Henry Taylor, and the most admirable dramatic poem which these times
have witnessed is _Philip van Artevelde_. How well he uses the language
of the _old masters_! how completely has he made it his own! and how
replete is the poem with that sagacious observation which penetrates the
very core of human life, and which is so appropriate to the drama! Yet
the author of _Philip van Artevelde_, I shall be told, has evidently
taken a very different view of the powers and functions of the drama at
this day than what I have been expressing. In his poem we have the whole
lifetime of a man described, and a considerable portion of the history
of a people sketched out; we have a canvass so ample, and so well
filled, that all the materials for a long novel might be found there.
But the example of _Philip van Artevelde_ rather confirms than shakes my
opinion. I am persuaded that that drama, good as it is, would have been
fifty times better, had it been framed on a more restricted plan. You,
of course, have read and admired this poem. Now recall to mind those
parts which you probably marked with your pencil as you proceeded, and
which you afterwards read a second and a third and a fourth time; bring
them together, and you will at once perceive how little the poem would
have lost, how much it would have gained, if it had been curtailed, or
rather constructed on a simpler plan. What care we for his Sir Simon
Bette and his Guisebert Grutt? And of what avail is it to attempt,
within the limits of a drama, and under the trammels of verse, what can
be much better done in the freedom and amplitude of prose? Under what
disadvantages does the historical play appear after the historical
novels of the Author of Waverley!

The author of _Philip van Artevelde_, and _Edwin the Fair_, seems to
shrink from idealizing character, lest he should depart from historic
truth. But historic truth is not the sort of truth most essential to the
drama. We are pleased when we meet with it; but its presence will never
justify the author for neglecting the higher resources of his art. Do
not think, however, that in making this observation I intend to impeach
the character of Philip van Artevelde himself. Artevelde I admire
without stint, and without exception. Compare this character with the
Wallenstein of Schiller, and you will see at once its excellence. They
are both leaders of armies, and both men of reflection. But in
Wallenstein the habit of self-examination h