nsiderably
condensed from the original, by the excision of various scenes
explanatory of the conduct of the story, and by the omission of the
cumbersome vision of Leonatus; and the gain of brevity thereby made
helps to commend the work to a more gracious acceptance than it would be
likely to obtain if acted exactly according to Shakespeare. Its movement
also is imbued with additional alacrity by a rearrangement of its
divisions. It is customarily presented in six acts. Yet,
notwithstanding the cutting and editing to which it has been subjected,
_Cymbeline_ remains somewhat inharmonious alike with the needs of the
stage and the apprehension of the public.

For this there are several causes. One perhaps is its mixed character,
its vague, elusive purpose, and its unreality of effect. From the nature
of his story--a tale of stern facts and airy inventions, respecting
Britain and Rome, two thousand years ago--the poet seems to have been
compelled to make a picture of human life too literal to be viewed
wholly as an ideal, and too romantic to be viewed wholly as literal. In
the unequivocally great plays of Shakespeare the action moves like the
mighty flow of some resistless river. In this one it advances with the
diffusive and straggling movement of a summer cloud. The drift and
meaning of the piece, accordingly, do not stand boldly out. That astute
thinker, Ulrici, for instance, after much brooding upon it, ties his
mental legs in a hard knot and says that Shakespeare intended, in this
piece, to illustrate that man is not the master of his own destiny.
There must be liberal scope for conjecture when a philosopher can make
such a landing as that.

The persons in _Cymbeline_, moreover--aside from the exceptional
character of Imogen--do not come home to a spectator's realisation,
whether of sympathy or repugnance. It is like the flower that thrives
best under glass but shivers and wilts in the open air. Its poetry seems
marred by the rude touch of the actual. Its delicious mountain scenes
lose their woodland fragrance. Its motive, bluntly disclosed in the
wager scene, seems coarse, unnatural, and offensive. Its plot, really
simple, moves heavily and perplexes attention. It is a piece that lacks
pervasive concentration and enthralling point. It might be defined as
_Othello_ with a difference--the difference being in favour of
_Othello_. Jealousy is the pivot of both: but in _Othello_ jealousy is
treated with profound and searc