1821.] 



L Ape Ilaiiuna.- — No. XIX. 



Ill 



Superkrt' as tlie early productions of 

 Foscolo undoubtedly are, they are far 

 surjwssed in vigour of tlioucrht and 

 boldness of conception, by bis more 

 recent works. Of these his last tra- 

 gedy of the Ricciarda, is perhaps the 

 most worthy of our notice. It is writ- 

 ten in a fresh and vigorous spirit — 

 highly national iu its expression — 

 founded ujkju historic incident, and 

 original in its structure. The story is 

 fully as terrible as the Stagyrite him- 

 self could have desired. We doubt 

 whether Thebes or Troy could have 

 furnished a more dreadful talc in the 

 compass of (heir bloody annals ; and, 

 with the exception of tlie Ceusi, if is 

 not surpassed in any way by the middle 

 ages or more modern times. 



Though tlie subject is rather a trite 

 one, being founded upon family dis- 

 cord, the hatred is so grandly described, 

 that, however upnatural it is, we cannot 

 avoid being deeply interested in the 

 progress and event of the piece. Guelfo, 

 the Trince of Salerno, bears an uuex- 

 tinguishablc hatred towards his brother, 

 whom he considers an unjust usurper 

 of his name and possC'^sions. In order 

 to accomplish his purpose of revenge, 

 he feigns sentiments of peace. Inviting 

 his brother's children to a banquet, he 

 poisons the eldest, and Cuido, the other 

 son, only escapes destruction througli 

 the entreaties of Ricciarda, who had 

 been atfianced to him, in order the 

 better to cover his ferocious design. 

 His half-brother, Averardo, is thus 

 compelled, in his own defence, to attack 

 the tyrant in his castle, where his son 

 (Guido) in disguise, is vvatching over 

 the safety of his beloved. 



The anxious father, dreading the 

 vengeance of Guelfo, despatches their 

 common friend, Corrado, to entreat his 

 return. Guido declares that nothiug 

 shall tear him from the spot, that Ric- 

 ciarda once preserved his life, and that 

 he will sacrifice it, if necessary, for her 

 sake. Corrado retires in grief, while 

 the generous spirit of Guido repines at 

 the tliought of concealment, and, in a 

 torrent of passion, he exclaims : 

 lUil here williiu ii traitor's Lold to nlny 

 The traitor's iJurf, and sbring and Lide in 



corners, 

 Metliiuks the snored spirit of rny fathers 

 RegJirds ino sternly from the tomb. 



Ricciarda here enters — her character 

 is a beautiful combination of filial ten- 

 derness, and the strength and resigned 

 spirits of pure and delicate love. She 

 entreats her lover to flv. lest lie should 



share the fate of his friend, wiiom they 

 supposed to have perished. He says : 

 EitTuiil grief is mine, and I shall weep 

 The more, because I weep ui vain. 



liiccur. The miserable ! 

 The thoughts of losiujj thee, possessed my 



soul 

 With such wild feur, that e'en the sight of 



thee 

 In thisstrau£;e houseof death, is consolalioi/. 

 Guido. Weep on my breast, poor girl, so 



may thy tears 

 Wilh less of bitterness be shed. — 



He then ti;!ls her that his love for 

 her will lead her father to destroy 

 her, rather than behold her his. She 

 sorrowfully answers, she can neitlier 

 hate nor desert him: 

 He loves nie silll — and nmch for one who 



holds 

 His own life hateful. Softening his harsii 



soul, 

 It breathes n calm over his stormy passions. 

 To me nlone the .mouish of hissplrit 

 Revealed, says more than tears of blood can 



tell; 

 Oft, when his p;uards are sunk in happy 



slumber, 

 I hear him pace the solitary floors. 

 Yet fears he solitude ; witli anxious voice 

 He breathes my name, and then in uttersilence 



He'll ^aze o.i me 



God jields no comfort to him, and no hope — 

 They start in fear— the steps of Gu- 

 elfo are heard approaching. Her lover 

 hastens to hide himself among the 

 tombs, and, with darkness in his soul 

 and on his countenance, the father 

 enters. 



Guel. Thou here — 



Ric. My Lord, I 



Guel. Ah ! pale and breathless — 

 Whiit dost thou here ! 

 Ric. But now I came. — 

 Guel. Whither! 

 To seek me here so swiftly ! — didst thou 



think 

 I was already gathered to i.iy fathers? 

 Ric. No, no — I sought my mother's pity- 

 ing spirit. 

 To tell the griefs that none will hear beside; 

 Nor would I breathe them, save to one, on 



earth. 

 How much too harsh you are with me. Low 



cruel — 

 Bat sometime you will lovd aud grieve for 



me ; 

 Though now you threat and tear my heart 



asunder. 

 What, shall I think you dead — when well 



I know 

 Mij days will long 'ere your's, like morning 



shadows 

 Pass, and be >een no more — Yes, agony 

 Consumes my heart, and I can only live 

 Toshew you I am not a faithless child. 

 Such are the means wiiich s!ie niake.5 



us» 



