strained all expression of grief that she might not shake his fortitude; but afterwards, in passing through a chamber in which there hung a picture of Hector and Andromache, she stopped, gazed upon it for a time with a settled sorrow, and at length burst into a passion of tears.* If Portia had been a Christian, and lived in later times, she might have been another Lady Russel; but she made a poor stoic. No factitious or external control was sufficient to restrain such an exuberance of sensibility and fancy; and those who praise the philosophy of Portia and the heroism of her death, certainly mistook the character altogether. It is evident, from the manner of her death, that it was not deliberate self-destruction, “after the high Roman fashion,” but took place in a paroxysm of madness, caused by overwrought and suppressed feeling, grief, terror, and suspense. Shakespeare has thus represented it : "Brutus. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs! Cassius. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. Brutus. No man bears sorrow better.-Portia is dead. Cassius. How 'scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so?— O insupportable and touching loss !— Upon what sickness? Brutus. Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Had made themselves so strong;-for with her death And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire." So much for woman's philosophy! * When at Naples, I have often stood upon the rock at the extreme point of Posilippo, and looked down upon the little island of Nisida, and thought of this scene till I forgot the Lazaretto which now deforms it: deforms it, however, to the fancy only, for the building itself, as it rises from amid the vines, the cypresses, and fig-trees which embosom it, looks beautiful at a distance. C SCENE I. Rome. A Street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens. Flavius. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home. Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art thou? I Citizen. Why, sir, a carpenter. Marullus. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir; what trade are you? 2 Citizen. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. II |