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than they would be in any other upon earth. Unaccompanied with the fenfe of thefe advantages, the mother country is an empty name; which may be employed by crafty tyrants to varnifh the guilt of their own deteftable paffions, and to mislead the ignorant prejudices of their wretched subjects.

ART. IX. The Fatal Falfehood; a Tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden. By the Author of Percy*. 8vo. I s. 6 d. Cadell.

THIS

HIS Authorefs feems to poffefs fo many requifites effential to excellence in dramatic poetry, that it would be unnatural, even for obdurate critics, not to be anxious for her fuccefs. She is, we think, a pupil, and no mean proficient, in the school of Otway. Many paffages in this tragedy remind us of their fource in the plays of the Orphan, and Venice Preferved. Like her great mafter, though in an inferior degree, fhe is endowed with a facility of expreffion, and tenderness of fentiment. But fhe does not follow him with equal fuccefs in the delineation and prefervation of character, in the management of particular incidents, or the general conftruction of the fable.

Her failure in thefe circumstances is, perhaps, in great meafure owing to that very rich and eafy vein, of which we grant fhe is poffeffed. Trusting to the rapidity of her execution, she begins to build the lotty rhime," before fhe has well laid the foundation. A good tragedy, or indeed any excellent production, is a work of exquifite art, as well as genius; which might be proved not only from common fenfe, but even from the works of Shakspeare, whofe example has been so often cited in fupport of the contrary doctrine. To the want of attention to this art, Horace afcribes the defects of the Roman dramatifts, to whom he imputes no defect of natural talent for tragedy. The fame thing may, perhaps, be truly faid of many an Englifh writer, whofe plays have failed on the stage, merely from an abuse of talent in the closet:

fpirat tragicum fatis, & feliciter audet,

Sed turpem putat in fcriptis, metuitque lituram.

Ariftotle has justly determined that perfect characters are lefs adapted to tragedy, than fuch whofe good qualities are tinged with fome frailties: but thofe frailties fhould appear to be congenial, if we may fo term it, with their virtues. Macbeth is ambitious, yet what he would highly, that would he bolily." His ambition prevails, yet his veneration for fanctity is never loft, nor can even the most horrid deeds of desperation and cruelty affimilate Macbeth to the remorfelefs Richard. The Fatal Falfehood is radically defective in this refpect. Such a

* Hannah More.

man

man as Orlando, open, noble, generous, and fenfible, could never be guilty of fuch a falfehood as that on which the distress of this tragedy is founded-a falfehood commencing in the most capricious perfidy, proceeding to the bafeft treachery, and ending in the fuppofed affaffination of his dearest friend.

To the truth of this reprefentation let our Authorefs herself bear witness! Early in the play, Bertrand thus defcribes Orlando; and it seems to be the idea the Poet herself wishes us to entertain of his natural character:

Orlando's noble :

He's of a tender, brave, and gallant nature,
Of honour most romantic, with such graces,

As charm all womankind.

Such is the original draught of Orlando at the opening of the play; but before the conclufion of the first Act she gives us his picture drawn by his own hand :

Orlando. Thou know't I left my native Italy,
Directed hither by the noble Rivers,

To ease his father's fears, who thought he fell
In that engagement where we both were wounded;
His was a glorious wound, gained in the caufe
Of generous friendship, for an hoftile spear
Aim'd at my breaft, Rivers in his receiv'd,
Sav'd my devoted life, and won my foul.
Bertrand. So far I knew, but what of Emmelina ?
Orl. Whether her gentle beauties firft allur'd me,
Or whether peaceful scenes, and rural shades,
Or leifure, or the want of other objects,
Or folitude, apt to engender love,

Engag'd my foul, I know not, but I lov'd her.
We were together always, till the habit
Grew into fomething like neceffity:
When Emmelina left me I was sad,
Nor knew a joy till Emmelina came;
Her foft fociety amus'd my mind,

Fill'd up my vacant heart, and touch'd my foul. 'Twas gratitude, 'twas friendship, 'twas esteem, 'Twas reafon, 'twas pe fuafion, nay 'twas love. Ber. But where was Julia?

Orl.

Oh! too soon she came,
For when I faw that wond'rous form of beauty,
I ftood entranc'd, like fome aftronomer,
Who, as he views the bright expanfe of heaven,
Finds a new far. I gaz'd, and was undone;
Gaz'd, and forgot the tender Emmelina,

Gaz'd, and forgot the gen'rous, trufting Rivers,

Forgot my faith, my friendship, and my honour,

The complicated bafeness of this conduct we think we may venture to pronounce unnatural in a man naturally good, though occafionally blinded by paffion. Inconftancy is not fuppofed

L

to be the characteristic of Orlando, yet his inconftancy is more unjustifiable than that of any mad lover we ever remember in romance or tragedy. Bafenefs is fo averfe from his nature, that, ftruck with horror at his own perfidy, he confeffes and repents his crime; and yet, immediately after that repentance, attempts the murder of the friend, whole forgiveness he has juft implored. It is in vain to plead the inftigation of Bertrand. Bertrand is a mere ftage villain. His artifices only prevail, because it is convenient for the Author that they should. do fo; and Orlando and Rivers are unnaturally blind, merely because it would mar the plot, if they were to fee like other people.

After the affecting scene between Orlando, Rivers, and Emmelina, towards the conclufion of the fourth Act, it is improbable, nay almoft impoffible in nature, that the circumftances of the Fifth fhould enfue; and we think it will appear, by the following foliloquy, that it is but a poor, fhallow, theatrical artifice, by which thofe circumftances, improbable as they feem, are produced:

Bertrand. How's this? my fortune fails me, both alive!

I thought by stirring Rivers to this quarrel,

There was at least an equal chance against him.
I work invisible, and like the tempter,

My agency is feen in its effects.

Well, honeft Bertrand! now for Julia's letter.

This find epiftle of a love fick maid,

[Takes out a letter.

I've worn to give, but DID NOT SWEAR TO WHOM.
Give it my love, faid fhe, my dearest lord:

Rivers fhe meant; there's no addrefs-THAT'S LUCKY!
Then where's the harm? Orlando is a lord,

As well as Rivers, loves her too as well.

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[Breaks open the letter. I must admire your ftile-your pardon, fair one.

[Runs over it.

Do I not tread in air, and walk on flars?
There's not a word but fits Orlando's cafe
As well as Rivers' ;-tender to excess-
No name 'twill do; his faith in me is boundless;
Then, as the brave are ftill, he's unfufpecting,
And credulous beyond a woman's weakness.

[Going out he fpies the dagger.
Orlando's dagger-ha! 'tis greatly thought.
This may do noble fervice; Juch a fcheme!
My genius catches fire! the bright idea

Is form'd at once, and fit for glorious action.

Phrenzy, properly introduced, and ably pourtrayed, is a for cible engine of tragedy. Madness is not ill pictured in the ravings of Emmelina; yet they have but little effect on the

reader,

reader, because her phrenzy and death are too evidently introduced as a stage trick, not neceffarily flowing from the circumftances of the fable, and too fuddenly produced to be natural. In a word, the whole of the fifth Act is, in our opinion, indefenfible.

Our remarks may perhaps appear to be fevere; but they are delivered with a warmth of friendly reprehenfion, not with the leaft fpirit of acrimony. We deliver our cenfures, in this inftance, with more freedom, becaufe we really think the fair Writer bleft with genius, which the permits, from hafte and. careleffnefs, to run to wafte. Ladies who write for the ftage, as well as many gentlemen,, do not fufficiently confider the arduoufness of the talk:

To write a play! why 'tis a bold pretence

1

To learning, knowledge, genius, wit, and fenfe!

Not to take leave of our Authorefs without fhewing her claim. to fuch" a bold pretence," we shall fubmit to our Readers the beginning of the fourth Act, which we esteem to be ons of the happieft paffages in the play:

Emmelina How many ways there are of being wretched!
The avenues to happiness how few!

Guil.

When will this bufy, fluttering heart be fill?

When will it ceafe to feel, and beat no more?
Ev'n now it fhudders with a dire prefage
Of fomething terrible it fears to know.
Ent'ring I faw my venerable father,

In earnest conference with the Count Orlando:
Shame and confufion fill'd Orlando's eye,
While ftern refentment fir'd my father's cheek.
And look, he comes, with terror on his brow!
He fees me, he beholds his child, and now
The terror of his look is loft in love,

In fond, paternal love.

Enter GUILD FOR D.
Come to my arms,

And there conceal, that fweet, that afking eye,

Left it fhou'd read what I wou'd hide for ever,

Wou'd hide from all, but most wou'd hide from thee,
Thy father's grief, his fhame, his rage, his tears.

Em. Tears! heaven and earth! behold my father weeps!
Guild. He who has drawn this forrow from my eyes,
Shall pay me back again in tears of blood.
'Tis for thy fake, my child.

Em.

Guild.

For me, for me?

Hear, heaven, and judge; hear, heaven, and punish me!
If any crime of mine-

Thou art all innocence,

Juft what a parent's fondeft wish wou'd frame;
No fault of thine e'er ftain'd thy father's cheek,
For if I blush'd it was to hear thy virtues,

And

Em.

And think that thou waft mine; and if I wept
It was from joy and gratitude to heaven,
That made me father of a child like thee.
Orlando!

Guild.

Em.
Guild.

What of him?

I cannot tell thee;

An honeft fhame, a virtuous pride forbids.
Speak.

Canft thou not guess and fpare thy father?
Em. Perhaps-perhaps I can-and yet I will not:
Tell me the worst while I have fenfe to hear.
Thou wilt not speak-nay never turn away;
Doft thou not know that fear is worse than grief?
There may be bounds to grief, fear knows no bounds;
"In grief we know the worft of what we feel,
"But who can tell the end of what we fear?"
Grief mourns fome forrow past, and therefore known,
But fear runs wild with horrible conjecture.

Guild. Then hear the word, and arm thy foul to bear it.
He has he has-Orlando has refufed thee.

EMMELINA (fter a long pause.)

'Tis well-'tis very well-'tis as it should be.
Guild. Oh, there's an eloquence in that mute woe,
Which mocks all language. Speak, relieve thy heart,
Thy bursting heart; thy father cannot bear it..
Am I a man? no more of this, fond eyes!
I am grown weaker than a chidden infant,
While not a figh efcapes to tell thy pain.
Em. See, I am calm; I do not fhed a tear;
The warrior weeps, the woman is a hero!
GUILDFORD. (Embraces her.)
My glorious child! now thou art mine indeed!
Forgive me, if I thought thee fond and weak,
I have a Roman matron for my daughter,
And not a feeble girl. And yet I fear,
For oh! I know thy tenderness of foul,
I fear this filent anguifh but portends
Some dread convulfion fatal to thy peace.

Em. I will not fhame thy blood; and yet, my father,
Methinks thy daughter fhou'd not be refus'à ?
Refus'd? It has a harsh, ungrateful found;

Thou fhoud't have found a fofter term; refus'd?
And have I then been held fo cheap? Refus'd?
Been treated like the light ones of my fex,
Held up to fale? been offer'd, and refus`d?

Guild. Long have I known thy love, I thought it mutual;
To fpare thy blushes met the Count-

Em.

No more:
I am content to know I am rejected;
But fave my pride the mortifying tale,
Spare me particulars of how, and when,
And do not parcel out thy daughter's fhame.

No

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