up his spirit, and delivered him to the porter, that he might be laid with his fellows. After arriving at home, I doubted that all this might have been a deception,-a lusus somewhat akin to Ferriar's ingenious theory of apparitions. Subsequent trials have convinced me of its reality, and experience has enabled me to distinguish, at the first glance, the reader of Caxton, or De Worde, from him that enjoys the felicity of using a paper knife as he proceeds. I have since perceived, that the worthy Mr. Crayon met a similar adventure in the same place; 'tis to be hoped his story of the vision is true, as such can be his only excuse for falling foul of that industrious company of quoters. Geoffrey, however, is lethargic by nature, and he not improbably slumbered, even in the Harleian. Could the famous legend of Munchausen be relied on as authentic, we might find a solution of this phenomenon in the similar one of the trumpeter, whose melody became frozen in the horn, but afterwards thawed in the genial atmosphere of the chimney-corner, to the no small astonishment and delight of the auditors. It has been thus with the old authors: they have been long frozen up and unheard of, but now their congealment melts apace,-their essence is in the ears and nostrils of all, and enlivens with its mellow and racy spirit, the vapid atmosphere of the day. What aeroscopic can measure the density and extent of vis literaria drawn for these twenty years past from the remains of Burton alone, from Browne, or the old dramatists, in whose steam millions of ephemeral fry are daily engendered, or Montaigne, who was broached before any of them, and is still inexhausted. Indeed the classification is incorrect, as Montaigne was never in oblivion and unpillaged; witness the Lady in Volpone: "Lad. Here's Pastor Fido. That's now my safest. Lad. Profess obstinate silence, All our English writers, I mean such as are happy in th' Italian, Will deign to steal out of this author mainly, He hath so modern and facile a vein, Fitting the time and catching the court ear." Not a day passes but some long-buried treasure is tumbled into view; and it is the astonishment of the present age how such could have so long lain neglected. The literati of the intervening centuries were too much occupied in admiring and advancing themselves, to trouble their heads about the merits of their predecessors. Into the few eminent they dipped, and formed, or at least pretended to form, an acquaintance; all the rest passed sub silentio. In eager pursuit after petty gains and coffee-house ascendancy, they scorned the fatiguing path of learning, and supplied with arrogance their deficiency in erudition,-they studied externals, --the fashions and whimsies of their contemporaries,--read men more than books,-forgot their character of authors,-talked what they should have written, and wrote what had better have been spoken. These were the days of the aristocracy of literature, and we, must condemn the government, however we may admire the powers of its upholders. From the irascible Dryden, the mild Addison, and the profound Johnson, alike may be adduced examples of bold ignorance and arrogant decision, scarcely redeemable by the genius that pronounced them. If the primates of modern criticism are severe, they are at least learned; and it requires, at the present day, more than a mere mistatement of facts to support the character of a critic. During this unfavourable dynasty the treasures of eld lay hid; and 'twas lucky for them,-else, dragged to the bar of such crooked justice, and condemned as unworthy, we might have been awed by great names into a neglect of them, and not have had the courage to reverse the decision and judge for ourselves. But adversity wore for them, as for all, "the precious jewel in its head;"-the sum of their fame is repaid, and with interest, they have arisen, reverend with age and fresh with new birth,-they unite the superlative attractions of being at once both new and old, and gratify the curiosity of the light bas-bleu as well as the odora vis of the virtuoso. They have been uncovered like the remains of Herculaneum or Pompeii, and found, just as they were buried, with their youth all redolent upon them; and not only afford pleasure as beautiful specimens of genius, but have gained from the rust of oblivion the supererogatory character of being a marvel and a show. "Tis very beautiful for three hundred years back," is an involuntary sentiment, which will arise notwithstanding the pointblank contradiction of all experience ;-with the unlettered and the novice it has its full weight, and even with the more versed it creates a strong and unconscious prepossession in favour of antiquity. One black-letter beauty is worth a dozen in Bentleys' or in Ballantyne's types; and when transported into the latter, how do the quotations from Old Play' outshine the lesser lights of modern composition! Compare the most popular couplets of Pope with the simple and diffuse passages from which they are borrowed and condensed, and see if the piquant simplicity and quaintness of auncientrie' will not outbalance the art and mellifluence of the Twickenham bard, "Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies." "Love will not be constrein'd by maistrie; Whan maistrie cometh, the God of love anon Beteth his wings, and farewel, he is gon!" Chaucer. Or the more famed exclamation of Heloise-- "Not Cæsar's empress would I deign to prove, No-make me mistress to the man I love❞— with the original, put into the mouth of the same personage by Jean de Meun, in the Roman de la Rose-- "Se l'Empereur qui est à Romme, Soubz qui doyvent estre tout homme, Si vouldroye ores mieux, dist-elle, Qu'estre Emperiere couronneé."-Line 9232. Meeting such anticipations, as we may tenderly call them, is a terrible shock to the esteem in which we held the favourites of our schoolboy-days. The taste feels a re-action, and places its former lords somewhat below even their merited standard, thus taking revenge of what it justly deems a deception; and, like a thing that is impelled up one height by the impetus acquired in descending another, gives itself to the admiration of all that bears the stamp of antiquity, with an ardour indescribable to those who have never experienced it. Supreme felicity consists in zeal and excitement: if the object of pursuit be altogether ideal, and the pleasure all anticipation, oppression of mind, or the dull realities of life, are ever apt to interfere, and dissipate the agreeable illusion ;---there is nothing tangible, no hold for the mind to cling to, in the hours of dulness and apathy, and thought's dead low-water.' If the object be worldly and 'substantial, it is only calculated to fill the longing of the heavy and unexcited soul; to such it affords pleasure, because it gives employment, and, by establishing a habit, relieves it from the fatigue of uncertainty and choice. But where the ideal and substantial are united---where there is room for the fancy to play, as well as the judgment to be satisfied---and where the pursuit is in that medium between the serious and the light, that it may be deemed either an occupation or amusement---then is the goal to be sought by those possessed of wisdom and leisure, and who have too much warm blood in their veins to rest contented with the sage but unpoetical precept of 'nil admirari.' If this union is to be found in any occupation, it is in the study of antiquity, in which one may either dip or dive, be profound or trifling, be zealous without being anxious---or, what is the most difficult of all, be vain without becoming unamiable. Y. FRENCH AND ENGLISH TRAGEDY.* NO. II. A HOST of dramatic writers started up in the interval between Jodelle, the inventor of the art, and Hardy, the contemporary of Shakspeare and Lopes de Vega. The principal were La Peruse, Grevin, the younger Baif, the two La Tailles, and Garnier. A considerable improvement was soon made upon the style and manner of Jodelle. The dramatic career was greatly enlarged-the whole of the Greek theatre, and the tragedies of Seneca were translated-some of the most memorable incidents in ancient history, scriptural and profane, were dramatized. The romantic poets of modern Italy also began to furnish subjects and personages to the drama. The first piece worth notice is the " Medea" of La Peruse, closely imitated from Senecu. Every body is acquainted with the story of Medea, and consequently with the fable of this play. The subjoined passage, in which this terrific heroine respires her vengeance in curses upon the faithless Jason, shews a great improvement already in the language. This merit, however, appears not to have wholly belonged to the author. play is said to have been retouched by a distinguished contemporary, Scevole de St. Marthe, the most accomplished scholar, the most learned magistrate, the most virtuous citizen of his time; who, by his eloquence, public services, and patriotism, obtained, like Cicero, the precious title of father of his country. + Dieux qui avez le soin des lois du mariage; His * The Editor begs to remind his readers, that he does not consider himself pledged to support all the various opinions expressed by his contributors on subjects of literature. + Ye Gods who vindicate the marriage-vow-You, too, who bridle the wind's and tempest's rage, or at your will loose them upon the waters, let wave on wave foam hideously! Thou God, avenger of guilty deeds, who dost, relentless, dart thy lightning on the chief of the wicked-Thou God, who with thy diffused rays dost dispel night from the universe-Thou God of the dark deep regions, and thou, his dear rapt bride, Proserpine, cause of my calamities-You, O gods, invoked by perjured Jason, whom I, wicked one, made lord of the Fleece: attest, I invoke you all to the spectacle of my piteous wrongs! And you, shades of Hell, you who are in the secret of my sorceries, hear my sad voice, hear my hard repentance! Furies, hither! and, in your blood-stained hands, bear horribly your ghastly VOL. II. NO. VIII. K Venez en tel état, tel horreur, tel emoy, Par vos serpens cheveus, que vengeant son erreur, Ne trouvant homme seul qui lui soit favorable, &c. This speech would deserve the praise of tragic power as well as expression, if the thoughts were not taken, both by the author and his original, Seneca, from the Greek Medea. JACQUES GREVIN, a physician, appears to have been the first who dramatized the death of Cæsar. There are resemblances between his play and the tragedy of Shakspeare; but only such as arose from their having drawn from the same historical sources. It is a feeble performance, written in the author's youth.-The following reflection of the chorus on the death of Cæsar, is at least pointed: * Ah! la Nature est plus maratre Aux hommes qu'autres animaux; It concludes with Antony's display of Cæsar's bloody mantle to the soldiers (not the people), in order to incite them to revenge his death. JEAN DE LA TAILLE, a lawyer, but who abandoned jurisprudence for poetry, produced several pieces. The best is his "Madness of Saul," a tragedy taken from the Bible. He drew freely and judiciously upon the sacred text. His plot is tolerably constructed; and in the character of Saul, there are, in the midst of horror and extravagance, strong traits of terror, pathos, and elevation. Saul, just recovered from a paroxysm of frenzy, in which he had made dreadful havock upon the lives of those around him, by decapitation and torture, asks of GOD how he had brought the divine wrath upon his head. + Helas! toujours le vent la grand mer n'esmeust, torches. Come clothed in horror and dismay, as when you witnessed my yielding to Jason; your eyes flashing fire, and your monstrous ringlets hissing horribly adown your backs. Inspire the traitor with such fury, that, avenger of his own guilt, he shall, with his own hands, be murderous executioner of king, wife, child and ever let this fury convulse his lungs, without power to die; but, wandering a maniac through unknown lands, let him live the exiled victim of want, fear, wretchedness, execration-not finding one amongst the human race to look favourably upon him. Ah! Nature is more a stepmother to men than to other living creatures. It would seem that by our destiny to toil and suffering we dearly pay the privilege of reason. Alas! the wind does not always vex the troubled sea; harsh winter doth not last always with cold and rain-every thing hath a close. Must then thy enduring wrath, oh, great God! be on me ever, without end! Oh! I am over-much hated of thee, and of men also. I have a thousand cares, and no one careth for me. But |
