the Watches of the Night. By Mrs. Horace Dobell. (Remington and
Co.)

LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES--IV

(Woman's World, February 1888.)

Canute The Great, by Michael Field, is in many respects a really
remarkable work of art. Its tragic element is to be found in life, not
in death; in the hero's psychological development, not in his moral
declension or in any physical calamity; and the author has borrowed from
modern science the idea that in the evolutionary struggle for existence
the true tragedy may be that of the survivor. Canute, the rough generous
Viking, finds himself alienated from his gods, his forefathers, his very
dreams. With centuries of Pagan blood in his veins, he sets himself to
the task of becoming a great Christian governor and lawgiver to men; and
yet he is fully conscious that, while he has abandoned the noble impulses
of his race, he still retains that which in his nature is most fierce or
fearful. It is not by faith that he reaches the new creed, nor through
gentleness that he seeks after the new culture. The beautiful Christian
woman whom he has made queen of his life and lands teaches him no mercy,
and knows nothing of forgiveness. It is sin and not suffering that
purifies him--mere sin itself. 'Be not afraid,' he says in the last
great scene of the play:

'Be not afraid;
I have learnt this, sin is a mighty bond
'Twixt God and man. Love that has ne'er forgiven
Is virgin and untender; spousal passion
Becomes acquainted with life's vilest things,
Transmutes them, and exalts. Oh, wonderful,
This touch of pardon,--all the shame cast out;
The heart a-ripple with the gaiety,
The leaping consciousness that Heaven knows all,
And yet esteems us royal. Think of it--
The joy, the hope!'

This strange and powerful conception is worked out in a manner as strong
as it is subtle; and, indeed, almost every character in the play seems to
suggest some new psychological problem. The mere handling of the verse
is essentially characteristic of our modern introspective method, as it
presents to us, not thought in its perfected form, but the involutions of
thought seeking for expression. We seem to witness the very workings of
the mind, and to watch the passion struggling for utterance. In plays of
this kind (plays that are meant to be read, not to be acted) it must be
admitted that we often miss that narrative and descriptive element which
in the epic is s