The Sun.
London, England, 1840-09-21 00:00:00

EVENING EDIT lON.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE. That seekest kindred with thy country' foes
Hest thou a father?
The Sicilian Vespers—as the revolution is
called, which tore the crown of Naples from the
head of the usurper, Charles of Anjou—forms one
of the most striking episodes in " Sismondi's His-
tory of the Italian Republics ;" and being a theme
well suited to the purposes of the drama, has been
often brought on the stage, both here and on the
Continent. The French playwright, Scribe—we
think it was he, but are not quite certain—and our
own celebrated poet, Mrs. hemans, have each
made it the subject of a tragedy; and several other
theatrical writers have also attempted it, but none
successfully. Scribe's play we never read, but
with Mrs. Hemans' we are well acquainted ; it was
produced on the boards of Covent Garden about a
dozen years since ; and, notwithstanding that
Young and Charles Kemble performed the two
principal characters, it was so coolly received as to
be withdrawn, if we recollect rightly, on the third
or fourth night of representation. We do not won-
der at its failure, for though it abounded in heroic
sentiment, poetic imagery, and declamation of the
stateliest order, it was sadly deficient in action ;
and in no one scene that we can call to mind, did

FERNANDO.

Draw !

PROCIDA.

Hast thou a father ?

FERNANDO.
But with my sword's point. I answer thec

PROCIDA.

Hast thou a father, boy ?
FERNAND 0•

!
Hast thou a hand? thy sword
Behoves that it be quick, and seek .
Thy life's in danger !
-- ---

PROCIDA.

Hast thou a father, still
I say to thee ?

FERNANDO.
Thy sword or I'm upon thee!

PROCIDA.

it make anything like a stirring appeal to the heart.
The form of humanity was there—but it was
the form only—the quick living spirit was absent,
Mr. Knowles 's tragedy on the same tempting sub-
ject, which was produced at Covent Garden
Theatre on Saturday night, is certainly not open
to this objection, whatever other defects it may pos-
sess. He is not, like his fair predecessor, a mere
eloquent declaimer, who substitutes words for things,
and description for action; brNt a sterling drama-
tist—so far, at least, as a power of awakening the
feelings of his audience can make him one. He
possesses also, in no ordinary degree, the faculty of
individualizing character, which we know not that
he has ever exhibited with more skill, than in his
delineation of Isoline, the heroine of his " Bridals
(21. Messina." This is a forcible, truthful concep-
tion, developed with singular subtlety, and with an
address and feeling that show how intimate is the
author's acquaintance with the hidden springs that
move the female heart. In that scene—one of the
best in- the tragedy—when Isoline is waiting for
her lover, she reminds us somewhat of Shakspeare's
Juliet, for both heroines evince the same generous
abandonment of self, and entire devotedness to the
objects of their affection, which sanctions, and
even lends a grace, to their downright plain•
speaking and forwardness of manner ; and
both come to the same tragic end, by
the same means—namely, their impassioned
temperament and rare magnanimity of nature. If
it were not for this character, which is the very salt
of the tragedy, and alone preserves its vitality, the
"Bridals of llle sina" would deserve but little praise,
for its two last acts are languid and even wearisome,
and the interest comes in and goes out with Isoline.
When she is before us, we listen, and listen eagerly ;
but the instant she withdraws, our attention flags,
or is kept. alive solely by the hope of her prompt
reappearance. As for the progress of the catas-
trophe, we care little about it, for although the Si-
cilian patriot John of Procida is nominally the hero
of the play ; he has in reality little to do with it
after the second act, except in one solitary instance,
is here he describes his wife's death to his new-found
son Fernando, the lover of Isoline, which is produc-
tive of no results, and is wholly unnecessary to the
unravelling of the plot. The following are the chief
Incidents of the tragedy. John of Procida (Moore)
in the course of his wanderings through Sicily to stir
up the people againsttheir oppressors, the French, ar-
rives in disguiseat Messina, just at the time when his
long lost sou Fernando (Anderson), is on the eve
of marriage to Isoline (Miss Tree), only daughter
of the French Governor of that city. Anxious to
break off the match, for the Governor (Diddear)
had years before been his bitterest opponent, and
outraged his wife's honour, Procida seeks an in-
terview with his son, acquaints him with the secret
of their relationship, which the young man had not
known till then, and so works upon his filial feel-
ings as to wring from him a promise that he will
not wed Isoline, but devote himself excusively to
his country's cause. As might be expected, Fer-
nando no sooner again sees his youthful bride, than
lie loses sight of the pledge he had just before given
his father, and insists on their union, which ac-
cordingly takes place ; and then Procida, mad with
his son's breach of faith, demands a second inter-
view with him, in the course of which he informs
him of the deadly injuries which the parent of Iso-
line had heaped upon him ; and is pursuing his
fearful narrative, when the bride rushes in, and
informs Procida that his life is in danger,
and warns him to quit the neighbourhood of
Messina without a moment's delay. Struck with
such unexpected generosity in the daughter
of his sworn foe, the patriot relents, and
so far from offering any further opposition, ap-
proves of Fernando 's marriage, and even warns
him and Isoline to seek instant shelter on board a
vessel that is lying at anchor in the bay, as the
people are just ripe for revolt against the French
authorities of the city, and will massacre them all
without remorse. Unfortunately Isoline cannot be
prevailed on to embark till she has bidden adieu to
her father; and, finding her inexorable, Fernando
accompanies her, notwithstanding Procida's earnest
entreaties that he will remain with him. The
catastrophe now draws to a close. The young
married couple return to Messina at the moment
when the massacre is going forward ; and Fer-
nando is killed by Guiscardo (Cooper), who
imagines that he is a traitor to the cause of
liberty ; while Isoline drops, broken-hearted,
upon his body ; and Pr ocida, who has
quickly followed them back to the city, is
proclaimed the saviour of his country. From
this hasty sketch it will be seen that the interest of
the play is not of an heroic, but of a domestic, cha-
racter. We do not regret this, for, as Johnson
justly observes, " the passions seldom rise high at
imperial tragedies ;" but we do regret that Mr.
Knowles has paid such little attention to the con-
struction of his play. As a whole, it is grievously
defective in interest ; but it contains scenes of ex-
traordinary force and beauty ; and foremost among
them, we may mention the first interview between
Procida and Fernando, which is incomparably the
most impressive and most dramatic of which the
modern stage can boast. Indeed to find its equal,
whether in nervousness of style or depth of
sentiment, we must go back .as far as the
days of Elizabeth. The scene that takes place
between Isoline and her lover, just previous to
their marriage, is scarcely inferior, in its prodi-
gal display of power. 3ut here our praise must
stop ; the rest of the tragedy is heavy and wire-
drawn, and would be intolerable, were it not for
the frequent energy of certain detached passages,
and the rich poetic imagery of others. The tragedy
was• very carefully and skilfully played. Moore,
as Procida, though he imitated Macready with a
closeness that bordered on servility, was not defi-
cient in spirit, where spirit was required ; and, in
the gentler touches of feeling, displayed a pathos
which we bad no idea that he possessed. Miss
Tree made a graceful and sensitive Isoline, and
would have been still more effective, had she not
been so abrupt snd startlish in her movements. We
liked her best in the more level parts of the dialogue.
Cooper, as Guiscardo, was monoton-
ousformaland,n
; and may be almost said to bare suu
tv4l,iirtohug his hairsmpsvw; for
hic he had b
h he
econsutt oneantl uynifm
struckor
out motionb e-
fore him, just as though heAwn•edreersoinn,stlFieerancatndoof
swimming in deep water.
was very impassioned andlover-like,aendt e
d.
had
Thethe
rare merit of being perfectly unaffc
scenerymagnificent. Indeed we know not
when we haveseen a play produced with such an
was
utter disregard to cost. The Bay of Messina by
moonlight, and the representation of 'Etna, with
ruins in the fore-ground,closewereofrtehpelepteerwfoirtmh
performance
beauty. At
the.tragedy was announced for repetition amidst the
moderate applauses of the audience. As a sample
of the dialogue, we quote the following, which is
decidedly the most striking portion of the play
PROCIDA.
What! fear'st thou degradation ? How
Cano
oewronueh wealok%nveesrstehs,an he d
his w
heynppooesus who
tyebciodmis-,enhseiehilsm
Were thtybmother—mshe
SAtta nthdieu
spidaen do
ft avkierttuhee. manly
That bore thee in her womb—in fetters, how
Wouldst deal with those that put them on ? Wouldsl
talk
And laugh with them—shake hands with tham—em•
brace them ?
Thou wouldst not !" But
I tell thee, slave, thou
For what's thy country, be she not thy mother,
wouldst.
And like a mother loved by thee ? Thou-slave,

rnocip A (aside).

I thank God !

Then wilt thou have a murder on tby soul,
For from my stand 1 will not budge an inch,
Nor move, so far, my arm to touch my sword,
Until thou answer'st me. Hast thou a father?
FERNANDO (bursting into tears).
No,—no ! thou churlish, harsh, remorseless man—
That baiezt me with thy coarse and biting words,
As boors abroad let loose unmuzzied dogs
Upon a tothcr'd beast ! my arm withheld
By thy defencelessness, that hast defenca
At hand, but will not use it—who art thou
To use me thus? to do me shameful wrong
And then deny me means to right myself ?
What have I done to thee to use my heart
As if its striugs were thine to strain or rend!
Thou mak'st my reins hot with my boiling blood,
And not content, thou followest it up,
Mine eyes inflaming with my scalding tears,
Thou kindless, ruthless man ! Hast thou a father
I never knew one!