os of
the parallel scene in 'Othello.' Much sympathy, however, is impossible
for a man whose whole conduct is so flighty, and so obviously determined
by the immediate demands of successive situations of the play, and not
the varying manifestation of a powerfully conceived character. Francisco
is a more coherent villain, and an objection made by Hazlitt to his
apparent want of motive is at least equally valid against Iago; but he
is of course but a diluted version of that superlative villain, as
Marcelia is a rather priggish and infinitely less tender Desdemona. The
failure, however, of the central figure to exhibit any fixity of
character is the real weakness of the play; and the horrors of the last
scene fail to atone for the want of the vivid style which reveals an
'intense and gloomy mind.'

This kind of versatility and impulsiveness of character is revealed by
the curious convertibility--if one may use the word--of his characters.
They are the very reverse of the men of iron of the previous generation.
They change their state of mind as easily as the characters of the
contemporary drama put on disguises. We are often amazed at the
simplicity which enables a whole family to suppose the brother and
father to whom they have been speaking ten minutes before to be an
entire stranger, because he has changed his coat or talks broken
English. The audience must have been easily satisfied in such cases; but
it requires almost equal simplicity to accept some of Massinger's
transformations. In such a play as the 'Virgin Martyr,' a religious
conversion is a natural part of the scheme. Nor need we be surprised at
the amazing facility with which a fair Mohammedan is converted in the
'Renegado' by the summary assertion that the 'juggling Prophet' is a
cheat, and taught a pigeon to feed in his ear. Can there be strength, it
is added, in that religion which allows us to fear death? 'This is
unanswerable,' exclaims the lady, 'and there is something tells me I err
in my opinion.' This is almost as good as the sudden thought of swearing
eternal friendship in the 'Anti-Jacobin.' The hardened villain of the
first act in the same play falls into despair in the third, and, with
the help of an admirable Jesuit, becomes a most useful and exemplary
convert by the fifth. But such catastrophes may be regarded as more or
less miraculous. The versatility of character is more singular when
religious conversions are not in question. 'I am certain,'