ct music unto noble words."

Some people are born to this profound insight as storm-petrels for the
seas, needing not to be tutored, and are as men and women to whom we
tell our secrets, scarce knowing why we do. But Shakespeare knows what
the sphinx thinks, if anybody does. His genius is penetrative as cold
midwinter entering every room, and making warmth shiver in ague fits.
I think Shakespeare never errs in his logical sequence in character.
He surprises us, seems unnatural to us, but because we have been
superficial observers; while genius will disclose those truths to which
we are blind. Recur to Ophelia, whom Goethe has discussed with such
insight. Ophelia is, to our eyes and ears, pure as air. We find no
fault in her. Certainly, from any standpoint, her conduct is
irreproachable; yet, surprisingly enough, when she becomes insane, she
sings tainted songs, and salacious suggestions are on her lips, which
in sane hours never uttered a syllable of such a sort. And Shakespeare
is wrong? No; follow him. Thoughts are like rooms when shutters are
closed and blinds down, and can not, therefore, be seen. We tell our
thoughts, or conceal them, according to our desire or secretiveness,
and speech may or may not be a full index to thought; and Shakespeare
would indicate that fair Ophelia, love-lorn and neglected; fair
Ophelia, whose words and conduct were unexceptional, even to the sharp
eyes of a precisian--fair Ophelia cherished thoughts not meet for
maidenhood, and in her heart toyed with voluptuousness. I know nothing
more accurate; and the penetration of this poet seems, for the moment,
something more than human. After a single example, such as adduced,
would not he be guilty of temerity who would question Shakespeare's
accuracy in character delineation? The sum of what has been said on
this point is, distrust yourself rather than Shakespeare; and when your
notions and his are not coincident, or when, more strongly stated, you
feel sure that here for once he is inaccurate, reckon that he is
profounder than you, and do you begin to seek for a hidden path as one
lost in a wilderness, when, in all probability, you will discover that
what you deemed inexact was in reality a profounder truth than had come
under your observation. Nor would a discussion of Shakespeare's
truthfulness be rounded out should his value as historian be omitted.
He is profoundest of philosophical historians, compelling the motives
in his