MR NORTH, LETTER FROM ABERDEEN. IN the course of my academical studies last session, at one of the two Universities of Aberdeen, (for two there are, although you can scarcely descry one, through the Baotian fog of your own ignorance,) it was prescribed to me as an exercise, to translate into English verse, Horace's ode " In Cassium Severum." Just about that time, I had been recreating myself, in my leisure moments, with some numbers of your facetious Miscellany,; and in divers parts and passages thereof, I found you letting fly squibs at my worthy and venerable Alma Mater, whom you seemed to regard as a Lady of very small consideration. This naturally roused my choler; and fecit indignatio versus. I departed, in some sort, from the literal sense of old Flaccus, and adapting my translation to existing circumstances, produced an objurgatory, expostulatory, hortatory, and conciliatory effusion, which met with much commendation from my Professors, and of which I now make bold to send you a copy, hoping that you will discern its point, admire its force, and profit by its due application. The offer of conferring on you the degree of L.L.D., although not expressly sanctioned, is, (I have reason to think) tacitly approved, by the Senatus Academicus; for they think you a clever dog in the main, although a little lame on some points, and occasionally somewhat foul-mouthed; and they will be well pleased to enrol you among the number of their Graduates. Hoping that you will not be so blind to your own interest, as to reject the proffered boon, and, by saying “nolo doctorari,” lead us to think that we have cast our pearls before swine,-I am, Dear Doctor in embryo, Yours sincerely, LAMDA. AGAINST CHRISTOPHER NORTH. O Mr Christopher, you dog, Why vilipend our blameless College? "Twould shew more pluck, to use your In quizzing stout Professor Leslie, Nor turns the other cheek, like Wesley. As dog, to Ettrick Shepherd dear, Yet with a sop, you wicked quiz, tor, A second Pangloss send you forth, her! HORE GERMANICE. Müllner's "Albaneserin." To the readers of the Greek tragedians, of Calderon, and of our old English dramatists, the present work of Müllner may be especially welcome. By others it will, no doubt, be looked upon with comparative indifference. We might employ a long preface to point out how much has been drawn by the author from the authorities and examples above alluded to,* and we might do this the rather, because from these authorities would be derived such illustrations, even of the very faults of Müllner, as would, in the estimation of an intelligent reader, supply for them an ample apology. We are not indeed entitled to affirm, that an author has on any occasion failed and rendered himself justly obnoxious to censure, unless we were first thoroughly aware of those views with which he wrote, though nothing has hitherto been more usual than for critics, (with minds moulded on the pattern blocks of the "Yellow and the Blue,") to enter into a long tirade against an author, without the most distant comprehension of the designs by which he has been actuated. We shall not, however, write a long introduction at present, more especially because, with regard to one of these authors (Calderon,) we have long had plans in contemplation, which will now shortly be fulfilled. From his wondrous galaxy of wild and exuberant inventions, not one star has yet been made to shine on us. His fairy worlds remain veiled by the cold clouds of indolence, ignorance, prejudice, and neglect. To us fell the task of first drawing for English readers the curtain of the now existing German and Danish Theatres. The Spanish and Swedish, (we might almost say the French and Italian,) yet remain equally unappreciated or misunderstood. On the present occasion, we have alluded especially to one production of Calderon, in which he too, unlike his usual custom, has founded his work on the old system of FATE, from which originated the classic and severe "Bride of Messina," and by which Müllner has invariably chosen to abide. His object here, then, was to weave an intricate web of evil, in which the family of Basil, King of Sicily, are inextricably involved. For the tragic interest of his play, he has for the most part relied on a patient and metaphysical development of deep, contending, fierce, and delirious passions, such, perhaps, as would suit the genius of Kean as an actor, and might have suited that of Miss O'Neill. He has adhered to this last view rather too closely, for these passions, coarse enough in themselves, are revealed and pourtrayed with somewhat of a too daring hand. There is here less also of what Mr Bowles would call pure poetry, than in Müllner's former works. There are indeed no "lookings abroad on Nature;" we do not "breathe the free air;" we hear nothing of spring or autumn, of the rising or setting sun or moon. But this, too, must have been the systematic choice of the author; for no one understands better than Müllner the conflicting systems of Schelling and Fichte; or, in a word, the connexion of human passions and emotions with the influences of the outward world; and yet, it is true, he is in this respect inferior to Grillparzer, in whose "Ancestress" are some of the noblest examples of pure and concentrative imagination to be found in any author or in any language. But to the story. As in the "Bride of Messina," two brothers are destroyed in consequence of mutual hatred and mistrust, so in Müllner's play the same catastrophe is brought about, but by methods directly the reverse, namely, by their mutual attachment and generosity. This alone might be sufficient to render extracts intelligible; but in justice to the author, some analysis must be given. Basil, King of Sicily, had, contrary to the old Norwegian laws of his kingdom, married a second time, and had by different wives two sons. One of these princes is now dead, having left a widow, the Princess Eleonora Albana of Savelli (the heroine.) Enrico, the surviving prince, has since his brother's death become insane; and a We mean as to the general cast and character of the work; for in his details the author certainly never borrows. renowned physician (by name Benvolio,) has been sent for from the court of Savelli, Prince of Albalonga, to attend him. In the third scene of the first act, this character is introduced to the king, and kneels before him. Benv. (kneeling.) Sire! Bas. Rise up! In that fashion greet me not. Misfortunes on the father's hoary head You know the sickness Benv. Ay, my Liege! The page Bas. Its source lies far remote,- Benv. (surprised.) How is this? Can Basil then,-the Wise and Good,- How shall I name the foolish word,—in Its acquisition loses straight his power. Princess of Naples, was to me a son, His mother scarce one fleeting year surviv'd. Bas. Laws they deserve not to be call'd, (Mine ancestors) won Sicily from the Moors. Of just and regular inheritance,- son Bas. (sternly.) Who has to man disclo- Has of a marriage, now dissolv'd, been sed where lie the bounds That nature from spiritual realms divide? Or Destiny, words all alike!-In life, born, Swear wedlock's vows again. So shall the strife Of Dan and Nor, both first-born of two Be never more renew'd.-Or if this law Benv. (aside.) How! Is the king him- Of nonage shall Camastro's Duke sustain, self the patient here? Bas. Shew to me even one people of our earth, 'Mid whom the same belief, by legends old, And songs of bards preserved, may not be found, The dread belief in supernatural spells, Whose iron bonds no mortal breaks asunder? And guard his rights." Is this now clear? Bas. Because this law was foolish, (as Yourself confess,) I did abolish it; throne ; Then was Enrico born. While he was yet Benv. Sire, when the nations to such In arms with his adherents, to maintain dreams incline, The rights of Queen Matilda's son, as if Doubtless, 'mid seers and visionary bards, A father of his birthright would bereave They find abettors. Bas. Thou conceiv'st me not!— All are but shadowy reflections, seen Deeply we feel within the heart,-not here, of Reason.--But for me, You travell'd in the land of Pyramids, Benv. Truly, I was him! The Queen, who fear'd that Naples, too, might send Her squadrons forth against us, fled the town, And follow'd me, where with mine army now, I on the mountains was encamp'd.— Stood in the vale of Demons,-the dread Of powers unseen and subterraneous. From Etna then in angry mood, obscured Groan'd hollowly, and shook with inward strife, Even in that hour of direst influences, And then (much agitated) for the first time I wept !Beno. The hero Gave place then to the man. Valour, my liege, Belongs but to the moment,-while the throes hell already, by anticipation, triumphant." In order to counteract one obvious tendency of Camastro's curse, (viz. fraternal jealousy and hatred,) the king educated his two sons in such manner as to inspire them with extraordinary attachment to, and confidence in each other. When both arrived at manhood, they went together to the court of Albalonga in Italy, where Fernando fell in love with the Albaneserin, and whence he returned with her as his bride to Syracuse. Enrico's temper was wayward and restless;-he desired the command of a fleet against the Moors,-was defeated; and Allmansor, Prince of Tunis, landed on a remote part of the Sicilian coast, and ravaged the country. Before Enrico's return, Fernando went out with a moderate force to repel this invasion. The king followed with a powerful army,-but came up only in time to find that Fernando was utterly defeated. The Moors fled to their ships; and Basil beheld with horror on the main-top of Allmansor's vessel, the helmet and features (as he believed) of Fernando, whose mutilated Of mortal suff'ring must be ours through body, (stripped of the royal armour,) life. Bas. So think'st thou ?-Yet the monarch, too, has rights. Camastro now was prisoner; I his judge; No common criminal was he. He nam'd His actions duty;-but say then, Benvolio, Could I forgive him? The King goes on to relate, that the battle-field having been thus converted into a hall of judgment, and the Norwegian law having been formally abolished, he ordered Camastro to be immediately executed, granting him only a short interval for prayer. stead of a prayer to Heaven, the despairing prisoner called on FATE and the Powers of Darkness; pronouncing a frightful curse, on the influence of which the action of the subsequent drama is founded. "Gory and pale, In As now my head shall in the dust be laid, one That he hath dearly lov'd;-and as he The kingdom's statute for a woman's sake, "The earth," says the king," shook was afterwards found in a wood not far from the water. One half of the curse was thus fulfilled. Hereafter Enrico, in consequence of his grief, was attacked by a dangerous fever. His life was preserved by the attentions of the widowed Princess Albana;-but he remained subject to an outrageous delirium, of which no one has yet been able to discover the real cause. The second act is chiefly taken up with frightfully effective scenes, in which Enrico appears under the full influence of his insanity; but here, the intricate web of Müllner's invention is in such manner divided among his characters, that if we quote at all, our extracts must be unallowably long. Some of Fernando's expressions evince much psycological skill; as, for example, when speaking of his brother, whom in his delirium he believes yet alive, he says,― My sufferings all depend On this,-that manytimes, methinks I feel Twofold mineown existence;-doubly then, I see and hear, and doubly feel! The denouement of these powerful scenes, is a conviction on the part of the physician, that a concealed passion for Albana is the true cause of Enrico's madness; and by skilful contrivance, (of which the result becomes perfectly natural on the stage,) he draws from the Princess a confession, that before Fernando had ever paid his addresses, Enrico had been her first love! Thus ends the second act. At the beginning of the third, Albana enters in vehement emotion, followed by Benvolio, who wishes to detain her at Syracuse, from whence she has now resolved to fly. Here we gladly return to a translation of Müllner's own words. Albana. (much agitated.) Impossible! So rashly thus to leave his court.-- Am I not free? Have you not brought yourself A father's summons for my quick return? The ship that brought you hither, will to me Supply the means of flight. Benv. Ere now were we Departed, if the winds allowed.Alb. With oars Unnumber'd, then, let hirelings rend it forth, Far mid the desolate sea!-Only from The madman's dream that he yet lives, is true! ears He lives an heavenly image in my soul.Close up mine eyes in darkness ;-let mine Be deaf to every sound, and on my nerves The fragrant vernal zephyrs breathe in vain! Freeze up my limbs and frame, till dead and cold, For outward influences, they have become, Even like that marble column !-Leave me but That sweet remembrance, and with this alone, Were you not present, when impatiently, In words till then unthought, was mine own heart Even to myself reveal'd. Then, suddenly, Like sun-light through the clouds, reason dissolved The dim illusion that till then conceal'd A grief that never now may be atoned! We had translated more of this speech, but have struck out a whole page, for it is not by isolated extracts that the character of Albana, as she appears in this third act, can be understood.Suffice it to say, that by means of an intricate chain of involvements and stratagems, she is prevailed upon before her departure to grant another interview to Enrico, which takes place in the presence of the king and Benvolio. Hereupon, Basil learns with horror the true cause of the prince's distraction, and the latter at first breaks out into frightful invectives against himself. Afterwards, his attention being roused by some wild misconceptions uttered by the king, he is suddenly led into a long narrative, of which we shall quote only the com mencement. Enr. (Struggling) Words! Words! 2 E |