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It was not without defign that thefe feductive conversations were pursued. A man of gallantry had feen Julia in the public walks, and was paffionately fmitten with her. He had but little difficul ty to engage madame de Sauval in his intereft. Julia spent whole days with that wretched inftrument of guilt. The fame conversations passed, the fame allurements were displayed, and every day was Julia lefs virtuous than before.

Accident brought the marquis de Germeuil into the prefence of Julia, at one of the parties of madame de Sauval. One may eafly divine the character of the marquis, and that no event was ever more concerted than this accident. He was one of thofe contemptible beings, who pride themselves in the ruin of the fex; and he had already involved a variety of females in calamity and difgrace. The name of Julia was yet wanting to his triumph. He is fome moments alone with her. He employs all the arts of feduction, and from the youth of Julia he at length hears the tender confeflion, that he was not indifferent to her. But this adept in vice prefumes not too much upon his fuccels; fenfible that virtue must be weakened by imperceptible degrees.

In the mean time, Julia could not banish the recollection of her virtuous parents; and the would often ruminate on the delightful hours of infancy. She was fenfible that her innocence was not unimpaired, and that he was yielding to the tenderness of a man fhe already loved. The guilty Sauval fometimes found her in tears, with the pen in her hand, intending to write to her parents. This odious woman involved her again in the toils from which the would fain have difengaged herself. She dwelt on the brilliancy of fuch a conqueft as that of the marquis de Germeuil, and reminded her continually that at her age fortune and pleasure were the only objects of attention. (To be continued.).

TH

Critique on the Count of Narbonne, a Tragedy. Written by Robert Jephson, Efq; THIS Tragedy is infcribed, with great propriety, to the Honourable Horace Walpole, not only as a diftinguished pafron and cultivator of literature, but as the avowed author of the fingular ftory on which the drama itself is profeffedly founded.-Raymond of Narbonne is, by poetical tranfmigration, or, if you pleafe, tranfubftantiation, no other than Manfred of Otranto, at least a reflection from him; and, like a reflection, fainter than the original. The Cafile of Otranto, with all its

peculiarities, must be allowed to be a
much more interesting and animated com-
pofition than the Count of Narbonne; and
had the author of the Gothic Story chofen
to have given his work a direct dramatic
form, he would moft probably have exhi-
bited a performance very different from the
tragedy before us. His magic might per-
haps have appeared, in fpectacle, at the
theatre; or, at least, he who hazarded a
ludicrous fimplicity, in the deportment of
the domeftics, would not like his theatrical
follower, have allotted to all his perfonages
a famenefs of language and character. Cer-
tain it is, that a coldnefs and obfcurity per-
vades the prefent fcenes, from a perpetual,
but indiftinct reference to a work which,
entertaining as it is, hath not perhaps been
read by the million, and is not, even by
those who have read it, fufficiently remem-
bered, to enable them to maintain the
thread of the action in the representation.
Fables may be borrowed; but borrowed or
original, the drama fhould unfold itself, in-
dependent of all foreign matter. The Count
of Narbonne, on the contrary, requires a
conftant commentary from the Castle of
Otranto. The very opening is perplexed
and obfcure. The death of the fon, and
the flight of Ifabel, are fo blended, that
neither are interefting, or indeed intelligi-
ble. Godfrey's challenge too is opened
rather darkly. The appearance of the
herald might have given it action, and have
fpared a cold narration, together with the
heavy perfonage of Fabian, who is made
a dull and unmov'd hearer and retailer of
the story, to infinuate the plot into the boxes.

In many other particulars the fable is unfuccessfully traced from the novel, which almost every where rifes fuperior, much fuperior, to the drama! and in no iuftance more eminently than in the delineation and conduct of the two female characters, Ifabel and Matilda, which are fuftained by the honourable novelift with the most delicate addrefs, fo managed as to render each of them respectively amiable, as well as to add much force and intereft to the fituation of Theodore, who appears in the Tragedy a mere drawing after Dorilas, and Douglas.

On the whole, the fable of the Count of Narbonne is, in our opinion, maimed and defective. It is cold and obfcure. All the leading incidents, inftead of coming forth in dramatic action, are loft in narration, and touch not the paffions. Segnius irritant animum, demiffa por Aures.

One circumftance in the third act, a circumftance however long hackneyed on the ftage, engages our attention; and the eatastrophe again revives it, after the moft

languifh

languishing fourth act that ever exhaufted and transplanted from the hot and cold a writer, or fatigued his reader and auditor. The catastrophe, however, is much inferior to the maffacre at the altar, in Voltaire's Mahomet, to which it is extremely fimilar. The abfence of Ifabella in the ply is much to be regretted Belides the lofs of many other pleafing incidents, her union with Theodore, as it ftands in the novel, mitigates, in fome measure, the fe verity of the moral which is enforced with aggravated horror in the Tragedy.

The Characters are not happily difcriminated. They are copies from books, not originals from Nature. Their prototypes, or counter parts, may be found in other dramas. The Count is defigned and coloured after Macbeth, but not with the happy boldness of the Great Mafter. The youthful Adelaide often exhibits a faint likenefs of Juliet; and even Hortenfia, venerable matron as the is, difplays the features of Imogen and Defdemona. Auftin is the most refpectable figure of the groupe.

The fentiments, though many of them are trite, are generally jutt, and often very happily expreffed. The reader will undoubtedly approve and admire the follow ing paffages, as well as fome others which he will find in the Tragedy.

Great fpirits, confcious of their inborn worth, Scorn by demand to force the praife they merit ;

They feel a flame beyond their brighteft deeds,

And leave the weak to note them, and to wonder.'

Think, confcience is the deepest fource of angui:

A bofom, free like yours, has life's best funfhine;

"Tis the warm blaze in the poor herdiman's hut,

That, when the ftorm howls o'er his hum ble thatch,

Brightens his clay-built walls, and cheers his foul.'

But the diction, as in the rest of the author's pieces, has been the principal ob ject of attention; yet the diction, though often highly commendable, is unequal, and frequently reminds us of Elandio's converfation, as deferibed by Benedick:"A very fantastical banquet,-fo many Atrange dishes Shakespeare affords the chief regale; but there are many little entremets and fide-plates from Otway, Rowe, Mafon, Gray, and our more humble modern dramatists. Snuff, a pinch from every man's box! AlIt is Harlequin's most every expreffon is carefully culled

beds of tragedy; and there is scarce a speech that does not call up to the memory a speech in fome other play. Among a number of minute inftances which might be adduced of the expreffion borrowed, not always very judiciously, we will only mention two paffages where the idea, as well as the phrafe, is palpably drawn from scribed at the end of the first act, is a ferShakespeare. The death of Raymond, de and Cardina! Beaufort, in the fecond part vile copy of the deaths of Duke Humphry of Henry the Sixth; and the transport of Narbonne at the fight of Theodore, in the beginning of the fifth act, is an imitation of Macbeth's diforder on the appearance of the ghoft of Banquo at the banquet.

Henry the Sixth, though they abound with The inequalities of the plays of king fine paffages, having occafioned their being but seldom examined, we wish to refer the reader to the fcenes above-mentioned, both which he will find in the third act of the fecond part. In the mean time the following fhort parallels will ferve to thew Mr. Jephfon's intimate acquaintance with them.

Methinks I fee him!"
His palms spread wide.'
His afhy hue, his grizzled briftling hair,

"Of afly femblance, meagre, pale, and
Count of N. p. 16.
bloodlefs,

But fee! his face is black, and full of blood;

His hair uprear'd, his noftrils ftretch'd wide ftruggling,

His band abroad difplay'd!"

The beautiful horror of the feveral detator to blend them together, and betrayfcriptions in Shakespeare tempted his imito the guilty death-bed fome of the cired him into the impropriety of afcribing innocently murdered. cumftances originally aferibed to the objec

us a clan of poets, who compofe English There has of late years fprung up amongst verfe on the fame principle as boys at school compofe their Latin exercifes, tak ing half a line from one claffic, and half a line from another, seldom or ever introducing half a line of their own original invention or manufacture.—Gray, excellent as he was, had a touch of this quality. A friend of Gray has had perhaps more than a touch of it; but the imitators of Gray, and the friend of Gray, have imiimitated, till they have gone through every fated them, and those whom they have leaf of the modern Gradus ad Parnaffum.

The

The author of the Count of Narbonne, with talents perhaps for original excellence, has cramped thofe talents by the ftudy and practice of dramatic mimicry, in which he must be allowed to be a proficient. But this is poor ambition, and unworthy of real genius! Idly as we have been accused of political republicanifm, we mult confefs ourselves to be a kind of republi. cans in literature. We are avowed friends to the independency of Parnaffus! confident, that to cut and fritter out the itate into a number of petty principalities, will only multiply infignificant fovereigns, while it diminishes the real grandeur of the empire. Such literary defpots are, each in their turn, fet up by their parafites and adherents, as a kind of King Log, fall. ing with a mighty splash into the Heliconian puddle, and tiriking a terror into the miserable croakers around them, till, on detection of their weaknefs, they become ob. jects of infult and contempt!

We cannot give a more favourable fpecimen of the Tragedy of the Count of Narbonne than the difcovery of Austin and Theodore in the third act. The circumftance of Theodore's birth and fortune are, perhaps, rather too abruptly mentioned on his part, as well as too haitily catched at by Audlin; but the fcene is, we think, on the whole, the mott fpirited and affecting in the play.

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fer'd;

Uninjur'd, lamb like; but a lion, rous'd.
Know, too injurious lord, here stands be-
fore thee,
The equal of thy birth.
Count.
Away, bafe clod!
Obey me, flaves!-What, all amaz`d with
lies?

Auflin. Yet, hear him, Narbonne :

that ingenuous face Looks not a lie. Thou faid'st thou wert a captive

Turn not away! we are not all like him. Something, I know not what, most friendly to thee,

Nay, more than friendly, like a parent's

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O fail not, Nature, but fupport this conflict!

'Tis not delufion fure. It must be he.But one thing more ;-did fhe not tell thee too

Thy wretched father's name?

Theod. Why do you look fo earnestly upon me? If yet he lives, and thou know'ft Clarinfal, Tell him my tale.

The Lord of Clarinfal.

Austin. Mysterious Providence ! Count. (Afide.) What's this, the old. man trembles and turns pale. Theod. He will not let his offspring's timeless ghoft

Walk unappeas'd, but on this cruel head Extract full vengeance for his flaughter'd

fon.

Auflin. O giver of all good! eternal Lord!

Am I fo blefs'd at laft to fee my fon? Theod. Let me be deaf for ever, if my

ears

Deceive me now! did he not fay his fon? Auftin. I did, I did; let this, and this convince thee.

I am that Clarinfa!; I am thy father. Count. (Afide) Why works this foolih

moisture to my eyes? Down, Nature! What haft thou to do with vengeance?

Theod. Oh, Sir! thus bending, let me clafp your knees;

Now, in this precious moment, pay at

once

The long, long debt of a loft fon's af fection.

Count. (Afide.) Destruction feize them both! Muft I bebold Their transports, ne'er perhaps again. to know

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But common chance. A warlike bark of Spain

Bore down, and seiz'd our veffel, as we rov'd

Intent on spoil: (for many times, alas! Was I compell'd to join their hated league, And ftrike with infidels.) My country known,

The corteous captain sent me to the shore; Where vain were my fond hopes to find my father!

'Twas defolation all: a few poor fwains Told me, the rumour ran he had renounc'd A hated world, and here in Languedoc Devoted his remains of life to heaven.

Auftin. They told thee truth; and heaven fhall have my prayers,

My foul pour'd out in endless gratitude, For this unhop'd, immeasurable bleffing; But thou shalt have my care, my love, my life.

Count. Thus far, fond man! I have liften'd to the tale; And think, it as it is, a grofs contrivance, A trick, devis'd to cheat my credulous reafon,

And thaw me to a woman's milkinefs.

Auftin. And art thou fo unskill'd in nature's language,

Still to miftruft us! Could our tongues deceive,

Credit, what ne'er was feign'd, the genuine

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If not-but now no more.-Hear all, and mark me

Keep fpecial guard, that none, but by my order,

Pafs from the caftle. By my hopes of heaven,

His head goes off, who dares to disobey me. Farewell!--if he be dear to thee, remember.' [Exit Count.

The Prologue is intended to show the horrid fin and danger of criticism; and the firft of the Epilogues, for there are tavo, written by Edmund Malone, Efq; has many touches of humour and pleafantry.

BRITISH

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BRITISH and IRISH BIOGRAPHY.

Life of William Shakespeare.
(Continued from p. 68.)

HIS therefore is the praife of Shake

ror of life; that he who has mazed his imagination in following the phantoms which other writers raife up before him, may here be cured of his delirious extafies, by reading human fentiments in human Language; by fcenes from which a hermit may eftimate the tranfactions of the world, and a confeffor predict the progress of the paffions. His adherence to general nature has expofed him to the cenfure of critics, who form their judgments upon narrower principles. Dennis and Rymer think his Romans not fufficiently Roman and Voltaire cenfures his kings as not completely royal. Dennis is offended, that Menenius, a fenator of Rome, should play the buffoon; and Voltaire perhaps thinks decency violated, when the Danish ufurper is reprefented as a drunkard. But Shakefpeare always makes nature predominate over accident; and if he preferves the ef fential character, is not very careful of diftinctions fuperinduced and adventitious. His ftory requires Romans or kings; but he thinks only on men. He knew that Rome, like every other city, had men of all difpofitions; and wanting a buffoon, he went into the fenate-house for that which the fenate houfe would certainly have offered him. He was inclined to fhew an ufurper and a murderer not only odious, but defpicable; he therefore added drunkennefs to his other qualities, knowing that kings love wine like other men, and that wine exerts its natural power upon kings. Thefe are the petty cavils of petty minds; a poet overlooks the cafual diftinction of country and condition, as a painter, fatisfied with the figure, neglects the drapery.

"The cenfure which he has incurred by mixing comic and tragic fcenes, as it extends to all his works, deferves more confideration. Let the fact be first stated, and then examined. Shakespeare's plays are not in the rigorous or critical fenfe either tragedies or comedies, but compofitions of a diftinét kind; exhibiting the real ftate of fublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil, joy and forrow, mingled with endless variety of proportion and innum rable modes of combination; and expreffing the courfe of the world, in which the lofs of one is the gain of another; in which, at the fame time, the reveller is hafting to his wine, and the mourner is burying his friend; in which the maligni ty of one is fometimes defeated by the froHib. Mag. March, 1782.

lic of another; and many mischiefs and many benefits are done and hindered without defign. Out of this chaos of mingled purpofes and cafulties, the an tient poets, according to the laws which crimes of men, and fome their abfurdities, fome the momentary viciffitudes of life, and fome the lighter occurrences; fome the terrors of diftrefs, and fome the gaieties of profperity. Thus rofe the two modes of imitation, known by the names of tragedy and comedy, compofitions intended to promote different ends by contrary means, and confidered as fo little allied, that I do not recollect among the Greeks or Romans a fingle writer who attempted both.

"Shakespeare has united the powers of laughter and forrow not only in one mind, but in one compofition. Almost all his plays are divided between ferious and ludicrous characters, and, in the fucceffive evolutions of the defign, fometimes produce ferioufnefs and forrow, and fometimes levity and laughter. That this is a practice contrary to the rules of criticifm will be readily allowed; but there is always an appeal open from criticifm to nature. The end of writing is to inftru&t; the end of poetry is to inftruct by pleafing. That the mingled drama may convey all the inftruction of tragedy or comedy, cannot be denied, because it includes both in its alterations of exhibition, and approaches nearer than either to the appearance of life, by fhowing how great machinations and flender defigns may promote or obviate one another, and the high and the low co-operate in the general fyftem by unavoidable concatenation. It is objected, that by this change of feenes the paffions are interrupted in their progreffion; and that the principal event, being not advanced by a due gradation of preparatory incidents, wants at leaft the power to move, which conflitutes the perfection of dramatic poetry. This reafoning is fo fpecious, that it is received as true even by thofe who in daily experience feel it to be falfe. The interchanges of mingled scenes feldom fail to produce the intended v ciflitudes of paffion. Fiction cannot move fo much, but that the attention may be eafily transferred; and though it must be allowed that pleafing melancholy be fometimes interrupted by unwelcome levity, yet let it be confidered likewife, that melancholy is often not pleafing, and that the difiurbance of one man may be the relief of another; that different auditors have different habitudes; and that, upon the whole, all pleafure confifts in variety."

Dr. Johnfon has alfo fome curious obe fervations

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