This minute analysis of the plot of this sublime tragedy, was necessary to the full developement of the intricate character of Medea, a character, not like the Clytemnestra of Æschylus, divested of all the feelings of humanity and rushing insensibly and inconsiderately to cruelty and murder, but feeling and artful in the extreme, keeping ever in view a visionary idea of justice, but distorting it to violence, injustice, and barbarity. The character of the one is simple, of the other mixed. Had Euripides been delineating a mere murderess, savage and remorseless, like Cly temnestra, he would have fallen infinitely below the frightful portrait drawn by Eschylus, to whom he was far inferior in the terrible graces of his art; but he was inferior to none in the department of pathos, and he has exercised his skill in the play before us with a success, which is scarcely surpassed in any of his most excellent tragedies. In that sublimely terrible scene, in which Medea unfolds her plan of vengeance, there is a sudden touch of natural feeling which must not pass unnoticed: after explaining to the Chorus her intention of destroying Jason's bride by means of the enchanted robe, when about to mention the intended fate of her children, she sheds a tear, and abruptly adds, Ωμωξα δ' οἷον ἔργον ἔστ' ἐργαστέον vv. 787-9. The character of Lady Macbeth differs from those of Medea and Clytemnestra in the motive of her conduct. The impulse of ambition will doubtless be considered a nobler motive to action, than either revenge or the desire of securing a continuance of past crimes and an exemption from punishment. But if ambition be a "glorious fault" in the generality of its slaves, a desire of revenge for the perfidy of a husband is, perhaps, in a woman a fault no less glorious; but certainly it is a fault which has far greater claims on our endurance and forgiveness, which challenges a larger share of our sympathy, as being more consistent with the nature of the sex, and at least alleviates the rigour of just resentment, if it does not conciliate the affections of its judges. The feeling in which it originates is not only pardonable, but even amiable; and if the ebullitions of a generous indignation in a "blame violent woman break forth into what some would call a able excess," and others an outrageous barbarity, we must at least detract something from the severity of censure due to such enormity, and impute some part of it to the inflammable constitution of human nature. To such forbearance, however, Lady Macbeth is in no degree entitled. entitled. We can read, with some patience, mixed with pity, of men who have waded through bloodshed and perfidy to a throne, of the ambition of Richard, of Cromwell, and of Napoleon; but we are prejudiced, in the first instance, against a woman of a masculine spirit; and this prejudice is strengthened into disgust and detestation, when we see that spirit not only daring to "do all that may become a man," but even daring to " do more ;"~ when we see it struggling not only with female delicacy, but with virtue and humanity, and burning to grasp at the worthless grandeur of royalty, though at the expense of treachery, cruelty, and murder. Such, however, is Lady Macbeth; and, being such, she no sooner sees the distant vision of greatness opening upon her sight, than she prepares with determined alacrity to encounter the obstacles which her penetrating mind foresaw would be opposed to her an bition: she invokes the "spirits that tend on mortal thought" to unsex her; "hie thee hither," she exclaims to her absent Lord,. "That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;" and no sooner is he arrived, than pregnant with the greatness of her conceptions, and resolutely determined to bring to an accom plishment the prophecy of the Witches, she accosts him, -"Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter.” Act 1. Sc. 5. Having given her husband an abrupt intimation of her horrid design, she meets her royal guest with a studied, artificial compliment, which was evidently the result of the treacherous machinations she was conscious of having formed against him :— "All our service In every point twice done, and then done double, Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith The amazing subtlety with which she encounters the doubts and fluctuations of Macbeth, in that sublime and terrible scene which immediately follows, her artful imputation of cowardice, and then of his violation of oaths, and her removal of his fears of failure, the resolution with which she replies to his suggestions, and then hurries him into a compliance with her own,-display so wonderful a knowledge of human nature, united with such poetical powers, as none but Shakspeare could have furnished. We cease to wonder at the irresolution with which Macbeth yields to her persuasion; we wonder at nothing but her artfulness and her boldness, and the mind is suspended with alarm and terror on the event of her daring villainy.-This boldness not only remains unappaled, but continues uniform and undiminished in the execution of her schemes. The admirable promptness of thought with which she suggests that the daggers must be returned to the scene of the murder, and the contemptuous resoluteness with which she reproves the murderer, present such a contrast to the shaken constancy and timid re.. morse of her husband, as we cannot help admiring, at the same time that we detest it. Amidst the confusion of the elements and the delirious penitence of her accomplice, she not only stands cool and collected, but does not forget that deliberate caution which was necessary to their preservation, and which we could expect only in the most determined and practised murderess :"Go, get some water, Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, With the same cautious thoughtfulness, she sends for her husband before the banquet, and warns him to "sleek o'er his rugged looks," and "be bright and jovial among his guests;" and no sooner does he suggest the danger of their condition as long as Banquo and his Fleance live," than with a boldness and a cruelty consistent with her former character, she immediately ad vises their destruction.-But it is at the banquet itself that her character shines in its full splendour; it is here she employs so opportunely such art as to blind in a great degree the suspicious eyes of her guests, and such unshaken courage as to support not only herself but her husband, and prevent a full disclosure of all their guilt: It is here her caution is pre-eminent, in framing excuses for Macbeth's behaviour, and then dismissing her guests with a kind good-night to all!" and finally, in hastening away the distracted king to enjoy "the season of all natures, sleep." This scene is unquestionably one of the most sublime that ever poet imagined. But having brought his murderess thus far with such wonderful success, having led her with such unparalleled felicity of art to the accomplishment of her ambition, the poet might well have deserted her, and he would still have left us one of the most sublime and perfect portraits to be found in the whole compass of the Drama. But it was not the practice of Shakspeare, because he had done enough, not to do more, or to rest satisfied himself, because he could satisfy others: he aimed at the standard of perfection; his maxim was, to "think no-, thing VOL. I. NO. II. thing gain'd, till nought remain'd,"-to think nothing done, till there was nothing left undone. He has accordingly conducted his guilty heroine to the last and most awful scene of her existence, -to the period in which her conscience is roused from its le thargy, and resumes that power which had been overthrown by a long and violent course of iniquity. But how was this to be exhibited in such a character as Lady Macbeth? What circum. stance of sufficient horror could be imagined to awaken the feel. ings and appal the conscience of a woman so hardened and so reprobate?-This was a secret which none but Shakspeare could have discovered: he has chosen that particular method of proceeding with her, of which none but himself would ever have thought, and yet which every reader instantaneously acknow. ledges to be the very method which ought to have been pursued. The generous nature of Macbeth is sufficiently alarmed by his daily meditations; but his more abandoned consort can be dealt with only by nocturnal visitations: she is haunted in her sleep by the image of the murder she has perpetrated, and she wanders from her bed in vacant agony to wash her hands from the "damn'd spot" with which they were polluted, and to act over again the hideous scene of Duncan's murder.-In addition to the sublimity of its conception, this scene is executed in a masterly style. This desperate murderess, who has thrilled us with alternate terror and astonishment through the play, is dismissed from the stage amidst circumstances consistently terrific, leaving us a strong and frightful example of the folly, the danger, and the wickedness of ambition. In a recapitulation and general comparison of the excellencies of these three characters, Eschylus may well retire from the contest,-satisfied with the praise of having delineated with success an adulterous and daring monster, without producing, however, a picture so interesting, so delicate, or so ingenious, as either Euripides has represented in his Medea, or Shakspeare in his Lady Macbeth. But between Shakspeare and Euripides the struggle for victory is not so easily decided: the Scottish Queen has the advantage over her rival in the superiority of the difficulties she had to encounter, and which she removed with an art and a courage unparalleled in a female. Medea, indeed, is deficient neither in art nor courage; but there is this difference between her and Lady Macbeth, that, when her victims are almost entirely in her power, her art is employed only in refining and aggravating their torments, whereas the art of the other is exhibited in defeating real and pressing obstacles, and thus presents a more interesting spectacle than Medea, who is labouring without dan ger, and without an adequate object. But that admirable pathos, which pervades the character of Medea, will again bring her nearly nearly to a level with the heroine of Shakspeare. Shakspeare has represented an aspiring woman, Euripides has superadded the wife and the mother; and such a portrait he has drawn of maternal tenderness mixed with determined revenge, as any poet might be proud to have produced. But if we farther take into consideration that final scene of Lady Macbeth, which may be considered in some sort as a work of supererogation, and which is almost a character by itself, we shall no longer hesitate at giving a decided preference to Shakspeare. Euripides has drawn a difficult character with exquisite skill, but Shakspeare has surpassed. him: Euripides has exhibited powers which would drown the stage with tears;" but Shakspeare's murderess is calculated to "Cleave the general ear with horrid speech, S. ART. V.-On the English Constitution. (Continued.) TO THE EDITOR OF THE REFLECTOR. SIR, WHEN We contemplate a political constitution, we should have in view, not a baseless fabric which only floats in the imagination of a poet, but a structure which ought to be real, and though imperfect, yet habitable by man; and a writer may comparatively even admire particular forms, without always overbearing his reader, like a flatterer or false friend, with the swell of language and the pomp of praise. He may be glad to do homage to the English Constitution with its proudest panegyrists, and even to a constitution, if approved by the people, of less account. For as a constitution really existing, ought to be a rule to an administra tion which exists; so should an existing people be a light and a law, guiding and accommodating to its various succeeding necessities, the Constitution itself. Are there some ready to affirm that the English are without constitution, through a want of precision, in the time and means of its formation, and in the primary end of its ordinances? Let them survey each production of nature. Let them perceive how much animal life is elicited by silent, gradual process; what organic movements are carried on by invisible springs; what ef |