MRS. SIDDONS AS QUEEN KATHARINE, ETC. 85 



that when Othello cries out, ' the pity of it ! ' we feel as he 

 feels and what he feels, and are very far indeed from entertaining 

 a pleasant and comfortable pity for him ; that the strange pleasure 

 depends on our recognition in ourselves of the power to feel as 

 Othello feels, to suffer as he suffers, even to sin as he sins ; this 

 suggestion may awaken a memory of what the emotion was in 

 those who have known it but can explain nothing to others. 



The higher and lower forms of the drama differ simply in 

 respect of the character of the feelings awakened. The highest 

 may be our highest moral emotions ; the lowest, the lowest 

 animal passions. Either moral or immoral the stage must be, 

 and always has been, for its very existence depends on its action 

 upon this part of our nature. 



The morality of a play depends on no exclusion of crime, no 

 enumeration of maxims, no system of rewards or punishments ; 

 it flows from the heart of the author and is tested by its action 

 on the audience. 



It is in moral grandeur that Shakespeare, ^Eschylus, and 

 Sophocles stand absolutely pre-eminent. It is to this that 

 Racine and Corneille owe their hold on men. It is by this that 

 the 'Misanthrope' claims high rank. It is in this that the 

 modern French stage chiefly fails. 



The French dramatic authors of the Second Empire have 

 succeeded in producing living plays, because, besides being 

 skilled playwrights, they do in their works appeal to real and 

 strong feelings. A certain moral poverty alone prevents the 

 school from taking a very high rank. The authors have usually 

 meant well ; and if the verdict must be that their moral ideal is 

 always poor and often false, this conclusion is forced upon us by 

 the words and actions rather of their good than of their bad 

 people. Even Victor Hugo's verse cannot make us believe that 

 Ruy Bias is not a poor creature. 



Our own writers show no similar moral ineptitude, and 

 since they have created scores of types which in freshness, truth, 

 power and interest surpass the men and women of French 

 authors, we are driven to the conclusion that if the English do 

 not write great plays it is rather because they do not know 

 how, than that they lack power. Our best authors, when they 

 attempt the drama, seem to be misled by a desire to appeal 



