酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

Heroes and Hero Worship-Part16_Thomas Carlyle(1795-1881)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
our common one, that he sat like a bird on the bough; and sang forth, free



and off-hand, never knowing the troubles of other men. Not so; with no man

is it so. How could a man travel forward from rustic deer-poaching to such



tragedy-writing, and not fall in with sorrows by the way? Or, still

better, how could a man delineate a Hamlet, a Coriolanus, a Macbeth, so



many sufferingheroic hearts, if his own heroic heart had never

suffered?--And now, in contrast with all this, observe his mirthfulness,



his genuine overflowing love of laughter! You would say, in no point does

he _exaggerate_ but only in laughter. Fiery objurgations, words that



pierce and burn, are to be found in Shakspeare; yet he is always in measure

here; never what Johnson would remark as a specially "good hater." But his



laughter seems to pour from him in floods; he heaps all manner of

ridiculous nicknames on the butt he is bantering, tumbles and tosses him in



all sorts of horse-play; you would say, with his whole heart laughs. And

then, if not always the finest, it is always a geniallaughter. Not at



mere weakness, at misery or poverty; never. No man who _can_ laugh, what

we call laughing, will laugh at these things. It is some poor character



only _desiring_ to laugh, and have the credit of wit, that does so.

Laughter means sympathy; good laughter is not "the crackling of thorns



under the pot." Even at stupidity and pretension this Shakspeare does not

laugh otherwise than genially. Dogberry and Verges tickle our very hearts;



and we dismiss them covered with explosions of laughter: but we like the

poor fellows only the better for our laughing; and hope they will get on



well there, and continue Presidents of the City-watch. Such laughter, like

sunshine on the deep sea, is very beautiful to me.



We have no room to speak of Shakspeare's individual works; though perhaps

there is much still waiting to be said on that head. Had we, for instance,



all his plays reviewed as _Hamlet_, in _Wilhelm Meister_, is! A thing

which might, one day, be done. August Wilhelm Schlegel has a remark on his



Historical Plays, _Henry Fifth_ and the others, which is worth remembering.

He calls them a kind of National Epic. Marlborough, you recollect, said,



he knew no English History but what he had learned from Shakspeare. There

are really, if we look to it, few as memorable Histories. The great



salient points are admirably seized; all rounds itself off, into a kind of

rhythmic coherence; it is, as Schlegel says, epic;--as indeed all



delineation by a great thinker will be. There are right beautiful things

in those Pieces, which indeed together form one beautiful thing. That



battle of Agincourt strikes me as one of the most perfect things, in its

sort, we anywhere have of Shakspeare's. The description of the two hosts:



the worn-out, jaded English; the dread hour, big with destiny, when the

battle shall begin; and then that deathless valor: "Ye good yeomen, whose



limbs were made in England!" There is a noble Patriotism in it,--far other

than the "indifference" you sometimes hear ascribed to Shakspeare. A true



English heart breathes, calm and strong, through the whole business; not

boisterous, protrusive; all the better for that. There is a sound in it



like the ring of steel. This man too had a right stroke in him, had it

come to that!



But I will say, of Shakspeare's works generally, that we have no full

impress of him there; even as full as we have of many men. His works are



so many windows, through which we see a glimpse of the world that was in

him. All his works seem, comparativelyspeaking, cursory, imperfect,



written under cramping circumstances; giving only here and there a note of

the full utterance of the man. Passages there are that come upon you like



splendor out of Heaven; bursts of radiance, illuminating the very heart of

the thing: you say, "That is _true_, spoken once and forever; wheresoever



and whensoever there is an open human soul, that will be recognized as

true!" Such bursts, however, make us feel that the surrounding matter is



not radiant; that it is, in part, temporary, conventional. Alas,

Shakspeare had to write for the Globe Playhouse: his great soul had to



crush itself, as it could, into that and no other mould. It was with him,




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号