These four, then, are, in my account, essential principles of Art, and the only ones which it lies within my purpose to consider; namely, Solidarity, Originality, Completeness, and Disinterestedness.  And to the attaining of these there needs, especially, three things in the way of faculty,—­high intellectual power, great force of will, and a very tender heart;—­a strong head to perceive and grasp the truth of things, a strong will to select and order the materials for expressing it, and a strong heart, which is tenderness, to give the work a soul of beauty and sweetness and amiability.  As a man combines all these strengths, and as, moreover, through the unifying power of imagination, he pours the united life and virtue of them all into his work; so will his worth and honour stand as an artist.  For whence should the noblest fruitage of human thought and culture grow, but from the noblest parts and attributes of manhood, moving together in perfect concert and reciprocity?

DRAMATIC COMPOSITION.

Shakespeare’s dramas—­not all of them indeed, but those which were written after he reached what may be called his mastership—­are in the highest sense of term Works of Art, and as such embody to the full the principles set forth in the preceding section.  In this general survey of his workmanship, I propose to consider, first, his Dramatic Architecture or Composition.

I have remarked in a previous chapter,[9] that in Shakespeare’s time, and for several ages before, the Drama was a national passion in England, nearly all classes of people being pervaded by it.  And yet, strange to say, this passion, notwithstanding the great frequency and variety of dramatic exhibitions, never came to any sound fruitage of Art, till the work fell into Shakespeare’s hands.  Moreover the tide of patriotic feeling, or the passion of nationality, which had for centuries been growing in strength, intelligence, and manliness, was then at its height, the people of all sorts being possessed with a hearty, honest English enthusiasm and national pride.  And this passion was inextricably bound up with traditions of the past and with the ancient currents of the national life.  Therewithal this deep, settled reverence for what was then “Old England,” while it naturally drew into the mind the treasured riches of many foregoing ages, was at the same time strangely combined with a very bold and daring spirit of progress and improvement.  Men seem indeed to have been all the more open to healthy innovation for being thus firmly rooted in the ground of prescription.  The public mind received what was new the more freely because it loved the old.  So that hope and anticipation walked with the bolder pace, inasmuch as memory and retrospection were still their cherished companions.  In a word, men’s tenacity of the past gave them the larger and brighter vision of the future.  Because they had no mind to forsake the law of their fathers, or to follow the leading of “sages undevoutly free,” therefore they were able to legislate the better for their children, and felt the less of danger in true freedom of thought.