TALES FROM THE OLD

DRAMATISTS.

No. VII.-Anointed with Vial of Wrath.

SHOWING THAT THERE WAS A KING WHOM NEITHER A DIVINITY

NOR A DIVINE DID HEDGE.

HE story which I am now going to tell will have, whatever be its demerits, the merit of novelty. I am not much inclined to think that three readers of this magazine

have ever heard of the play lying before me. Not that I am imputing to one of its thousands of readers a culpable want of acquaintance with literature. The reason why this drama has not been read is a very good reason indeed. It could not be read, for until lately no known copy of it existed, and until very lately it had not been printed in an accessible form. It is given in the list of Massinger's plays as entered twice at Stationers' Hall, but not printed. "Destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant."

To Colonel Cunningham, the latest editor of Massinger (and I would invite attention to his carefully revised and very convenient single-volume edition, from Gifford's text), I am indebted for my knowledge of the play, and also for the information which I now offer. This play, called Believe As You List, from the last words of its prologue (the title is a sort of As You Like It), was always described as a comedy, and was supposed to have perished at the hands of the cook of Mr. Warburton, once Somerset Herald. That menial heated the oven with precious papers. "But Colley Cibber had mentioned having seen a transcript of the play, with the stage directions inserted in the margin, and in 1844 this transcript turned up. The lucky discoverer, Mr. Beltz, was fortunately a liberal and enlightened man, and he lost no time in making a present of it to the public, through the medium of the long defunct Percy Society. It was issued in 1848 under the nominal editorship of Mr. Crofton Croker." Colonel Cunningham is perfectly dissatisfied with all that has been done for the text, whether by the editor or by a critic in the Shakespeare

Society's papers, and he has gone very reverently through the work. Some few passages are lost, but none whose absence mars the significance of the text. Except to those who happen to possess the papers of the Percy Society, Believe As You List has therefore been inaccessible until Colonel Cunningham's volume appeared, last year. Now, of course, the recovered play is safe for ever-for the eternity of play-literature, at all events. Let us do what we can for the further preservation of the work, in the event of magazine literature surviving that of the stage.

I can imagine that better dramas have perished, yet there is great power here, derived in main from the dramatist's fidelity in presenting the idea of that terrible Ancient Rome, and her world-wide tyranny. To illustrate this, Massinger, with an art that boldly disregarded all rule, hurries us over sea and land, as will be felt when I mention that the "scene" is laid in Carthage, Bithynia, Callipolis, Syracuse. It may be convenient to those who have not at hand the map of the world as known to the ancients, to be reminded that between Carthage and Bithynia there lie, bee-flight, a good many more than a thousand miles. The play begins in Carthage, and then we make a straight run to the south of the Black Sea, and retracing our way take Callipolis, and then Syracuse-Massinger had looked at his Orbis Veteribus Notus, for the points lie along a straightish line. But, go where we will, there come

"Lictor's fasces, gory ax-head, and the she-wolf's glance of flame."

The story is that of the last days of Antiochus, king of Lower Asia. Twenty-two years before the play opens, this particularly unfortunate monarch (for whom, with all our sympathy for virtue in distress it is rather hard to weep, for he weeps so lavishly for himself) was defeated by the Romans, who slaughtered twelve thousand of his soldiers. He was supposed to have fallen with them, but he escaped, with three attendants, sailed for Corinth, and thence to India, where he spent many years with the gymnosophists. Whatever faith these half-naked philosophers held, they certainly did not teach the doctrine of extinction, as Professor Max Müller has recently told us that the Buddhists were falsely charged with doing, for Antiochus, when in one of his many troubles, talks about peril to his soul. Well, having lived out of society until he was tired of that retirement, the king resolves to come to Carthage, which was then a proud city, holding terms with Rome, and entertaining a Roman Ambassador, of whom we shall hear much. The king's intention is to be recognised by the Carthaginians, and then to demand from Rome the restoration of his sovereignty. To

do him justice, he avows, in the opening dialogue with a Stoic, in sight of Carthage, that he has the smallest hope of success; and even the Stoic's suggestion that the mother of Antiochus was a Roman, and therefore that he may expect favour from many noble families, fails to make him believe that

"Rome will restore one foot of earth that may Diminish her vast empire."

Bad as his chances seem, they are presently made worse; for when the Stoic leaves him, advising him to be bold and heroic, the unlucky king is set upon by his three attendants, who are equally convinced with himself that he is destined to ill-fortune, and therefore think that their best course is to secure what plunder they can. The king was dressed in a way becoming his station, but Chrysalus, Syrus, and Geta not only take his rings and money, but his royal clothes, and leave him in the habit of a beggar. One of the treacherous and cold-blooded scoundrels, in fact, sends him a small coin, and an insulting letter, bidding him forget that he was a king, and turn mendicant. Whereat, not unnaturally, poor Antiochus weeps profusely, and wishes that he were on the top of a pyramid, whence he might tell all the world to take a lesson from the fate of one who had been so noble and splendid, and now was so miserable. Having complained at great length, he remarks that complaints are weak and womanish, and resolves to struggle with his fortune, and not to be dejected. He goes on his way to Carthage. As nothing helps the interest of a drama so much as an idea of the chief actor, I will venture to suggest to those who have seen Mr. Macready in "Werner" (and should "rejoice therefor "), that I picture the Antiochus of Massinger as much such a figure; and had that master of his art revived this play, the figure would have been a memory.

We are next in a street in Carthage, and we are introduced to an original character. This is Berecinthius, the Flamen of Cybele. I wish we had the original cast of this play. I am certain that there was some fat man, or player of fat men, for whom this part was written. Otherwise, there is not the least reason for his being a Flamen-Falstaff. But Berecinthius is very big, and his bigness is jested at by others, and by himself, and to the brave, fat old priest's credit be it said, at a time when few men and fewer priests have the courage to jest. He hates the Romans, and especially does he hate their ambassador, Flaminius. This man is a terrible assertor of the majesty of Rome, and he is also a tyrant who enjoys the cruelties which he inflicts in the name of the republic. He has a fatal smile,

of which we hear when he is going to do anything particularly savage or treacherous.

Flamen-Falstaff has got a capital grievance in hand. Rome is supposed to protect her vassals. But Carthaginian vessels have been plundering those of some Asian merchants, and Flaminius has not interfered. The poor merchants make plaint to the priest of Cybele, and the Ambassador, entering, is attacked by Berecinthius in the severest manner, and called to account for his conduct. The Roman is contemptuously haughty, and scoffs at the pursy advocate, but is at length enraged into menace; tells the complainers that they shall be pulverised with iron hammers if they say more, and hints to the Flamen that men have been hanged for inciting Roman vassals to sedition. Flaminius stalks off, leaving the priest to rave and the despoiled merchants to wail, and call those terque quaterque beati who died on the field with Antiochus. It is highly convenient, not to say rather curious, that they should take that moment for recounting what happened twenty-two years before, for the next moment Antiochus enters. He demands charity to a poor man, "as they are Asians" (the "as" hath a meaning not in the dictionaries, but well understood by lovers of poetry), and is instantly recognised by the three merchants. His voice, his features, the marks of wounds, all identify him. I am going to make a remark in vindication of those who, as I said above, supposed this play to be a comedy. Tradition may have handed down the next passage. The Flamen recognises a certain hollowness in the king's under jaw, occasioned by the loss of a tooth pulled out by his chirurgeon. One of the merchants, for further confirmation, asks that dentist's name.' The king gives it, and their last doubt vanishes. "May Asia once more flourish!" they cry with shouts. The priest then offers to provide fit garments for Antiochus, that he may present himself to the Carthaginian Senate. The Roman Ambassador, ever vigilant, is informed that a man, calling himself Antiochus, is receiving homage in Carthage. He remarks that two persons have already been executed for that imposture, and that a third shall share their fate. He sends to his friend Amilcar, the Prince of the Senate, to beg that the soi-disant Antiochus may be arrested. Whether the king was really killed or not, Flaminius observes that it is for the safety of Rome that he should be believed dead. While his messenger is gone, three men desire speech of the Roman. He admits them, and they prove to be the attendants of Antiochus, who have come to curry favour with omnipotent Rome, by announcing the approach of Antiochus to Carthage. Flaminius affects to disbelieve in the identity, whereon they, who have served

so long with the king, give such distinct and detailed evidence, that the Ambassador asks them whether the facts are known to any but themselves. They are not. The rascals confess that they robbed their master, and hope that he has hanged himself. Flaminius, with his pleasant smile, makes them promise that they will tell no one else, and offers them sanctuary in his house, lest the robbery be urged against them. Need I say that the villains rejoice as they are committed to the care of the Secretary of Legation, who is charged to show them all hospitality? They do not see in the smile, or hear in the promise that when they next come out they shall not fear who sees them, the hint given to the secretary,

They are promptly dispatched, and we seem to be rather glad that vengeance has lost so little time.

Carthage's Senate is in session, and discussing the Antiochus question. The noble President is for an honourable course, whereas the noble Lord Hanno, who knows the value Rome sets on Asia, her only profitable conquest, thinks there is danger in not surrendering her enemy. The noble Lord Asdrubal is for handing over Antiochus to the Ambassador. Finally, it is carried, without a division, that the king and the Roman shall both be heard. Flaminius enters, loftily, and at once, in the haughtiest way, takes the Senate to task for being so slow in doing right to Rome. Her declaring Antiochus dead, and this man an impostor, ought to be enough for Carthage. But the Punic spirit is roused, and the Senate will not be dictated to. The alleged Antiochus shall be heard. He enters, habited as a king, and attended by Flamen-Falstaff, and the three Asians.

Antiochus declares himself, makes an eloquent speech, and apprises some whom he sees around him that he remembers them at his own court in their humbler days. He makes a deep impression; but the Roman charges him with being either an apostate Jew or a cheating Greek, and describes the death of the real Antiochus, and the golden urn and royal monument which were accorded by the lenity of the conquerors. He then denounces the abettors of the impostor, among them "a turbulent Flamen, grown fat with idleness." That obese clergyman retorts with language which was no doubt very abusive, from what follows; but here is one of the chasms in the text. However, as the President informs him that his goddess, Cybele, has saved him from a whipping, and has him extruded, and as he himself admits, he goes to "roar his wrongs out," we may