f place; they have not understood that it is precisely by
such touches as these that Shakespeare has succeeded in bringing before
our minds a sense of universal agitation and the enormous dissolution of
empires.

Turning to _Berenice_, we find a curious contrast. The whole tragedy
takes place in a small antechamber; the action lasts hardly longer than
its actual performance--about two hours and a half; and the characters
are three in number. As for the plot, it is contained in the following
six words of Suetonius: 'Titus reginam Berenicem dimissit invitus
invitam.' It seems extraordinary that with such materials Racine should
have ventured to set out to write a tragedy: it is more extraordinary
still that he succeeded. The interest of the play never ceases for a
moment; the simple situation is exposed, developed, and closed with all
the refinements of art; nothing is omitted that is essential, nothing
that is unessential is introduced. Racine has studiously avoided
anything approaching violent action or contrast or complexity; he has
relied entirely for his effect upon his treatment of a few intimate
human feelings interacting among themselves. The strain and press of the
outer world--that outer world which plays so great a part in
Shakespeare's masterpiece--is almost banished from his drama--almost,
but not quite. With wonderful art Racine manages to suggest that, behind
the quiet personal crisis in the retired little room, the strain and the
pressure of outside things do exist. For this is the force that
separates the lovers--the cruel claims of government and the state.
When, at the critical moment, Titus is at last obliged to make the fatal
choice, one word, as he hesitates, seems to dominate and convince his
soul: it is the word 'Rome'. Into this single syllable Racine has
distilled his own poignant version of the long-resounding elaborations
of _Antony and Cleopatra_.

It would, no doubt, be absurd to claim for Racine's tragedy a place as
high as Shakespeare's. But this fact should not blind us to the
extraordinary merits which it does possess. In one respect, indeed, it
might be urged that the English play is surpassed by the French one--and
that is, as a _play. Berenice_ is still acted with success; but _Antony
and Cleopatra_--? It is impossible to do justice to such a work on the
stage; it must be mutilated, rearranged, decocted, and in the end, at
the best, it will hardly do more than produce an impression of