HENRY VIII.
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THIS play contains little action or violence of
passion, yet it has considerable interest of a more
mild and thoughtful cast, and some of the most
striking passages in the author's works. The
character of Queen Katherine is the most perfect
delineation of matronly dignity, sweetness,
and resignation, that can be conceived. Her
appeals to the protection of the king, her remonstrances
to the cardinals, her conversations
with her women, shew a noble and generous
spirit accompanied with the utmost gentleness
of nature. What can be more affecting than
her answer to Campeius and Wolsey, who come
to visit her as pretended friends.
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----"Nay, forsooth, my friends,
They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my comforts are, far hence,
In mine own country, lords."
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Dr. Johnson observes of this play, that "the
meek sorrows and virtuous distress of Katherine
have furnished some scenes, which may be justly
numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy.
But the genius of Shakespear comes in and goes
out with Katherine. Every other part may be
easily conceived and easily written." This is
easily said; but with all due deference to so
great a reputed authority as that of Johnson, it
is not true. For instance, the scene of Buckingham
led to execution is one of the most affecting
and natural in Shakespear, and one to
which there is hardly an approach in any other
author. Again, the character of Wolsey, the
description of his pride and of his fall, are inimitable,
and have, besides their gorgeousness
of effect, a pathos, which only the genius of
Shakespear could lend to the distresses of a
proud, bad man, like Wolsey. There is a
sort of child-like simplicity in the very helplessness
of his situation, arising from the recollection
of his past overbearing ambition. After
the cutting sarcasms of his enemies on his disgrace,
against which he bears up with a spirit
conscious of his own superiority, he breaks out
into that fine apostrophe--
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"Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And--when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening--nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new open'd: O how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war and women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again!"--
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There is in this passage, as well as in the well-known
dialogue with Cromwell which follows,
something which stretches beyond common-place;
nor is the account which Griffiths gives
of Wolsey's death less Shakespearian; and the
candour with which Queen Katherine listens
to the praise of "him whom of all men while
living she hated most" adds the last graceful
finishing to her character.
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Among other images of great individual beauty
might be mentioned the description of the
effect of Ann Boleyn's presenting herself to the
crowd at her coronation.
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----"While her grace sat down
To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man. Which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud and to as many tunes."
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The character of Henry VIII. is drawn with
great truth and spirit. It is like a very disagreeable
portrait, sketched by the hand of a
master. His gross appearance, his blustering
demeanour, his vulgarity, his arrogance, his
sensuality, his cruelty, his hypocrisy, his want
of common decency and common humanity, are
marked in strong lines. His traditional peculiarities
of expression complete the reality of the
picture. The authoritative expletive, "Ha!"
with which he intimates his indignation or surprise,
has an effect like the first startling sound
that breaks from a thunder-cloud. He is of all
the monarchs in our history the most disgusting:
for he unites in himself all the vices of
barbarism and refinement, without their virtues.
Other kings before him (such as Richard III.)
were tyrants and murderers out of ambition or
necessity: they gained or established unjust
power by violent means: they destroyed their
enemies, or those who barred their access to
the throne or made its tenure insecure. But
Henry VIII.'s power is most fatal to those whom
he loves: he is cruel and remorseless to pamper
his luxurious appetites: bloody and voluptuous;
an amorous murderer; an uxorious debauchee.
His hardened insensibility to the feelings of
others is strengthened by the most profligate
self-indulgence. The religious hypocrisy, under
which he masks his cruelty and his lust, is admirably
displayed in the speech in which he
describes the first misgivings of his conscience
and its increasing throes and terrors, which
have induced him to divorce his queen. The
only thing in his favour in this play is his treatment
of Cranmer: there is also another circumstance
in his favour, which is his patronage of
Hans Holbein.--It has been said of Shakespear--"No
maid could live near such a man." It
might with as good reason be said--"No king
could live near such a man." His eye would
have penetrated through the pomp of circumstance
and the veil of opinion. As it is, he has
represented such persons to the life--his plays
are in this respect the glass of history--he has
done them the same justice as if he had been
a privy counsellor all his life, and in each successive
reign. Kings ought never to be seen upon
the stage. In the abstract, they are very disagreeable
characters: it is only while living, that
they are "the best of kings." It is their power,
their splendour, it is the apprehension of the
personal consequences of their favour or their
hatred, that dazzles the imagination and suspends
the judgment of their favourites or their
vassals; but death cancels the bond of allegiance
and of interest; and seen as they were,
their power and their pretensions look monstrous
and ridiculous. The charge brought
against modern philosophy as inimical to loyalty
is unjust, because it might as well be brought
against other things. No reader of history can
be a lover of kings. We have often wondered
that Henry VIII. as he is drawn by Shakespear,
and as we have seen him represented in all the
bloated deformity of mind and person, is not
hooted from the English stage.
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