Celia is more quiet and retired: but she rather yields to Rosalind, than is eclipsed by her. She is as full of sweetness, kindness, and intelligence, quite as susceptible, and almost as witty, though she makes less display of wit. She is described as less fair and less gifted; yet the attempt to excite in her mind a jealousy of her lovelier friend, by placing them in comparison-- Thou art a fool; she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, When she is gone-- fails to awaken in the generous heart of Celia any other feeling than an increased tenderness and sympathy for her cousin. To Celia, Shakspeare has given some of the most striking and animated parts of the dialogue; and in particular, that exquisite description of the friendship between her and Rosalind-- If she be a traitor, Why, so am I; we have still slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we were coupled and inseparable. The feeling of interest and admiration thus excited for Celia at the first, follows her through the whole play. We listen to her as to one who has made herself worthy of our love; and her silence expresses more than eloquence. Phebe is quite an Arcadian coquette; she is a piece of pastoral poetry. Audrey is only rustic. A very amusing effect is produced by the contrast between the frank and free bearing of the two princesses in disguise, and the scornful airs of the real Shepherdess. In the speeches of Phebe, and in the dialogue between her and Sylvius, Shakspeare has anticipated all the beauties of the Italian pastoral, and surpassed Tasso and Guarini. We find two among the most poetical passages of the play appropriated to Phebe; the taunting speech to Sylvius, and the description of Rosalind in her page's costume;--which last is finer than the portrait of Bathyllus in Anacreon. FOOTNOTES: [5] Artemisia Gentileschi, an Italian artist of the seventeenth century, painted one or two pictures, considered admirable as works of art, of which the subjects are the most vicious and barbarous conceivable. I remember one of these in the gallery of Florence, which I looked at once, but once, and wished then, as I do now, for the privilege of burning it to ashes. [6] Lucy Ashton, in the Bride of Lammermoor, may be placed next to Desdemona; Diana Vernon is (comparatively) a failure as every woman will allow; while the masculine lady Geraldine in Miss Edgeworth's tale of Ennui, and the intellectual Corinne are consistent, essential women; the distinction is more easily felt than analyzed. [7] Hazlitt's Essays, vol. ii. p. 167. [8] I am informed that the original German word is _geistreiche_ literally, _rich in soul or spirit_, a just and beautiful epithet. 2d. _Edit._