Life is much too large to be expressed in the terms of a single
passion. Friendship, patriotism, parental tenderness, filial
devotion, the ardour of adventure, the thirst for knowledge, the
ecstasy of religion,--these all have their dwelling in the heart of
man. They mould character. They control conduct. They are stars
of destiny shining in the inner firmament. And if art would truly
hold the mirror up to nature, it must reflect these greater and
lesser lights that rule the day and the night.
How many of the plays that divert and misinform the modern theatre-
goer turn on the pivot of a love-affair, not always pure, but
generally simple! And how many of those that are imported from
France proceed upon the theory that the Seventh is the only
Commandment, and that the principal attraction of life lies in the
opportunity of breaking it! The matinee-girl is not likely to have
a very luminous or truthful idea of existence floating around in her
pretty little head.
But, after all, the great plays, those that take the deepest hold
upon the heart, like HAMLET and KING LEAR, MACBETH and OTHELLO, are
not love-plays. And the most charming comedies, like THE WINTER'S
TALE, and THE RIVALS, and RIP VAN WINKLE, are chiefly memorable for
other things than love-scenes.
Even in novels, love shows at its best when it does not absorb the
whole plot. LORNA DOONE is a lovers' story, but there is a blessed
minimum of spooning in it, and always enough of working and fighting
to keep the air clear and fresh. THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN, and
HYPATIA, and ROMOLA, and THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, and JOHN
INGLESANT, and THE THREE MUSKETEERS, and NOTRE DAME, and PEACE AND
WAR, and QUO VADIS,--these are great novels because they are much
more than tales of romantic love. As for HENRY ESMOND, (which seems
to me the best of all,) certainly "love at first sight" does not
play the finest role in that book.
There are good stories of our own day--pathetic, humourous,
entertaining, powerful--in which the element of romantic love is
altogether subordinate, or even imperceptible. THE RISE OF SILAS
LAPHAM does not owe its deep interest to the engagement of the very
charming young people who enliven it. MADAME DELPHINE and OLE
'STRACTED are perfect stories of their kind. I would not barter THE
JUNGLE BOOKS for a hundred of THE BRUSHWOOD BOY.
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