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THE

Augustan Review.

No. XII, FOR APRIL, 1816,

ART. 1.-A Course of Lectures on Dramatic Art and Litera, By AUGUSTUS WILLIAM SCHLEGEL. Translated

ture.

from the German, by John Black.

(Concluded from No. XI. p. 308.)

We have already said, that Mr. Schlegel scarcely appears to have entered sufficiently into the merits of Italian tragedy; but it is not for us in this place to endeavour to supply the deficiency. The Sophonisba of Trissino deserved more extended notice, if not for its own merit, at least for the influence it had upon contemporary writings. The Merope of Maffei, which has been styled "The most finished tragedy in the world," is dismissed by Mr. Schlegel without a single remark of his own; the specimens of romantic compositions among the Italians, are altogether unnoticed, though one would have imagined that our author's admiration of Shakspeare's Romeo and Juliet would have inclined him to speak with complacency of the Hadriana of Luigi Groto, the blind poet, drawn from the same source, and exhibiting so remarkable a coincidence of description and sentiment, that either work might pass for a free translation of the other; even the allusion to the nightingale in the adieus of the youthful lovers, occurs in both poets, though no such thing is to be found in the novel of Da Porta, from which the incidents are taken. Alfieri is treated with as much rigour, as he is accused of using towards his own muse; his dry and harsh manner, his want of fancy, and poverty of incident, are dwelt upon; but no mention is made of the vigour of his sentiments, the beauty and strength of some of his expressions bursting through the gloom of his characters and the bareness of his plots, like lightning flashing from wintry skies, and illumining for a moment the barren heath. In fact, Mr. Schlegel does not seem to think Italian literature worth dwelling upon he is in haste to leave it for that of France; and we should be very angry with him for his precipitancy, did we not NO. XH. Aug. Rev. VOL. II.

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perceive that he sets off with his whip in his hand, eager to chastise the vanity and levity of a people, who have so long laughed at the rest of the world, that they seem utterly to overlook the possibility of being laughed at in return. Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire, are the tragic poets of the French nation, whose merits Mr. Schlegel particularly examines. He combats their notions respecting the unities; and proves, what all the world is by this time pretty well convinced of, that Aristotle's words have long been quoted as an authority for the observance of those unities, in a sense which Aristotle never thought of. Besides, if the experience of succeeding ages prove that the restraint occasioned by the strict observance of these or any other rules is inimical to genius, and consequently to the effect which it is desirable to produce upon the feelings, why be told perpetually that we were ordered two thousand years ago to believe that they were the standard of excellence? Mankind have been expressly forbidden to imagine any otherwise than that the earth was a plane, and that the sun went round it; yet since this edict a pretty general belief has obtained ground, that the earth is spherical, and goes round the sun.

All Mr. Schlegel's remarks on the French theatre are very amusing. Indeed France, prone as she is to ridiculing others, contains an inexhaustible fund for ridicule in her own affectation, grimace, and devotion to outward form, which often occasion the most ludicrous mixture imaginable of the great and the little; a perpetual straining after uncommon effect; and a perpetual falling below the interest inspired by the simplicity of truth. We cannot afford time to remain long with our author in France; for the nearer we draw to our own country, the more impatient we become to communicate to our readers the opinions of so excellent a writer respecting performances in which we are most interested. He is very angry with Diderôt, and we heartily agree with him in his opinions, for introducing the sentimental comedy, or what may be as properly styled familiar tragedy, in France, whence it spread to Germany, whose stage has ever since been overflowed with tears. England has not escaped the infection; instead of the native humour and happy delineation of character, in which our dramatic writers once excelled, we are presented with the delicate distresses and wire-drawn reflections of a sentimental brazier, or some other character equally affecting. Goldsmith was once found fault with by a friend for appearing insensible to the perplexities of one of those heroes of the sock; but he excused himself by confessing that he was consoled with the hope, that if the hero

should be forced to leave his counting-house in Fish-street Hill, he might have enough left to open shop with in St. Giles's. It has often been said, that a good cause is more injured by a bad advocate than by an avowed enemy. Diderôt, in his zeal to burst through the slavish shackles of the excessive symmetry of the French versification, their declamation, and mode of acting, would destroy all theatrical elevation, and place all the principles of taste and feeling upon a false and perishable basis.

"The main thing, according to him, (Diderot), is not character and situations, but ranks of life and family relations, that spectators in similar ranks and relations may lay the example to heart. But this would put an end to every thing like true enjoyment in art. Diderot recommended that the composition should have this direction, with the very view which met with the displeasure of the Athenians, when Phrynichus, who exhibited an historical tragedy founded on the events of their own times, was subjected on that account to punishment. The view of a fire by night, from the wonderful effect produced by the combination of flames and darkness, may till the unconcerned beholder with delight; but when our neighbour's house is burning-jam proximus ardet Ucalegon -we shall hardly be disposed to consider the affair in such a picturesque light." Vol. 1. p. 80.

This sort of writing was first rendered popular in our country by Sir Richard Steele. The pathetic eloquence of his "Conscious Lovers," surprized the heedlessness of Thalia into fixed attention, and she was seen at once weeping and smiling, with a grace, the novelty of which charmed her beholders; but she soon after paid Kelly the same compliment; and has ever since been so hysterical and vapourish, that we have had but little pleasure in her society. Sheridan's excellent comedy of the "School for Scandal," drove the affectation of sentiment effectually from the mouths of individuals in society: would that he could also have chased it from the stage; poets would then be obliged to depend upon the general conduct of their characters for their pretensions to virtue and morality; and not content themselves with assigning to each his ration of fine speeches, which are uttered like common places in a sermon, and sometimes heard with just as little emotion.

Mr. Schlegel begins his examination of the English stage with bestowing upon it that praise, which of all others is most gratifying to the feelings of an Englishman,--that it is English born, peculiar to its country, that it owes nothing to any other, that it despises imitation, and defies criticism. It shares in common with that of Spain, the honour of giving birth to the Romantic Drama, and of perfecting it; yet the countries have not borrowed of each other. In England it was first visible,

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