it
summoned expressly to give advice. An admirably vigorous phrase from one
of the many declamations of his hero Byron--another representative of
the same haughty strength of will--gives his theory of character:--

Give me a spirit that on this life's rough sea
Loves t' have his sail filled with a lusty wind,
Even till his sailyards tremble, his masts crack,
And his rapt ship run on her side so low
That she drinks water, and her keel plows air.

Pure, undiluted energy, stern force of will, delight in danger for its
own sake, contempt for all laws but the self-imposed, those are the
cardinal virtues, and challenge our sympathy even when they lead their
possessor to destruction. The psychology implied in Jonson's treating of
'humour' is another phase of the same sentiment. The side by which
energetic characters lend themselves to comedy is the exaggeration of
some special trait which determines their course as tyrannically as
ambition governs the character suited for tragedy.

When we turn to Massinger, this boundless vigour has disappeared. The
blood has grown cool. The tyrant no longer forces us to admiration by
the fulness of his vitality, and the magnificence of his contempt for
law. Whether for good or bad, he is comparatively a poor creature. He
has developed an uneasy conscience, and even whilst affecting to defy
the law, trembles at the thought of an approaching retribution. His
boasts have a shrill, querulous note in them. His creator does not fully
sympathise with his passion. Massinger cannot throw himself into the
situation; and is anxious to dwell upon the obvious moral considerations
which prove such characters to be decidedly inconvenient members of
society for their tamer neighbours. He is of course the more in
accordance with a correct code of morality, but fails correspondingly in
dramatic force and brilliance of colour. To exhibit a villain truly,
even to enable us to realise the true depth of his villainy, one must be
able for a moment to share his point of view, and therefore to
understand the true law of his being. It is a very sound rule in the
conduct of life, that we should not sympathise with scoundrels. But the
morality of the poet, as of the scientific psychologist, is founded upon
the unflinching veracity which sets forth all motives with absolute
impartiality. Some sort of provisional sympathy with the wicked there
must be, or they become mere impossible monsters or the