His ideal
beings are as true and natural as his real characters; that is, as
consistent with themselves, or if we suppose such beings to exist at
all, they could not act, speak, or feel otherwise than as he makes
them. He has invented for them a language, manners, and sentiments
of their own, from the tremendous imprecations of the Witches in
MACBETH, when they do 'a deed without a name', to the sylph-like
expressions 'of Ariel, who 'does his spiriting gently'; the
mischievous tricks and gossiping of Robin Goodfellow, or the uncouth
gabbling and emphatic gesticulations of Caliban in this play.
THE TEMPEST is one of the most original and perfect of Shakespeare's
productions, and he has shown in it all the variety of his powers.
It is full of grace and grandeur. The human and imaginary
characters, the dramatic and the grotesque, are blended together
with the greatest art, and without any appearance of it. Though he
has here given 'to airy nothing a local habitation and a name', yet
that part which is only the fantastic creation of his mind, has the
same palpable texture, and coheres 'semblably' with the rest. As the
preternatural part has the air of reality, and almost haunts the
imagination with a sense of truth, the real characters and events
partake of the wildness of a dream. The stately magician, Prospero,
driven from his dukedom, but around whom (so potent is his art) airy
spirits throng numberless to do his bidding; his daughter Miranda
('worthy of that name') to whom all the power of his art points, and
who seems the goddess of the isle; the princely Ferdinand, cast by
fate upon the haven of his happiness in this idol of his love; the
delicate Ariel; the savage Caliban, half brute, half demon; the
drunken ship's crew--are all connected parts of the story, and can
hardly be spared from the place they fill.
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