
 
 PLATE VI. 
 
 Hamlet, with his eyes steadfastly fixed on the King, explains to him the 
 action that is taking place on the stage. The King looks on quite confounded. 
 Stung by conscience, he is on the point of springing up, as is shown by his 
 left hand grasping the arm of the chair. Ophelia, deeply hurt at the equivocal 
 expressions used by Hamlet, and wounded in her atfections by his harsh 
 behaviour, sits with downcast eyes, regardless of what is passing. Horatio, 
 standing behind Ophelia’s chair, attentively watches the King, agreeably to 
 Hamlet’s desire. Upon the tapestry on the left is wrought an angel, who, 
 combating the serpent, as the principle of evil, holds towards it his bright 
 shield, and the reptile, perceiving itself in this mirror, recoils affrighted at its 
 own image. This is intended as an emblematic allusion to the action represented 
 on the stage. The tapestry on the right shows Michael, the archangel, as 
 conqueror of the serpent. 
 
 PLATE VII. 
 
 Hamlet urgently beseeches Guildenstern to play upon the flute which he 
 holds out to him. Guildenstern frankly assures him that he cannot — and 
 his attitude and look declare as much — without suspecting the drift of 
 Hamlet’s request. The actors watch inquisitively to see what Hamlet is doing 
 with the flute that he has taken from them, and what he is about with the 
 courtier whom he has drawn aside. 
 
 PLATE VIII. 
 
 IHE PRAYER-SCENE. — The King strives in vain to pray. The pangs of 
 remorse, a conscience racked by the magnitude of the crime, prevent the darkened 
 spirit from elevating itself in prayer. The figure of the scorpion stinging its 
 own body, wrought upon the seat at which the praying monarch is kneeling, 
 indicates the state of his mind, as the remarkable picture in the background, 
 above the head of the culprit — which, in the hurry of the precipitate marriage 
 j and the succeeding festivities ^ none of the officers of the royal household has 
 1 thought of changing for some other piece of tapestry — marks the nature of 
 I his lank offence. Hamlet, thrusting back his sword into the sheath, silently 
 withdraws, resolving to await a more favourable moment for complete revenge. 
 
 I His countenance is intended to express indignation and firmness of purpose. 
 
 PLATES IX AND X. ■ 
 
 Retzsch conceived that he could not do less than devote two plates to 
 I the important concluding scene of the third Act. The Queen has sent for Hamlet 
 to her closet. In her alarm at his vehemence she calls for help. The echo 
 
 behind the tapestry Hamlet takes for the voice of the King, and the mistake 
 proves fatal to the listening Polonius. Anger and hate are expressed in the 
 countenance of Hamlet, repulsive horror in that of the Queen. On the wall 
 we behold the portraits of the true King and the spurious King which Hamlet 
 subsequently points out to his mother. 
 
 In the second of the two plates, the Ghost of the father enters, and warns 
 Hamlet against violence towards his mother. We content ourselves with merely 
 directing attention to the masterly expression imparted to the face of the 
 Queen , tortured alike by maternal anxiety and remorse , and to the emotions 
 depicted in Hamlet’s countenance, on which are legibly inscribed the words: — 
 
 Look you how pale he glares 1 
 
 PLATE XL 
 
 Ophelia mad; Laertes, with drawn sword, having just called Claudius (who, 
 in his compromise with the mutineers , has doubly proved himself but the 
 shadow of a King) to account for the death of Polonius, fixes his eyes, full 
 of sorrow, pity, and affection, on his insane but yet lovely sister. A determi- 
 nation to be revenged on the author of this mischief mingles with his grief 
 The Queen turns with somewhat of fear from the insane Ophelia (all feeling is 
 not yet extinguished in her ; she herself afterwards strews flowers upon her in the 
 grave, and pronounces over her a touching farewell); while the King listens atten- 
 tively to the words of the maniac, and, not entirely devil, manifests sympathy. 
 Behind, with look and attitude of the profoundest pity, stands the courtier who 
 announced her entrance; outside the door are the rioters left there by Laertes. 
 
 PLATE XII. 
 
 Hamlet, contemplating Yorick’s skull, says to Horatio, ‘Here hung those 
 lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.’ The old Grave-digger listens, 
 with arch look, to what Hamlet is saying, while his comrade, whom he has 
 sent for drink, avails himself of the moment, when he conceives that he is not 
 observed, to take a hearty draught out of the bottle behind a tomb -stone. 
 Over the entrance to the bonehouse , seen in the middle distance on the left, 
 is seated the King of Terrors, hewn in stone, with outspread legs, and flourishing 
 his scythe and hour-glass in triumph. The procession with the corpse of 
 Ophelia is approaching in the distance. — In the various figures and sculp- 
 tures over and upon the tombstones the imagination of the- Artist found a 
 wide field. Angels keeping watch and grinning death’s-heads, a Psyche soaring 
 towards heaven, with the emblem of domestic fidelity at the feet of a matron, 
 alternate curiously with one another. 
 
 ft 
 
PLATE Xm. 
 
 Scuffle in the grave between Laertes and Hamlet. The corpse is visible, 
 in order to render the peace diffused over the countenance of the dead the 
 more perceptible and the more striking, as contrasted with the passionate 
 turbulence of the living over her head. It is the moment when Laertes exclaims, 
 ‘The devil take thy soul !’ and Hamlet replies ; — 
 
 Thou pray’st not well ; 
 
 I pray thee take thy fingers from my throat, 
 
 ' For, though I am not splenetive and rash. 
 
 Yet have I in me something dangerous. 
 
 Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand 1 
 
 The King orders the combatants to be parted; the Queen and Horatio beseech 
 the Prince to desist from fighting; the priests express their astonishment and 
 displeasure at the scandal. The interest felt by the others is manifested in 
 various ways. 
 
 PLATES XIV AND XV. 
 
 The King has laid a considerable wager on Hamlet’s skill in fencing, and 
 sends to beg the Prince to decide it with young Laertes. 
 
 The perfidious King scarcely dares look at Hamlet, when he orders the 
 cup of poisoned wine to be handed to him, and is himself about to drink to 
 his health. The Queen gazes anxiously at her son, whom she sees heated by 
 the exercise and excited. She has offered him her handkerchief to wipe his 
 brows, and we see it still lying upon her lap. The Queen’s ladies are expressing 
 to one another their admiration of the manly figure and dexterity of Laertes. 
 The interest felt by the courtiers and attendants appears in varied expressions 
 of countenance between curiosity, partiality, and dislike. Horatio, with folded 
 arms, is intently watching all that passes. On the opposite side stands Osrick, 
 that model of royal pages, such as they alvyays were and always will be, 
 keeping an eye upon the game, as the appointed judge. So much for the 
 first scene. The second has a terrible termination. The spectators are divided 
 between horror and sorrow. Laertes, extended on the ground, accuses the 
 King of being the author of the murderous plot, upon which Hamlet, the 
 measure being now full, plunges his sword into his treacherous heart. 
 
 PLATE XVI. 
 
 What Horatio says to Fortinbras, who has just arrived, and to the am- 
 bassadors from England, who are afraid of losing their recompence: — 
 
 Give order that the.se bodie.s. 
 
 High on a stage, be placed to the view; 
 
 And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
 How these things came about — 
 
 is represented in this plate as having actually taken place. The funeral stage 
 is grandly imagined and executed. Absolute necessity compelled the reflective 
 Artist to place the bodies of the royal pair in a lower position, by which 
 the very sensible difficulty of a double point of view was much increased. 
 Horatio, his eyes turned tow'ards Fortinbras, who, in royal robes, is seated at 
 the feet of Hamlet, relates the 
 
 cruel, bloody, and unnatural acts, 
 
 at the same time to the Norwegian captains and to the people who are 
 impetuously thronging in below. 
 
 HAMLET’S SARCOPHAGUS. 
 
 Above, lies the effigy of Hamlet. Just over him, on the wall at the 
 back, is seen the head of the Ghost: his eyes and mouth are open, in order 
 to denote his powerful influence on the tragedy, in so far, namely, as he is 
 the spring of the action. On the left of the monument, with their backs 
 turned towards it, are the kneeling statues of the King and Queen; he in front, 
 as the principal personage of the two. Upon his shoulder sits a demon, in 
 menacing attitude over both; but gnashing his teeth, he bows his head over 
 the guilt-laden King alone, who, unable to pray, raises his head, even in the 
 slumber of death, with anxious and agitated look; while the Queen, though 
 her countenance also expresses solicitude, has uplifted her hands in penitent 
 prayer. On the opposite side kneel father and daughter (Polonius and Ophelia), 
 in devout prayer, while an angel extends his hands protectingly over them. 
 The figure of Laertes, protruding from the lower part of the monument, shows 
 calmness in the countenance, but he seems to be imploring pardon of Heaven 
 for his momentary participation in the death of Hamlet by means of poisoned 
 weapons; the mode of the murder is indicated by the two swords, transfixing 
 a heart over his head. The arabesques on which the swords rest assume the 
 form of weeping Genii. The bat-like decorations at the lower corners of the 
 sarcophagus allude to the nocturnal scenes and works of darkness. The death’s- 
 heads at the head and feet of Hamlet refer to the Grave-digger scene and 
 are intended to heighten the horror of the whole. The winged Lamentations, 
 which, at the top, seem to be loudly shrieking forth their ''Horrible! most 
 horrible!' are also designed to strengthen the effect; but, more closely 
 considered, they are only ornaments, which, with their tails terminating in a 
 cross, help to form that emblem of peace and reconciliation which reigns over 
 the whole. 
 

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MAC 
 
 OUTLINE I. PLATE II. 
 
 HE three Witches, scarcely touching the ground, are hastening, through 
 thunder and lightning, through fog and filthy air, across the barren 
 
 heath, producing nought but thorns and thistles, to the spot where 
 they hope to find Macbeth. ‘Where the place? .... Upon the heath .... 
 There to meet with Macbeth .... Hover through fog and filthy air!’ In 
 the turmoil of the distant fight we distinguish Macbeth, who, as conqueror of 
 the Norwegians, is wresting the banner from the standard-bearer. The hind- 
 most of the Witches holds in her lowered right hand, instead of the magic 
 wand, a thistle, which is borne by Scotland in her arms. The horse’s scull 
 leads to the inference that battles have at an earlier period been fought on 
 this spot. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. * 
 
 BIRTH OF THE IDEA OF MURDER. — Macbeth, accompanied by 
 Banquo, on his return to King Duncan, at some distance from his camp, which 
 is visible in the back-ground, perceives the three Witches, whom, on account 
 
 of their beards, he knows not whether to take for men or women, and is 
 
 i 
 
 saluted by them with prophetic exclamations and ‘Hail to thee!’ They per- 
 ceive the signs of the future, not discernible by mortal eye, and are about to 
 reveal his fortunes to Banquo, who is to beget kings though not himself a 
 king. The standard taken by Macbeth, and which he intends to carry to 
 Duncan, is seen in the background, planted in the earth, and guarded by a 
 
 soldier. Horses are led to water, and troops are passing in the distance. The 
 
 i artist has introduced the idea of bringing home the standard taken from the 
 Norwegians for the sake of the continuity of the action, because Macbeth’s 
 I return as conqueror is thereby indicated. 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 King Duncan, attended by his two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, the 
 elder of whom, created prince of Cumberland, is destined to plant a thorn in 
 Macbeth’s bosom, and by other grandees of the realm, receives Macbeth, on 
 his return, with praises from which the latter modestly shrinks. One of the 
 warriors who have followed him supports the flag, which the crowned lion, 
 j grasping the battle-axe in his paws, denotes to be the banner of Norway. 
 
 E T H. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 The King, suspecting no harm, enters with confidence the castle of Macbeth, 
 where he is received at the door by Lady Macbeth, with false humility and 
 perfidious demonstrations of friendship. The -King is followed by his sons, 
 warriors, and other retainers, as is Lady Macbeth by some of her female attend- 
 ants. The swallows, nestling under the stone-work of the gate, furnish Banquo, 
 who accompanies the King, with occasion to remark, that ‘the heaven’s breath 
 smells wooingly here? The sudden rearing of the horse, which has borne the 
 King, points at the extraordinary instinct of the horse when he comes to a 
 place where all is not as it ought to be. — See also Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 O U T L I N E V. P L A T E VI. 
 
 THE VISION OF THE DAGGER. — Macbeth, vehemently excited, 
 shortly before the perpetration of the murderous deed, fancies that he sees in 
 the vacant air before him a dagger with the point turned toward the King’s 
 chamber. But in vain he grasps, with evident horror, at this phantom, till the 
 signal given with the bell by Lady Macbeth, who comes in sight on the left, 
 wakens him from his rCverie, and rouses him to action. The King, with his 
 crown beside him and surrounded by his chamberlains, is peacefully slumbering 
 on his bed. A dragon-like head protrudes from the capital of the pillar in the 
 fore-ground and the grotesque hilt of the dagger {dudgeon^ which properly signifies 
 the figured handle of that species of weapon), denotes its infernal origin. The 
 point of the dagger is turned backward in illustration of the words, ‘Thou 
 marshal’st me the way’. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 MURDER OF THE KING. — At the moment when Macbeth, throwing 
 himself upon the King , stops his mouth with one hand , and with the other 
 plunges the real dagger into his heart, and while one of the grooms, lying on 
 the floor, raises himself and seems to be grasping at something, while the other, 
 overcome with sleep, only clenches his fist, the murderer fancies that he hears 
 the voices of spirits complaining, ‘Macbeth does murder sleep!’ Horror is 
 impressed upon his countenance; his hair stands erect. While one phantom, 
 rushing past the sleepers, strives in vain’ to rouse them with feeble cry, another 
 indistinct figure, enveloped in vapour as in a shroud, hovers shrieking over 
 the murderer, a third, behind the royal crown, looks on complainingly but 
 
impotently at the bloody deed, and imps of hell creep screaming up the cur- 
 tains. Lady Macbeth, listening impatiently for the consummation of the deed, 
 is seen at the open door in the back-ground. An owl has entered at the 
 window, blown open by the tempest, and is flying forward with heavy wing, 
 a herald of mischief, perhaps the same whose screech has already startled the 
 listening Lady. 
 
 OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 MURDER OF BANQUO. - — The murderers hired by Macbeth fall upon 
 Banquo. He grasps at his sword, but, as one of the assailants holds his hand 
 fast upon the hilt, while the other, seizing him, strives to throw him down, 
 and at the same instant plunges his dagger into his breast, he calls to his 
 son to fly. The torch wrenched from the attendant is extinguished by one of 
 the murderers, who strikes it against a tree, that black night may enshroud 
 the black deed. 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. — Macbeth sees with horror the ghost of 
 Banquo seated in the chair which he has himself but just left : with silent 
 indignation he turns towards him his lacerated head and points to the wound 
 in his breast. Macbeth starts back, exclaiming, ‘Which of you have done 
 this?’ Lady Macbeth grasps his arm, and addressing the perturbed guests, strives 
 to quiet them. The guests are variously affected. Some, suspecting the real 
 cause, whisper their conjectures to others. The servants look in anxious amaze- 
 ment at their master. The dog alone of all present, sneaking away with his 
 tail between his legs, feels uncomfortable in the proximity of the ghost. 
 
 OUTLINE IX. PLATE X. 
 
 THE WITCHES’ CAVERN. — ■ Macbeth is enraged at the sight of so 
 many Kings sprung from the blood of Banquo, whose figure, looking at Macbeth, 
 points to the royal train. The Witches, with magic music, produced by imps 
 whose bodies form instruments in various ways, have concluded their dance 
 around the just sinking cauldron, from whose vapours issue different kinds of 
 demons. They have their favourites, Gray-malkin and Paddock, the cat and 
 the toad, sitting on their shoulders, the first spitting at Macbeth as a stranger. 
 They are making their comments on their disconcerted and deluded visitor, 
 accompanied with eloquent motions of the hands. Infernal scorn marks the 
 imp hovering over his head and squirting his filth upon him. Hecate presides 
 at this grand incantation, which is attended by a variety of spectators, as 
 
 2 
 
 different sorts of imps are peeping, crawling and gliding here and there out 
 of the fissures of the rock and from beneath the blocks of stone. In this Plate j 
 also the thistle could not be omitted. 
 
 O U T L I N E X. P L A T E XI. 
 
 TPIE LI AND- WASHING. — Lady Macbeth, watched by her waiting-woman 
 and the physician who has been summoned to attend her, is just leaving her 
 chamber. Barefoot, rubbing her hands, which to her appear bloody, her distended 
 eyes fixed upon them , with dishevelled hair and deranged reason , she walks I 
 through the halls and the passages of the castle, the grotesque decorative 
 figures of whose columns look down upon her : this is the case with the helmet 
 that crowns the shield, upon which is represented a heart transfixed with a 
 dagger, as an emblem of murder. The very lamp upon the table has the 
 appearance of a fantastic figure, and heightens the horror of the moment. 
 
 OUTLINE XI. PLATE XII. 
 
 THE MOVING WOOD. — Macbeth, on the point of marching with his 
 warriors to meet the enemy, receives from a warder stationed on the watch- 
 tower of a projecting part of the castle of Dunsinane, upon which the King’s 
 standard is hoisted, the alarming intelligence that the wood of Birnam seems 
 to be approaching. He tells him threatening and indignant that, if the report 
 prove false, he will have him hanged on the next Lee. While this is passing 
 in the castle-yard , the hostile force is seen advancing with an appearance as 
 though the distant forest were diminished to brush-wood and moving forward 
 in this form. 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 REWARD OF HELL. — • With a courage still undaunted, and an assu- 
 rance founded on the oracles delivered in the Witches’ cavern, Macbeth meets 
 Macduff, who rushes upon him in the field of battle. But when the latter 
 informs him of the circumstances of his birth, the usurper’s courage and strength 
 fail him, and, vainly defending himself, he sinks under the avenging sword of 
 his adversary. At the moment when he receives the mortal stroke, the real 
 meaning of the infernal web of delusion in which he has been entangled 
 becomes clear to him as the artist has endeavoured to denote by showing exter- 
 nally that which was visible only to Macbeth’s internal eye. The same figures 
 which had answered his questions in the Witches’ cavern appear to him here, and, 
 as it were, repeat their former intimations. His foes are marching up to the 
 castle, of which, while lightning flashes around it, they make themselves masters. 
 
Plate 2 
 
 
 
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 OUTLINE!. PLATE II. 
 
 HIS Plate represents the moment when, just after the grotesque fray 
 between the servants of the Capulets and Montagues, the heads of 
 the hostile families, alarmed by the uproar, hasten into the street. 
 They recognize one another, and instantly the ancient enmity, which continues 
 to burn with youthful violence beneath the silvered hair of the veterans, bursts 
 forth in all its fury. The scene is rendered more expressive by being placed 
 between the palaces of the Capulets and Montagues, which are distinguished 
 by the arms of the respective families — those of the Capulets being a hat 
 with a band hanging down from it, and those of the Montagues an eagle with 
 expanded wings. The countenances of the heads of the two families, whose 
 wives are using their utmost efforts to pacify them, are highly characteristic. 
 In the features of old Capulet, in particular — on your right as you look at 
 the Plate — are marked that vehement rage and that unfeeling harshness which 
 he afterwards suffers to break forth towards his lovely daughter. Here we see 
 him so mastered by passion, that with his hand he grasps for his sword, for- 
 getting that he is in his morning-gown. The artist has very judiciously thrown 
 the vulgar brawl of the servants into the background; so that we can dwell 
 . with pleasure on the noble figures of the fiery Tybalt and the resolute Benvolio, 
 who, brandishing their swords, are commencing their chivalrous conflict. In 
 the remote distance, the Prince, no doubt apprised of the bold violation of 
 his decree, is seen descending the flight of steps in front of his palace. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 The invitations of old Capulet to an entertainment in his house have been 
 sent round, and we here see several masks crossing the street to his palace. 
 Romeo and his friends resolve to mask themselves in haste, and to proceed 
 thither. Benvolio proposes to join in a few dances and then to leave; Romeo 
 replies, 
 
 A torch for me ! let wantons, light of heart. 
 
 Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels. 
 
 It is not difficult, even under the half mask which the artist has given him, 
 to discover the melancholy-looking eye of Romeo, which distinguishes him from 
 his mirthful friends. We cannot refrain from directing the attention of the 
 observer to the tall, athletic, masked figure on the right of the Plate (who, 
 though not belonging to Romeo’s company, is likewise going to the enter- 
 tainment) in which the artist has been particularly successful. 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 We find ourselves in the middle of the ball-room, where, in joyous con- 
 fusion, masked groups of all kinds are moving to and fro, there engaged in 
 dancing, here in conversation. To the latter belong Romeo and Juliet: motion- 
 less as saints are wont to be she allows the pilgrim the solicited kiss. In the 
 lovely countenance of Juliet that absence of motion has assumed the expression 
 of sweet resignation to the mighty power of love, which has so suddenly 
 overcome her. Romeo’s look is fraught with the most insinuating tenderness. 
 In the Nurse, who plucks Juliet by the sleeve, and rouses her from her 
 delicious unconsciousness, to tell her that her mother craves a word with her, 
 appear the loquacious vulgarity and the base pandering disposition which this 
 woman displays throughout her whole part. In the foreground. Punch and 
 Scapin, in grotesque fight, divert the eyes of the company from the lovers, 
 and furnish at the same time a more lively representation of noisy scenes of 
 revelry. The elderly gentlemen in the background are too deeply absorbed 
 in earnest conversation to notice what is passing about them. The arch look 
 of the servant pouring out wine at a side-table, seems alone to show that he 
 is watching the lovers. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 The Cell oP Friar Lawrence. The lovers are with him. He conducts 
 them into the adjoining chapel, to give the sanction of the Church to the fond 
 union of their hearts. Juliet, with the expression of celestial confidence and 
 the warmest attachment, lays her hand upon Romeo’s breast, as though 
 pronouncing the tender words; — 
 
O gentle Romeo, 
 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. 
 
 And, now she knows that his “bent of love” is “honourable”, his “purpose 
 marriage”, she adds: — 
 
 All my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay. 
 
 And follow thee, my lord, through all the world. 
 
 OUTLINE V. PLATE VI. 
 
 The Plate before us represents the lovers on the point of parting. The 
 delicious bridal night of which Juliet says, that 
 
 strange love grown bold 
 Thinks true love acted simple modesty, 
 
 is soon over. Juliet exclaims: 
 
 It is — ’tis day! hie hence, begone, away! 
 
 She perceives the imminent danger that must arise for Romeo from longer 
 delay. The Nurse then enters, urging the necessity of haste, as her mother 
 will soon be there. In fact, in our design, the countess is seen through a 
 
 j half-open window^ coming along a passage. There is not a moment to lose. 
 
 I Juliet opens the window, with the painfully emphatic words: — 
 
 Then window let day in, and let life out. 
 
 . Romeo has grasped the pillar of the window; one leg is thrown over the 
 parapet; the lovers meet once more in a last embrace — and he leaps down. 
 
 The surrounding objects are also deserving of notice. In the next room 
 lies the garment, and on the table the jewels which she has put off. 
 
 Even the pomegranate-tree before the window, the favourite haunt of the 
 
 i nightingale is not omitted, but contributes to present a genuine picture of the 
 
 scene such as Shakespeare’s imagination must have painted it. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 We here see the hard-hearted, fiery-tempered Capulet, in a vehement rage, 
 loading with abuse his lovely daugter, who is kneeling before him, and 
 rejecting the proposed union with the Count Paris. The mother, after she 
 has unfeelingly enough complained of her daughter to her husband, now strives 
 to appease him, but of course without success. The gossip of the Nurse 
 makes the incensed old man still more furious, and he is at length maddened 
 to such a degree as to curse his child. With the threat, “Thursday is near!” 
 he leaves her, followed by her mother, who, with unnatural coldness, cries : — 
 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. 
 
 OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 Renounced by her hot-headed father, deserted by her unkind mother, 
 betrayed by the base-minded Nurse, who, while Juliet is yet glowing from 
 
 Romeo’s kisses, can, with vulgar levity, recommend to her to extricate herself 
 from this unpleasant situation by forsaking Romeo and giving her hand to the 
 sweet Paris — there she stands alone in tragic grandeur, combating her sorrows. 
 Juliet’s resolution is taken; the dagger lies near her; the cup containing the 
 draught prepared by the monk is in her hand. Still she stands there, bright 
 in her loveliness as the taper burning opposite to her, and which, in a few 
 hours, will be spent and extinguished. She is tortured with doubt whether the 
 monk may not have given her real poison. But no — that cannot be; for 
 he had ever approved himself an upright man. But how, if she should awake 
 in the tomb before Romeo’s coming! Dreadful possibility! A most ghastly 
 vision bewilders her senses: she beholds in imagination the fiery Tybalt in his 
 bloody shroud, watching for his murderer, Romeo. Observe the fixed, distended 
 eye; the expectant look of agony and horror! Her hair stands erect; she 
 grasps the cup, and cries: — 
 
 Romeo, I come! — this do I drink to thee! 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 There she lies, the queen of the day, pale and cold, and yet beautiful 
 — so beautiful, that even the old hard-hearted Capulet suddenly softens and 
 breaks forth into the exclamation: — 
 
 Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
 
 Upon the sweetest llow’r of all the field ! 
 
 The expression which the artist has given to the different heads in this Plate, 
 according to condition and age, is wonderful. In young Paris is seen the 
 deepest sorrow, the vehemence with which youth indulges either joy or grief; 
 and therefore he has least to say. Next to him, the mother, whose previous 
 coldness is succeeded by keen remorse. The Nurse, that mischievous gossip, 
 prays with her lips, and, in her disposition of mind, the prayer itself is mere 
 tattle. Old Capulet is even in his sorrow harsh, haughty,, violent. Friar 
 Lawrence rebukes the mourners for the excess of their grief; he directs their 
 views to that Heaven, which has reclaimed Juliet as its property; and he 
 urges a speedy interment, in which he, indeed, must be the most interested 
 of them all. In the faces of the musicians there is also a great diversity of 
 expression, according to the share which they take in the matter. The one on 
 the right, with the hautboy under his arm, is considering with a look of stupid 
 cunning, that there is now nothing to be done but to put up their instruments, 
 and to see whether something to eat may not be obtained from the mourners. 
 The second, with his uplifted pipe, thinks absolutely nothing, as his everyday 
 countenance clearly indicates. To him it is all one — he is hired to play. 
 
3 
 
 and, when Peter, the servant, asks him by the way to give them once more 
 the tune of Heart' s-ease, the dolt straightway complies, even here in the house 
 of mourning and in the presence of death. The third, whose head only is 
 visible, appears to be the best disposed of the three. His features, to be sure, 
 are trivial, but they denote pity and sincere sorrow. 
 
 O U T L I N E IX. P L A T E X. 
 
 The Family Burial-place of the Capulets. Tall pillars support the spacious 
 vault. Over the door the family arms, surmounted by a cross, might serve 
 to mark any ordinary chapel. But our artist knows how, by a single trait, 
 to set a distinctive stamp upon his subject. Take notice of the capital of the 
 left-hand pillar — it is composed of death’s heads. Can we now have any 
 doubt where we are, and that Death has fixed his abode here? In the back- 
 ground of the vault, which Romeo has broken open with a mattock that lies 
 on the ground, we see Juliet in the coffin. And here, on the threshold of 
 eternity, Romeo and Paris meet and engage in mortal combat. The torch 
 against the pillar, with its smoky flare, throws a dull light on the furious 
 conflict and on an ebbing life: while the bright burning lamp in the vault 
 sheds its clear rays on the silent abode of the dead, on the inanimate form 
 in the coffin and on the speedily withered flowers upon the ground which 
 Paris had strewed at Juliet’s funeral. We see the Page running to fetch the watch. 
 
 OUTLINE X. PLATE XL 
 
 The bosom of the wretched Romeo is torn with the keenest anguish. 
 His Juliet lies before him in the tomb, dead. That this death is not real, is 
 unknown to him, because the letter, written by the Friar to acquaint him with 
 these circumstances, has not reached his hands. Gently clasping her in his 
 arms, he presses her to his heart. 
 
 He imprints the last kiss on her lips, and, hasty as he always was, forth- 
 ■w'lth determines to commit self-murder. He instantly lifts the poison to his 
 mouth, and no sooner has he drunk it off, than in the agony of death he 
 breaks forth into the exclamation: — 
 
 O true apothecary ! 
 
 Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. 
 
 He too is now silent for ever, like Paris, who is stretched upon the floor, and 
 Tybalt whom we see in his coffin, in the rear. Romeo’s torch lies on the 
 ground. Its smoke rolls in a dense cloud through the vault, half shrouding 
 the crucifix placed at the top of it, to which Romeo’s eyes should have been 
 directed before he took his own life. 
 
 OUTLINE XL PLATE XII. 
 
 The stillness of death pervades the vault, Juliet awakes at the moment 
 when the Friar, standing beside her coffin, is contemplating the horrid cata- 
 strophe. A noise is heard. It is the watch, summoned by the Page of the 
 Count Paris. Friar Lawrence has no time to lose: he cannot spare the 
 
 unfortunate Juliet — 
 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; 
 
 And Paris, too. 
 
 She raises Romeo, who, in the agonies of death, had sunk to the ground, lays 
 his head upon her soft bosom and kisses his lips. Grief, despair, madness, 
 are blended in her looks, which alas! engrossed as she is by earthly sorrows, 
 are not turned upwards; and thus from her too the image of the crucified 
 Redeemer is vailed in a cloud of smoke, which now completely envelops the 
 upper half of it. She hears a noise, and instantly plunges Romeo’s dagger 
 into her bosom, with the words. 
 
 There rust and let me die! 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 The lovely Juliet has sunk upon Romeo’s body, her open death-wound 
 covering his heart. Her beautiful face is still half visible. The Prince, with 
 gloomy look, the females, the watch, stand aghast. On the ground lies blooming 
 youth bathed in its blood, and over the lifeless bodies the aged fathers, whose 
 foolish enmity has sacrificed their offspring, join their shaking hands; and with 
 lips tremulous with grief and anguish and streaming eyes, they stammer forth 
 words of reconciliation. They will look up to Heaven in prayer that it may 
 forgive the sins of them and theirs — and then their eyes will meet the 
 crucifix, which appears plain and clear, for the dull cloud of smoke is dis- 
 pelled — an emblem of Eternal Love. 
 
Plate 3. 
 
 
 
 
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KING 
 
 OUTLINE I. PLATE II. 
 
 g N this Plate we see represented the aged King Lear dividing his kingdom 
 between his daughters. Goneril and Regan have already received their 
 portions. Cold attention, malignant envy, are expressed in their eyes, 
 fixed with spiteful look upon Cordelia, and by their compressed lips. Gentle 
 and noble as her soul is Cordelia’s lovely countenance, and her hand, laid 
 upon her pure bosom, attests the deep truth of her feelings. From the look of 
 the fascinating creature you may imagine that, at Goneril’s unnatural, affected 
 assurances of love, you hear her say to herself: — 
 
 What shall Cornelia do? Love and be silent. 
 
 Old Kent, seeing more clearly- than his master, and deeply moved by the injustice 
 of the decision, exclaims, “Good my liege — !” The face -of the King of 
 France, who may be recognized by the Jilies on his garment, as well as his 
 whole attitude, is expressive of the words: “This is most strange!” Cornwall 
 and Albany are seen behind their wives, and their looks at this scene per- 
 fectly accord with their sentiments. The accessories, the architectural as well 
 as the seats and the richly covered table, denote royal magnificence. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 The sisters have concerted together. The consequence of this conversation 
 is the unfeeling haughtiness which is expressed in Goneril’s look in this Plate, 
 and with which, so admirably has the pencil of our artist portrayed her, we 
 almost hear her speak. Only survey her as she stands opposite to her fether. 
 The royal diadem encircles her brow; the royal mantle covers her shoulders; 
 she is followed by pages, speaking witnesses of that 
 
 Preeminence and all the large effects 
 That troop with majesty — 
 
 and of which the weak Lear has, for her sake, divested himself. When we 
 consider her attitude, her hand propped against her hip, and the upper part 
 of the body disdainfully thrown back, her mind is as clearly displayed to our 
 view as are her form and features. Defiance and malignity are apparent in 
 
 L E A R. 
 
 the dark look and the contracted brow of Goneril, and ill repressed violence 
 is denoted by that mouth, which would rather pour forth abuse, while the 
 uplifted hand plainly expresses the asseveration that she will not tolerate her 
 father’s retinue in her house. Lear, the unhappy, incessantly insulted father, 
 the scornfully treated King, cannot believe his eyes, his ears. “Are you our 
 daughter?” he asks, in his first astonishment. “Your name, fair gentlewoman?” 
 while grief and vexation, combined with his natural vehemence, are already 
 stamping upon his noble countenance the expression of strong indignation. 
 Look at that eye, look at that hand, which convulsively grasps the royal mantle, 
 and you will not be surprised to hear him at length burst forth into the excla- 
 mation, “Darkness and devils!” Kent, honest Kent, who, though banished by 
 the King himself, never quits him, gazes with deep anger at the daughter, 
 “that marble-hearted fiend.” The Fool, who has unmercifully lashed the weak- 
 minded king with his well-meant and keenly searching criticisms, whispers to 
 him, “May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?” The artist has 
 made him significantly lay hold of the two ass’s ears of his fool’s cap, as 
 though he would say: “I, the fool, with the cap and bells and the ass’s ears, 
 have long foreseen and foretold what thou, great King, wouldst not believe 
 but now with horror seest fulfilled.” 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 The Plate before us exhibits the continuation of the preceding scene, only 
 in a strain of increased vehemence. Goneril has just finished her cruel speeches 
 and excited Lear’s anger to the utmost. In vain the duke of Albany beseeches 
 him to be composed, and assures him that he is so innocent in the whole 
 transaction as not even to know what has so incensed him. The wretched 
 father, who had imagined that in Goneril’s words he had already received the 
 most cruel wounds that filial ingratitude has power to inflict, is no longer 
 master of himself and breaks forth into the terrible exclamation: — 
 
 Detested kite, thou llest' 
 
 O Lear, Lear, Lear' 
 
 Beat at this gate that let thy folly in ! 
 
2 
 
 Our accomplished artist makes him, as he strikes his forehead, and not ^ 
 without deep significance, throw from him the coronet, which the faithful 
 Kent picks up. ' 
 
 In Lear’s features we perceive the expression of the most furious indigna- 
 tion. Cut to the heart and transported with rage, he raises his eyes to heaven, I 
 which can suffer such wickedness to pass unpunished beneath its azure dome, j 
 and pronounces the terrible apostrophe: — 
 
 Hear, Nature, hear! &c. 
 
 When we read these words, which make the hair stand on end, and com- 
 pare with them the expression which the pencil of the artist has imparted to 
 the countenance of the unhappy Lear: we can surely not fail to be moved 
 with the most profound, the most painful sympathy. With infernal coolness 
 Goneril stands opposite to her raving sire, while the Fool shrugs his shoulders, 
 as much as to say, “Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been 
 wise,” and the youthful pages listen with awe to the words of the enraged 
 father. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 Lear finds his Kent put in the stocks by Regan’s command. He will not 
 believe it, for he has previously told Goneril that he has another daughter, 
 who will certainly prove kind and affectionate; but the evidence of his senses 
 convinces him; his messenger lies ignominiously shackled on the ground before 
 him, and he begins to suspect that the Fool was right when he said, “Win- 
 ter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way”. Scarcely able to keep his 
 temper, he listens to Kent’s account of Cornwall’s and Regan’s conduct. The 
 knight who stands by, manifests deep sympathy: the pantomime of the Fool 
 expresses partly the meaning of his ironical words in Act. I. Scene 5 : “Shalt 
 see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she is as like this as 
 a crab is like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell” — and partly alludes 
 to Kent’s “cruel garters”. 
 
 OUTLINE V. PLATE VI. 
 
 In the excess of his anguish, the aged and afflicted King, the father cast 
 off by his children, falls upon his knees before his daughter. In this atti- 
 tude we see him, in this admirable sixth Plate, before the heartless Regan, 
 soliciting attendance and support for the few remaining days of his life. For 
 the moment, he has forgotten Goneril’s cruelty; he hopes every thing from 
 Regan, his posture, his mien, his looks must move her, if she has not a stone 
 instead of a heart in her ice-cold bosom. He, the father, kneels before his 
 child, and, with voice choked by sorrow, falters forth: — 
 
 On my knees I beg 
 
 That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 
 
 The gentleman standing by convulsively clenches his fist: the strongest 
 indignation is depicted in his looks. The Fool, that faithful friend and but 
 too true prophet, gazes sadly on at the humiliation of his royal master. Kent, 
 who has been released from the stocks, still sits, as though riveted to the 
 ground, chafing his aching shins and observing the group. Stupid curiosity 
 and malicious pleasure are marked in the looks and smiles of the train of the 
 wicked daughter. Cornwall, Regan’s husband, and worthy of this execrable 
 woman, stands erect, proud, and cold, during the whole transaction, as if it 
 did not at all concern him. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 That terrible night, into whose awful darkness Lear has been thrust out 
 by his daughters, combined with the agonizing occurrences of the day, have 
 weakened the brain of the old King and deranged his ideas. We see him 
 here on the wild heath, before the wretched hovel of mad Tom. 
 
 The picture presented in this scene by the artist is harrowing — Edgar, 
 who, to save his life from the treacherous machinations of his brother, wanders 
 about the wild heath feigning madness; Lear, whose misfortunes have actually 
 driven him mad; lastly, the Fool, that faithful creature, who, out of friendship, 
 has disguised his reason in the party-coloured garb. The aspect of Nature in 
 this Plate is wild as the minds of the persons introduced in it. The clouds 
 driven by the storm fly low along the horizon and launch forked lightnings 
 from their bosom. The tall pines bend and shake their heads a century old; 
 and in the background the scared deer are running at full speed across the 
 heath. 
 
 OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 Lear has been brought from the desolate heath, from Tom’s crazy hovel, 
 to a better habitation, where, as Gloster himself says, “he will piece out the 
 comfort with what addition he can”. 
 
 We see him in the Plate before us arraigning his daughters. The artist 
 has still given him, even in madness, the noble bearing of exalted rank. With 
 grave look, he seems to be arranging the ceremony, and does not listen to 
 the faithful Kent when he proposes to him to lie down and rest on the cushions 
 which he has placed for him. The fool gazes on him, full of pity, but throwing 
 out every now and then one of his cutting sarcasms. We see Tom here seated 
 on the bench, and threatening to throw his head at the dogs Tray, Blanch 
 and Sweetheart, which, Lear says, are all barking at him. 
 
3 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 Gloster is seated on the floor, still bound by each hand to the heavy 
 
 and is plucking out the hairs of his beard and moustaches — according to the 
 I notions of those times, a's every body knows, one of the grossest insults — 
 
 I while Cornwall tears out his eyes. His fierce envenomed look is directed to 
 the good old servant, whose honest face we here see, and who exclaims: — 
 
 Hold your hand, my lord, 
 
 I have serv’d you ever since I was a child, 
 
 I But better service have I never done you 
 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 
 The Others exhibit varieties of expression conformable with their respective 
 characters. The one on the left stares stupidly at his daring comrade. He | 
 who is looking over the chair takes a malicious pleasure in the ghastly scene, 
 while he on the right gazes with coarse anger at the disturber. The face of 
 j the unfortunate Gloster, as much as can be seen of it, expresses agony, in- 
 i dignation, and impotent rage. 
 
 O'U T L I N E IX. P L A T E X. 
 
 We here see the proud and once vigorous monarch to whose noble coun- 
 ; tenance madness has imparted something terrible, something that inspires horror. 
 
 I Thoughts of revenge disturb his deranged brain. He talks of coining money 
 . to pay armies, which he purposes to lead against his unnatural daughters. Oppo- 
 I site to Lear stands the blinded Gloster, with a bandage over his sightless 
 I orbits. He is led by his son Edgar, disguised as a peasant. The poor king 
 ; is occupied with the soldiers raised in his madness, and to whom he fancies 
 that he has already given ‘press-money’. In these frenzied visions, he pro- 
 bably takes Gloster and Edgar for men-at-arms, and requires them after the 
 military fashion to ‘give the word’. 
 
 “The trick of that voice I do well remember,” 
 
 I says Gloster, 
 
 ! “Is’t not the King?” 
 
 j And Lear answers with that mixture of truth and madness which is so inex- 
 ' pressibly thrilling: — 
 
 “Ay, every inch a King!” 
 
 OUTLINE X. PLATE XI. 
 
 The slumbering King has been carried on a chair into a tent in the 
 French camp. There is nothing in the surrounding objects to call up the 
 recollection of the wretched hovel in which dwelt the horrors of insanity. 
 Cordelia, now queen of France, as the crown upon her head and the lilies I 
 
 I embroidered upon her garment indicate, has caused her father to be placed on 
 a royal seat, royally clad, that, on the first awaking of consciousness, he may 
 feel himself surrounded by the state consistent with his rank, that no privation 
 may make him call to mind his past afflictions. A physician is in attendance, 
 watching him with the most earnest attention. In the background are seen 
 • musicians, whom the physician has provided, and whom he desires to play 
 louder, in order to wake the sleeping King in an agreeable manner. With 
 the soft, tender voice of an affectionate heart, Cordelia, on his awaking, asks, 
 “How does my royal lord?” and afterwards, “Sir, do you know me?” Lear’s 
 look and gesture reply: 
 
 You are a spirit, I know, when did you die? 
 
 More, infinitely more than we are told in the long-winded remarks of 
 commentators, male and female, on Cordelia’s character, is expressed by our 
 artist in the action of that lovely creature. He represents her, after she has 
 wakened her father, touching with one hand that of Lear, which rests on the 
 chair, while the light fingers of the other are gently putting aside the hair from 
 his aged brow. 
 
 We see Kent standing close to the chair, and bending forward, with 
 intense sympathy, to catch the words uttered in a low tone by the King. 
 Equal interest and astonishment are expressed in the looks of the gentleman 
 who stands by. Of the attendants, one is seen turning round to the musicians, 
 while the others seem to be reading the feelings of the persons present in their 
 looks. The deeply thoughtful countenance of the physician is very fine. 
 
 OUTLINE XI. PLATE XII. 
 
 We here see Lear holding his beloved daughter dead in his arms. 
 
 In his figure and face, in his distended eyes, his elevated brow, his vener- 
 able hair all erect, the mixture of former energy, majesty, and dignity with 
 anguish and returning madness, is too evident to be mistaken. Cordelia, that 
 pattern of tenderness and affection, cut off by death, rests in the arms of her 
 father. Love still dwells upon her lips, grace still hovers over her whole form, 
 though somewhat impaired by the struggle with a violent death. Equal grief, 
 equal astonishment, equal consternation, are expressed in the countenances of 
 Kent, Edgar, and Albany; and the growing intensity of their feelings is depicted 
 in their features with not less skill than truth. Kent, the old, the oft-tried, 
 and ever faithful friend of the extinct royal house, is the most profoundly 
 afflicted and wrings his hands in the excess of his sorrow. 
 
 The artist has here found occasion to display, in the magnificence of the 
 arms and armour, his intimate acquaintance with such matters, and we are 
 
 J 
 
4 
 
 delighted with the fruit of his mature studies. The armour of the knight on 
 the spectator’s right is particularly splendid. 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 Lear’s hope, as he brings in his dead daughter in his arms, that she may 
 revive, and that the feather held to her lips would stir, is disappointed. She 
 has been laid upon the ground. Lear kneels beside her. Anguish gives him 
 reason, and, at the same time, death. With the words “Oh! thou wilt come 
 no more!” he sinks down; grief has done its worst; his heart is broken. “Look 
 on her! look there, look there!” are his last words. He drops lifelles in the 
 
 arms of a faithful attendant. How rich is this beautiful group, and how the 
 action and looks of all are concentrated on the two principal figures in the 
 foreground. Edgar exclaims, “Look up, my lord!” but Kent replies warningly 
 in the deeply felt words: 
 
 Vex not his ghost ! O let him pass ! he hates him 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world 
 Stretch him much longer! 
 
 The tidings have spread; many are hastening to the spot, and in all faces 
 we read sorrow and horror at the prodigious stroke of Fate, which has ex- 
 tinguished at once the life of Cordelia in the bloom of youthful beauty, and 
 that of the griefworn, brokenhearted Lear. 
 
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T H E T E 
 
 OUTLINE!. PLATE II. 
 
 ROSPERO relates to Miranda the history of his earlier life, and con- 
 cludes by directing her attention to the storm and apparent destruction 
 of the ship, caused by his magic art. 
 
 We behold in the distance the agitated sea and the stranded ship, with 
 some of the crew already saved and others making for the land. Near 
 Prospero lie his magic mantle and staff, the instruments of his art, which he 
 has just laid aside; the symbols on his cap and breast are indicative of his 
 mastery over the elements of nature. In the deep but mild seriousness of his 
 countenance we read the conciliatory effect of long solitude in overcoming his 
 anger and the first thirstings after revenge. We read the history of his life, 
 which he is now relating, in the penetrating looks, akin alike to pain and love, 
 which he casts upon Miranda. His head is covered, but the prominent and 
 manifestly high forehead reveals the profound thinker, the man of energy and 
 firmness of character; the noble and manly features express inward peace, and 
 finally the lofty and majestic form displays the man who rules the spirits at his 
 will. His dress, the long oriental garment and the strange mystic figures on his 
 head-dress indicate the fantastic feature in his character. 
 
 Near him sits Miranda. She is just falling asleep. Her lovely face still 
 bears the impress of sorrow at the wickedness and misery of man, with which 
 she has but just become acquainted in her own and her father’s history. 
 
 The pleasing group which meets our eyes appears overshadowed by lofty 
 trees. The seat on which the father and daughter repose, leans against Prospero’s 
 cell, a picturesque building, surrounded with strangely formed pillars, round 
 which the ivy is gracefully entwined. Through the open doors we behold 
 Prospero’s magic book resting on a death’s head; from the ceiling hangs the 
 strange form of a monstrous animal; on the other side the clear light of heaven 
 penetrates, illuminating as it were the restless searchings of human reason. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 Prospero has risen from his seat, with his magic staff in his hand, his 
 whole appearance breathes grandeur and majesty, the dignity and severity of 
 
 M PEST. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 the master rather than the mildness and goodness of the benefactor. The proud 
 turn of the head, his commanding look, clearly display the ruler of the spirits, 
 the ideal prince. He nods, and his obedient servant hastens to fulfil his will. 
 
 In beautiful contrast Miranda, sunk in deep sleep, sits opposite to him, the 
 lovely image of affectionate obedience, of modesty and humility. Her head is 
 fallen upon her shoulder, her hand upon her lap; she dreams most probably ; 
 of future happiness in store for her. | 
 
 Ariel, with extended wings, is descending in the air, the fluttering locks and 
 waving drapery attest the swiftness of his flight. He descends from the opposite 
 side of the island to that on which the ship, now lying deserted by the crew, j 
 was wrecked. With his arms crossed, the oriental expression of submission, he j 
 approaches his lord and master, a pleasing, airy, misty form, the manifest I 
 incarnation of ether. His head and body are somewhat feminine, the other 
 parts have more of a manly or boyish nature. 
 
 A slight touch of spite and displeasure quivers about his lips, for, as a 
 spirit, he wants to be free. This is intimated in his dress, a part of the body 
 is slightly clothed, his breast, arms, and feet are bare and free from all unwel- 
 come covering. 
 
 In the interior of the cell we perceive a snake about to slip out. It is 
 terrified by the arrival of Ariel, for all noxious reptiles must vanish befpre the 
 mighty and beneficent spirit of nature. 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 Prospero, with Miranda by his side, stands before Caliban’s cell in the 
 attitude of command, and reminds the cursing monster of the benefits which he 
 has conferred upon him, for which Caliban, however, owes him little thanks. 
 
 His head, with the low, almost vanishing forehead and short chin, is akin 
 to that of a beast, and the expression is still heightened by the hideous, open < 
 jaws; his large eyes, flashing hatred and malice, betray his devilish origin. The ear 
 is in the form of a winding horn; his thighs and the lower part of his body 
 are covered with finny scales, one of which extends over the back part of the 
 skull. Shaggy hair covers his hips and some of the joints. His hands and feet j 
 
2 
 
 end in unwieldy claws. The feet are short and thick, the upper part of the 
 body is long and broad-shouldered, to show his heavy earthy nature and to 
 luark the contrast with Ariel. His attitude and manner express stifled rage and 
 powerless spite, brutal obstinacy and disobedience. His whole appearance is 
 fantastically ugly, without exciting disgust and aversion. 
 
 In strong contrast the dignified form of Prospero stands opposite to him, 
 in noble anger commanding and sublime, his magic staff in his right hand, and 
 with his left pointing to the cell, to which Caliban is ordered to bring the 
 wood. Miranda clings to him in maidenly fear. Her countenance expresses 
 equal compassion and disgust. Her hand is pressed to her eyes and her whole 
 attitude tells us, ^^she doth not like to look on the villain”. 
 
 Ancient shady trees surround the open space before Caliban’s den, over 
 which a mighty rock towers in picturesque lines. The distant horizon is bounded 
 
 by the sea. OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 Ferdinand is conducted by Ariel and his compeers towards Prospero’s cell. 
 Prospero directs the attention of Miranda to the new comer. 
 
 Ferdinand is wholly wrapt in the strange harmony that surrounds him. 
 
 His left arm which is raised and the finger of his right hand express the 
 emotion of his mind. He advances slowly and hesitatingly, like one who anxiously 
 seeks or follows a doubtful guide. His attitude, his open, noble countenance, 
 and all his features display courage and resolution. The mouth seems to indicate 
 a feeling of deep sorrow for the supposed death of his father. 
 
 Opposite to him, on the other side, are Prospero and Miranda, the former 
 watching the effect which the first appearance of Ferdinand produces on his 
 daughter, the latter in the feeling of her astonishment, with one hand upon 
 her father’s arm, points with the other at the unexpected visitor, an exclamation 
 of surprise seems to part from her open lips, and her eye follows the movements 
 of the handsome stranger. Her face and attitude betoken interest and sympathy, 
 whilst the serious expression of Prospero, and his hand negligently raised towards 
 Ferdinand, prove that the prince attracts but little attention. 
 
 The strange waving of the wind, visible in the fluttering garments, seems 
 at the same time to indicate the waving of Ariel as he decoys Ferdinand 
 forward. The light and airy outlines in which the spirits are sketched, 
 show that they are only visible to the mind’s eye. In the midst, at the head 
 of his compeers, we see Ariel; his strangely formed lyre ends in a radiant 
 sun; — with the symbol of harmony in his hand , his attitude expressing 
 the waving rhythm of music, he soars forward, yet looks back to observe 
 
 Ferdinand, who, in wrapt surprise, follows his magic melody. To the right and 
 left are two lovely maiden forms with bells and horn; the mild melancholy of 
 their faces seems to express longing and the reverie of fancy. In the back- 
 ground is the chorus of spirits, a strange medley of half-human, half-canine 
 monsters, and bat-like shapes, performing their part in the aerial concert with 
 comic exertions and lamentable features, doubtless the “dispersed” singers of 
 “bowgh wowgh” in Ariel’s song. Above this motley group soars a bell, borne 
 by a bill with a pair of wings and a tail to correspond, and still higher is a 
 winged child’s head with a tambourine, manifestly the symbolical representation 
 of the chorus to Ariel’s song. 
 
 Below, dancing just above the earth, we behold the musical cock of 
 whom Ariel sings. 
 
 He is puffed up and raises himself erect, but the expression of his face 
 betrays the faint-hearted singer: his head, melancholy and drooping, his soft 
 and sentimental mien, his whole attitude affected, particularly his hands, which 
 peep out from his feathers with an inimitable expression of prudery and mock- 
 modesty, form a picture full of humour and inexpressibly comical. A singular 
 musician, half-demon, half-scaramouch, dances most lustily beside him, and 
 accompanies the cock with a fiddle-bow. 
 
 The scenery exhibits two stately trees entwined with ivy, in front a 
 picturesque fantastic tree of the South, and Prospero’s cell in the background. 
 
 OUTLINE V. PLATE VI. 
 
 This picture shows us the issue of the first meeting between Ferdinand 
 and Miranda. 
 
 Prospero and Ferdinand are manifestly at strife. Anger, hatred, and chastising 
 contempt are expressed in the countenance of Prospero ; blank astonishment and 
 offended honor in the features of Ferdinand: Prospero in a threatening attitude, 
 Ferdinand standing more on the defensive; the former with an expression of certain 
 and decided superiority, the latter, even whilst he draws his sword, uncertain of 
 the issue; Miranda in the attitude of intreaty, and with a countenance expressive 
 of fear, leaning on her father who puts her aside as she attempts to calm his 
 anger. Above them soars Ariel, swinging gracefully amid to winding ivy, 
 and looking down with serious countenance on the strange actions of mankind. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 Antonio and Sebastian have just formed the plan to murder the king and 
 old Gonzalo, who have fallen into a sudden sleep, and they are only hindered 
 by the appearance of Ariel. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 ■I 
 
To the right of the spectator lies the king, distinguishable by his crown, 
 the ruler of lovely Naples, reclining against the trunk of a tree, in deep and 
 tranquil sleep. 
 
 His face bearing the marks of approaching age, expresses not so much 
 quick resolution, as the cool calculating spirit of the intriguing statesman who 
 knows how to make the most of circumstances. 
 
 Leaning on the arm of his companion, to whom his inquiring eye is directed, 
 stands Sebastian, his sword pointed to the noble Gonzalo. We see in him 
 at the first glance a man hasty and passionate, more thoughtless than wicked. 
 
 I The bolder, freer features of his face express courage and resolution, energy 
 I of will, and a temper moved by the passions, but free from cunning and dark, 
 
 1 creeping prudence. 
 
 1 , 
 
 I To the left of the spectator, stretched at his full length, his head sup- 
 I ported by a mossy rock, slumbers old Gonzalo; the winged Ariel, stooping 
 , over his ear, sings of the near danger of his lord. 
 
 I Around, sunk in deep sleep, repose the attendants Adrian, Francisco and 
 I some other subordinate characters. — 
 
 ' OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 We see Ferdinand occupied in the laborious drudgery of menial service. 
 
 I Miranda approaches him and offers to ‘‘bear his logs” while he rests himself. 
 
 The artist has, in the form and figure of Miranda, well portrayed the 
 I self-sacrificing spirit of love so beautifully depicted in her words. She forms 
 I the centre of the group, being placed between Ferdinand and Prospero. Her 
 form and appearance bespeak the pure and open-minded virgin, free from 
 ! all the restraints of art and fictitious refinement. 
 
 i The heap of wood tells us how diligently Ferdinand works. Prospero in 
 ^ the back-ground, concealed from the lovers by a tree, observes the youthful 
 I pair and rejoices that his plan thrives so well. His hands placed behind his 
 back express his inactivity, and intimate that his magic power has found its 
 ' limits. 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 I Caliban claps his hands, or rather his monstrous paws, at the punishment 
 of his adversary. His grinning countenance expresses his devilish love of 
 mischief: no posture is too degraded for the cringeing monster, he kneels in 
 [ adoration before the drunken butler as his God. 
 
 Stephano is more strongly and powerfully built; his prominent jaws in- 
 i timate the sensuality of the man, his insatiable desires, which merge in 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 constant thirst; the wild hair, hanging over his forehead, betrays his dissolute 
 course of life ; his dark and bushy eyes betoken the brawling boaster. Trinculo, 
 on the other hand, is bald: his fat form announces the luxurious idler, who 
 considers a happy jest a good day’s work, his short turned-up nose proclaims 
 the wit, his eyes and mouth seem to have been lengthened by constant 
 laughter. In strong contrast soars Ariel’s pleasing, ideal form, his mouth 
 open, but covered with his hands, as if he would conceal the words that cause 
 the strife between the worthy pair. 
 
 OUTLINE IX. PLATE X. 
 
 Alonso, distinguished by the royal crown, and near him old Gonzalo, 
 have seated themselves in an open spot of the woody island. Behind the King 
 is Antonio, and still farther behind, Sebastian, Adrian, Francisco and other 
 courtiers are seen in a group around. 
 
 Immediately before the king, three or four courtiers bow before him in 
 comic mockery. The thin birdlike legs, the deep reverential bow, and the 
 submissive, subtle, expectant mien of the first, are expressive of the true courtier. 
 His neighbour supports himself on his thick tail, and in dull impudence and 
 mockery stares at Majesty. The strange little form next to him is all veneration : 
 its arms are folded over its breast, its head bent in lowly reverence so as 
 to ^conceal the face, and even the tail which supplies the place of legs seems 
 to wriggle out an invitation; whilst the fourth, in a proud and stiff posture, with 
 head erect, and widely distended jaws, boldly bawls forth its summons. Behind 
 these four in the foreground stands an indescribable figure, half-witch, half- 
 monster, the friendly and inviting bend of the neck is in strong contrast with 
 the malicious open-mouthed face. To the right, dancing, springing and creeping, 
 is a group of merry compeers; fools, jesters and wits, who form part of the world 
 of spirits. Among the other forms which surround the banquet table, the ox- i 
 headed figure to the right with his comical sublime official mien and penetrating 
 police-look, together with his long-nosed, bill-headed companion in aristocratic 
 posture and empty dignity, appear to great advantage. But the form which 
 most attracts our attention, is the tall, sad and almost terrible figure with 
 wide garments and long dishevelled hair, which stands in the middle behind 
 the table and seems to indicate the deep seriousness, despair and insanity that 
 lie in wait behind the apparent joke and are about to break forth. 
 
 Astonishment and wonder, longing and appetite, are expressed in the 
 different countenances of the princes and courtiers. Above the whole soars 
 Prospero, surrounded with light clouds, serious and composed, like Fate. 
 
4 
 
 OUTLINE X. PLATE XI. 
 
 A RESPECTABLE pack of fantastic dogs and other blood-thirsty monsters, 
 terrible to behold, pursue the fugitives, Stephano and Trinculo, and have partly 
 reached them. The heavy Caliban has gained a step or two upon his fellows; 
 he has thrown away his share of the garments, that his flight might be less 
 encumbered. The fat Trinculo takes most enormous strides, and Stephano is 
 pulled back by one of the terrible beasts, who has seized his cloak in its 
 teeth, whilst others attack him in front. Both have donned stolen royal gar- 
 ments, which but ill become them. 
 
 Prospero appears as the ruler of the spirits, as the higher Power, who 
 interferes as Judge and Avenger in the career of blind mortals. Beside him 
 appears Ariel, executing his commands, and encouraging the wild beasts with 
 word and gesture. 
 
 The energy of expression in the pain and fear of the hunted fools is such 
 that we seem to hear them shriek and groan. 
 
 OUTLINE XI. PLATE XII. 
 
 The principal group shows us Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess. 
 Her countenance and her hand raised in playful threat, express the friendly, 
 half-joking reproach, which ends in a play upon her own words. Ferdinand 
 repels it with more seriousness. Miranda’s form has gained more dignity siijce 
 we saw her last; her pleasing features display more depth and expression; her 
 whole being shows more character. 
 
 In the background appear Prospero and his new friends. Two genii have 
 drawn back the curtain of the cell; Prospero with the ducal crown and 
 princely ermine points to the wonder that he had promised to shew the king. 
 The latter gazes in astonishment at the scene before him, he hesitates to be- 
 lieve what he wishes may be true. Antonio and Sebastian, too, appear greatly 
 amazed; behind them crowd the rest of the courtiers. 
 
 In the cell all the books have disappeared, except one that lies behind 
 Miranda, upon a death’s head, on a column-like desk. This is the only thing 
 that reminds us of the lord of the tent and his serious character. In every other 
 respect the cell appears to be the cheerful abode of love and innocence, which, 
 in union with the power of magic, has tamed the beasts of the forest. These 
 serve their lovely mistress in friendly concord : the mighty eagle beside the 
 squirrel and the rabbit; the vain bird of Juno beside the ugly lizard; the hind 
 with her soft, intelligent eye, curiously looking about without fear, beside the 
 bird of Minerva. Ivy twines round one side of the stately pillar, roses wreathe 
 the foot of the basin, whose living water spreads delicious coolness around. 
 Every thing breathes peace and the happiness of love. 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 Ferdinand and Miranda, Prospero and Alonso, occupy the foreground; 
 behind them old Gonzalo with upraised arm, forming the centre of the group, 
 implores the blessing of Heaven. Antonio and Sebastian are farther removed 
 from the chief group, doubtless because they are not so favourably disposed 
 to the youthful pair. Adrian, Francisco, and the other courtiers, naturally 
 form the extreme line of the circle, two of them cast looks of curiosity and 
 astonishment at the master and boatswain, who are brought forward by Ariel. 
 As a pendant to this last group we see Trinculo, Stephano and Caliban in 
 the distance, still tormented by Prospero’s spirits. 
 
 The expression of the different heads is equally varied and animated; 
 Gonzalo’s features are lighted up by the most lively feeling of joy and pious 
 gratitude; the king gazes upon Miranda with looks of inquiry and intreaty, 
 whilst Prospero’s countenance displays quiet dignity, pure love and contented 
 joy. The sharp physiognomy and large open eye of Antonio bespeak cold 
 astonishment rather than living sympathy, and Sebastian is evidently more oc- 
 cupied with himself than with the group at which he gazes so seriously. 
 

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 I- 
 
 
 I ^ri7'' m’ ifiitihi 
 
 
 
OTHELLO, 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE, 
 
 OUTLINE I. PLATE II. 
 
 . .... 
 
 outline represents Othello s meeting with Brabantio, as brought 
 
 about by Roderigo. The bitter pain, anger, and hate of the deeply 
 olfended father are reflected in the sparkling eyes, the wrinkled fore- 
 head, the upturned lips and threatening gestures of the old man. Othello oppo- 
 site to him has the quiet attitude of the hero, whose equanimity is proof 
 against insult, threats, and the clash of arms. We see that, notwithstanding 
 his guilt, he feels himself perfectly innocent: he finds the old man’s anger 
 not only intelligible, but likewise pardonable. Therefore, with the one hand 
 he restrains the violence of his followers, and with the other makes signs of 
 peace to his opponents: therefore he answers old Brabantio with respect and 
 voluntarily offers to make any atonement, and we therefore see at once in 
 his mien and demeanour the peaceful termination of the strife. 
 
 lago has pressed close to Othello, to make as great a display as possible 
 of his officious zeal. His face is a striking picture of his inborn malice and 
 hate. But apparently his anger vents itself against Roderigo, whom he chal- 
 lenges to the combat. But the real object of his anger and hate is Othello, 
 who unsuspiciously endures him at his side. — Roderigo stands in a similar 
 position behind old Brabantio. His hatred is in reality against Othello. The 
 angry, warlike glance that he casts upon lago, as well as his officious friend- 
 ship for Brabantio, are only a mask to conceal his designs upon Desdemona. 
 Cassio’s youthful heroic form on the right hand of Othello presents a beauti- 
 ful contrast to both. We see that his anger at Brabantio’s abusive language, 
 which forms the chief expression of his noble features, his courage and desire 
 to punish them, are the genuine signs of true fidelity and affection for his friend 
 and commander. 
 
 The features of the secondary figures reflect the same contrast; the one 
 party coolly quiet, or in the mere execution of their office without inward sym- 
 pathy, the other exhibiting personal zeal, which, in some, increases to anger 
 
 and revenge. — Venice, rich in palaces and churches, forms the background, 
 indicated by pillars, arcades, and balconies; to the right of the picture stands 
 the lofty pillar with the winged lion of St. Mark. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 This picture shows the termination of the strife, represented in the preceding 
 Outline. Othello, accused before the Senate by Brabantio of having seduced 
 his daughter “by spells and medicines bought of mountebanks”, refers to Des- 
 demona’s own testimony. Desdemona, on being sent for, answers Brabantio’s 
 question as becomes a loving and obedient wife. 
 
 The purity and moral dignity of her love, which her words express, 
 have been admirably reproduced by the artist in the free and noble features 
 of her face, the harmonious outlines of her lofty figure. 
 
 Othello stands quietly on one side, in a modest, yet dignified attitude; 
 with his hand leaning on his sword he awaits the sentence of the judge. On 
 his left stands lago, who casts on Othello a malicious look; behind the latter, 
 to the right, the unhappy Roderigo, his sorrowful eye fixed on Desdemona, 
 from whose lips he hears the sentence which is death to his love and hope; 
 we see that he with difficulty restrains himself from breaking out into that 
 despondency and despair which he expresses to lago at the conclusion of 
 the Act. 
 
 The other side of the picture is occupied by the senators; at their head, 
 in a chair of state, adorned with the ducal crown, sits the Duke, a noble and 
 dignified figure, a worthy representative of the most powerful republic of the 
 age. The old nobles look forward with eager astonishment to the termination 
 of the singular scene, or with thoughtful mien communicate their observations 
 to each other. No love of mischief or of petty scandal is visible, on all their 
 countenances we see that dignity and seriousness which does not forget the 
 state and its difficulties in this discussion of private affairs. 
 
OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 Othello, detained by the storm, is received by Desdemona. The lovers, 
 relieved from their mutual fears, rush into each other’s arms. 
 
 Even in the height of joy a trait of anxious fear mingles in Othello’s 
 soul: his happiness with Desdemona is so great, so sudden and unhoped for, 
 that he cannot believe in its duration. The artist has succeeded in clearly 
 expressing in Othello’s countenance his light touch of melancholy, even amidst 
 his highest rapture. Desdemona, in her innocence and inexperience, feels nothing 
 of what is passing in Othello’s soul; she has the beautiful, unconscious con- 
 fidence of a child in God, in man, in herself; she has no presentiment that 
 the friend who is to, destroy her happiness is already lurking and listening 
 behind her. lago stands in the background, half turning away, devouring the 
 lovely group with malicious and revengeful eyes, his clenched hand laid on 
 his heart, as if he were swearing to himself to destroy this union, this fairest 
 blossom of joy in the existence of two noble beings. 
 
 On the other hand, Cassio and Emilia, and even Montano, the nobles of 
 Cyprus, and the rough soldiers of Othello surround the group, some in joyful, 
 some in respectful sympathy, nay some with a kind of devotional feeling, which 
 willingly mingles with our joy at the view of great and genuine happiness. 
 
 We cannot but admire the skill with which the artist has blended the 
 ugliness of the Moor with the expression of the noble sentiments, beauty of 
 soul, greatness and heroic dignity of Othello. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 Cassio, tempted to drunkenness by lago and involved in a quarrel with 
 Roderigo, has wounded Montano, who had endeavoured to restrain him. 
 
 The group is full of expressive motion. There is an unusual seriousness 
 in every countenance, the presentiment as it were of important and^ terrible 
 consequences. Above all, we see in Othello’s demeanour and bearing that, in 
 his violence, he considers the affair in a more serious light than it really de- 
 serves. Cassio, his back turned to the spectator, turns his head towards Othello 
 as he speaks, and sinks his sword; but we see by his attitude that he does so 
 but reluctantly. Montano .bleeds already; his friends and companions support 
 him, his countenance equally expresses pain and a desire of revenge. 
 
 lago, who has planned the quarrel, uses every exertion, on the approach 
 of Othello, to separate and pacify the combatants; but the mask he assumes 
 is too transparent to conceal his mischievous exultation. 
 
 In the countenances of the nobles of Cyprus, and of the two warriors 
 who attend Othello, we see the different emotions of their minds; terror at the 
 arrival of Othello, serious apprehensions for the consequences of this event; 
 anger and astonishment are here expressed with the artist’s usual skill. The 
 excellent grouping of this Outline unites harmoniously with the architecture 
 which forms the background, representing a vaulted Hall in the castle of 
 Cyprus, in the style of the middle ages. 
 
 OUTLINE V. PLATE VI. 
 
 We here see the conclusion of Cassio’s conversation with Desdemona, 
 which is interrupted by the arrival of Othello. 
 
 lago, in the background, instils the first drop of poison into Othello’s soul. 
 He listens, starts, a flash pervades his features, as his eye rests sternly 
 upon Cassio and Desdemona. It is the first suspicion, which like a thunderbolt 
 in a clear sky overwhelms his guileless, trusting soul, and awakens the demon 
 of jealousy; it is the moment that decides his future fate. 
 
 The chief group, on the contrary, is but of secondary importance. We 
 see indeed that it is a question of an affair important enough to deserve atten- 
 tion; we see the benevolent sympathy, the ready promise of assistance in Des- 
 demona’s countenance, the heartfelt gratitude of Cassio shadowed by mournful 
 seriousness as he repeats his thanks on taking leave, whilst Emilia announces 
 Othello’s arrival. But we feel at the same time that this affair concerns only 
 a transient moment of life, but does not affect the inmost centre of human 
 existence. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 The poison, administered by lago, has already begun to work; on hear- 
 ing lago’s explanations, Othello involuntarily starts back and presses his hand 
 to his forehead, like one whose head is giddy from some unexpected and ter- 
 rible intelligence or sudden idea which he hardly can conceive. His eye is 
 vacantly fixed on the dark forms, which his quick fancy conjures up: his open 
 lips pronounce the terrible “And so she did”, that destroys his happiness for 
 ever, whilst with his right hand he seizes lago’s arm, as if to say “Stop ! let 
 me first understand what thou sayest.” 
 
 lago’s cool, sharp look watches the impression which his words prodffee. 
 Bending low, he assures him of his truth, and humbly begs his pardon that of 
 his too great love he has been seduced to cause him pain; but his features 
 betray the secret joy with which he deprives him of his peace of mind and 
 calumniates the sanctuary of his love. His raised right hand expresses the 
 
anxiety with which he says, “But, I do see you are mov’d”, whilst the depre- 
 cating movement with the left accompanies the hypocritical request, “Strain 
 not my speech to grosser issues, nor to larger reach, than to suspicion.” 
 
 As to the locality, it is in the courtyard of the castle of Cyprus: the archi- 
 tecture, as before, in the Gothic style; through the open door we see the 
 stairs by which Othello has descended, to the right a kind of balcony before 
 which rises a tree of rich foliage — the peaceful vegetation, ever the same, 
 in contrast with the changeable character of man, so easily moved, of which 
 Othello is a warning example — on one side of the picture we see the statue 
 I of an old, dignified warrior, apparently a herald, whose shield calls to mind, 
 as it were, the virtues of the real knight — nobleness of thought, firmness and 
 constancy, against which Othello is about to sin so grievously. 
 
 OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 I Othello’s wrath has been excited to the highest pitch by Desdemona’s expres- 
 
 j sions of sympathy for Cassio; this is shown by his glowing eye, his lip, the 
 . convulsive motion of his body, — his right hand seems to tremble, whilst his 
 left presses and crushes the senate’s mandate just brought him by Lodovico. 
 Desdemona shrinks back from the threatening blow; her attitude is a symbol 
 of the shrinking of her mind, the destruction of her happiness: her wondering 
 eye cannot wholly suppress her indignation at such disgraceful treatment, yet 
 the expression of pain and astonishment is predominant. 
 
 lago’s attitude may express either terror or joyful astonishment, the for- 
 mer, to deceive others, the latter the truth, which he would fain conceal, but 
 which the attentive observer will easily detect in his features. His glance at 
 Desdemona reveals his malicious joy and satisfaction at the success of his plan. 
 
 The countenances of all the rest express astonishment, sorrow and indig- 
 nation in various degrees. Emilia stands lost in wonder, and, with her hand 
 placed before her mouth, seems with difficulty to suppress a cry of terror; 
 Lodovico seems about to hold back the arm of Othello, his features betray 
 but a moderate expression of sympathy; the ambassador of the senate, un- 
 questionably an accomplished diplomatist, is too much master of his feelings, 
 and is too cautious in giving them the reins, to give offence. The men behind 
 him, who doubtless belong to his suite, express more strongly their emotions 
 I and their disapprobation of Othello’s violence. 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 Othello rejects Desdemona with the terrible words “away! away!” We 
 only partly see his countenance, for the hand before it strives to stop and 
 
 hide the flowing tears, but what we see reveals such deep concentred pain | 
 that the effect is thereby heightened. 
 
 Desdemona’s clear and pure countenance is, on the contrary, all openness, | 
 life, and devotion, she feels not the insult offered to herself, it is the pain | 
 which she has unconsciously caused her husband, that rends her heart; every 
 impartial eye can read her innocence in her features; only the blind and 
 
 i 
 
 troubled look of passion can mistake the child-like purity and truth which per- 
 vades her whole form. Her kneeling posture is not a theatrical attitude, chosen | 
 for effect, but highly characteristic and expressive. For, on the one hand, she | 
 is oppressed by these heavy accusations and the weight of her pain, on the 
 other, this position is the pregnant expression of her devotion, of the humble ! 
 submission with which, in the confidence of her innocence, she presents her | 
 whole life and being to the severest scrutiny of her husband. | 
 
 In the background Emilia returns with a countenance of anxious astonish- j 
 ment and terror at this new outburst of a violence and passion, which till now 
 
 ■ I 
 
 were strange in Othello. ' | 
 
 O U T L I N E IX. P L A T E X. 
 
 Roderigo lies on the ground, his right hand over the bleeding wound in 
 his breast inflicted by Cassio, his left convulsively closed, his eye directed to- 
 wards heaven and darkened by pain and despair. His closed fist is not directed 
 against his antagonist, but against himself; with his quivering right hand he | 
 not only presses the open wound, but likewise his bleeding heart, torn by in- 
 ward torments. His attitude and mien show clearly that, in these last moments 
 of his unhappy life, it is self-accusation that chiefly occupies and torments him. 
 
 Cassio’s figure, on the other hand, only shows the paia caused by the 
 deep wound he has just received. His pierced foot totters, we see that he is 
 about to fall. lago keeps as much in the distance as possible, that he may 
 not be seized and recognized by Cassio; with advancing body and helmet 
 pressed down upon his face, he strikes almost at random, more intent upon 
 his own escape than upon the destruction of his hated rival. 
 
 Othello appears on the balcony of the castle. Attracted by the noise, he 
 listens to Cassio’s cries for assistance, his figure, although but slightly sketched 
 in, expresses his share in the bloody fray as well as the desperate state of his 
 own soul. 
 
 To the left, behind the chief group, rises the castle of Cyprus in grand 
 proportions, in a free yet picturesque style; the right affords a glimpse into 
 the garden or park. 
 
OUTLINE X. PLATE XI. 
 
 The most terrible murder ever represented by the tragic muse, is before 
 us. Othello has attempted to smother Desdemona, — his left hand still rests 
 upon her face, — he hears Emilia’s voice at the closed door, and in the con- 
 fusion of his senses, thinking it is Desdemona, he exclaims. 
 
 What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet quite dead? 
 
 I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; 
 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
 (Sta6s her %m1k his dagger.) 
 
 So ; so. 
 
 This cool, deliberate So; so, this terrible repose, this height of blindness, 
 which alone could induce so noble a mind as Othello to murder innocence 
 and truth, is expressed with a masterly hand in the features, demeanour and 
 form of Othello. — 
 
 Desdemona lies upon a richly ornamented bed. Othello has drawn aside 
 the curtain which modestly concealed her charms. But her sleep, disturbed by 
 pain and fear, has been restless, the covering has fallen off, and Othello buries 
 his dagger in her bare bosom. Her face is hidden beneath the cloth with 
 which Othello tried to smother her. To the right, an angel, in the attitude of 
 prayer, looks down from the capital of a pillar. It is the symbol of the 
 heavenly powers, which change the sleep of innocence and piety into a happy 
 dream, but also the symbol of the angelic purity, which Othello murders; it is 
 a symbolical exhortation to the sleeper, not to resign herself without prayer 
 to sleep, the image of death; but likewise the symbol of the last prayer, which 
 Othello refuses to Desdemona’s earnest intreaties, and which, as it were, her 
 good angel sends up to Heaven in her stead. 
 
 OUTLINE XI. PLATE XII. 
 
 Othello, overpowered by the view of Desdemona, to whom death has 
 restored her beauty and the full expression of innocence, has thrown himself 
 upon the bed. In this position he hears the relation of Emilia, who, notwith- 
 standing the winks and commands of her husband, exclaims, “Twill out &c.” 
 
 Emilia appears as the chief person of the group before us. The grand 
 pathos to which she rises at the sight of her murdered mistress, is expressed 
 in her attitude and mien; her form appears taller, her features more noble, 
 her attitude is that of a prophetess who, in the face of Heaven, to whom she 
 
 appeals as a witness of the truth, herself bears witness and reveals the dark 
 deeds that have occurred, wailing over herself and degraded humanity. 
 
 Othello listens with a countenance full of fear and dismay to her terrible 
 words. His features stiffen, his open mouth and staring eye are without 
 motion ; ' he kneels like a man stunned in a moment of overpowering fear by 
 the awful and destroying storm of fate. 
 
 lago, breathing rage and revenge, his penetrating looks directed to his 
 wife, is drawing his sword, to stab her; the indignant Gratiano holds him back, 
 his mien and attitude are the commentary upon his words, “Eye, your sword 
 upon a woman?” Montano, in his anger, has clenched his left hand against lago, 
 whilst the extended right hand and the expression of his countenance betray 
 the highest degree of astonishment and indignation at the terrible deeds that 
 reach his ear. 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 Othello, in the excess of his repentance, has executed upon himself the 
 punishment of his crime. Dying, he sinks on Desdemona’s corpse. 
 
 The sword still in his bleeding breast, he embraces Desdemona’s body 
 with his last kiss. His countenance shows the return of peace; a slight touch 
 of sorrow, of melancholy rather than of pain, still plays round his lips, whilst 
 Desdemona’s features have already assumed the cold, stiff beauty of death. A 
 servant, at Lodovico’s command, is about to cover the two corpses. 
 
 Nearest the bed stands Gratiano, his back turned to the spectator, his 
 face towards Lodovico. His countenance and attitude express his indignation 
 at the hasty suicide of Othello. Cassio stands beside him, still weak and re- 
 quiring support, his wounded leg bound up; his sorrowing eye is fixed 'in deep 
 sympathy on the noble pair overwhelmed by their tragic destiny. Lodovico, 
 with an expression of anger and indignation in his features, reproaches lago 
 with his villainy, as he points to the tragic loading of the bed. To the left, 
 in the foreground, is lago, by the side of Lodovico, with his hands bound 
 behind him. He turns away with scornful contempt from the just reproaches 
 of Lodovico. He will not, he cannot repent, he knows no compassion; even 
 the view of the body of his murdered wife, lying in the ground in the distance, 
 cannot move him. Thus, in the ably arranged group, he forms a striking con- 
 trast to the picture of peace, of reconciliation and love, which the now re- 
 united pair presents. 
 
W TK. Series. 
 
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THE MERR\ 
 
 OUTLINE I. PLATE II. 
 
 ALSTAFF is here introduced as making his approaches to Mrs. Ford 
 and Anne Page, kissing the former. Almost all the other principal 
 actors in the piece are present, and cousin Slender displays his 
 affection for Anne Page. 
 
 Falstafif’s form, but particularly his physiognomy, seem here somewhat 
 vulgar, coarse and dull. 
 
 Besides Falstaff, the figure of Slender is the only one which stands pro- 
 minently forward, manifestly in order to indicate his connexion with Anne 
 Page. Doltishness, childish silliness and vanity, the leading features of his 
 character, are excellently expressed in his form and face, and in the manner in 
 which, with raised head, he stares on his presumptive bride. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 With an expression of comfortable joviality, full of good humour at the 
 happy thought that has struck him and at the rich harvest which he promises 
 himself, Falstaff sits in his armchair, and gives the two love-letters intended 
 for Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page to his familiars, Nym and Pistol. 
 
 These, however, find it beneath their dignity to carry letters and play the 
 servant. Falstaff then turns to Robin, who stands behind his chair, charges 
 him with the letters, and tells Nym and Pistol to be gone. 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 The two Wives have received the letters, they meet in a street of Wind- 
 sor, which, in the architectural style of the middle ages, forms the background, 
 and tell each other the news. 
 
 Both are notable, decent citizens’ wives, and seem manifestly superior to 
 their husbands in energy and mind. They determine to punish the old fool 
 themselves. By the success of her joke, Mrs. Ford hopes to cure her husband 
 of his jealousy. Both set to work immediately and play off cunning against 
 cunning, to pay good Sir John in his own coin. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 Mrs. Quickly brings Falstaff an invitation to the rendez-vous, where the 
 first trick is to be played off against him. 
 
 We see him, on the one hand, full of expectation to hear the success 
 
 ES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 of his suit; on the other hand, the knowing look which he gives the old bawd 
 says, I know what you are and can guess at the contents of your message. 
 Mrs. Quickly draws him aside with an important and mysterious air, her coun- 
 tenance betrays her calling. 
 
 On the other side of the room we see the boasting, conceited Pistol. His 
 arrogance however seems subdued, nor does he appear to be in the best of 
 tempers. There he stands , not knowing whether to go or stay. He listens, 
 however, attentively to the conference between Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly, hop- 
 ing to catch something which may turn to his advantage. 
 
 Robin, who has announced Mrs. Quickly, lingers in the background, less 
 from curiosity than from a wish also to be of the party. 
 
 The cans and glasses about the room, the cask peeping out of one corner, 
 the dog stretched at full length and eyeing the strange woman with suspicion, 
 reveal at first sight that we are in Falstaff’s house. 
 
 O U T L I N E V. P L A T E VI. 
 
 Falstaff advances from behind the curtain, in the back of the room, which 
 had served as his hiding-place to creep into the basket, as Mrs. Page recommends. 
 
 Robin with affected seriousness officiously holds the basket for Falstaff to 
 creep into. He has lost all his presence of mind, all his wit, he has only eyes 
 and ears for the threatening danger, his only object is to save himself. The 
 Wives help him. Mrs. Page has already a piece of foul linen on her arm, 
 ready to hurl at the head of the unfortunate lover. She can with diffi- 
 culty suppress the sly smile that plays round her mouth, the pleasure that the 
 comic scene gives her. 
 
 On the ground lie the cover of the basket, and all kinds of foul linen, to 
 cover Sir John in his savoury retreat. The appearance and furniture of the 
 room suit the wife of a wealthy citizen of the middle ages. 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 Fenton and Anne have met secredy, to consult upon the means of success. 
 They converse apart, on the entrance of Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly, 
 doubtless to arrange the trick which they afterwards put into execution. 
 
 We have here these two pleasing characters before us in all their native 
 grace, and can now fill up and animate the weak uncertain picture that our 
 fancy had formed of them. 
 
2 
 
 OUTLINE VII, PLATE VIII. 
 
 Again FalstafF is surprised by the jealous Ford. Dressed in woman’s 
 clothes as the witch of Brentford, he is beaten by Ford. 
 
 In the blindness of his jealousy Ford does not even notice the “great 
 peard” that peeps from Falstaff’s muffler. We see him represented as a strong 
 powerful man, with the expression of blind passion and vehement rage. 
 
 Justice Shallow, a tall, meagre figure, with feather in his hat and with 
 sword and cloak, tries to pacify him. Behind him, to the extreme left, peeps 
 forth the scurril face of Dr. Caius; the expression of astonishment and indig- 
 nation with which he looks on, has a strong mixture of French restlessness 
 and vehemence of feeling: he seems almost to feel the blows on his 
 own back. 
 
 To the right we see Parson Evans, distinguished by his dress, observing 
 the “’omans peard” with suspicious mien; beside him stands quiet Mr. Page; 
 behind, close to the door, is seen one of Ford’s servants, evidently highly 
 amused at the strange scene before him; the basket which he has to carry 
 away again, and out of which Ford has tossed all the linen, stands beside him. 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 Sir Flugh Evans at the head of the host of fairies, elves and goblins, 
 goes through the forest to Herne’s Oak, the third rendez-vous of Falstaff. 
 
 The mad parson has disguised himself strangely, and waving his torch, 
 leads on the procession with grotesque jumps. 
 
 The procession of fairies and goblins consists of girls and boys in mas- 
 querade, decked out in manifold grotesque masks from the rich storehouse of 
 the creative fancy of the artist; — graceful and lovely Anne Page in the 
 middle, as the Fairy Queen. 
 
 O U T L I N E IX. P L A T E X. 
 
 Falstaff, disguised as the hunter Herne, with a great chain round his body 
 and branching horns on his head, stands under the haunted old oak. At a 
 distance the fairy troop approaches; Falstaff, terrified, turns round. 
 
 The valiant knight is overpowered by his cowardice: all his features and 
 attitudes betray fear and terror. The features of the Wives, on the contrary, 
 as they turn in running away, to amuse themselves with Falstaff’s terror, convey 
 the expression of roguish mockery. 
 
 To the left in the back-ground, we see the outposts of the Fairy host. 
 With wild cries and raised torches they dance round Anne Page, who has 
 covered, her face with a thick veil. 
 
 Q U T L I N E X. P L A T E XI. 
 
 We here see Falstaff lying on his face, whilst the surrounding elves and 
 fairies burn and pinch him. 
 
 The couple to the right are Slender and his fair one, who is a disguised 
 fellow of some 15 or 16 years of age. With open mouth and an expression 
 of hasty, anxiously bustling stupidity, the noble Squire holds fast his prey and 
 strives to get away as fast as possible. In the foreground, a little to the left, 
 Fenton, with his mistress on his arm, is hurrying away. The lovely maiden 
 forms a striking contrast to her two counterfeits, for on the extreme left we 
 see Dr. Caius, his back turned to the spectator, dragging off as if it were 
 blindly, with French haste and vehemence, a somewhat corpulent person whose 
 figure likewise shows that she too does not belong to the fair sex. 
 
 OUTLINE XL PLATE XII. 
 
 At the fictitious noise of hunting behind the scenes, the fairies have run 
 away; only Evans remains. The provoked husbands with their wives advance 
 to crown Falstaff’s defeat with scorn and mockery. 
 
 The affected tenderness in Mrs. Ford’s looks and gestures, the scornful 
 question in the face of her neighbour and friend, Mrs. Page, the violence and 
 passion in the head of Ford, the composed attitude of good-humoured quiet 
 Page, with the ludicrous zeal to convert their fat victim which distinguishes 
 fairy Hugh, — as Ford calls him — speak for themselves. 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 Fenton returns with Anne Page, now his bride, and seeks to excuse her 
 and himself. 
 
 Sir John is the first to accept this offer. He has manifestly recovered all 
 his cheerfulness, and feels himself in some measure the conqueror. 
 
 The whole ends, as it began, in a merry teazing, a cheerful joke, which 
 a friendly fairy in an exuberance of high spirits has played on foolish mortals. 
 And as if the artist had intended to hint something of the kind, lovely Anne 
 Page apears here still in her masquerade dress as leader of the elves, represent- 
 ing, as it were, the powerful fairy-queen, whose magic wand guided the whole 
 action by invisible threads. 
 
 LEIPZIG. PRINTED BY W. DRUGULIN. 
 
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KING H E N R Y IV. 
 
 FIRST AND SECOND PART. 
 
 OUTLINE!. PLATE II. 
 
 HE Sketches open with the expedition of Falstaif against the travel- 
 lers; the first great exploit of the fat Knight. 
 
 Peto, Bardolph and Gadshill are binding and plundering the 
 travellers, who are partly on the ground crying piteously, partly gnashing their 
 teeth in impotent rage and calling in vain for help. Falstaff with his hogshead- 
 form fills the centre. He has the attitude and mien of a commanding general 
 who, animated by the sublime anger of the god of war, has banished all the 
 tender feelings of compassion and gentleness, and exhorts his warriors to anni- 
 hilate the enemy to the very last man. Playing the commander, he needs not 
 risk his own person; common fighting, hand to hand, is not his forte, he pre- 
 fers to fight with his tongue, which he knows how to use better than his 
 sword. Thus he calls to his fellows, 
 
 “Strike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats; Ah, whoreson caterpillars! bacon- 
 fed Knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; fleece them.” 
 
 Night and wood overshadow the scene. Concealed behind the trees Prince 
 Henry and Poins watch their opportunity and put on their masks, to attack 
 the robbers and relieve them of their booty. 
 
 OUTLINE II. PLATE III. 
 
 The continuation of the former scene. Falstafif’s expedition, at first crowned 
 with victory, has a sorry ending. A couple of the rapacious rogues are com- 
 fortably seated, to divide the prey immediately, in obedience to Falstaff’s ad- 
 vice. The Prince and Poins have availed themselves of this moment to attack 
 them. Prince Henry has just given the poor knight a blow behind the ear 
 with the hilt of his sword, whilst he seizes by the hair Peto, who is in pos- 
 session of the moneybag, to render all resistance from him impossible, at least 
 until Falstaff has escaped. Poins, with one hand, presses down the screaming 
 Bardolph, with the other he seeks to collect the spoil that lies around. Gadshill 
 is already in the act of flying. 
 
 Falstaff’s countenance expresses the highest degree of fear and consterna- 
 tion. With loud cries he endeavours to escape from the arm of the prince. 
 He looks upon the affair as sadly serious. Hence the bold captain of a vic- 
 torious band suddenly becomes a cowardly rogue, who scampers at the mere 
 sight of the enemy. 
 
 OUTLINE III. PLATE IV. 
 
 In the arched room of the Tavern in Eastcheap, whose heavy architecture 
 of the middle ages is in significant contrast with the scene represented, the 
 merry band of Prince Henry has again assembled after their nocturnal adven- 
 tures. The Prince has thrown himself into a stool in the foreground ; his 
 noble form, his handsome features with a fine smile round the mouth, form a 
 picturesque contrast with the other ridiculous and vulgar figures. At his right 
 stands the inventive Poins with his sly countenance. To the left Gadshill, 
 Peto and Bardolph have, as it were, placed themselves in battle array, to sup- 
 port the leader of their unsuccessful expedition in his defence. 
 
 Falstaff is just relating how the booty, which they had happily acquired, 
 was forced from them by superior numbers, — “a hundred upon poor four of us” 
 — who had suddenly attacked them. He is uttering the words that have since 
 become famous : 
 
 I tell thee what, Hal, if I lie, spit in my face, call me horse. TJwu knoiuest my old 
 
 ward, — here I lay, and thus / bore my point. Four logues in buckram let drive 
 
 at me. — 
 
 P. HEN. What, four.^ thou saidst hut two even now. 
 
 FAL. Four, Hal; I told thee four. 
 
 POINS. Ay, Ay, he said four. 
 
 FAL. These four came all a -front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but 
 
 took their seven points in my target; thus. 
 
 His lying, as shameless as it is comic, sets even his comrades in misfor- 
 tune in some perplexity: a part of them can hardly restrain their laughter; 
 
 another part observe the impression which his report makes upon the Prince. 
 Poins is evidently highly diverted at the hero Falstaff’s grimaces; and in the 
 
countenance of the Prince we read distinctly the humorous irony, with which 
 he constantly observes the whole party. Francis, the drawer, on the other hand, 
 who is standing at the bar in the back-ground, listens with open mouth and 
 credulous ear to the tale of the extravagant exploits which it is his good fortune 
 to hear. 
 
 OUTLINE IV. PLATE V. 
 
 We have before us the scene so important for the whole, in which Prince 
 Henry, uproused by a serious word of his royal father’s from his humorous 
 fantastic life, seeks to excuse himself and, as far as possible, to amend his 
 fault, by assuring him of his most earnest sympathy in the party struggle 
 that has broken out. 
 
 The King, oppressed by care and sorrow, has sunk upon a seat. But 
 
 his countenance brightens in joyful astonishment at his son, whom he had 
 
 given up for lost, while the expression of inspired heroism breaks out in words, 
 for the internal truth of which his whole being is a pledge. 
 
 In the prophetic words of the heroic Henry V., the subsequent conqueror 
 
 of France, we presage the coming defeat of Percy and his allies. Blunt enters, 
 to designate more nearly the place where the bloody tragedy is to be developed, 
 he announces that the forces of the rebellious Barons are collected near Shrews- 
 bury. That is the place where the bold promises of the Prince shall be splen- 
 didly fulfilled. 
 
 OUTLINE V. PLATE VI. 
 
 We have here before us one of the different scenes which Shakspeare 
 works out in harmonious symmetry and sharp delineation, in quick movement, 
 with striking epigrammatic brevity, thereby realising in full life such events as 
 are extremely inconvenient and for the dramatic art very difficult to describe. 
 The scene represents only one stage of the battle, in which the victory inclines 
 to the side of the rebels. Douglas, who thinks that he has thrice conquered 
 the king, because he has already slain three knights in the royal arms, at 
 length meets with the real Henry IV. The brave Scot presses the king hard, 
 
 ’ and the monarch would probably have shared the fate of his three counter- 
 feits, had not Prince Henry hastened to his assistance, at the very moment 
 that he was in the greatest danger. 
 
 This is the moment that the artist has chosen. In the foreground to the 
 right we see Douglas pressing upon the king with uplifted sword, in the centre 
 the king defending himself but weakly. From the left the Prince enters with 
 hasty step, the point of his sword directed against Douglas, 
 
 P. HEN. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
 Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms ; 
 
 It is the Prince of Wales, that threatens thee. 
 
 Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. 
 
 (They fight, Douglas files.) 
 
 OUTLINE VI. PLATE VII. 
 
 The present outline represents the real crisis of the whole battle. Douglas 
 has hardly escaped from the fierce attack of Prince Henry, before another and 
 more worthy antagonist presents himself. Percy is the soul of the conspiracy. 
 Prince Henry has long sought him in the bold confident hope of adorning 
 himself with the trophies of the most famous knight in England. After a 
 short dialogue the combat has begun. We see that it has terminated in the 
 defeat of Percy, who is mortally wounded ; he has dropped his shield, his sword 
 hangs powerless and he is about to fall. The prince immediately desists from 
 fighting; we seem to see through his beaver the compassionate look which he 
 casts upon his conquered antagonist. 
 
 Near the sinking Percy, close behind the Prince, lies the unwieldy 
 form of Falstalf, flat upon the ground. Douglas has attacked him, but 
 he knows his man and his own weak side ; pretending to be wounded, he has 
 thrown himself upon the ground and quietly lets the hot Scotchman storm 
 over his body into the thick of the fight which rages in the back-ground. His 
 shield, with its significant emblem of the Wild Boar, lies beside him. From 
 behind it, ever cunning and circumspect, he squints at the termination of the 
 combat between Hotspur and Henry. 
 
 Finally we beg to direct the spectator’s attention to some excellent sub- 
 ordinate groups in the background of the scene, particularly to the two warriors 
 in the left corner of the picture. 
 
 OUTLINE VII. PLATE VIII. 
 
 The last sketch from the first Part of the piece brings again before us 
 the noble Sir John Falstaff as the chief figure in the scene represented. After 
 the combat between the Prince and Percy has terminated in favour of the 
 former, the knight, having assured himself that the victory is secure and that 
 he has nothing to fear from the flying rebels, has risen from his undig- 
 nified position. Half in mad humour, half quizzing himself, half in the hope 
 of drawing some petty advantage from the shameless lie, he has burthened 
 himself with the dead body of Percy and presents himself to Prince Henry and 
 his brother as the conqueror of their most redoybted antagonist. 
 
3 
 
 With this comic scene, in which we meet again the wit of parody in close 
 contact with the seriousness of the tragic action, closes the great battle-picture 
 which the poet has unrolled. To the right we see the flight and the pursuit 
 of the vanquished enemy, on the left they have already begun to administer 
 assistance and relief to the wounded. 
 
 OUTLINE VIII. PLATE IX. 
 
 The scene so characteristic of the second Part of the piece, viz. Falstaff’s 
 review of his recruits, opens the representation. With the battle of Shrewsbury 
 the war is really ended: it is at least become so insignificant that Falstaff can 
 play a part in it. Perhaps the shameless lie at the close of the first Part has 
 promoted him to the more extensive sphere now allotted to him. 
 
 We see him sitting with consequential mien at the table of Justice Shallow; 
 the chair upon which he sits has sunk deep into the earth under the impulse 
 of his mighty mass. 
 
 Opposite to him the clever Shallow has taken his place, with the list of 
 the doughty youth of the place in his hands. The difficult task of pricking 
 the recruits selected by Falstaff claims his whole attention. They are discussing 
 the last of the heroes placed at Falstaff’s disposal, the “likely” Bull-calf. 
 
 Whilst Bull-calf roars and in despair tears his hair, they all stand crowded 
 together, misery personified; each in characteristic fashion occupied with the 
 thought of his future fate. The “ragged” Wart, with “his apparel built upon his 
 back”, scratches his thigh with a perplexed expression of perfect stupidity. 
 Mouldy has “not the^ slightest inclination to be used ;” with sorrowful mien he 
 gropes in his pocket for the coin, which he has brought with him that, if 
 matters should come to the worst, he may buy himself off. Of the good 
 Shadow, who “will serve for summer”, only the head and one hand are visible, 
 with which he wipes from his eyes a tear of pity at his unhappy fate. Only 
 the woman’s tailor, “most forcible Feeble”, has assumed a martial attitude, 
 holding up his head with an air, and awaiting coming events with composure. 
 
 Behind Falstaff stands Bardolph, leaning against the stem of a tree, and 
 with gloomy contemptuous mien contemplating the moaning Bullcalf, whilst 
 Justice Silence, posted near his worthy compeer, seems to throw upon the 
 same luckless individual a look of encouragement. 
 
 OUTLINE IX. PLATE X. 
 
 We see the King half fainting, half slumbering, lying on a bed, the crown, 
 his dearest object, the melancholy meed of his labours and exertions, on a 
 
 cushion beside him. Prince Henry, without knowing what has happened, is 
 just arrived, to inquire after the king’s health. Finding him on the bed without 
 any signs of life he has seated himself beside him to watch over his last mo- 
 ments. The other nobles, the Duke of Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Warwick, 
 are about to retire into another room, that they may not disturb the King. 
 Warwick asks the heir apparent, who is already almost King. 
 
 “Will’t please your grace to go along with us.^ 
 
 P. HEN. No. I will sit and watch here by the king.” 
 
 OUTLINE X. PLATE XI. 
 
 The king has awakened from his death-like sleep , and has immediately 
 missed the crown, which Prince Henry, in the conviction that the king was 
 already dead, had placed upon his own head and, thus adorned, had gone into 
 an adjoining room. At the king’s command Warwick has recalled him. The 
 Prince is entering with the crown upon his head, in joyful astonishment at 
 finding the king restored to life. 
 
 The countenances of the bye-standers likewise express astonishment, but 
 of another kind; they are astonished and partly indignant at the haste and 
 impatience with which the prince has possessed himself of the crown. The 
 king, with difficulty raising himself in his bed, receives his son with a reproach- 
 ful look. 
 
 OUTLINE XI. PLATE XII. ‘ 
 
 The conclusion of the same scene. The artist has with justice given a 
 double importance to the event here represented. For on the crown, on its 
 illegal seizure and wearisome preservation turns the life of king Henry IV. and 
 the whole historical action of the piece. To bring this clearly before the spec- 
 tator, and at the same time to show, how the crown, won by violence and 
 crime, even after all external obstacles to its possession have been successfully 
 removed, still embitters the last moments of his existence was, without doubt, 
 the intention, the artistic motive which guided the great poet in the compo- 
 sition of the last scene in which King Henry IV. appears. It is, at the same 
 time, a significant contribution to the characteristic of his successor Henry V., 
 whose coronation and first acts of sovereignty are represented in the fifth Act. 
 
 The Prince is kneeling before the bed of his father. With deep emotion 
 he has heard the king’s reproaches on his previous course of life, his fears for 
 the future after his death. He humbly takes the crown from his head and 
 restoring it to the king, seeks to defend himself from his accusations. 
 
4 
 
 OUTLINE XII. PLATE XIII. 
 
 This last outline brings again before us Falstaff, with whom we began. 
 He has hastened to salute his beloved Hal as king. He has brought with him 
 to London Justice Shallow to introduce him at court and to pay him with a 
 sight of his triumphs, of the honours and riches which he hopes to reap. The 
 new king surrounded by the nobles of the empire and an innumerable crowd 
 of people, is just returning in solemn procession from his coronation. Fal- 
 staff has addressed him in his old familiar way, 
 
 God save thy grace. King Hal ! &c. 
 
 But the King answers, 
 
 I know thee not, old man &c. 
 
 This word annihilates at a blow all the vain hopes and plans of the 
 noble knight. He stands thunderstruck; he would, indeed, willingly try to put 
 a good face on the matter, pass it off as a joke or as mere dissimulation, and 
 reply with a jest. This we can perceive by his countenance. But the joke 
 dies on his lips, and in presence of the lofty and royal demeanour of the young 
 sovereign his old impudence deserts him. In his perplexity, with one hand he 
 plucks his grey beard, whilst the other, as if paralyzed by lightning, hangs stiff 
 and motionless. Thus he stands, a sad ruin of his imagined greatness. 
 
 Behind him to the left we see the foolish, crest-fallen visage of Justice 
 Shallow, to the right between him and the king the serious figure of the Loi'd 
 Chief Justice (whom the king has named to be the executor of his commands) 
 throwing a stern and indignant look upon the poor knight. 
 
 
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