And at evening evermore, Hark! the cadence dies away On the yellow moonlight sea: Ord. The innocent obey nor charm nor spell! Alv. A joy to thee! curate of St Peter's, Dublin. The scanty income derived from his curacy being insufficient for his comfortable maintenance, he employed himself in assisting young persons during their classical studies at Trinity college, Dublin. The novels of Maturin (which will be afterwards noticed) enjoyed considerable popularity; and had his prudence been equal CR Matvcin [A long pause. to his genius, his life might have been passed in comfort and respect. He was, however, vain and extravagant-always in difficulties (Scott at one time generously sent him £50), and haunted by bailiffs. When this eccentric author was engaged in composition, he used to fasten a wafer on his forehead, which was the signal that if any of his family entered the sanctum they must not speak to him! The success of 'Bertram' induced Mr Maturin to attempt another tragedy, Manuel, which he published in 1817. It is a very inferior production: 'the absurd work of a clever man,' says Byron. The unfortunate author died in Dublin on the 30th of October 1824. What if thou heardst him now? What if his spirit Vald. These are unholy fancies! Ord. [Struggling with his feelings.] Yes, my father, He is in heaven! Alv. [Still to Ordonio.] But what if he had a Who had lived even so, that at his dying hour Val. Idly prating man! Thou hast guessed ill: Don Alvar's only brother Alv. [Still to Ordonio.] What if his very virtues [Music again. Ter. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! REV. CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN. The REV. CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN, author of several romances, produced a tragedy named Bertram, which, by the influence of Lord Byron, was brought out at Drury Lane in 1816. It was well received; and by the performance and publication of his play, the author realised about £1000. Sir Walter Scott considered the tragedy 'grand and powerful, the language most animated and poetical, and the characters sketched with a masterly enthusiasm.' The author was anxious to introduce Satan on the stage, a return to the style of the ancient mysteries by no means suited to modern taste. Mr Maturin was Unto that dark compeer we saw his steps, Horrors to me are kindred and society. Or man, or fiend, he hath won the soul of Bertram. [Bertram is afterwards discovered alone, wandering near the fatal tower, and describes the effect of the awful interview which he had courted.] Bertram. Was it a man or fiend? Whate'er it was, The invisible blast to which the dark pines groan, gloom, How spoke the eloquent silence of its motion, ין I felt those unseen eyes were fixed on mine, Forgotten thoughts of evil, still-born mischiefs, So calls the last dread peal the wandering atoms To bide the eternal summons I am not what I was since I beheld him- Enter two of his band observing him. That brightness all around thee, that appeared In the same year with Mr Sheil's 'Evadne' (1820) appeared Brutus, or the Fall of Tarquin, a historical tragedy, by JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. There is no originality or genius displayed in this drama; but, when well acted, it is highly effective on the stage. In 1821 MR PROCTER'S tragedy of Mirandola was brought out at Covent Garden, and had a short but enthusiastic run of success. The plot is painful (including the death, through unjust suspicions, of a prince sentenced by his father), and there is a want of dramatic movement in the play; but some of the passages are imbued with poetical feeling and First Robber. Seest thou with what a step of pride vigorous expression. The doting affection of Miran he stalks? Second Robber. And hast thou of a truth seen the dola, the duke, has something of the warmth and the rich diction of the old dramatists. Duke. My own sweet love! Oh! my dear peerless wife! By the blue sky and all its crowding stars, Bertram. [Turning on him suddenly.] Thy hand is I love you better-oh! far better than chilled with fear. Well, shivering craven, Woman was ever loved. There's not an hour The business of the dukedom soon will cease. First Robber. Mock me not thus. Hast met him of I speak the truth, by Dian. Even now a truth? RICHARD L. SHEIL-J. H. PAYNE-B. W. PROCTER- Another Irish poet, and man of warm imagination, is RICHARD LALOR SHEIL. His plays, Evadne and The Apostate, were performed with much success, partly owing to the admirable acting of Miss O'Neil. The interest of Mr Sheil's dramas is concentrated too exclusively on the heroine of each, and there is a want of action and animated dialogue; but they abound in impressive and well-managed scenes. The plot of 'Evadne' is taken from Shirley's Traitor, as are also some of the sentiments. The following description of female beauty is very finely expressed : But you do not look altered-would you did! Gheraldi waits without (or should) to see me. Duke. We'll ride together, dearest, Some few hours hence. [Exit. Isid. Just as you please; farewell. About the same time Conscience, or the Bridal Night, by MR JAMES HAYNES, was performed, and afterwards published. The hero is a ruined Venetian, and his bride the daughter of his deadliest enemy, and the niece of one to whose death he had been a party. The stings of conscience, and the fears accompanying the bridal night, are thus de scribed : [LORENZO and his friend JULIO.] Of dying; but pity bids me live! Jul. Yes, live, and still be happy. Never again: even at my bridal hour Lor. Have none approached us ? Jul. None. Lor. Then 'twas my fancy. Every passing hour Is crowded with a thousand whisperers; Jul. The shadows of our sleep should fly with sleep; Nor hang their sickness on the memory. Lor. Methought the dead man, rising from his tomb, Frowned over me. Elmira at my side, Stretched her fond arms to shield me from his wrath, At which he frowned the more. I turned away, Disgusted, from the spectre, and assayed To clasp my wife; but she was pale, and cold, And in her breast the heart was motionless, And on her limbs the clothing of the grave, With here and there a worm, hung heavily. Then did the spectre laugh, till from its mouth Blood dropped upon us while it cried 'Behold! Such is the bridal bed that waits thy love!' I would have struck it (for my rage was up); I tried the blow; but, all my senses shaken By the convulsion, broke the tranced spell, And darkness told me sleep was my tormentor. JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. The most successful of modern tragic dramatists is MR JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES, whose plays Ukuowles have recently been collected and republished in three volumes. His first appeared in 1820, and is founded on that striking incident in Roman story, the death of a maiden by the hand of her father, Virginius, to save her from the lust and tyranny of Appius. Mr Knowles's Virginius had an extraordinary run of success. He has since published The Wife, a Tale of Mantua, The Hunchback, Caius Gracchus, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, William Tell, The Love Chace, &c. With considerable knowledge of stage effect, Mr Knowles unites a lively inventive imagination and a poetical colouring, which, if at times too florid and gaudy, sets off his familiar images and illustrations. His style is formed on that of Massinger and the other elder dramatists, carried often to a ridiculous excess. He also frequently violates Roman history and classical propriety, and runs into conceits and affected metaphors. These faults are counterbalanced by a happy art of constructing scenes and plots, romantic, yet not too improbable, by skilful delineation of character, especially in domestic life, and by a current of poetry which sparkles through his plays, 'not with a dazzling lustre-not with a gorgeousness that engrosses our attention, but mildly and agreeably; seldom impeding with useless glitter the progress and development of incident and character, but mingling itself with them, and raising them pleasantly above the prosaic level of common life.'* [Scene from 'Virginius.'] APPIUS, CLAUDIUS, and LICTORS. Appius. Well, Claudius, are the forces At hand? Claudius. They are, and timely, too; the people Are in unwonted ferment. App. There's something awes me at Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon Haste! [Appius ascends the tribunal. [Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS leading his daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZENS. A dead silence prevails.] Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant here. Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause, That tries its prowess 'gainst the honour of A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he Who casts off shame, should likewise cast off fearAnd on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve To stammer forth the signal? App. You had better, Virginius, wear another kind of carriage; Vir. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius tell me The fashion it becomes a man to speak in, His hand, his arm-yea, nearer-closer far, App. Stand forth Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest In the question now before us, speak; if not, Bring on some other cause. Claud. Most noble Appius Vir. And are you the man That claims my daughter for his slave? Look at me And I will give her to thee. * Edinburgh Review for 1833. Claud. She is mine, then : Do I not look at you? Vir. Your eye does, truly, But not your soul. I see it through your eye Shifting and shrinking-turning every way To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye, So long the bully of its master, knows not To put a proper face upon a lie, But gives the port of impudence to falsehood I had forgot; the fashion of my speech Protection of the Decemvir! App. You shall have it. Vir. Doubtless! Vir. [Starting forward.] To be sure she will-a most wise question that! Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him- App. No law in Rome, Virginius, Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths App. You swear the girl's your child, Slave. It is my oath. App. Your answer now, Virginius. Vir. Here it is! [Brings Virginia forward. Is this the daughter of a slave? I know 'Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by The shoot you know the rank and order of The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain I should have done my client unrequired, Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble. I feel for you; but though you were my father, [Aside. [Aside. Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius, To take her home in time, before his guardian His pleasures-markets for him-picks, and scents, him You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies, App. Separate them, Lictors! Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which App. I have not time To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors. Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not A little time for parting. Let me take A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, App. Have your wish. Be brief! Lictors, look to them. Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Vir. No, my child No, my Virginia-come along with me. Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you? Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless you! My father! my dear father! Art thou not [VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.] Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back! Well, have you done? [Virginius secures the knife. Vir. Short time for converse, Appius, App. I hope you are satisfied. I am that she is my daughter!' [Virginia shrieks, and falls half-dead upon Vir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me [Exit through the soldiers. [From The Wife, a Tale of Mantua.'] LORENZO, an Advocate of Rome, and MARIANA. Lorenzo. That's right-you are collected and direct As e'er they were before. How grew it? Come, Mariana. As my stature grew, Which rose without my noting it, until The sole survivor of a company Who wandered through our mountains. A long time Lorenzo. I perceive: you mingled souls until you You loved at last. Was't not the sequel, maid! And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched, Lorenzo. This spoke impediment; or he was bound Mariana. I saw a struggle, But knew not what it was. I wondered still, [Kissing her. That what to me was all content, to him There is one only way to save thine honour- [Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood App. Stop him! Seize him! Was all disturbance; but my turn did come. You came to Mantua? |