SCENE V.' A street, leading to the cloister of the Justinians; which is seen at a distance. GUIDO. A SERVANT. (Both are masked.) Guido. (Unmasking.) Upon what ground can you main tain this? Servant. My lord, I am certain of it; they cannot yet be here; your brother left the palace scarcely five minutes before we set out. Guido. This then made the villain so heedless of my protestations!-He is determined that I shall not be considered any thing, with respect to Blanca-not even a rival, a foil, to set him off! But, by heaven! Ha! there his band is coming up the street. Servant. He is himself at the head of it. Guido. Let us step aside; but, mind, I will not have you move a finger. I will disperse them without aid, and not one of them shall, henceforth, dare to behold my face without blushing. SCENE VI. JULIUS. ASPERMONTE, with some armed attendants. (All are masked.) Asp. Let us wait here.-We could not have chosen a finer night. How beautiful the moon shines. Julius. Charming! I have never heard the nightingale sing more sweetly, nor the cricket chirp more amorously. Asp. Consider, that this is the first time that you hear your hymeneal sung. Julius. Notwithstanding, I listen somewhat anxiously, feeling more of the uncasy expectation of a bride than that of the fervent rapture of a bridegroom. Asp. Be not discouraged. Julius. My courage will kindle fast enough in the hour of danger. Asp. Do you see, the chaple is still illuminated; the nuns are performing their last hora. Julius. Ah, Blanca is praying for me;-her voice is conveying my name to heaven One of the attendants. Do you see that rocket-yonder, above the wall of the church-yard? Asp. Asp. Where?-1 see it; it is to inform us, that Philip and the rest are arrived at the garden door. Thomas, give me a pistol!-I fear they will lock the gate, if they see us all come in a body. I will go before you and secure the porter. Julius. Do, dear Aspermonte-be quick! Guido. (Rushing upon him with a drawn sword.) Stop! Guido's mistress is not so easy to be carried off. Asp. Is this the voice of a prince, or an assassin ? Guido. (Pulling off his mask.) What!-Assassin ? Julius. (Advancing with the rest.) Brother, be quiet!You will not be able to prevent it.-Marcellus, Emilius, keep him off with your halberts! Guido. Me? Guido of Tarentum? (He stabs Julius.) Julius. (Sinking to the ground.) Ah, Blanca! Asp. (Throws himself on the body.) Julius, Julius, rouse yourself? Guido. Surely, heaven will not thus severely punish me! Asp. (Calling to the corpse.) Blanca! Blanca! (He rises abruptly.) Since he has not heard this, he will certainly never hear any more. (Throws himself again upon the corpse.) Guido. He died just now-for this very moment the curse of fratricide has thrilled my frame!-Don't you perceive the mark on my brow, lest any one should kill me? Aspermonte, may I and you be cursed! Asp. (Turning round.) Keep your curses for yourself; I am already cursed. Guido. Ha! then let heaven's vengeance come undivided upon my head. [Exit Asp. (After a pause.) Alas! his mind foreboded the dreadful catastrophe.-(Rises abruptly, and takes up Guido's bloody dagger.) Here, Thomas, carry it to the old man, and ask him, whether this is his and his son's blood?-(Draws his sword.) Marcellus, get my horse ready! Mar. Whither are you going my lord? Asp. A foolish question!to Hungary, to fall by the sword of an infidel. P. W. (To be concluded in our next.) 443 ON ON THE BOOK TRADE OF LEIPZIC. TILL the beginning of the 17th century, the book-selling business was generally carried on by the printer, who provided for all the expences of the publication. This certainly required a large capital. Paper, workmanship, and all necessary materials were then more expensive, than what they are in proportion at present, but the buyers of books were less numerous than now. The first book printers and booksellers were, for the greatest part, literary men. This is, to the present day, yet very often the case; Breitkopf, Nicolai, Heinzius, &c. are recent examples. The booksellers at Leipzic have no established corporation; for which reason, every body is permitted to carry on the bookselling business. There are actually 46 established booksellers, besides some antiquarians; of which Weidmann, Göschen, Fritsch, Gleditsch, Breitkopf, Feindsch, Hilscher, Heinsius, and Crusius are the oldest and principal ones. Some of them have also printing offices. There were in the years 1716-1746-1770-1786-1789, and 1799, Booksellers 17 29 17 24 27 46 Printers 17 19 13 12 14 18 26 26. Binders 20 19 26 23 The whole of the academical members viz. professors, doctors, students, private literati, and whoever is under the directions of the academy, amounts to about 2000. About 300 booksellers generally come from all parts to visit the fairs, principally the Easter fair. The business which is thus annually transacted amounts to millions; of which the profits are not 39,500 thrs. as Mirabeau erroneously asserts in his work, De la Monarchie Pussiene, tom. VI. p. 136; but, according to statistical tables, the profits are 749,999 thrs. This lucrative trade is highly and deservedly protected by its government; and one may say, Leipzic is the centre of literature for all countries. C. G. THE [From Lost Honor; by Schiller.] IN N the whole history of man, there is no chapter more instructive for the heart and mind than the annals of his deviations. By every great crime, a power proportionally great has been exerted. When the secret operation of our desire conceals itself by the fainter light of common affections, in the state of violent passion it becomes more rampant, more gigantic, and more visible; the more penetrating observer of mankind, who knows best what dependence we ought to place on the mechanism of the common free will, and how far we are entitled to draw analogous conclusions, will transplant from this province into his pneumatology many facts, and them useful for moral life. The human heart is something so very uniform, and, at the same time, so very complex, that one and the same ability, or desire, can operate in a thousand different forms and directions; can effect a thousand inconsistent phenomena; and, can appear differently combined in a thousand characters; while, on the other hand, a thousand dissimilar characters and actions may be deduced from the same disposition, even when the person, of whom we speak, has not the least idea, that such an affinity exists. Should there a Linneus arise for the human race, as for the other realms of nature, who classified according to instincts and dispositions, how much should we be surprised to see many a one, whose vices are confined to the small sphere of common life, and circumscribed by the narrow limits of the laws, ranked in the same order with the monster Borgia. If we consider the matter in this point of view, many objections may be made against the common method of treating history; and here also, I suppose, lies the difficulty, why the study of it has hitherto proved so little beneficial to common life. Betwixt the violent emotions in the mind of the acting person, and the calm composure of the reader, to whom this action is recounted, there exists a disagreeable contrast, there lies such an immensity of distance, that it is difficult for the latter, nay almost impossible for him, to form even an idea of a connection. There remains a chasm betwixt the historical subject and the reader, which cuts off every possibility of a comparison or application, and, instead of exciting that salutary terror, which warns proud health, it produces only astonishment, expressed by a shake of the head. head. We look upon the unfortunate person, who, in the hour that he committed the action, equally as in that in which he suffers for it, was a human being like ourselves, as a creature of a different species, whose blood circulates otherwise than ours, and whose will is subject to other laws; his fate affects us but little, for sympathy is only founded on a remote consciousness of similar danger, and we are far from even dreaming of such a similarity. The lesson, therefore, is lost with the application, and history, instead of proving a school to enlighten us, must rest content with the pitiful merit of satisfying our curiosity. If she is to interest us more, if she is to attain her great aim, she must of necessity choose one of these two methods. The reader must either become warm as the hero, or the hero must be cold' as the reader. I know, that many of the best historians, both modern and ancient, have embraced the first method, and have engaged the hearts of their readers by an eloquent style. But this manner is an usurpation of the writer, and encroaches on the republican liberty of the reading world, who are entitled to judge for themselves; it is, at the same time, an infringement of those laws that limit the science, for this method is peculiarly and exclusively assigned to the orator and the poet.For the historian, the latter only remains. " The hero must be cold as the reader; or, what is here equally the same, we must be acquainted with him, before he acts; we must see him not only achieve his action, but see him wish to achieve it. His thoughts are much more important to 'tis than his actions, and the springs of his thoughts still more so, than the consequences of those actions. The soil of Vesuvius hath been investigated, in order to ascertain the origin of its, conflagration'; and why do we bestow less of our attention on a moral, than on a physical phenomenon? Why do we not pay the same degree of regard to the nature and situation of affairs, which environed such a person, till the collected tinder caught fire in his soul? The strange and marvellous in such a phenomenon, charms the dreamer, who delights in the wonderful. The friend of truth seeks for a mother to these lost children. He seeks her in the unalterable structure of the human soul, and in the alterable conditions which externally determine it; and, in these two, he is sure to find her. He is then no longer surprised to see the poisonous hemlock spring up in those very beds, where the most salutary herbs usually flourish in profusion, or, to find wisdom and folly, vice and virtue, in the same cradle together. VOL. II. X Where |