(Thunder. Enter the Devils.) Oh! mercy, Heav'n! Look not so fierce on me! Perhaps the finest trait in the whole play, and that which softens and subdues the horror of it, is the interest taken by the two scholars in the fate of their master, and their unavailing attempts to dissuade him from his relentless career. The regard to learning is the ruling passion of this drama; and its indications are as mild and amiable in them as its ungoverned pursuit has been fatal to Faustus. "Yet, for he was a scholar once admir'd For wondrous knowledge in our German schools, And all the students, clothed in mourning black, Shall wait upon his heavy funeral." So the Chorus: "Cut is the branch that might have grown full strait, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man." And still more affecting are his own conflicts of mind and agonizing doubts on this subject just before, when he exclaims to his friends; "Oh, gentlemen! Hear me with patience, and tremble not at my speeches. Though my heart pant and quiver to remember that I have been a student here these thirty years; oh! would I had never seen Wittenberg, never read book!" A finer compliment was never paid, nor a finer lesson ever read to the pride of learning.—The intermediate comic parts, in which Faustus is not directly concerned, are mean and grovelling to the last degree. One of the Clowns says to another: "Snails! what hast got there? A book? Why thou can'st not tell ne'er a word on't." Indeed, the ignorance and barbarism of the time, as here described, might almost justify Faustus's overstrained admiration of learning, and turn the heads of those who possessed it, from novelty. and unaccustomed excitement, as the Indians are made drunk with wine! Goethe, the German poet, has written a drama on this tradition of his country, which is considered a master-piece. I cannot find, in Marlowe's play, any proofs of the atheism or impiety attributed to him, unless the belief in witchcraft and the Devil can be regarded as such; and at the time he wrote, not to have believed in both, would have been construed into the rankest atheism and irreligion. There is a delight, as Mr. Lamb says, dallying with interdicted subjects;" but that does not, by any means, imply either a practical or speculative disbelief of them. "in LUST'S DOMINION; or, THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN, is referable to the same general style of writing; and is a striking picture, or rather caricature, of the unrestrained love of power, not as connected with learning, but with regal ambition and external sway. There is a good deal of the same intense passion, the same recklessness of purpose, the same smouldering fire within: but there is not any of the same relief to the mind in the lofty imaginative nature of the subject; and the continual repetition of plain practical villainy and undigested horrors disgusts the sense, and blunts the interest. The mind is hardened into obduracy, not melted into sympathy, by such barefaced and barbarous cruelty. Eleazar, the Moor, is such another character as Aaron in Titus Andronicus, and this play might be set down without injustice as "pue-fellow" to that. I should think Marlowe has a much fairer claim to be the author of Titus Andronicus than Shakespear, at least from internal evidence; and the argument of Schlegel, that it must have been Shakespear's, because there was no one else capable of producing either its faults or beauties, fails in each particular. The Queen is the same character in both these plays; and the business of the plot is carried on in much the same revolting manner, by making the nearest friends and relatives of the wretched victims the instruments of their suf F ferings and persecution by an arch-villain. To shew however, that the same strong-braced tone of passionate declamation is kept up, take the speech of Eleazar on refusing the proffered crown: "What do none rise? No, no, for kings indeed are Deities. And who'd not (as the sun) in brightness shine? Who among millions would not be the mightiest ? This is enough to shew the unabated vigour of the author's style. This strain is certainly doing justice to the pride of ambition, and the imputed majesty of kings. We have heard much of "Marlowe's mighty line," and this play furnishes frequent instances of it. There are a number of single lines that seem struck out in the heat of a glowing fancy, and leave a track of golden fire behind them. The following are a few that might be given. "I know he is not dead; I know proud death Durst not behold such sacred majesty." Hang both your greedy ears upon my lips, Let them devour my speech, suck in my breath." ." From discontent grows treason, And on the stalk of treason, death." * 66 Tyrants swim safest in a crimson flood." The two following lines— * * "Oh! I grow dull, and the cold hand of sleep Hath thrust his icy fingers in my breast”— are the same as those in King John— "And none of you will bid the winter come To thrust his icy fingers in my maw." And again the Moor's exclamation, "Now by the proud complexion of my cheeks, Ta'en from the kisses of the amorous sun" is the same as Cleopatra's "But I that am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black”—&c. |