A new melo-drama in five acts, by a gentleman who rejoices in exactly the
same number of titles--namely, "R. Zouch S. Troughton, Esquire"--made its
appearance for Miss H. Fancit's benefit on Monday last, at the Haymarket.
The old-fashioned recipe for cooking up a melo-dramatic hero has been
strictly followed in "Nina Sforza." _Raphael Doria_, the heir-apparent to
the dukedom of Genoa, is a man about town in Venice--is accompanied, on
most occasions, by a faithful friend and a false one--saves the heroine
from drowning, and, of course, falls in love with her on the spot, or
rather on the water. She, of course, returns the passion; but is, as
usual, loved by the villain--a regular thorough-paced Mephistopheles of
the Surrey or Sadler's Wells genus. These ingredients, having been
carefully compounded in the first act, are--quite _selon les
règles_--allowed to simmer till the end of the fourth, and to boil over in
the fifth. Thus we have a tragedy after the manner of those lively
productions that flourished in the time of Garrick; when Young, Murphy,
and Francklin were Melpomene's head-cooks.
Modern innovation has, however, added a sprinkle of spice to the hashes of
the above-named school. This is most commonly thrown in, by giving to the
stock-villain a dash of humour or sarcasm, so as to bring out his savagery
in bolder relief. He is also invested with an unaccountable influence over
the hero, who can on no account be made to see his bare and open treachery
till about the middle of the fifth act, when the dupe's eyes must be
opened in time for the catastrophe.
These improvements have been carefully introduced into the present old new
tragedy. _Ugone Spinola_ is the presiding genius of _Doria's_ woes: and
dogs him about for the pleasure of making him miserable. He is a finished
epicure in revenge; picking little tit-bits of it with the most savage
_gôut_ all through; but particularly towards the end of the play. This
taste was, it seems, first acquired in consequence of a feud that formerly
existed between _Doria's_ family and his own, in which his side came off
so decidedly second-best, that he only remains of his race; all the rest
having been murdered by _Doria_ and his father's faction. From such deadly
foes, it may be observed, that tragic heroes always select their most
trusted friends.
_Doria's_ father dies, and _Nina's_ consents to his marriage; so that we
see them, at the opening of the third act, the picture of connubial bliss,
in a garden belonging to the Duke's palace at Genoa, exchanging sentiments
which would be doubtless extremely tender if they were quite intelligible.
A great deal is said about genius being like love; which gives rise to a
simile touching a rose-bud in a poor poet's window, and other
incoherencies quite natural for persons to utter who are supposed to be in
love. This peaceful scene is interrupted by an alarm of war; and the
Prince goes to fight the Florentines.
The battle takes place between the acts; and we next see the Genoese
halting near their city after a victory. _Doria_, who in the first act has
been represented to us as an exceedingly gay young fellow, is here
described as indulging, in his tent, his old propensities; having brought
away, with other trophies, a fair Florentine, who is diverting him with
her guitar at that moment. This is excellent news for _Spinola_; the more
so as we are soon made to understand that _Nina_, being impatient of her
husband's return, has fled to his tent to meet him, and discovers the fair
Florentine in the very act of guitar-playing, and her spouse in the midst
of his raptures thereat.
A scene follows, in which _Spinola_, as a new edition of Iago, and _Nina_,
in the form of a female Othello, get scope for a great variety of that
kind of acting which performers call "effective." The wife--in this scene
really well-drawn--will not believe Doria's falsehood, in spite of strong
circumstantial evidence. _Spinola_ offers to strengthen it; and the last
scene of this act--the fourth--presents a highly melo-dramatic situation.
It is a street scene; and _Spinola_ has brought _Nina_ to watch her
husband into her rival's house. She sees him approach it--he wavers--she
hopes he will pass the door. Alas, he does not, and actually goes in! Of
course she swoons and falls. So does the act drop.
The entire business of the last act is to bring about the catastrophe;
and, as not one step towards it has been previously taken, there is no
time to lose. _Spinola_, therefore, is made not to mince the matter, but
to come boldly on at once, with a bottle of poison! This he blandly
insinuates to _Nina_ might be used with great effect upon her husband, so
as effectually to put a stop to future intrigues with any forthcoming fair
Florentines. She, however, declines putting the poison to any such use;
but, nevertheless, honours _Spinola_'s draught, by accepting it. The
villain expresses himself extremely grateful for her condescension, and
exits, to make way for _Doria_.
Directly he appears, you at once perceive that he has done something
exceedingly naughty, for his countenance is covered with remorse and a
certain white powder which is the stage specific for pallor. The lady
complains of being unwell, and her husband kindly advises her to go to
bed. She replies, that she has a cordial within which will soon restore
her, and entreats her beloved lord to administer the potion with his own
dear hand; he consents--and they both retire, and the audience shudders,
because they pretty well guess that she is going to toss off the dose, of
which _Spinola_ has been the dispensing chemist.
And here we may be forgiven for a short digression on the subject of the
dramatic _Materia Medica_, and _poison-ology_. The sleeping draughts of
the stage are, for example, generally speaking, uncommon specimens of
chemical perfection. When taken--even if the patient be ever so well
shaken--nothing on earth, or on the stage, can wake him after the cue for
his going to sleep, and before the cue for his getting up, have been
given; while it never allows him to dose an instant longer than the plot
of the piece requires. Then as to poisons; there are some which kill the
taker dead on the spot, like a fly in a bottle of prussic acid; others,
which--swallowed with a sort of time-bargain--are warranted to do the
business within a few seconds of so many hours hence; others again there
are (particularly adapted for villains) that cause the most incessant
torment, which nothing can relieve but death; a fourth compound (always
administered to such characters as _Nina Sforza_) are peculiarly mild in
their operation--no stomach-ache--no contortions--but still effectual.
The contents of the phial given to _Nina_ by _Spinola_ are compounded of
the second and fourth of these _formulæ_. The drink, though deadly, is
guaranteed to be a mild, rather-pleasant-than-otherwise poison, warranted
to operate at a given hour; one calculated to allow the heroine plenty of
time to die, and to make her go off in great physical comfort.
_Nina_ has taken the poison; but, having a peculiar desire to die at home,
orders a "trusty page" to provide horses for herself and attendant
secretly, at the northern gate, that she may return to her native Venice.
With this determination we lose sight of her.
_Doria_ is aroused by a hunting-party who have risen so early that they
seem to have forgotten to take off their nightcaps, to which the Italian
hood, as worn by the Haymarket hunters, bears an obstinate resemblance.
The Prince discovers his wife has fled, and orders his _chasseurs_ to
divert their attention from the game they had purposed to ride to cover
for, and to hunt up the missing _Nina_.
"In the deep recesses of a wood" _Spinola_ and _Doria_ meet, the latter
having, by some instinct, found out his _pseudo_-friend's treachery; of
course they fight: _Doria_ falls; but _Spinola_ is too great a glutton in
revenge to kill him till he knows of his wife's death, so, after gloating
over his prostrate enemy, and poking him about with his rapier for several
minutes, all he does is to steal his sword; this being found upon him by
some of the hunters, who meet him quite by accident, they suppose he has
killed _Doria_, and so kill him. Thus, _Spinola_ being disposed of, there
are only two more that are left to die.
In her flight _Nina_ has been taken unwell--with the poison--just in that
part of the forest where her spouse is left, by his enemy, in a swoon.
They meet, and she dies in his arms. Two being now defunct, only one
remains; but there is some difficulty in getting rid of _Doria_, for he is
(as is always the case when a stage _felo-de-se_ impends) unprovided with
a weapon. Going up to his trusty friend _D'Estala_, he engages him in
talk, and, with the dexterity of a footpad, steals his dagger, and stabs
himself. All the principal characters being now dead, the piece cannot go
on, and the curtain drops.
A word or two on the merits of _Nina Sforza_. There are two classes of
dramatists who are just now contending for fame--those who cannot get
their plays acted because they are not dramatic, and those who can,
because their pieces are _merely_ dramatic. Mr.--we beg pardon, R. Zouch
S. Troughton, Esquire,--belongs to the latter class. He is evidently well
acquainted with the mechanics of the stage; he knows all about
"situation"--that is, sacrificing nature to startling effect. His language
is essentially dramatic, and only fails where it aims at being poetical.
His characters, too, are not drawn from life, from nature, but are
copied--and cleverly copied--from other characters that strut about in the
"stock" tragedies of Rowe _et hoc genus_. The fable, or plot, is
deficient, from the absence of one sustaining, pervading incident to
excite, and keep up a progressive interest. With every new act a new
circumstance arises, which, though it is in some instances (especially in
the fourth act) conducted with great skill, yet the interest it produces
is not sustained, being made to give place to the author's succeeding
effort to get up a new "situation" by a new incident. Though the tragedy
possesses little originality, it will, from its melo-dramatic and exciting
character, be most likely a very successful one. Besides, it is very well
acted, by Miss Faucit, Wallack, and Macready, as _Spinola_; which, being a
most unnatural character, is well calculated for so conventional an actor
as Macready.
The author will doubtless become a successful dramatist, because he has
taken the trouble to learn what is proper for, and effective on, the
stage. Having gained that acquirement, if he will now study nature, and
put men and women upon the stage that act and speak like real mortals, we
may safely predict an honourable dramatic career for Mr. ----; but our
space is limited, and we can't afford enough of it to print his names a
third time.
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