III. "Supplement to the above;" consisting of "Opinions of the Press,"
on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8.
IV. "Opinions of the Press upon the 'Dramatic Merits' and 'Actable
Qualities' of the Hungarian Daughter," 8vo., _closely printed_,
pp. 16.
The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the
elder dramatic poets--the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan
Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns--and the base, malignant, and
selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing
those plays only which are adapted to the stage--whose grovelling souls
have no sympathy with genius--whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have
hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his
syn--Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking
through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak,
infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour
of those who copy her.
At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the
provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame--the
managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the
words of that elegant pleonasm, the _introductory_ preface, "by a sort of
_ex officio_ hallucination," rejected this and some twenty other
exquisite, though unactable dramas! It is a fact, that since the opening
of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room;
Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers
of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and
ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the
stage! Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we
proceed to _our_ "delightful task."
To prove that the "mantle of the Elizabethan poets seems to have fallen
upon Mr. Stephens" (_Opinions_, p. 11), that the "Hungarian Daughter" is
quite as good as Knowles's best plays (_Id._ p. 4, _in two places_), that
"it is equal to Goethe" (_Id._ p. 11), that "in after years the name of
Mr. S. will be amongst those which have given light and glory to their
country" (_Id._ p. 10); to prove, in short, the truth of a hundred other
laudations collected and printed by this modest author, we shall quote a
few passages from his play, and illustrate his genius by pointing out
their beauties--an office much needed, particularly by certain dullards,
the magazine of whose souls are not combustible enough to take fire at the
electric sparks shot forth _up_ out of the depths of George Stephens's
unfathomable genius!
The first gem that sparkles in the play, is where _Isabella_, the Queen
Dowager of Hungary, with a degree of delicacy highly becoming a matron,
makes desperate love to _Castaldo_, an Austrian ambassador. In the midst
of her ravings she breaks off, to give such a description of a
steeple-chase as Nimrod has never equalled.
ISABELLA (_hotly_). "Love _rides_ upon a thought,
And stays not dully to _inquire the way_,
But right _o'erleaps the fence_ unto the _goal_."
To appreciate the splendour of this image, the reader must conceive Love
booted and spurred, mounted upon a _thought_, saddled and bridled. He
starts. _Yo-hoiks_! what a pace! He stops not to "inquire the
way"--whether he is to take the first turning to the right, or the second
to the left--but on, on he rushes, clears the fence cleverly, and wins by
a dozen lengths!
What soul, what mastery, what poetical skill is here! We triumphantly put
forth this passage as an instance of the sublime art of sinking in poetry
not to be matched by Dibdin Pitt or Jacob Jones. Love is sublimed to a
jockey, Thought promoted to a race-horse!--"Magnificent!"
But splendid as this is, Mr. Stephens can make the force of bathos go a
little further. The passage continues ("_a pause_" intervening, to allow
breathing ime, after the splitting pace with which Love has been riding
upon Thought) thus:--
"Are your lips free? A smile will make no noise.
What ignorance! So! Well! _I'll to breakfast straight_!"