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第32章

lay morals-第32章

小说: lay morals 字数: 每页4000字

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author's  work; and their absence is made up for by much happy  description after a quieter fashion。  The burst of jubilation  over the departure of the snow; which forms the prelude to  'The Thistle;' is full of spirit and of pleasant images。  The  speech of the forest in 'Sans Souci' is inspired by a  beautiful sentiment for nature of the modern sort; and  pleases us more; I think; as poetry should please us; than  anything in CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS。  There are some  admirable felicities of expression here and there; as that of  the hill; whose summit

'Did print The azure air with pines。'


Moreover; I do not recollect in the author's former work any  symptom of that sympathetic treatment of still life; which is  noticeable now and again in the fables; and perhaps most  noticeably; when he sketches the burned letters as they hover  along the gusty flue; 'Thin; sable veils; wherein a restless  spark Yet trembled。'  But the description is at its best when  the subjects are unpleasant; or even grisly。  There are a few  capital lines in this key on the last spasm of the battle  before alluded to。  Surely nothing could be better; in its  own way; than the fish in 'The Last Cruise of the Arrogant;'  'the shadowy; side…faced; silent things;' that come butting  and staring with lidless eyes at the sunken steam…engine。   And although; in yet another; we are told; pleasantly enough;  how the water went down into the valleys; where it set itself  gaily to saw wood; and on into the plains; where it would  soberly carry grain to town; yet the real strength of the  fable is when it dealt with the shut pool in which certain  unfortunate raindrops are imprisoned among slugs and snails;  and in the company of an old toad。  The sodden contentment of  the fallen acorn is strangely significant; and it is  astonishing how unpleasantly we are startled by the  appearance of her horrible lover; the maggot。

And now for a last word; about the style。  This is not easy  to criticise。  It is impossible to deny to it rapidity;  spirit; and a full sound; the lines are never lame; and the  sense is carried forward with an uninterrupted; impetuous  rush。  But it is not equal。  After passages of really  admirable versification; the author falls back upon a sort of  loose; cavalry manner; not unlike the style of some of Mr。  Browning's minor pieces; and almost inseparable from  wordiness; and an easy acceptation of somewhat cheap finish。   There is nothing here of that compression which is the note  of a really sovereign style。  It is unfair; perhaps; to set a  not remarkable passage from Lord Lytton side by side with one  of the signal masterpieces of another; and a very perfect  poet; and yet it is interesting; when we see how the  portraiture of a dog; detailed through thirty odd lines; is  frittered down and finally almost lost in the mere laxity of  the style; to compare it with the clear; simple; vigorous  delineation that Burns; in four couplets; has given us of the  ploughman's collie。  It is interesting; at first; and then it  becomes a little irritating; for when we think of other  passages so much more finished and adroit; we cannot help  feeling; that with a little more ardour after perfection of  form; criticism would have found nothing left for her to  censure。  A similar mark of precipitate work is the number of  adjectives tumultuously heaped together; sometimes to help  out the sense; and sometimes (as one cannot but suspect) to  help out the sound of the verses。  I do not believe; for  instance; that Lord Lytton himself would defend the lines in  which we are told how Laocoon 'Revealed to Roman crowds; now  CHRISTIAN grown; That PAGAN anguish which; in PARIAN stone;  The RHODIAN artist;' and so on。  It is not only that this is  bad in itself; but that it is unworthy of the company in  which it is found; that such verses should not have appeared  with the name of a good versifier like Lord Lytton。  We must  take exception; also; in conclusion; to the excess of  alliteration。  Alliteration is so liable to be abused that we  can scarcely be too sparing of it; and yet it is a trick that  seems to grow upon the author with years。  It is a pity to  see fine verses; such as some in 'Demos;' absolutely spoiled  by the recurrence of one wearisome consonant。



CRITICISMS CHAPTER II … SALVINI'S MACBETH




SALVINI closed his short visit to Edinburgh by a performance  of MACBETH。  It was; perhaps; from a sentiment of local  colour that he chose to play the Scottish usurper for the  first time before Scotsmen; and the audience were not  insensible of the privilege。  Few things; indeed; can move a  stronger interest than to see a great creation taking shape  for the first time。  If it is not purely artistic; the  sentiment is surely human。  And the thought that you are  before all the world; and have the start of so many others as  eager as yourself; at least keeps you in a more unbearable  suspense before the curtain rises; if it does not enhance the  delight with which you follow the performance and see the  actor 'bend up each corporal agent' to realise a masterpiece  of a few hours' duration。  With a player so variable as  Salvini; who trusts to the feelings of the moment for so much  detail; and who; night after night; does the same thing  differently but always well; it can never be safe to pass  judgment after a single hearing。  And this is more  particularly true of last week's MACBETH; for the whole third  act was marred by a grievously humorous misadventure。   Several minutes too soon the ghost of Banquo joined the  party; and after having sat helpless a while at a table; was  ignominiously withdrawn。  Twice was this ghostly Jack…in…the… box obtruded on the stage before his time; twice removed  again; and yet he showed so little hurry when he was really  wanted; that; after an awkward pause; Macbeth had to begin  his apostrophe to empty air。  The arrival of the belated  spectre in the middle; with a jerk that made him nod all  over; was the last accident in the chapter; and worthily  topped the whole。  It may be imagined how lamely matters went  throughout these cross purposes。

In spite of this; and some other hitches; Salvini's Macbeth  had an emphatic success。  The creation is worthy of a place  beside the same artist's Othello and Hamlet。  It is the  simplest and most unsympathetic of the three; but the absence  of the finer lineaments of Hamlet is redeemed by gusto;  breadth; and a headlong unity。  Salvini sees nothing great in  Macbeth beyond the royalty of muscle; and that courage which  comes of strong and copious circulation。  The moral smallness  of the man is insisted on from the first; in the shudder of  uncontrollable jealousy with which he sees Duncan embracing  Banquo。  He may have some northern poetry of speech; but he  has not much logical understanding。  In his dealings with the  supernatural powers he is like a savage with his fetich;  trusting them beyond bounds while all goes well; and whenever  he is crossed; casting his belief aside and calling 'fate  into the list。'  For his wife; he is little more than an  agent; a frame of bone and sinew for her fiery spirit to  command。  The nature of his feeling towards her is rendered  with a most precise and delicate touch。  He always yields to  the woman's fascination; and yet his caresses (and we know  how much meaning Salvini can give to a caress) are singularly  hard and unloving。  Sometimes he lays his hand on her as he  might take hold of any one who happened to be nearest to him  at a moment of excitement。  Love has fallen out of this  marriage by the way; and left a curious friendship。  Only  once … at the very moment when she is showing herself so  little a woman and so much a high…spirited man … only once is  he very deeply stirred towards her; and that finds expression  in the strange and horrible transport of admiration; doubly  strange and horrible on Salvini's lips … 'Bring forth men… children only!'

The murder scene; as was to be expected; pleased the audience  best。  Macbeth's voice; in the talk with his wife; was a  thing not to be forgotten; and when he spoke of his hangman's  hands he seemed to have blood in his utterance。  Never for a  moment; 

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