presents to the king of the Jews, when he is bewailing the sins and calamities of himself and his people, that nothing is left him but to submit with tranquillity and fortitude to the divine dispensations. Nebuchadnezzar now enters, and reproaches them with their rebellion. At first, Zedekiah acknowledges his offence, but is afterwards irritated into defiance by the brutality of his conqueror. The chorus in a hymn remember with anguish their former happiness, and contrast it with their present sufferings. The master of the household to the Assyrian king comes to demand the royal children from Hamutal and the wives of Zedekiah. The chorus sing the perpetual instability of fortune.-Act 5. The Prophet announces to Hamutal and the Queen the cruel murder of the children, whom they had given up as hostages to Nebuchadnezzar. Zedekiah then enters with his eyes put out; and the Prophet concludes the tragedy by foretelling the deliverance of the Jews by Cyrus, the rebuilding of the temple, and the coming of Christ. BRADAMANTE, The last of Garnier's plays, which is entitled a tragi-comedy, and has no choruses, was suggested, as the author says in his preface, by the latter part of the Orlando Furioso. In this he has conducted the plot much more artfully than in any of the rest. -Act 1. Sc. 1. Charlemagne is introduced exulting over the delivery of his kingdom from the forces of Agramant. Sc. 2. Nymes, Duke of Bavaria, advises him to be content with his victory, and not to pursue further the remains of his routed enemies. The king expresses his design to reward his faithful soldiers, and especially Roger, by uniting him in marriage with Bradamante, whom her parents, Aymon and Beatrix, designed for Leon, son and heir to Constantine, the Grecian emperor; but in order to secure her for her lover, and at the same time not to contradict openly the will of her parents, Charlemagne intends that she shall be the prize of the knight who shall vanquish her in single combat.-Act 2. Sc. 1. Aymon and Beatrix hold a conversation on the intended marriage of their daughter. There is something comic in the pleasure with which they express their hopes of getting her off their hands without a marriage portion to the Emperor's son.Sc. 2. Renaud expostulates with his father on his resolution to force a husband on his sister Bradamante. The old man falls into a rage, threatens to fight all who oppose his will, and calls to his servant, La Roque, for his arms, at the same time that he can scarce stand for feebleness.-Sc. 3. Beatrix strives to wheedle her daughter Bradamante into the match with the Emperor's son. One of the verses that are put into her mouth on this occasion, being a good translation of the patria est ubicunque bene est, has I think passed into a proverb: Le pays est partout ou l'on se trouve bien. Bradamante parries her mother's attempt very artfully, and alarms her so much by saying that she will turn nun, that the old lady consents to her marrying Roger.-Act 3. Scene 1. Leon, who had fallen violently in love with Bradamante from the mere report of her beauty, arrives at Paris in the company of Roger, whom, although his enemy, he had freed from prison; and whom (not knowing him to be his rival) he now engages to undertake for him the single combat which Charlemagne had proposed. Roger's gratitude does not allow him to deny the prince this request, though his granting it will lose him his mistress.-Scene 2 Bradamante, in a soliloquy, laments the absence of Roger.- Scene 3. Relying on the prowess of his friend, who is to counterfeit him, Leon speaks confidently of his own success to Charlemagne, who promises that be will be as good as his word, and give Bradamante to him if he shall conquer her. Scene 4. Bradamante, with her attendant, Hippalque, in the presence of Charlemagne, declares her contempt of the "debile Gregois," the "jeune effeminé," who aspires to win her hand in the duel; and her resolution to have no husband but her old lover.-Scene 5. Roger enters alone, disguised in the armour of Leon; and distracted between his love on the one hand and his obligations to his friend on the other, determines at last that he will meet Bradamante in the lists, but that he will exert himself no further than to parry her weapon.-Scene 6. Bra damante too comes on the stage alone. She makes a fine speech on French heroism, and resolves to give her young antagonist no quarter. Act 4. Scene 1. La Montagne, who had been present at the single combat which is supposed to have taken place since the last Act, gives a lively description of it to Aymon and Beatrix, who rejoice at the defeat of their daughter, not doubting but she will now be compelled to espouse Leon. Scene 2. Roger, in an agony of despair, imprecates curses on his own head for having lost his mistress by conquering her for Leon.-Scene 3. In equal grief at her own defeat, Bradamante professes to her friend Hippalque that she will die rather than fulfil her engagement, and bit terly laments the supposed absence of Roger-Scene 4. During their conversation, Marphise, the sister of Roger, comes in, and Hippalque devises a plan, which is eagerly caught at, for deferring the proposed nuptials till Roger's return. It is that Marphise shall represent to Charlemagne the wrong that is done to her brother in his absence; shall charge Bradamante with being secretly be trothed to him, and with having deserted him for her royal suitor; and shall offer to maintain the accusation by a trial at arms; that Bradamante shall pretend confusion at this challenge; and that, in the mean time, Charlemagne will no doubt be induced to suspend the proceedings.Scene 3. The plot is put into execu tion, and the result is, that Roger, as soon as he makes his appearance again at Paris, is to fight Leon.Scene 6. Leon proposes to employ Roger, whom he does not yet know to be his rival, to extricate him from this new difficulty; but is informed by Basile, Duke of Athens, that his friend is no longer to be found in Paris.-Act 5. Scene 1. Leon, who meets with Roger, now discovers who he is, enters into a contest of generosity with him, and insists on yielding Bradamante to him.-Scene 2. Meanwhile the ambassadors of Bulgaria having arrived at the court of Charlemagne, announce that their countrymen had elected Roger for their new king, in recompense of his having defended them against the Greeks.-Scene 3. Charlemagne acquaints Aymon with the honour conferred on Roger, and thus removes the principal objection to his union with Bradamante.-Scenes 4, 5, 6, and 7. The whole of the preceding events are explained to the satisfaction of all parties; the lovers are made happy; and Charlemagne satisfies Leon for the loss of his mistress, by giving him his own daughter Leo nora. Robert Garnier, born at La FertéBernard, 1534, died at Mans, lieutenant-general of that town. He gained the prize at the Jeux Floraux; and, in addition to the plays here spoken of, was the author of several other poems which I have not seen. THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY.. THIS Drama is undoubtedly one as yet he has not done so. of the most promising performances of this "poetical age." There are, indeed, few things which, as mere poetry, surpass it. It has plenty of faults, and so much the better. It has plenty of beauties too,-many delicacies, sometimes great power of expression, sometimes originality, and seldom or never common place. And this, we apprehend, is what very few first performances can pretend to. We know a friend, indeed, who may, if he pleases, give to the world a volume of poetry, which may compete with the Brides' Tragedy; but When he shall publish, it will be time enough to praise and blame. Mr. Beddoes is a minor, and an under-graduate of Pembroke College, Oxford. These colleges-Cambridge and Oxford, are fine institutions-for certain ends. One gets stored there with Greek, Latin, and Mathematics; but they are not favourable, we think, to poetry. It is true, that Mr. Milman is poetical professor there; and, what is much more to the purpose, both Mr. Wordsworth and Lord Byron were members of an University. But these two last did The Brides' Tragedy. By Thomas Lovell Beddoes, of Pembroke College, Oxford. London, Rivington, 1822. not pick up the seeds of poetry by the Isis or the Cam. They found them on the mountains, on the seas, in forests, and by running rivers,----in Cumberland, and Italy, and Greece. They were not content with cloistral studies, nor conventional systems of rhyme: but they looked at the naked nature, and into their own hearts, and drew thence thoughts and images which will live for ever. We think that Mr. Beddoes has in a great measure done the same. But he must, we conjecture, have rambled away from his " rooms," and from the grave presence of Pembroke Hall, before he gave himself up to the endearments of the Muse. The aspect of a Doctor or Professor, how ever intelligent, does not certainly generate poetical ideas. The wig, the gown, the paraphernalia of a college, may sometimes beget respect, but it is not possible for them to entice us on the Muse's flowery ways. They are in the opposition themselves. Besides this, the upholding of old established ideas, however right in itself, operates necessarily against thinking. We argue in favour of what others have said, but we say nothing new ourselves. Early thinking may be bad,---or good: we do not profess to give an opinion on that head: but that thinking is necessary in poetry as well as prose, we must insist,--notwithstanding the many instances of success on the contrary side of the question. Mr. Beddoes then is a poet. He is one of great hope and of very considerable performance. But he has faults; and we will tell him of them as frankly as we speak of his merits. In the first place, there is a want of earnestness very often in his play. He toys with his subject too much; and this (which is delightful in the Midsummer-Night's Dream, and such works) is destructive to a tale of midnight murder. The writer of a drama must often sacrifice poetry to passion, and fine phrase to the general purpose of his story. On the contrary, our author frequently makes his huntsmen and servants talk good courtly (or if he pleases poetical) language. We appeal to Mr. Beddoes, whether Hubert talks like a huntsman-though we admit that he talks very well. He says, that it is a fearful time," And through the fiery fissures of the clouds Glistens the warfare of arm'd elements, Bellowing defiance in earth's stunned ear, And setting midnight on the throne of day. (P. 73, 74.) If Mr. Beddoes to our accusation replies, that Hubert (for we do not collect distinctly what he is) is superior to a huntsman, we retort with the "huntsman's" own words, The roar has ceased: the hush of intercalm Numbs with its leaden finger Echo's lips, And angry spirits in mid havoc pause. (P. 74.) although in the same page Mr. Beddoes has given as plain a picture (and it is fine from its very simplicity) as we could wish. Our friend the huntsman speaks again: The forest has more tenants than I knew, Look underneath this branch; see'st thou not yonder Among the brushwood and the briery weeds A man at work? (P. 74.) This is good, as we have said, from its simplicity and plainness : but there are passages of a higher quality; as, for instance, where Hesperus (the hero) grasping his dagger, exclaimsWho placed this iron aspic in my hand? and where, to the plications for mercy, he says, poor Floribel's Earth gives thee back: thy God hath sent me for thee: Repent and die! sup (P. 71.) Again, there are passages of a different sort (and indeed, it is in them that the author excels) equally delightful. He is speaking of the time when "fantastic dreams" mix with the sleeper's fancies, While that winged song, the restless nightingale, Turns her sad heart to music. (P. 3.) This is as fine and beautiful as poetry can be. Shakspeare might have written it. Of the violet, he says, it is Like Pandora's eye, When first it darkened with immortal life. (P. 4.) But we are criticizing Mr. Beddoes's play, without having informed our readers of the particulars of the story. They are as follows. The Manciple of one of the colleges at Oxford, early in the last century, had a very beautiful daughter, who was privately married to a stu dent without the knowledge of the parents on either side. Shortly afterwards, he was introduced to a young lady who was at the same time proposed as his bride. Absence, his father's displeasure, and the presence of the new object, divorced him from his old regard. He grew enamoured of the second lady, and destroyed the poor girl who had privately become his wife. He decoyed her to a solitary spot in the Divinitywalk, murdered, and buried her. The deed was never known till he discovered it on his death-bed. Of this play, the three first acts are decidedly the best. And the reason is this; that, after the end of the third act, we have nothing to learn except that the murderer dies. The interest runs up to the part in which Floribel (the girl) is murdered by her lover and husband, Hesperus, and then it falls. He marries again (also in the third act) but it must be owned that he is less interesting afterwards. There is not much attempt at character in the play. Both Floribel and Olivia are gentle girls -Hesperus is a person swayed by circumstances and his own passions -Claudio is a sort of joker-and the rest have no very distinguishing traits. We have heard it said (in reply to our strongly expressed admiration of this play) that it wants interest, and character, and unity of purpose, &c. This is true to a certain extent. But a great part of the interest of a play arises from the mechanical construction of it; and this Mr. Beddoes will easily acquire. Delightful passages, striking scenes, may be scattered about, but if a drama wants the appearance of a main serious purpose, it will necessarily fail with the great body of readers. We would fain impress this on Mr. Beddoes. Let him try to fix his scenes closely, one within the other, -to" dovetail" them, as cabinet makers would say, and he will find that the appearance of his dramas will be materially better. It is to be recollected, however, that the first plays of all authors have failed in the mechanism. Look at Shak speare's first (and cruelly under-rated) play of Pericles:-the hero's hairs grow grey in the course of it. His second play is more regular, but there he is indebted to Plautus. His third and fourth (if they are indeed his) -the two parts of Henry VI. are rambling and strange enough. And in that exquisite Fantasia, the Midsummer Night's Dream, we scarcely know who are the heroes and heroines. Let us pardon our author, therefore, on account of his failures in the joiner's part of tragedy (he will soon amend that), and look only to his delightful poetry. The following soliloquy of Hesperus has a gloomy grandeur about it. Hail, shrine of blood, in double shadows veil'd, Where the Tartarian blossoms shed their poison And load the air with wicked impulses ; Hail, leafless shade, hallow'd to sacrilege, Altar of death. Where is thy deity? With him I come to covenant, and thou, Dark power, that sittest in the chair of night, brand, Searching the clouds for tempests with thy Proxy of Hades; list and be my witness, And bid your phantoms all, (the while I speak What if they but repeat in sleeping ears Will strike the hearer dead, and mad his soul ;) Spread wide and black and thick their cloudy wings, Lest the appalled sky do pale to day. Ye negro brothers of the deadly winds, soul honeysuckle. She has flowers with her, and he affects a jealousy. "So, I've a rival here?" he says: Hesperus. Well, speak on; and then, When thou hast done thy tale, I will but kill thee. Come tell me of my vows, how they are broken, What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your Say that my love was feigned, and black neck? To drag the daisy from its hiding-place, Where it shuns light, the Danäe of flowers, With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap? Floribel. And here's a treasure that I found by chance, A lily of the valley; low it lay Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping Of all the posy deceit, Quite through my soul, That all my senses, deadened at the blow, Give me the rose, though there's a tale of May never know the giver. Oh, my love, blood Soiling its name. In elfin annals old "Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love, (The love he bare to Summer, who since then Has weeping visited the world ;) once found The baby Perfume cradled in a violet; ('Twas said the beauteous bantling was the child Of a gay bee, that in his wantonness Toyed with a peabud in a lady's garland ;) The felon winds, confederate with him, Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains, Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose, And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air. (P. 4, 5.) We close our extracts with part of the scene where Hesperus murders Floribel; though the reader must understand, that the beauties of Mr. Beddoes's writing are so scattered over his play, that we cannot very well, by extracts, unless they were very long, do him justice. He wants, as we have said, earnestness sometimes, and but too often trifles a little with his subject; but there are marks of great and undoubted talent in his play; and the whole is clothed in a more poetical dress (a rare thing-though we do call ours "a poetical age,") than we have for a very long time seen displayed to the public. We hope that the public will appreciate it. Some spirit in thy sleep hath stole thy body And filled it to the brim with cruelty; Farewell, and may no busy deathful tongue Whisper this horror in thy waking ears, Lest some dread desperate sorrow urge thy soul To deeds of wickedness. Whose kiss is that? His lips are ice. Oh my loved Hesperus," Help! (Dies.) Hesperus. What a shriek was that; it flew to heaven, And hymning angels took it for their own. Dead art thou, Floribel; fair, painted earth, And no warm breath shall ever more disport Between those rubious lips: no, they have quaffed Life to the dregs, and found death at the bottom, The sugar of the draught. All cold and still; Look, what a face: had our first mother Her very tresses stiffen in the air. |