"Tor. I will immediately repair to Brussels. I can soon dispatch my business here. "Vog. That would be my advice. "Tor. There is still one consideration. I cannot bear the sea, so can only go to Batavia over land. Enter PLUYSKEN. "Pluys. Colonel, a column of the enemy has entered the village. "Vog. (aside.) That is this morning's goose. "Tor. What say you? Pluys. Yes; two Dutch sharpshooters were discovered this morning. They came from the heath, entered the village, and have not been seen to leave it again. So they must still be there. "Vog. (aside.) Logically deduced. "Pluys. I have ordered all under arms. "Tor. Very wisely done. "Vog. Very foolishly done. A couple of sharpshooters, and you make a fuss as if van Grene's whole division had marched in. Shame upon you! Why did you not hang them at once? "Pluys. Yes, but (aside to Tortu) That is the English milord of this morning. But then he spoke nothing but English." Vogelaer easily baffles the burgomaster; but a capitain-adjutant, with more sense than his colonel, discovers the real characters of Wildervanck and Vogelaer, notwithstanding the ready wit and effrontery of the latter. They are seized, and ordered to be shot as spies, and Braaf hart with them, as their harbourer and accomplice. Anna now interferes, and says, speaking with effort, "Mynheer Tortu! You have sought my hand. Release them-and I am yours. "Tor. Aha! The proud beauty is growing rational. Well, well; that way something might be done." 66 Braaf. No, my child, no. You shall not sacrifice yourself for my sake. Now, and for ever, I refuse my consent to such a marriage. Vog. And I mine. "Wildervanck. Oh that I but had my sword! Enter PETER. "Peter. Colonel, here are two millions of Dutchmen marching on the village. "Tor. Then must the whole nation be in the field. (A cannon shot is heard.) Heaven defend us! "Pastol. Your orders, colonel ? "Tor. I don't know. I have no instructions for such a case. 'Twill be best to have my horse saddled, and ride off to the general to report the occurrence. (To Peter.) Where is my servant? "Peter. He has just ridden away on Mynheer's horse. "Tor. The devil! (runs out.) During this confusion the Dutch captives have got hold of their arms, with which they now put their guards to flight, and then sallying forth, make some progress in taking the village, even before the two million of Dutchmen, who prove to be their own regiment, arrive to their support. It is supererogatory to say that all ends satisfactorily, but not so, perhaps, to add that the happy catastrophe is the emigration of the Belgian manufacturer to Holland. We now quit M. van Lennep for some of the younger poets who have arisen since his fame was fully established in Holland. The first of these, and second to Van Lennep in popularity, is Van der Hoop; and to him we shall for the present confine our attention. A. van der Hoop is a Rotterdam merchant, whose time is mainly devoted to his commercial affairs; and the modest regret he expresses in one of his prefaces for his want of a learned education-a deficiency which, he adds, he has endeavoured to remedy by unremitting diligence in the hours of relaxation-disposes us to look kindly upon the fruits of his exertions. The mercantile, like the legal poet, first formed himself by translating; and then proceeded to publish, in almost incredible abundance, occasional poems, fugitive pieces, poetic tales, and tragedies. Of these last, his Johanna Shore is esteemed the best. But it will be requisite first to glance cursorily at the character of the Dutch theatre. Dutch tragedy, with which only we are concerned, assumed at its rise a form neither altogether imitative, nor yet original. It aimed at the old classic model, retaining even the chorus, so uncongenial to the habits and feelings of modern life: it preferred narration to action; and adopted for its language the French fashion of the Alexandrine couplet, the heaviest and most monotonous of metres; thus carefully combining every thing to prevent the excitement of strong sympathy in a modern audience. Far, even beyond French, did Dutch tragedy discard truth and nature, sacrificing the sympathies of domestic grief, and even the loftier idealization of sorrow, without ever inducing the spectator's forgetfulness that he was contemplating a work of art. illustration, and as affording a standard by which Dutch dramatists should be measured, we may refer to an old play, still considered as the masterpiece of the Dutch drama, to wit, Vondel's Gysbrecht van Amstel. In This national tragedy professes to dramatize the surprise of a Dutch town in olden times, in a manner not unlike the taking of Troy. But all is narrated, nothing acted, except the treachery of the Dutch Sinon. The first scene announces the raising of the long-continued siege, when the present joy and past sufferings of the inhabitants are described. So are, successively, the introduc tion of a vessel laden with firewood, under which lurk hostile soldiers,the adroitness of the Sinon in preventing its being im mediately unloaded; and so too, finally, are the fighting, massacre, and other horrors that ensue, when the ambushed troops, issuing from their concealment, admit their friends, and fall upon the unwary citizens. The piece ends with the flight of the hero, Gysbrecht, and his family, when resistance has become hopeless. In this play the chorus is, not like that of the Greeks, one immutable body, but divided into as many separate choruses of nuns, warriors, young ladies, &c. as happens to suit the occasion. The lyric strains assigned to these choruses are by far the most pleasing parts of the piece, being poetical and spirited, while the dialogue is often heavy, as indeed Alexandrines must be. Some of the characters, however, are well drawn, especially that of Gysbrecht. In process of time Vondel, though still admired, ceased to occupy the stage, or to be the model of his successors. But he was unluckily superseded only by the classic French tragedians; and the chief change effected was discarding the chorus, whilst all that should be dramatized and seen in action is still tediously narrated in Alexandrine couplets. Upon this model is written Van der Hoop's Johanna Shore, blending, as the author avers, the tragedies of Rowe and le Mercier, and superadding an infusion of Shakspeare's Richard. In his preface the poet declares that Dutch taste requires the rhymed couplet; but that had he written for the theatre of Paris, Vienna, or London, the tragedy should have been in prose; and then he would, amongst other improvements, have made Jane Shore not a penitent, but-(how shall we express it decorously?)—an unfortunate female, and her husband an uxorious idiot, caring only to get her back! Is this irony? Or is it possible that a good English scholar, as our poet unquestionably is, and an admirer of Shakspeare to boot, can confound the genuine English drama with the vicious prosaic monstrosities of Dumas and Victor Hugo? However this may be, of a rhyming tragedy the conduct as well as story of which is familiar to every one, it were idle to offer analysis or extracts. It is by his poems that van der Hoop must be judged in this country. Of his poetic tales the newest is De Renegaat, originally designed for an episode of a heroic poem upon the French conquest of Algiers; which larger work was abandoned when the African expedition lost its interest amongst the successful abortive revolutions that followed. The Renegade for a substantive tale has too little story, and that little so clearly suggested by, or at least so necessarily re calling the Giaour, as to subject the Dutch poet to unfavourable comparisons, even in the best passage of the poem, the drowning of the unfaithful slave. We therefore close De Renegaat, and select a short extract from an allegorical, mythological poem, entitled Hercules. See, yon bright shield flings back the torches shine, * * * Two glossy snakes crawl in, athirst for blood, One shrieks and flies, and round the buckler clings: Grasps each huge neck, and views their writhing length, ART. VII.—1. Il Duca d'Atene, Narrazione (The Duke of Athens, a Narration), by N. Tommaseo. 12mo. Paris, 1837. 2. Il Primo Viceré de Napoli (The First Viceroy of Naples), by E. C. di Belmonte. 12mo. Parigi: Londra, 1838. NOT many years ago the novel, as we understand the word, might have been considered as unknown in Italy; and now Italian historic novels and novelists are actually swarming, in numbers, if not quite equal to those of France and Germany, yet approaching very near to our own present home growth. Four authors of this class we some seven or eight numbers back introduced to our readers, and are now called upon to perform the same friendly office to two more of the fraternity, who have arisen since that time. These are the Signori Tommaseo and di Belmonte; which last is, however, as we are assured upon good authority, a mere nom de guerre, assumed in compliance with a German fashion. The author's true patronymic is Capoccio, and he himself, we apprehend, a descendant, if not the direct representative of an Italian warrior celebrated in his novel, and one of the champions of Italy in the well-known combat of thirteen Italian against thirteen French knights, fought for the express purpose of ascertaining the relative military, or rather chivalrous prowess of the two nations; and in which victory decided nearly, if not quite, for the last time, in favour of the former mistress of the world. Both Il Duca d'Atene, and Il Primo Viceré di Napoli, are extremely popular in Italy, and are moreover considered there as decidedly historical. They nevertheless differ very materially, not to say essentially, from each other in character; and, to speak sooth, neither of them answers precisely to our idea of the historic novel. Il Duca d'Atene is, in conception and situation, pretty much what our last number predicated of Ida della Torre, save that it has far less intermixture of love story in fact there is very little of love itself, and of incident arising out of the passion, none. Its merits lie in embodying the humours of the democratic Florentine nobles, people, and populace, in their republican condition; and presenting vivid, striking, and instructive views of the nature of democracy, even in a small, highly cultivated, and, for the times, highly enlightened state. Il Primo Viceré di Napoli on the contrary, in due compliance with the most approved recipes for the concoction of these same historic novels, combines a regular love story with a fragment of history, but does not blend them. The history comes first; and the love story, with the exception of a bare mention of its existence in the early part, follows only when all historical curiosity, |