HENRY THE SIXTH.

With Henry the Sixth we enter upon what has been hitherto called the Yorkian Tetralogy the series of four plays ending with Richard the Third. The violation of nationality committed abroad now returns home-the conquest of France produces the civil dissension of England. It is an age of terror a tragic age—which has also a tragic termination. Both the contending Houses of York and Lancaster pass away, and England finds peace in a new dynasty.

Henry the Sixth, though one of the least important of Shakespeare's works, seems to be most written about, judging by the number and length of the dissertations on this play. For its authorship is uncertain, and with uncertainty begins learned conjecture, multiplying itself a thousandfold, and never quite reaching anything certain-for then conjecture would be at an end. This whole field we shall avoid, not feeling any sure footing in it; and to grade probabilities is a wearisome and, to most readers of the Poet, an unprofitable task. So much, however, may be said: In Henry the Sixth we find some of Shakespeare's earliest and crudest work, and some which it is difficult to believe to be his work at all.

The general subject of the First Part of Henry the Sixth is the loss of France through the internal dissensions of the

English. Henry the Fifth, who had conquered the enemy abroad and united all factions at home, is dead; when his strong grasp is once released, the repelling elements begin to fly asunder. The House of Lancaster, which had established and maintained itself through the ability of its rulers, now furnishes a totally incompetent monarch to the throne of England a monarch incompetent at first through immaturity of youth, and incompetent always through weakness of character. The mighty work of the previous Lancastrian Kings begins to undo itself; the last and most glorious exploit-the conquest of Franceis necessarily the first act in the great drama of retrogression; the battle of Agincourt, around which English national pride especially entwined itself, is now to be lost. on account of the incapacity of the head of government.

The First Part of Henry the Sixth is not a great play; even that Shakespeare was its author is denied by many good judges of the Poet's writings. But let this question of authenticity be dropped at once. The organization is rather loose, yet might be worse; the action is not controlled by a strong inner thought, but moves through a series of pictorial scenes in an external fashion; livelinessit has, though only playing over the surface. That deep, central flame which fuses all the materials of the drama into oneness - of which the events are merely the fiery outbursts is wanting here, though there is much activity and struggle. The play, however, has one general purpose to which it seeks to give utterance; this purpose, as already stated, is to show the loss of the French territory through English dissension.

The clearest and best point in the structure of the present work is its division into two threads, which may be

The

called the external conflict and the internal conflict. scene of the first thread lies in France; it portrays the struggle between the French and the English. The former are fighting for national independence, the latter for the subjugation of their neighbors. This is a contest in which England must lose, and ought to lose, for she is really violating her own deepest principle, namely, nationality. The second thread will show the means-internal strife will paralyze her efforts; the hatred of parties will turn from the enemy abroad to the opponents within. The reader, for his own advantage, may note the inherent relation between these two threads- war upon your neighbor seems ultimately to mean war upon yourself.

The movements, which the reader may possibly inquire after next, are not very distinctly marked; the turningpoint may be considered to be where Burgundy goes over to the French, and thus unites his nation against the invader. Yet the whole action only exhibits occurrence after occurrence sweeping away the English conquests. The two threads, however, proceed with perfect distinctness through the entire play. A short summary of each may now be given.

The first thread, as it shows a conflict, is divided into two sides—the French and the English. The French are striving with success to redeem their country from a foreign yoke; town after town, and province after province, are falling into their hands. They have in these wars their heroic character-the supreme representative of the struggling nation. But it is not the King, not a nobleman, not even a man; it is a poor shepherd's daughter named Joan of Arc, now far more famous than the greatest monarch of that age. Truly she is a remarkable

appearance—in the history of the world a glowing point of light which darts up and illumines an epoch. Many sympathetic pens have told her story in prose and in verse; she is, indeed, a noble, poetical form a woman bursting the barriers of class and of sex, and representing the nation; a woman in arms inspiring her countrymen by word and example to the great deed of national liberation. It is a rare phenomenon - perhaps the single instance of its kind in History.

Shakespeare, or the author of the First Part of Henry the Sixth, has not taken much advantage of the imposing figure of Joan of Arc; he has rather left her character and her mission in a state of perplexing doubt. When the French speak, full justice is done to her wonderful power; she is divinely sent; she has beheld in a vision the one thing needful in the present emergency; she is inspired of Heaven to be the deliverer of her country. But the English ridicule her claims; they even assail her womanly honor, which she, among the French, is represented as having kept unstained; and, finally, they burn her for a witch. English feeling, perhaps, dictated such a portraiture. Between these two opinions the character fluctuates; it has no unity in its development, but sways from one side to the other, finally resting under an English cloud of suspicion. Still the main fact cannot be obscured

a woman of humble station rises to be a national heroine, heroic above all men of that age; the champion of the Family has become the champion of the State.

We now turn to the side of the English, in order to see what offset they have to the wonderful Maid of Orleans. A national hero appears also among them, but of quite a different kind. It is Talbot, a man trained to the

use of arms, of great experience in war, and of noble rank. He is mainly the courageous soldier, whose very name puts the French to flight. There is in his actions a wild daring which magnetizes the troops under him into huge masses of fiery valor; this wild daring, coupled with a chivalrous, open-hearted devotion to his country, is his characteristic trait. The Soldier meets the Maid; there is much fluctuation in the conflict, but the English poet cannot disguise the fact that the result is general defeat.

But the crowning glory of Talbot's career is the manner of his death. He is a sacrifice to the hatred between two party-leaders, who were also generals in this unfortunate time-York and Somerset; neither will send aid to Talbot in his perilous situation at Bordeaux. He perishes; the English national hero becomes the victim of English dissension an ominous emblem of England her

self. But to his patriotic devotion is now added a new trait of character — parental love. His young son, John Talbot, has just come to France in order to receive under his father's eye a military training; when destruction lowers from every quarter of the sky, the parent beseeches his boy to escape-from out the rugged breast of the soldier is seen to leap the pure fire of domestic affection. But the son is a Talbot; he will not fly from the enemy; his father is going to stay and die- so will he if he be truly a son. The youthful hero, after performing deeds of valor, comes into a dangerous situation, from which he is rescued by the parent. Again the latter begs his only son to escape and preserve the name of his family; but the answer is perfect in its logic:

"And if I fly I am not Talbot's son."

That is, the sole proof of sonship is to remain with his