haustive; and, as in the "Death of Copernicus," unconvincingly replete.
Stricter dramatic canons, however, are more fairly applied to de Vere's tragedies. They are but two in number (if one except the fragmentary Fall of Rora)—Alexander the Great, and St. Thomas of Canterbury—both of which are quite impossible theatrically. Yet these two "closet dramas" contain much of the noblest poetry de Vere ever produced. None but the greatest genius could vivify a theme so remote as that of Alexander; but de Vere presents a series of splendid and moving tableaux, glowing at times with descriptive passages of surpassing beauty. The character-drawing, while slight, is often impressive: the Persian princess Arsinoe—to whom are given many of the loveliest lines of the play—being one of those tender, meditative souls whom de Vere understood so well how to delineate. The Conqueror himself is scarcely more than a majestic lay figure, our clearest conception of his genius coming less from any revelation of his own than from Ptolemy's brief and telling estimate:
He swifter than the morn
O'er rushed the globe. Expectant centuries
Condensed themselves into a few brief years
To work his will.
On the other hand, Aubrey de Vere's characterisation of Thomas à Becket is deeply convincing: probably the very best portrait of the great primate in English literature.[1] With consummate art and uncompromising historic truth is traced that thorny path which led the amiable young
- ↑ For an interesting comparative study of de Vere's St. Thomas and Tennyson's Becket, see "Imitators of Shakespeare" in Dr. Egan's Ghost in Hamlet, and Other Essays.
