Mar. Signor, his works Shew but the faint reflection of that sun Mar. Aye truly. Mich. Still you seem not glad, A character capricious variable: Are like the roaring of the blinded cyclops, (Like the wise camel with her provender) The fierce volcano oft is terrible, Yet fruitful too; when its worst rage is o'er, The fearful gulf itself is decked with flowers Nor cheerful. Yet, an honest active hus- And wild-wood-and all breathes of life Alas! is wanting. Mich. What? Mar. Prosperity And worldly fortune. Mich. Are not beauty then, -me And genius, in themselves an ample fortune? My husband has been ill-is irritable, Hence, even to-day unlucky chance befell him. Mar. Nay, more than this, He has renewed his illness. An Angel had appeared to tell me this, Mich. Indeed! Are you so confident? Mar. Nay, Sir-In truth, The knowledge, that with my whole heart I Antonio. Therefore, all that he has done, To ground and to defend that preference? Their arguments. Enough it is for us Forgive me if I tried you thus a while. this now, for and joy. Mar. I do believe you. Mich. Trifles oft give birth Even to the most important deeds. "Tis To visit you; I am his friend-and such His ring, too, for a proof of his respect, ness, If he has influence to advance your fortune. [Exit. Antonio enters. Ant. Maria, dearest wife, what has he said? Mar. The stranger gentleman ? Ant. Aye-Buonarotti. Mar. How? is it possible? was it him self? Ant. Aye, aye-'twas he-great Michael Angelo; O'er all the world there lives not such another! Mar. O happy day! Now, then, rejoice, Mar. At last I too Can say that Buonarotti judges wisely, And henceforth blooms for us a PARADISE ! [Exeunt. (As they retire, Baptista crosses the Then be it mine to bring perfection due, The fourth act opens in the Count's palace at Parma, with a dialogue between Octavian and the perfidious Baptista, who acts as his land-steward. The Count takes this opportunity of disclosing fully his plans for the seduction of Maria, and his indifference towards Celestina, a young lady of high rank and accomplishments, whom, through the advice and influence of her father, he expects very soon to lead to the altar. Of Celestina he says, Even like her name, she is divine and saint like If, as a Christian, I must therefore love her, Gleams on me like a cold and wintry sun: In the fourth page of this dialogue, they perceive Antonio approaching, through the garden, with his picture, and retire. In the next scene he comes alone into the gallery, bearing the picture on his shoulders, which he now sets down, exhausted by fatigue. We shall transcribe the whole of his soli loquy, although it is almost impossible to translate it closely, and at the same time to preserve the spirit of the original. Ant. Here am I then arrived at last! What weariness oppresses me! the way Has been so long-the sun so hot and scorching. Here all is fresh and airy. Thus the great The summer's heat. On high the vaulted roof Ascends, and pillars cast their shade below; While in the vestibule clear fountains play With cool refreshing murmur. Happy they Who thus can live! Well, that ere long shall be My portion too. How pleasantly one mounts On the broad marble steps! How reverently These ancient statues greet our entrance here! (Looking into the hall and coming forward.) This hall indeed is noble! How is this? What do I see! Ha! paintings! "Tis indeed The picture gallery. Holy saints! I stood Unconsciously within the sacred temple. Here then, Italia's artists! hang on high Your wondrous works, like scutcheons on the tombs Of heroes, to commemorate their deeds! What shall I first contemplate? Woodland Him I know not; Yet to Leonardo he bears much resemblance, tone, Thy repetitions, and thy symmetry? as life, appears A reverend man, the holy Job! Ha! this Has nobly been conceived, nobly fulfilled! 'Tis Raphael surely (reads.) Fra Bartholemeo." Ah! the good monk! Not every priest, in truth, Will equal thee! But how shall I find time To view them all? Here, in the back ground, hangs A long green curtain. It perchance conceals The choicest picture. This I must behold, Ere Count Octavian comes. (Withdraws the curtain from Raphael's picture of St Cecilia.) What do I see! No more is painting-this is POETRY! Of poetry by painting are expressed. For this I labour'd! (Octavian enters, and Correggio, without Now, I pray you, tell me (Pointing to the picture. Oct. (coldly.) 'Tis Raffaelle. After this follows a very beautiful dialogue, which we regret not having it in our power to transcribe, (as we must leave sufficient room for the greater part of act fifth.) The Count gradually explains to Correggio his plan of prevailing on the latter to reside with his wife and child in the palace. But as he betrays, at the same time, the nature of his real motives for proposing this arrangement, an opportunity is afforded to Correggio for describing, in such manner, his own domestic happiness, and the love which subsists between him and Maria, that the Count (who believed the latter to be in reality neglected by her husband), suddenly expresses, in a fine and energetic speech, the regret and self-condemnation which he now feels for having meditated the destruction of so much virtue and happiness. Finally, he renounces all his designs; and after directing Antonio to apply to his steward, Baptista, for the price of the picture, and meanwhile to pass away the time in looking at the contents of the gallery, retires. Antonio being thus left alone, utters another fine soliloquy-at the commencement of which, he expresses violent resentment, but at length reasons himself into tranquillity, by reflecting on his own superiority, in all intrinsic attributes, to the nobleman, whose importance wholly depends on the adventitious circumstances of birth and fortune. Finally, he has recourse to the principles and rules of religion, which admit not the spirit of revenge; and being under the necessity of waiting for Baptista, he endeavours once more to pass away the time, by looking at the pictures; but the various agitations of mind which he has this day undergone, joined to fatigue of body, begin already to overpower him. He is no longer able to enjoy the pre-. sence of that magnificence, for which he had formerly so often sighed. His sight is dim, his limbs totter, and Such, too, were my designs. In my best though he wishes to leave the palace treurs VOL. VIII. as soon as possible, yet he is obliged 2 P first to resolve on sitting down to rest He takes a chair therefore in a corner of the hall, and after struggling in vain with his increasing lassitude, falls asleep. The noble minded Celestina and her father Ricordano, now enter the apartment, and, without observing Correggio, enter into a long conversation, unfolding an underplot, which alone might be sufficient to give interest to the play. It appears, that Ricordano had promised to Count Octavian's late father, shortly before his death, to try every method in his power to bring about a marriage between his own daughter and the son and heir of his friend. This promise he now urges on the attention of Celestina, who declares, in the most unequivocal terms, the utter indifference or dislike with which she regards the Count. The visionary and enthusiastic character of Celestina, is in this dialogue finally brought out.-Failing in other arguments in favour of Octavian, Ricordano endeavours to interest his daughter, by the promised possession, (among other riches) of that picture-gallery, whose contents she so much admires. Even by this also, she remains unpersuaded; and concludes, by commissioning her father to go forthwith to the count, and intimate to him her disapproval of his addresses, begging however to be allowed, as a friend and sister, to continue her visits to him, (or rather to her favourite pictures.) Being now left alone, she utters a very beautiful soliloquy, which occupies three pages. Before it is concluded, she observes the sleeping Correggio,—becomes intuitively aware (from his appearance, and that of the new picture which is placed beside him) of his real character. She resolves, therefore, to place on his head a laurel wreath, with which, (as an act of homage to Raphael,) she had intended to adorn his picture of St Cecilia. As soon as she has accomplished this purpose, Antonio awakes-Celestina hastily retires, and he comes forward with the following speech. Ant. Where am I now ?-Ha! this dim Is not Elysium!-All was but a dream! Methought I stood amid those happy fields, Even in the Muses' consecrated grove, With proud colossal statues fill'd, and books, clouds, ven. Music, that spread its tones o'er all the While, by his side, Cecilia sat and sung.- With silvery seraph wings. Then from the circle Stept forth the inspiring muse-a matchless form, Pure as the stainless morning dew,-and bright, Blooming, and cheerful, as the dew-sprent rose. Oh never, on remembrance, will it fade, How with her snow-white hand this lovely form A laurel wreathe then placed upon my head "To immortality I thus devote thee !" It seems almost as if I felt the crown (Puts his hand to his forehead, and takes colo, the latter bearing a sack of copper coin. Antonio runs up to them for explanation, and says) My friend! Baptista, who has been here? Bapt.-Ask'st thou me ? Given for thy picture by our noble lord. To Correggio's earnest entreaties to receive the price, or even part of it, in silver, Baptista only replies with bit ter denunciations of enmity, on account of the disgrace which, on Correggio's account, he has endured from Michael Angelo,-and rejoices in anticipating, that the object of his hatred will be unable to bear the fatigue of carrying home the sack of copper coin, and will the more readily fall a prey to Nicolo, or his own son Francis, by whose aid he means to waylay our hero, and rob him of the money, but more especially of the valuable ring, the gift of Buonarotti. Above all, however, his favourite object is the murder of Correggio. After the departure of the latter, bearing the sack on his shoulders, the fourth act concludes with Baptista's instructions to Nicolo for this diabolical purpose. The scene of the fifth act is in the forest between Parma and the village of Correggio. It opens with the soliloquy of Valentino, an old robber-of a figure and character such as Salvator Rosa or Palamede would have delighted to draw. He stands before a large oak tree, which has been converted into a kind of sylvan chapel, by the care of Sylvestro the hermit, whose cottage is also seen in the back ground. On the stem of this tree, properly defended by frame-work, &c. from the weather, Sylvestro has placed the picture of St Magdalene, which he had obtained from Antonio. On one side of the scene rises, amid the rocks, a clear spring of water, which winds itself in a rivulet through the forest. In the speech of Valentino, (who is captain of the band,) his mind appears to be tinctured with a strong sense of religious duty, or superstition; and now, in his old age, he begins to regret the transactions of his past life. All this naturally leads to a dialogue with Sylvestro the hermit, who happens then to come out of his cottage. Their conversation is soon interrupted, however, by some of Valentino's band, who enter with Francisco, (the son of Baptista,) against whom, for many reasons, they have conceived a violent enmity, and whom therefore they have resolved to put immediately to death. To this act of summary justice Valentino instantly agrees; but is interrupted by the entreaties of Sylvestro, whose persuasions, however, might have but little efficacy, were it not that Valentino's eyes are accidentally directed to Correggio's picture of Magdalene, which, it seems, he has never seen before. As if struck by some miraculous influence, he exclaims, that it is no picture but St Magdalene herself, and submitting at once to his own devotional and superstitious impressions, he commands his people to let Francisco go; who is therefore allowed to retire; but Sylvestro first informs him, that the picture to which he thus owes his life is the production of his father's poor and oppressed neighbour, Antonio Allegri. After the departure of Francisco, Nicolo (who belongs to the band of Valentino) enters and discloses his scheme of robbing and murdering the artist, whose picture has just now been the object of so much admiration. With vehement expressions of indignation, Valentino reproves him for having conceived such a purpose, of which he commands him, on pain of death, instantly to renounce all thoughts. The robbers then all retire together, and (Sylvestro having also left the stage) Correggio once more enters alone, carrying the sack of copper coin on his shoulders, which (perceiving the spring of water) he throws down utterly exhausted. On his head he still wears the laurel wreathe given him by Celestina at Parma. Ant. I can no more-my strength is all |