42 



News from Parnassus. — No. II. 



us, revived the spirit of the aacient 

 drama, or (liat lie has powers of irciiius, 

 capable by any exertion, of attaining 

 or approaching that mighty object, \vc 

 must, however reluctantly, yet some- 

 what peremptorily deny. We shall 

 proceed to make some extracts, which 

 \vill enable others to form their own 

 judgment. But, previously, we must 

 give our readers an outline of the plot. 



John, Duke of JMirandola (who must 

 not be mistaken for Gimanni Pico), 

 maiTies Isidora, the daughter of a sub- 

 ject who had been Itelrothed to Guido, 

 the Duke's natural son. Giiido is sup- 

 posed to have fallen in battle, fighting 

 against tlu' enemies of the dukedom. — 

 He was how ever only wouiuled, and his 

 letters fro mi Xaplcs to his father and 

 Isidora had been intercepted by the arts 

 of Isabella, the Duke's sister, who was 

 desirous of securing the throne of Mi- 

 randola for her son Mypolito. and who 

 carried on her machinations hv the as- 

 sistance of a villainous priest', of the 

 name of Gheraldi. Soon after the 

 Duke's marriage Guido returns to Mi- 

 randola, impatient to claim the hand of 

 Isidora; and the interest of the drama 

 consists in the despair of the son on 

 finding his mistress married to his fa- 

 ther, and in tlie jealousy which Isabella 

 inspires into tlie mind of the father 

 towards his son. By the insidious arts 

 of this disgusting woman suspicion is 

 changed in the Duke's mind into cer- 

 tainty ; and at length, on discovering 

 the unfortunate lovers at a private in- 

 terview, which is but clumsily ])rought 

 about, he is wrouglit up to such a pitch 

 of phrenzy, that lie orders his son to be 

 put to death. Just as the sentence is 

 anout to be cairied into execution, 

 Casli, Guido's friend, enters with the 

 c;)rrespondeuce which had been withheld 

 by the monk, and which is intended to 

 clear Guido fiom all suspicion of guilt. 

 The Duke, after reading the letters, 

 suddenly recollects that "he has con- 

 demned his son to death, and dispatches 

 a hasty countermand of his orders — but 

 it is too late — the fata> shot is heard ; 

 and Mirandola, struck with horror, be- 

 comes phrenzied and dies : while Isa- 

 bella rejoices in the complete triumph 

 of her diabolical stratagems. 



It is obvious, fiom this slight sketch 

 of the plot, that there are many defi- 

 ciencies in it. Contrary to the highest 

 and first principles of the drama, vice 

 is made to triumph in the success of its 

 own turpitude. The character of Isa- 

 bella is of the most execrable kind. 



[Feb. i, 



without a single redeeming feature in it. 

 She is remorseless beyond nature. — 

 There is no splendour, no magnanimity 

 in her wickedness ; she is low, mean, 

 and disgusting in her villainy. Guido 

 is decidedly the best drawn character 

 in the play — there is much frankness 

 and honourable feeling about him, — 

 The Duke's character has few distinc- 

 tive marks about it, and that of Isidora 

 still fewer. The Monk is a mere ma- 

 chine. But we delay our extracts too 

 long. The first scene we shall give is 

 that between Isidora and Guido, on his 

 retiuTi. 



GciDO enters. 

 Guido. (after a pause) Madam, I come 

 to pay 

 My duty to you. 



Isid. Welcome — you are welcome. 

 Guido. I come to see how well her bri- 

 dal dress 

 Becomes the Duchess of Mirandola. 

 hid. You have been well, I hope? 

 Guido. Since when ? 

 hid. Since you — 

 You and I paned. 



Guido. Thai's a long time now — 

 I have forgot : how is't that ijott remember ? 

 I.sid. I — I — oh I pity me ! 

 Guid. Weep, lady, weep. 

 Tears (yet they're bilter) purify the soul; 

 But your's is fair ! I know ihey ease the heart 

 — Alotlier! 



hid. Oh ! Guido,— cruel, cruel, cruel ! 

 Guido. (aside) By Heaven, my courage 

 begins to fail, and I 

 Grow womanish— Now let me wring her 



heart, 

 As she wrung mine — Ahl there she weeps 



uwaj" 

 Almost to dissolution— How she bends 

 Like one who sickens with remorse or love ; 

 And she perhaps has been betrayed. — Alas ! 

 Poor Isidora. 



Isid. Ah! you spoke ?— you spoke ? 

 Guido. 'Tvvasiioihiug. 

 hid. Nothing? It wits all to me. 

 'Tvvas happiness— no, that is gone : 'twas 



hope : 

 'Twas pardon. Oh ! my Lord, (Guido no 



more,) 

 What have I done that you can use me thus ? 

 I would not for the world, for all the world, 

 Put you to such great sorrow. 

 Guido. Shall I tell you ? 

 hid. Ye>. 



Guido. Listen to me, then. When you 

 were young — 

 You are young still, and fair — the more's 



the pity : 

 But in the time I speak of, you were just 

 Burstingfrom childhood^ — with afaceas fair 

 As tho' you had looked in Paradise, and 



caught 

 Its early beauty : then your smile was soft, 

 As Innocence before it learns to love. 



And 



