Enr. Fearful was that moment!-Victory Must then be won, where for the conflict time Was not allow'd. But he was then before me, And she was absent far.-In earliest days,- The words, "Reward and Recompense" I did renounce my hopes. Bas. How could he then Ask and accept such gift?— Enr. Oh never, never!— Had he but faintly guess'd the truth, his life Had been through me bereft of love and joy, We had no more been friends! Enrico is thus gradually led on to reveal many other circumstances, which enhance the value of the sacrifice which he had made, and the merit of his own intentions. In Albana's mind, he had succeeded in raising up mistrust, and had died without suspicion of any such even hatred of himself, and his brother attachment having ever existed. The consequences are as might be expected, that the king anxiously wishes to secure the welfare and happiness of this only remaining son who had behaved so nobly. For this purpose no method seems so effectual as a marriage with his brother's widow, for which a dispensation must be obtained from the Church of Rome. Albana's consent to this measure, and her conduct at the close of this effective scene, could not be explained without long extracts.Suffice it that the author has amply and skilfully paved the way for this denouement. One previous speech of Enrico's, however, must not be left For, on my couch I found myself at last Watch'd by Benvolio, and awake to all The horrors of remembrance. (Anxiously.) Father, call him! Oh call Benvolio! let him for reward Demand unbounded treasure, if to me He can restore the illusions of the night,The light of madness to my soul again !—— This act concludes with a conversation between the King and Onophrius, (legate of the Pope) in which the former proposes to obtain from Rome the requisite dispensation for the marriage of Enrico with Albana. The Cardinal, on the other hand, endeavours to draw his attention to urgent and immediate business, the nature of which already excites vague suspicions of the tremendous eclaircissement which is to follow. In the fourth act comes on that extraordinary scene, on the success or failure of which the merit or demerit of the play almost entirely rests. At a solemn audience, Manuel of Camastro, whose sudden arrival at Syracuse was already announced by Onophrius, appears dressed in Fernando's armour, and attended by a band of Spanish knights, all with closed visors, which at the request of the king they only for a moment draw up; but among them in the back ground, is one Sicilian knight, whose features remain undiscovered. Manuel now tells a story of the Prince Fernando's captivity and life among the Moors at Tunis, which occupies no less than 34 pages, and we have no hesitation in saying, that there never was any narrative contrived, which on the stage would prove more effective. None of his speeches are too long; for he is constantly interrupted, in consequence of the excessive impression which the story makes on his audience, whom he finally leaves in a sort of uncertainty, whether Fernando is really dead or yet survives, though he affirms the former. Fernando, it seems, had been taken prisoner, and a Calabrian knight, who had dressed himself in the prince's armour, had been killed and treated in the manner described in the first act. The question, why Manuel should appear thus unexpectedly, and not as an hostile invader at Syracuse, with many other mysteries, are satisfactorily cleared up. There is also an especial reason why the disclosure was to be made in this gradual manner, for it was to be feared that the sudden joy of hearing that Fernando still survived, would prove too much for the already disordered intellects of Enrico. To extract 34 pages is of course impossible; but a few lines of Manuel's historical narrative may be allowed. Man. He fell not in the battle :-he was captured. When at Tomiso, by the Moorish force, away decks To the right side, where tangled wild wood And in the Moorish rear saw themselves Yet unto you, the way was barrier'd still Down towards Chiaramonté and Biscári and armour Were borne upon the water; and with this, To reach the opposite shore. In vain !— Were downward drawn towards the sea; and there wood Was ended now ;-they must on this side land, And scarcely had succeeded, ere they saw them! cuse. Benv. (Aside.) He now is lost-Away!— Away-to her!— rative, or the deep-laid underplot, by which Manuel accounts for his present appearance at the court of SyraTowards the end, perceiving the excessive agitation of Enrico, he wishes to evade answering the king's inquiries as to the manner of Fernando's death, ordering, at the same time, all his companions with shut helmets to retire ;-but one of them, THE SICILIAN, attended by two others who endeavour to hold him back, returns unperceived by Manuel upon the back ground. The king then explains that it is necessary for him to obtain minute information as to Fernando's decease, in order to be transmitted to Rome, where he hopes to obtain permission for the marriage of his surviving son with the "Albaneserin."On hearing this the Sicilian in the back ground utters an involuntary exclamation of surprise, and Enrico, struck by his tone of voice, exclaims,— Enr. Who spoke there? Man. (perceiving the Sicilian,) Oh, Almighty Heaven! The Sicilian. (Struggling with his attendants.) Away! Leave me!-(with painful agitation) Le nora! Bas. Speaks the Grave? (Hastens to the right wing.) Others as before. Albana. Alb. (Entering.) Where is my husband? › Fern. (Meeting her.) Lenora !— Oh, if thou liv'st, grant me the boon of death!- Fern. (Affectionately.) My wife!- It is impossible, either by an abstract or extracts, to trace out at present the varied conflicts which occupy the rest of this act, and the whole of the fifth. It is already obvious that the death of both brothers must take place. Enrico is banished for life to Norway, and prepares for his departure; but Fernando, meanwhile, has determined otherwise; and there is one very powerful scene, in which the latter, having Fernando. (Comes forward with his visor already secured the means of his own Is now in vain.-Prince, be composed and resolute ! Your brother LIVES-Oh, fearful inter view! He is even now before you !— thrown back.) There! Dar'st thou yet look on him ?— Enrico,-Basil, Benv. and Leontio-(to- Bas. (Tottering backwards.) Oh, Hea- And do I live?-I-Oh, my brother!— The frenzy that we tenderly would lead * destruction, appears on the stage, pale and almost lifeless, interrupting an interview between Albana and Enrico, whom he now beholds with unbroken tranquillity. When Albana perceives him, she flies from Enrico to her husband's assistance. The other characters crowd on the stage. Fernando dies, supported by Albana. Enrico throws himself down by the body, where, on coming to himself, he finds his brother's sword, with which, notwithstanding every effort to prevent him, he rushes from the palace. Enr. (Breaking from them.) Lamb. hearted crew! Away! Else shall the eagle pounce on And bear you with him to the clouds! Meek, patient flock, would you that while he soars, As to this, there is a kind of underplot, which we have not had room to include. I yet should grovel on the fields with you? Ye fools, Know ye not that I was distraught, and would Have murder'd him, when death already prey'd Upon his heart? Therefore, let death be mine! Ye heroes, trembling at the sight of blood, Full well ye know and feel what I must do, And yet would not the deed behold. Stay then! From wheresoe'er the inward storm shall bear The thundercloud, and where that cloud hath broken, It will be unto you announced. (Rushes out. Benvolio and Leontio follow him.) Bas. (Follows also a few steps) My son! My only one! (Sinks exhausted into the arms of Onophrius.) God! (reviving) After him, on wings! Disarm and bind him fast! Onophrius ! So weak the limbs, and yet the heart so strong, So rocky, that even this stroke hath not rent it! Onoph. Hope still, my liege! His life will yet be saved. Bas. No, 'tis even as he said; he can not bear it! (Looking at Fernando's body.) This, this was supernatural sacrifice; Divine flames burn'd within an earthly shrine, And must consume the altar that upheld them. Leont. (With tears) "Tis done-fallen on his sword! His last words, "Bear me unto him!" (The body of Enrico is borne in and SCENE XI. Others as before. Don Manuel enters. Man. The terrors of the palace Told then no more than truth. Unhappy King! Bas. King? Death alone is monarch here on earth! Cover the bodies with th' imperial robes, (It is done.) For nobly have they died. This wilt thou own, Even thou, Camastro, son of him whose curse Against me raised the powers of Hell. Man. My liege, The There are three more pages, but it is needless to translate farther. crown of Sicily is transferred to Don Manuel-Basil retires to his ancestral home in Norway, and the Albaneserin returns to Italy. character from its precursors, for MüllOur present article is of a different ner's style is now the most opposite possible to that which he formerly employed. Leave out the stage directions, and the Albaneserin would in many scenes read somewhat like a tragedy of Alfieri! Woods, mountains, and old baronial castles, formed the scenes of Müllner's former plays, and his eloquence was strengthened by associations derived from the pure and universally-understood impulses and influences of nature. Now, on the contrary, we have to deal with a plot so intricate, that imagination has no longer room to move her wings; and the author seems studiously to have avoided all imagery which can properly be called poetical! It is, moreover, only by an entire translation, or by a refuciamento for the stage, that the Albaneserin can be fairly judged of. We hope Müllner's next work will be of a different class,-that he will call to mind the applause so deservedly bestowed on "Guilt, or the Anniversary," and remember, too, that Schiller, in his severer productions, (after the "PLAShis mind,) never equalled that scene TIC" system had taken possession of of the "Robbers," wherein Moor, amid wild forest scenery, contemplates and apostrophizes the setting sun. G. SIXTY-FIVE SONNETS, WITH PREFATORY REMARKS, &c.* may burn clear and bright till consumed in the last general conflagration. -But, farther, here is a volume of poems written, as we are credibly informed, by a Newcastle-man-which exhibits a vigour and elegance of mind rather rare, we suspect, even among us modern Athenians, who expect erelong to be talking broad Scotch below the pillars of the Parthenon,-Minerva being, as is well known, the tutelary goddess of Scotland, and having late in life married St Andrew, and died without issue. WE have no connexion whatever with the coal-trade, and were never at Newcastle but once, passing through it on the top of an exceedingly heavy coach, along with about a score of other travellers; nor, should we live a thousand years, is it possible we can forget that transit. We wonder what blockhead first built Newcastle; for, before you can get into and out of it, you must descend one hill, and ascend another about as steep as the sides of a coal-pit. Had the coach been upset that day, instead of the day before, and the day after, there would have been no How we came to know that our auend, and indeed no beginning to this thor is a Newcastle-man, is no busiMagazine. We all clustered as thickness of his, or of our readers. We ly together on the roof of the vehicle have ways and means of knowing eve(it was a sort of macvey or fly) as ry thing worth knowing. And what the good people of Rome did to see is more, we have learnt that he is a great Pompey passing along ;-but we, whig. This is most distressing; on the contrary, saw nothing but a set but there is, we believe, some excuse of gaping inhabitants, who were mo- to be found for him in this-that the mentarily expecting to see us all brought disease is with him hereditary. He low. We remarked one man fasten- was unfortunately born a Whig, and ing his eye upon our legs that were we must not quarrel with the stars. dangling from the roof under an iron But in taste, talents, and genius, he is rail-who, we are confident, was a an absolute Tory, as will be made surgeon. However, we kept swinging manifest by a few extracts from his along from side to side, as if the mac- little, modest, unpresuming volume. vey had been as drunk as an owl, and In a preface of about twenty pages, none of the passengers, we have reason he treats of the specific character of to believe, were killed that day.-It the Sonnet, and that with singular was a maiden circuit. acuteness and ingenuity. We have not lately seen a better piece of prose, either in thought or expression, than the following disquisition: As we were saying, that constitutes our whole personal knowledge of Newcastle. But since that time we have frequently seen and heard its name mentioned, and understand it is a thriving place. We regularly read Mitchel's radical Newspaper, notwithstanding his childish abuse of us, and have a kindness for the man, chiefly on account of some pretty and amiable verses which we have seen from his pen. Is there not a Literary and Philosophical Society in Newcastle? And did they not debate whether or not Don Juan ought to be admitted into their immaculate library? And does not the inimitable Bewick, whom Wordsworth calls "The Genius that dwells on the Banks of the Tyne," live in Newcastle? All this is true, and for these and other reasons-(among them the high esteem in which we are universally held there-i. e. Mitchell excepted-being one of the chief) we love Newcastle, and wish that its coals "The author's most extended idea of a Sonnet, however, includes no powers of expression which the English tongue does not eminently possess. In endeavouring to asthat simplicity is not the characteristic certain its requisites, he ventures to assert, quality of this species of composition, still less that which is commonly termed smoothness. The Sonnet, in fact, appears to be a measured and somewhat pompous, but a musical and imposing formula for the expression of a single or a prominent thought. There seems to be no rule in nature to limit the species of thought required. It is indeed observable, that the tender and contemplative have been most frequently embodied in the sonnet form; but that the satirical, sublime, ludicrous, &c. are equalnish sonnets, as well as of our own, will, ly applicable, the body of Italian and Spait is presumed, afford sufficient proofs. Milton, who made the Italian sonnet his model, has written in all these moods. "If it be allowed that a Sonnet may, with Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1818. |
