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igation. It was, to say the truth, this unlucky announce ment of Historical Notes and Memoirs, which first drew our attention to Mr. Pennington's volumes; and when, among other things, we encountered a boast in his preface that he had enjoyed access to an excellent Florentine library, perhaps, thought we, the Riccardi or Magliabecchian with their MSS.,we were sanguine enough to hope that his researches had been deep and ardent, and that his power was commensurate to throw new light upon some of the interesting episodes of Italian story. What then shall we say was our mortification when we found, not only that his notes and memoirs offer the discovery of no new fact, and shed no illustration upon those which were previously known, but that there are almost as many errors, as there are notes, in his volumes?

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In our first moment of disappointment at his trifling, we had fiercely resolved to make a regular list of Mr. Pennington's serious errors and flat common-places. But the collection soon multiplied so fearfully under our hands, that we were glad to desist; and we shall merely subjoin a very few, among numerous instances, of our author's historical inaccuracies, that we may not be suspected to deal only in assertion. ... In vol. i. p. 324. we find that Ranuccio, Duke of Parma, (fourth of his dynasty, and son of the great Alessandro Farnese,) who only commenced his reign in the year 1592, defeated the Pisans in 1497. And this is gravely asserted with a general reference to Guicciardini.

P. 306. It is stated that Genoa began to distinguish herself by her maritime achievements about the year 1300; — that is, 300 years after her conquest of Sardinia, and about half a century after she had totally crushed the naval power of her rival, Pisa, in the great battle of Meloria.

P. 528. We learn that Aversa was a place of great consesequence under the Normans in the fifteenth century!

P. 623. The Emperor Frederic Barbarossa died in 1171;— that is, just twelve years before he signed the peace of Constance with the Lombard league.

P. 667. Alessandro de' Medici, first Duke of Florence, and son of the bastard Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, is mistaken for the son of Lorenzo the Magnificent.

In vol. ii. p. 197. the elegant and accomplished Alfonso I. of Este, the patron of Ariosto, is confounded with that other Alfonso, second Duke of his name, the ruthless persecutor of the unhappy Tasso. But our author, or his editor, is a sad confounder of poets as well as patrons: - for in p. 199. is given Guarini's Latin epitaph on Ariosto, and this, in a free translation,

translation, is assigned by name to Dante instead of its rightful object !

P. 207. The Venetian doge and chronicler Dandalo, who died in the fourteenth century, is broadly quoted for a transaction at the end of the fifteenth century.

P. 217. We are gravely assured that Pisani, the hero of Venice in the war of Chiozza, took Genoa, and Ludgier is quoted to verify this precious assertion! Four pages farther, and we meet with another historical wonder: that Venice 'purchased Naples of its sovereign, Marie Engino, in 1488, for 500 ducats, yearly payment.' A goodly bargain, and this fact, too, is verified from the chronicle of Dandalo.

P. 222. We learn that Lewis XIV. obliged the Doge of Venice to go to Paris to make a personal submission to him for the conduct of his haughty republic, which had been only partially taught moderation and wisdom by the league of Cambray. We doubt, then, if the Venetians have "writ their annals truly;" for they have had the art, in collusion with all historians but Mr. Pennington, to attribute to Genoa the disgrace of this submission to the French monarch.

But we have done: Mr. Pennington is, we repeat, a most agreeable, good-humored, travelling companion: we make no doubt that he is, moreover, a worthy, respectable man; — but we implore him never again to meddle with history.

ART. XI. Alphonzus; a Tragedy: in Five Acts. By George Hyde. 8vo. pp. 92. 4s. 6d. Hurst, Robinson, and Co. 1825.

IT

is not a little remarkable, that an age so prolific of excellence in every other department of literature has hitherto failed to produce a single comedy, or tragedy, worthy of enduring to the next generation. Miss Baillie, Lord Byron, Maturin, and Millman, writers of unquestionable genius, have wooed the tragic muse with the utmost devotion: but, without any disparagement of their talents, it may be said that not one of them has succeeded. The fine essences of comedy seem to have escaped from us altogether, and to have completely eluded every pursuit since the time of Sheridan.

We can hardly be induced to agree with those poetasters, who think that they sufficiently account for this signal deficiency in our literature, by enumerating the difficulties which the theatrical managers interpose between a dramatic author and the public. It is not indeed to be denied that some of those difficulties are considerable, particularly when it happens that the scenic arbiter elegantiarum is not endowed with an

eminent

eminent share of good taste. Another formidable obstacle arises, where the author is under the necessity of shaping his inventions to the capabilities of one or two actors. The most insurmountable difficulty of all, perhaps, is the bad odor into which essays for the stage have fallen, and in which they have continued so many years, in consequence of the vast number of failures that have occurred. Splendid scenery and gorgeous costume have taken such possession of the public taste, that a new play is a serious undertaking for either of the principal theatres; and their managers are, in consequence, extremely unwilling to hazard the expence of preparation upon the compositions of an untried author.

These circumstances, however, which are all accidental, would soon yield to the power of sterling genius, if ever it should happen to re-appear among us, and resume the dominion of the stage. The maxim Poeta nascitur is peculiarly applicable to the drama. The Greeks can boast of but one Homer. It may be our fate to know no second Shakspeare.

Considering how the stage is served at present, we imagine that we are likely to witness many tragedies every way inferior to that which is now before us. The name of Alphonzus, the son of Sancho "the Desired," historically belongs to a king of Leon and Castile, not of Spain, as the author supposed. The story is not taken from any episode of the Spanish annals with which we are acquainted, nor is it marked by originality of invention: for, with some slight variations, it is the romance of Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Desdemona, over again. Alphonzus, the son of Sancho, or Sanctius, as he is here somewhat pedantically called, is supposed to have provoked an implacable spirit of revenge in the breast of a certain Prince John, by his union with the fair Inez, to whom John had been passionately attached. At a moment when it became necessary to call forth all the energies of Sancho's forces for the defence of Tariffa against the Moors, Prince John contrives to raise a mutiny in the town, and to obtain possession of the infant child of Inez. Having effected these objects, he leads out the rebels to the Moorish camp. The whole interest of the drama turns upon the use which John makes of the babe, in order to induce the father to surrender the town, and to attract the mother to his arms by threats to destroy, or promises to protect, her child. The answer of Alphonzus to the alternative which is offered him through Lasteros, the Roderigo of the scene, is spirited and dignified:

'Lasteros. Give us our answer. Shall we have the town? Thou know'st we have our hostage,—and his fate

Brooks

Brooks no delay. Open Tariffa's gates-
And save thy child. Refuse it—and he dies.

[Alphonzus unsheaths his sword, kisses the blade, and
presents it to Lasteros.

Alphonzus. There is my answer! Bear it to the Prince: Tell him 'twas this which cleft a turban'd skull

Just as the Pagan's flashing scymetar

Marked him a prostrate foe. It hath achieved
Some deeds which men have too much honor'd - yet
I do confess it as a much-loved friend

That ever hath displayed a constant truth,
Such as might shame Humanity's proud children.
I love it as I love my child! But here
I yield them both to a still dearer country.
Tell your rebellious master thus: - my boy
I do devote upon the patriot's altar!
My sword I send him with a soldier's prayer
That it may liberate the child's pure soul-
And not the dagger of the infidel,

Or the accursed weapon of the traitor.'

:

This answer is worthy of Alphonzus, and forms a striking contrast to the instinctive eagerness of the mother to save her offspring.

Inez. By the solemnity of woman's grief,
I charge ye, stay! By your remembrances
Of all a mother's love, I pray ye-listen!
And by that terrible ban-a mother's curse,
I warn ye to forbear! Touch not his blood
Or from that damned hour I will not live
The space of one brief thought and not call down
The great eternal curse upon ye! No!

I will abjure all sympathies, affections,

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Ties, hopes, remembrance of the blessed past,
Fears, joys, and common sorrows.

All shall be

One awful endless imprecation! Nay,

I will fast out this miserable life,

And with my dying lips implore the curse;
Then with my little angel will I stand

At the wide gates of heaven-a dreadful barrier
Which ye can never pass !'

There is more of declamatory exaggeration in this passage than we have observed in any other part of the tragedy; yet we can imagine that, if well delivered, its effect in representation would be electric.

The conference ends with the renewal of hostilities. Inez, in the mean time, finds her way to the tent of Prince John in pursuit of her child. The whole of this scene is powerfully dramatic.

• Inez.

1

Inez. Didst thou not murder him ?ta.

• Prince John.

I tell thee, Inez,

I have deceived his murderers, and saved him.
(Aside.) I knew his life's high value. See, she's mine!
• Inez. I dare not trust my heart with this wild joy;
Ah, no! his tongue can never mate with truth,
For they have been eternally divorced.

I'll not believe it.

'Prince John. Then, behold!

• Inez.

[He withdraws the curtain of the inner tent, and
a soldier
with the child in his arms.
appears
Inez utters a shriek, and stands fixed with
horror.

Oh, God;

That smile is life's own seal, and I am not

A childless mother.

[She flies towards the child, but is stopped by Prince John.

• Prince John.

Hold-retire ! :

[Exit soldier with the child. • Inez. Obey him not! Stand back! Unhand me, monster! • Prince John. To seek him is in vain.

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'Prince John.

Oh! let me share

Never!

Both shall be free- and I the worshipper
At that bright shrine, as in my earlier days,
When, Inez, thou wert all my soul's religion,
For I will rescue thee, and give the child
Back to thy sobbing bosom, where no power
Can mar its joy.

• Inez.
Thy looks are like thy words
Wild and mysterious what do they import?

-

'Prince John. Inez, thou art devoted to the lust
Of foul lascivious dogs. This fleeting hour,
Which seems to melt like ice upon the brow
Of burning Etna, yields thee to pollution.
To end fierce strife they made unheeding chance
Their arbiter, and thou art fallen by lot
To be the of one whose old
prey
gray
Would scarcely count the victims of his rank
And loathsome crimes.

Inez. (Aside.)

hairs

Then there is no retreating.

[Takes out a dagger, and conceals it again in her

bosom.

And yet'tis horrible to clasp stern death

Into one's bosom as a friend- to leap
Uncalled into the unknown depths of vast
Eternity!

'Prince John. Pause not, or thou art lost,
And thy sweet child, whom I protest I love,

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