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astonishment at what is wonderful - inasmuch as it does
not consider it wonderful, but its own peculiar property
in The Tempest' and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' the
Wonderful appears throughout rather as an actual wonder;
the Magical, the Extraordinary and the Supernatural
cause as much amazement as they would in our own every-
day life.
The dramas, therefore, evidently take their
standpoint on the ideal boundary where the airy kingdom
of the land of wonders and mystery looks into the reality
of every-day life, and conversely is looked at by it. They
here stand midway in connection with both, with a foot on
either side; its centre of gravity, however, lies only on the
one side, it rests, in fact, only upon the firm ground of
Reality. But by the fact of the Wonderful referring only
to the latter, and appearing interwoven only with actual
life, it loses its independence, it exists only for reality; only
in connection with Reality can it have any meaning and
significance. And just because the Wonderful does not
merely signify what it is itself, but at the same time
denotes Reality, pointing to and embracing it, this double
significance is obviously symbolical or allegorical. In other
words, the Wonderful is and signifies, not merely that
which it seems to be, but something else besides, to which
it is connected as a part with its whole. The Symbolical,
however, by reason of its very nature, requires its signifi-
cance to be explained; it is no symbol, if that which it
denotes cannot also be recognised. In this case also ex-
planatory criticism has not only to examine the unity of
the conception upon which the play is founded, but has also
to explain why, within this view of life, the Marvellous is
so closely connected with the Real, and what is its sym-
bolical significance in this connection. I

The different manner in which Shakspeare treats the Wonderful in tragedy and comedy is very remarkable. If we examine the strange forms of the witches in 'Macbeth,' and the appearances of the ghosts in the same tragedy or in Hamlet,' 'Julius Cæsar,' etc., we shall find that the symbolical element is there brought prominently forward. It is clear that the witches are introduced to express the idea, that the powers of nature exercise a demoniacal influence over the man who, owing to his passionate ambition,

his pride and lust for dominion, in reality already bears the crime within his own heart; the whistling of the wind will to him speak of murder, the murmuring brook of kingdoms. It is clear that the appearance of the ghost in Hamlet' is likewise the ghost of the unnatural crime itself, which creeps about like a spectre, forcing its way through bolts and bars, raising an anxious and uncomfortable feeling in the minds of the inmates of the house, and striving amid pain and anguish to betray itself, and to find its own punishment. In tragedy, however, the symbolical assumes the form of a terrible, even though concealed Reality; its moral significance appears in external, actual objectivity, because the bearer of the tragic pathos is the one distinct side of Reality itself. The ghosts that appear are the ghosts of real, deceased persons; the witches - although half natural, half supernatural, and yet, at the same time, actual human beings-appear raised above the human standard only on account of their unmeasurable wickedness, and the co-operation of higher powers. In comedy, on the other hand, as in The Tempest' and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' the Marvellous is magical throughout; the elves and spirits have nothing in common with Reality; they belong to a perfectly different, independent species of beings, distinct from the creatures of this world. This, in fact, constitutes the fantastic character of these creatures, and for this very reason, their nature is even more symbolical than that of their kindred in tragedy. And this distinction between tragedy and comedy is again a corroboration of Shakspeare's clear perception and fine feeling for the difference of the species, in fact, an actually fantastic tragedy such as the Spanish imagination of a Calderon endeavoured to produce, ceases to be truly tragic, the fantastic is appropriate only in the sphere of comedy.

If, in accordance with these preliminary remarks, we look more closely into the Shakspearian idea of comedy in general, and its affinity to the fantastic, it will, in the first place, lead us to discover the general significance of the Wonderful in his comedies. Man, in his folly and perversity, in his selfish arbitrariness and caprice loses the dominion over himself, and thereby over the outer world:

caprice and arbitrariness are, in fact, but the consequences and expression of the want of self-control. Man, thereby, unavoidably falls beneath the sway of accident, and the unaccountable change of outward circumstances; he becomes a slave to a power foreign to himself, which soon he can no longer resist, because from the very first he had no wish to resist it. This power is, in reality, nature and its own natural condition; for in consequence of man's want of a just and true, i.e. of an ethical conception of things, and of a moral dominion over himself, he immediately becomes a slave to his natural impulses and passions, to the momentary conditions of his mind, inclinations and desires, and to his selfish resolves, ideas and fancies. This is no doubt what Shakspeare, in general, intends to intimate symbolically by making elves or spirits like Ariel and his fellows carry on their pranks only with fools or such persons as are decidedly immoral or excited by some violent passion,-whereas they not only spare those that are good and noble in character, but even appear subject to them. This, on the other hand, is the reason why Shakspeare's comic spirits are evidently but the personified powers of nature, as will be seen by a closer examination, and shall be proved more definitely in what we have still to say. For the present I shall content myself with drawing attention to the fact that, in consequence of the manner in which Shakspeare conceives and treats the Fantastic, the Wonderful, and what is like a fairy tale in character, the very improbability attached to these-and, therefore, to be avoided as much as possible in a drama seems almost to vanish, because the spectator does not become clearly conscious of the improbability. Coleridge,* in his remarks on 'The Tempest,' justly maintains that there is a sort of improbability with which we are shocked in dramatic representation not less than in a narrative of real life, because it not only contradicts the latter, but also the poetical reality, or that reality which we— lost in the region of the imagination, as in a dreamunconsciously grant to the figures of poetry, and which constitutes the so-called illusion. The result of this is that in a simple tale or fairy tale, for instance, the * Literary Remains, ii. 92.

ordinary, natural course of an event would be an improbability. In fact it is not only in nature and history, but also in poetry, that the poetically true is not always probable, and the probable not always true. For the probable is founded entirely upon experience and custom, it is only the effect of pre-supposed causes, usually resulting from given circumstances, and, therefore, an effect anticipated by the imagination. The psychological probability will, therefore, in many respects be wholly different under different circumstances, for instance, very different among the negro tribes of Africa, or among Indians and Chinese, from what it is to Englishmen or Germans. Truth alone is eternally the same.

If we bear this in mind, it is self-evident that if the post can only contrive, from the very beginning, to draw and to keep us within the view of life or within the poetical world in which he places his characters, much, in this world, will appear to us probable that in everyday experience would be utterly improbable. If, therefore, the scene of the poem is placed upon the above described ideal boundary between reality and the land of wonders, if the poet has made the fantastico-comic view of life the foundation of his drama—which, in accordance with its spiritual and ethical character, is perfectly correct although formally in absolute contradiction with reality —then, it only depends upon his describing this region to us from the outset, in the most vivid manner possible, in definite, sharp outlines and in fresh and powerful colours. He will thus have the satisfaction of seeing that all the marvellous things which he presents to us do not in the remotest degree disturb our illusion, in other words, that we find the really improbable perfectly probable.-With what consummate skill Shakspeare has contrived to lay this foundation for the structure of his fantastic dramas, and how powerfully and irresistibly he has contrived to draw our imagination over to his standpoint, will become clearly evident if we recall the subject of The Tempest,' and more particularly examine the first scenes somewhat more closely.

1. THE TEMPEST.

This play opens, without a prologue and without all preparation, with the celebrated and excellent representation of a storm at sea, which, owing to its great accuracy and nautical correctness, is worthy of having been penned by a naval captain; this description, according to the opinion of most commentators, gives its name to the piece.

The very first scene contains an unusual occurrence, even though it still lies perfectly within the sphere of common reality. But far more unusual, although still by no means supernatural or unnatural, is the form in which the occurrence is represented. No wailings and lamentations, no cries of deathly terror and despair are heard, as might have been expected, but in the midst of the confusion, danger and distress, there runs an under-current of humour and wit which makes sport with the obvious danger to life and pending death. We, therefore, not only feel that there is nothing very serious in the danger represented and accordingly are far from being affected by fear and pity, the state of mind which tragedy would call forth-but we are, at the same time, transported into the centre of the comic view of life, which evidently constitutes the basis of the drama. We are challenged to laugh where otherwise we should weep. And yet that which we see is the most ordinary experience, men such as are met with every day, great and small, noble and common, according to the usual standard and cut. This alone is also shown, that the real world of folly, of moral weakness and mischief which we see in every-day experience is, in truth, rather the perverted, unreal side, and that accordingly, when light is thrown upon it, it is frequently most ludicrous where it apparently manifests the greatest misery.

The second scene introduces us to Prospero's cell, where we have the old man, a noble and dignified figure, with his magic mantle and magic wand, accompanied by his daughter of rare beauty and charming girlhood, in the midst of romantic scenery-all this must make upon us the im