VOL. 6.] Guill; or, the Anniversary. author, produced a most powerful impression when brought forward on the Vienna stage, and continued during many weeks to form the chief subject of conversation among the highly elegant and cultivated audience of that city. It has since been acted with distinguished success on almost all the other stages of Germany, and has, in fact, already taken a place quite superior to that of any drama written for many years in the language of that country. There are many minor excellences which have had their share in creating so speedily for the piece this high distinction; but the main cause of it must, without all doubt, be sought in the profoundness of those views of Man and his whole destiny, which have been embodied by the author in his performance-views which were never before perhaps embodied in any German drama with so much consistent and uniform seriousness of thought, purpose, and expression, but of which scattered traces may be found in not a few of their most favourite pieces, formed on the Greek model, and in which those who are acquainted with their literature in many of its other branches, will see abundant reason for supposing there is much to harmonize with the prevailing spirit of German thought and philosophy. The interest of this tragedy is deep-it grapples with, and reveals, so far as they can be revealed, many of the most hidden mysteries of the human soul. The elements of feeling, of which it chiefly makes use, are indeed simple elements, unperplexed in the main with any sophistical or phantastic intermixtures, and undisguised by any considerable crowding together of events, incidents, and personages. But the simplicity, both of the story itself, and of the passions which it developes, does not diminish, but very greatly increase the effect of the whole drama. There is enough to satisfy both the eye and the imagination, and surely there is more than enough to awaken trains of reflection that must be lasting, because they are essentially inexhaustible. The nobility of man, when he falls a free-will offering to his virtue ;-his poverty, his misery, when he has sinned against the 291 voice of conscience, and feels himself thenceforth to be a cast-away, a limb dissevered by unworthiness from the harmonious whole of nature;— these are the great and beautiful ideas which this poet has undertaken to illustrate, by his living picture of the workings and the fortunes of humanity. On that picture no man can look with unconcern, for who is he that is so pure and so happy as to find nothing in such a picture that reflects back some faint image of what has passed within himself? The thoughts that he scarcely dare avow to himself have ever passed across his mind-the feelings that have been smothered the passions that have been strangled in their evil birth-all these are forced back upon his memory; and in reading the tragedy of GUILT, every man must confess to his own soul, that in much he has been guilty. The greatest beauty in Müllner's management of his fable, lies in the skilful and yet perfectly natural manner in which be has contrived to exhibit guilt in the fulness of its misery-without so far disgusting us with his guilty hero, as to take from us any part of that lively interest with which fortunes so strange as his are, are formed to be regarded. In this respect there is no play in the world, except only Macbeth, that seems to us so fully to satisfy the mind of the reader or the spectator. In the Bride of Messina, indeed, there is much of the saine merit; but the defect of harmony in the whole tone of feeling and language in that powerful tragedy is sufficient to counteract, in no slight degree, the deep impression its catastrophe might otherwise have been fitted to create. Imperfectly, notwithstanding, as the moral of that tragedy is brought out by the personages of the fable themselves-it is nobly expressed by the chorus in its conclusion; and, in truth, those sublime words (not easily to be rendered) might have formed, with equal propriety, the conclusion of Müllner's tragedy, or of Schiller's. Das leben ist der güter hochstes nich, Another great excellence is the anthor's use of the idea of Destiny-the manner in which he has presented that idea throughout, with all its power and mystery, and yet without compromising in any degree the entire freedom and responsibility of the agent. His hero, Hugo, is brought before us as one concerning whom evil action and miserable fortune had been foreboded and predicted even before his birth; and yet, with such truth and power has he given back the image of our mysterious life, that this circumstance does not clash with any of our natural feelings concerning the proprieties of retributionand we see, that however much of his life may have been foreknown, he was yet master of that life, and the sole artificer of all its issues. In poetry, which is itself the reflection of life, through a medium that both beautifies and magnifies that which it reflects-above all, in such noble poetry as that of Müllner -we are not astonished, that more of the hidden mysteries of life should be seen, than in ordinary life, as we ourselves contemplate it, any more than that the palpable features of actual life should be exhibited in such poetry with new freshness and energy of colour and of tone. It is only as if the poet were permitted to have some glimpses of that prescience which we know does exist, and amidst our admiration of his genius in its other workings, we scarcely permit ourselves to question the possibility of such things being granted to one so gifted as he is. It is possible, without making any use of this awful idea, to represent, with abundant power and energy, some single tragical event, some one unhappy accident in one man's life; but without its use it appears to us to be quite impossible to unfold a complete panorama of all that inextricably mingled, and indissolubly connected progress of thoughts and actions in which alone the true and entire tragedy of any man's history can be revealed. The mother of this Hugo, a Spanish lady, being alarmed by some dark words of a gypsey, which promise nothing but evil for his fortunes, is prevailed upon, in the absence of her husband, to give the boy to her friend, a northern countess, who is anxious to have an heir, and who presents him in that character to her own lord. He is carried to the Scandinavian castle of this lord, and educated there in all the wild freedom and wilder superstition of the north. Ere he has passed the limit of manhood, however, he travels over the world, and is led by his delight in reviewing the recollections of his infancy, to spend some years on the soil of Spain. Knowing nothing of the secrets of his own strange history; and, in consequence of a change of name, being unknown in like manner to any person in Spain, he forms an intimate friendship with a young nobleman of his own age, and conceives an unfortunate passion for this friend's beautiful wife. After long contending and struggling with his passion, his resolution is at last overcome by the knowledge that his passion is fervently returned. The honour of Elvira is no more, and the suspicions of her lord are soon excited :—in his jealousy he insults Hugo,and kindles thereby the first stirrings of that guilty thought which is destined to lead him to all his misery. He is slain by Hugo in the forest-but it is supposed that he had fallen by an accidental discharge of his own fowlingpiece-and (amidst many sorrowful fears on her part, and some dark suspicions, but without any actual knowledge or belief of his guilt) he becomes the husband of the beautiful Evira, who loves and is loved again with all the matchless fervour of southern imagination and southern blood. They leave Spain, carrying with them the son of Elvira by her murdered husband, and take up their abode in the paternal castle of Hugo, where they spend a year in company with Hugo's unmar ried sister Bertha, a lady whose pure northern simplicity of virtue and of happiness affords a strange contrast to those tumultuous miseries and pleasures, between which the life of the guilty busband, and the not innocent wife, is di vided. It is on the evening of the day with which this year terminates, that the action of the play commences. Elvira appears alone upon the stage, beguiling the time with the music of her harp in YOL. 6.] Guilt; or, the Anniversary. Of Yes and No. Thy lord was Hugo's friend ;- You must have known each other. her secret chamber, while Count Oerin- 293 Elv. We--it was-(After she has by degrees forced herself to look up at Bertha) her husband, seems to hang upon her I know will seal Elvira's condemnation; The o'ertlowing source of anguish, Hugo !--yes-- The sudden death of Carios. (She turns herself away; Bertha goes from her with the expression of disapprobation. After a pause, Elvira resumes) Bertha (with cheerfulness) You know not yet The ways of northern spirits. It is true, Beyond your Pyrenees, guitars may breathe From shadowy hollows, and terrific steeps, Prophetic music. But, in these cold realms, Spiritual guests another language hold. Down through the chimney's narrow throat the winds Then all the doors All blow with swelling cheeks. Elv. (Reproachfully) Bertha!-and yet Ber. Say, what is it more? Elv. Past sufferings now their wonted power as- Even in my inmost heart; for at the chace Ber. How! Elv. He feil, his horse and he together, And, in the fall, itself by accident Discharging, his own carabine then gave The mortal wound. Ber. Ah! then, forgive, I pray, My ill-timed mirth. But, tell me, why was this Ele. Thy brother, Bertha, Shuns all remembrance of that sad event; And debtor, more than brothers, loved each other. Elv. (Confused) No-yes Ber. How's this?-You leave me a free choice Therefore, now, A leaf that rustles in the evening breeze By passion wild, could dare, though but in thought, Ber. That conscience thus disturbs thine inward Bear humbly as a purifying penance; It is my brother Hugo whom thou lovest, (They embrace with emotion, and go several- Elv. Hear how the wind awakens on the shore In dusty whirlwinds rises up again, To me it rustles, even as if the air tha!-- Could'st thou but teach me to restrain my fears Ber. Be composed, I pray you, With this assurance, that a band of hunters, On Danish horses mounted, cannot lose Their way through well-known woods. Besides, when clouds Obscure the stars, still through the flaky drift, At this moment the sounds of hunting are heard faintly, and at a far distance-and Elvira, believing that her husband has returned, calls on her son Otto, to go forth and receive him at the Ber. Exaggeration all ! He who assists to cut away a branch Elv. (Possessed by her own fancies.) Ber. Surprised. Who? Ber. Surely you dream. Eiv. Ay, it was a frightful dream, castle gate. The boy obeys, but in a How? not happy ?--he is mine, Ber. [With a melancholy smile, and doubtfully shaking her head] With inward peace his bosom deeply fill'd, To his paternal hearth and anxious friends. A storm of passions fierce that blaze away (She pauses.) Ah, these are not the signs of happiness !-- At last word is brought that the Count is safe, although he has been in great danger from the assault of a wild boar-and shortly after he enters the castle. He will not see Elvira till he has washed the blood from him-and while he is doing so once more Bertha and Elvira are left alone, and the first act closes with this striking passage. Ber. How is it with you, sister?---Why are thus Elv. That fearful narrative !--- That on our marriage night o'erpowered my soul:--- I could not leave him ;--and I kissed his claws (She pauses, overpowered by her Ber. Phantoms all !--the offspring Elv. Oh no too true---too near me, I throw myself all shuddering on his breast- With terror hate: or even to madness love. Even while he gently leans himself upon me...... May Heaven protect your pure and virgin heart (Exit.) VOL. 6.] Guilt; or, the Anniversary. For almost like a corse with open eyes, But you are going? Hugo. I will go to her... If against me her heart has now been turn'd, I must take care to win it back again....... 295 Then follows the whole narrative of Hugo's birth, which had been revealed to him by his supposad father at the moment of death. It is beautifully thrown together, but our limits forbid At its close-Bertha, who has listened in unbroken silence, exclaims with pathetic emotion. Ber. Yet leave her time to be more tranquillized, our yielding to the temptation. Dear brother, and meanwhile impart to me, not of Heaven ! Ber. This union of true hearts will not remain Unblest by children-What-I beg you tell meWhat can thus drive you from and to each other, Even like two ships on a tempestuous sea, Asunder borne, or on each other dash'd? Hugo. Know I myself?-Methinks the south and Should never kiss each other-They are poles By force they may be join'd ;-but like the steel Ere long to what it was, and so remain. Ber. To clear up riddles, and afford solution Hugo. I have no more to give. Even to myself, no less than to my friends, 1 join both cold and heat,-and earth and Hea ven, Evil and good. Ber. Delusive visions all! Though first in Spain thine eyes beheld the light, Of northern worthies. Hugo. Thine were so, 'tis true My parents were of different origin. Ber. (Surprised) How! [Hugo starts on perceiving that he has said more than he intended; then becomes tranquil. Ber. Ah!-What must I hear? Ber. Oh, farewell all My golden dreams of pleasure ! Hugo. What is this? Bertha, what thus afflicts you? Ber. Oh, thou Nameless! And can'st thou ask?--Think on our early years; I lov'd you ;-nay, the fibres of my heart, Hugo. Bertha !—girl !- Forget what Hugo said---love him again, Ber. (After a long negative shaking of the head." Shortly after the boy Otto enters: he comes to inform the count of the arrival of the Spanish stranger. Ere he has done speaking Elvira enters: Bertha has been telling her the strange story st communicated by Hugo-and Elvira, in her wildness, has conceived jealousy of Bertha, now no more believed to be the sister of her lord. Hugo repels her suspicions-and after a pause, Elvira thus speaks-tremblingly, Hugo can'st thou forgive me? Hugo, I deplore Thy misery and my own. Elv. Can Bertha? Hugo. Freely..... She in her heart is conscious of no crime :- She can look boldly, and defy suspicion-- * Vernemender Kopfbewegung. |
