from observing. There is action
enough in the plot, energy enough in the dialogue, and abundance of
individual beauties in both; but there is throughout a certain air of
stiffness and effort, which abstracts from the theatrical illusion.
The language, in general impressive and magnificent, is now and then
inflated into bombast. The characters do not, as it were, verify their
human nature, by those thousand little touches and nameless turns,
which distinguish the genius essentially dramatic from the genius
merely poetical; the Proteus of the stage from the philosophic
observer and trained imitator of life. We have not those careless
felicities, those varyings from high to low, that air of living
freedom which Shakspeare has accustomed us, like spoiled children, to
look for in every perfect work of this species. Schiller is too
elevated, too regular and sustained in his elevation, to be altogether
natural.

Yet with all this, _Carlos_ is a noble tragedy. There is a stately
massiveness about the structure of it; the incidents are grand and
affecting; the characters powerful, vividly conceived, and
impressively if not completely delineated. Of wit and its kindred
graces Schiller has but a slender share: nor among great poets is he
much distinguished for depth or fineness of pathos. But what gives him
a place of his own, and the loftiest of its kind, is the vastness and
intense vigour of his mind; the splendour of his thoughts and imagery,
and the bold vehemence of his passion for the true and the sublime,
under all their various forms. He does not thrill, but he exalts us.
His genius is impetuous, exuberant, majestic; and a heavenly fire
gleams through all his creations. He transports us into a holier and
higher world than our own; everything around us breathes of force and
solemn beauty. The looks of his heroes may be more staid than those of
men, the movements of their minds may be slower and more calculated;
but we yield to the potency of their endowments, and the loveliness of
the scene which they animate. The enchantments of the poet are strong
enough to silence our scepticism; we forbear to inquire whether it is
true or false.

The celebrity of Alfieri generally invites the reader of _Don Carlos_
to compare it with _Filippo_. Both writers treat the same subject;
both borrow their materials from the same source, the _nouvelle
historique_ of St. Real: but it is impossible that two powerful minds
could have handled on