those which had occurred previous to the date of its commencement. The second displays Bertram in disturbed sleep, which the Prior who hangs over him prefers calling a "starting trance," and with a strained voice, that would have awakened one of the seven sleepers, observes to the audience "How the lip works! How the bare teeth do grind! And beaded drops course* down his writhen brow!” The dramatic effect of which passage we not only concede to the admirers of this Tragedy, but acknowledge the further advantage of preparing the audience for the most surprising series of wry faces, proflated mouths, and lunatic gestures that were ever" launched" on an audience to “ sear the sense." 66 Prior. I will awake him from this horrid trance, This is no natural sleep! Ho, wake thee, stranger!" This is rather a whimsical application of the verb reflex we must confess, though we remem "The big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase," says Shakespeare of a wounded stag hanging its head over a stream: naturally, from the position of the head, and most beautifully, from the association of the preceding image, of the chase, in which "the poor sequester'd stag from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt." In the supposed position of Bertram, the metaphor, if not false, loses all the propriety of the original. † Among a number of other instances of words chosen with ber a similar transfer of the agent to the patient in a manuscript Tragedy, in which the Bertram of the piece, prostrating a man with a single blow of his first exclaims-" Knock me thee down, then ask thee if thou liv'st."-Well; the stranger obeys, and whatever his sleep might have been, his waking was perfectly natural, for lethargy itself could not withstand the scolding stentorship of Mr. Holland, the Prior. We next learn from the best authority, his own confession, that the misanthropic hero, whose destiny was incompatible with drowning, is Count Bertram, who not only reveals his past fortunes, but avows with open atrocity, his satanic hatred of Imogine's Lord, and his frantic thirst of revenge; and so the raving character raves, and the scolding character scoldsand what else? Does not the Prior act? Does he not send for a possee of constables or thieftakers to handcuff the villain, and take him either to Bedlam or Newgate? Nothing of the kind; the author preserves the unity of cha out reason, Imogine in the first act declares, that thunder-storms were not able to intercept her prayers for "the desperate man. in desperate ways who dealt" "Yea, when the launched bolt did sear her sense, Her soul's deep orisons were breathed for him; i. e. when a red-hot bolt launched at her from a thunder-cloud had cauterized her sense, in plain English, burnt her eyes out of her head, she kept still praying on. "Was not this love? Yea, thus doth women love!" racter, and the scolding Prior from first to last does nothing but scold, with the exception indeed of the last scene of the last act, in which with a most surprizing revolution he whines, weeps and kneels to the condemned blaspheming assassin out of pure affection to the high-hearted man, the sublimity of whose angel-sin rivals the star-bright apostate, (i. e. who was as proud as Lucifer, and as wicked as the Devil) and, "had thrilled him," (Prior Holland aforesaid) with wild admiration. Accordingly in the very next scene, we have this tragic Macheath, with his whole gang, in the Castle of St. Aldobrand, without any attempt on the Prior's part either to prevent him, or to put the mistress and servants of the Castle on their guard against their new inmates, though he (the Prior) knew, and confesses that he knew that Bertram's "fearful mates" were assassins so habituated and naturalized to guilt, that "When their drenched hold forsook both gold and gear, To and though he also knew, that Bertram was the leader of a band whose trade was blood. the Castle however he goes, thus with the holy Prior's consent, if not with his assistance; and thither let us follow him. No sooner is our hero safely housed in the castle of St. Aldobrand, than he attracts the notice of the lady and her confidante, by his "wild and terrible dark eyes,' ""muffled form," "fearful form,"*"darkly wild," 66 proudly stern," and the like common place indefinites, seasoned by merely verbal antitheses, and at best, copied with very slight change, from the CONRADE of Southey's Joan of Arc. The lady Imogine, who has been (as is the case, she tells us, with all soft and solemn spirits,) worshipping the moon on a terrace or rampart within view of the castle, insists on having an interview with our hero, and this too tete-a-tete. Would the reader learn why and wherefore the confidante is excluded, who very properly re * This sort of repetition is one of this writer's peculiarities, and there is scarce a page which does not furnish one or more instances Ex. gr. in the first page or two. Act I, line 7th, "and deemed that I might sleep."-Line 10, "Did rock and quiver in the bickering glare."-Lines 14, 15, 16, "But by the momently gleams of sheeted blue, Did the pale marbles glare so sternly on me, I almost deemed they lived."-Line 37, “The glare of Hell.-Line 35, O holy Prior, this is no earthly storm."-Line 38, "This is no earthly storm."-Line 42, "Dealing with us."-Line 43, "Deal thus sternly."-Line 44, "Speak! thou hast something seen!"-"A fearful sight!"— Line 45, "What hast thou seen? A piteous, fearful sight." -Line 48,"quivering gleams."-Line 50, "In the hollow pauses of the storm."--Line 61, "The pauses of the storm, &c." monstrates against such "conference, alone, at night, with one who bears such fearful form," the reason follows" why, therefore send him!" I say, follows, because the next line, "all things of fear have lost their power over me," is separated from the former by a break or pause, and besides that it is a very poor answer to the danger, is no answer at all to the gross indelicacy of this wilful exposure. We must therefore regard it as a mere after-thought, that a little softens the rudeness, but adds nothing to the weight of that exquisite woman's reason aforesaid. And so exit Clotilda and enter Bertram, who "stands without looking at her," that is, with his lower limbs forked, his arms akimbo, his side to the lady's front, the whole figure resembling an inverted Y. He is soon however roused from the state surly to the state frantic, and then follow raving, yelling, cursing, she fainting, he relenting, in runs Imogine's child, squeaks "mother!" He snatches it up, and with a "God bless thee, child! Bertram has kissed thy child," the curtain drops. The third act is short, and short be our account of it. It introduces Lord St. Aldobrand on his road homeward, and next Imogine in the convent, confessing the foulness of her heart to the prior, who first indulges his old humour with a fit of senseless scolding, then leaves her alone with her ruffian paramour, with whom she makes |
