TALPOPHL'S CASTILIAN. * IT was probably by accident rather than by

native bent that the late Mr. Justice Talfourd's poetical efforts were directed to the stage ; for his genius seems not to have been of a truly dramatic kind, though the poetic spirit was strong within him. He wanted the vigorous strength and pithy condensation of the great masters of the lyre ; he was diffuse and somewhat " flowery " in style ; had not looked on men and actions with that penetrating acumen by which the great poet realizes his lessons on life, and stamps his wisdom with proverbial currency by the brevity and taking form of his expression. But a poet Talfourd was if he was anything at all ; and it is only as a poet that he is preserved to posterity. He had an eye to seize the beautiful or the characteristic as well in living men as in art or nature. What he saw he could present to others more vividly than they could see it for them- selves, by warm and graphic images. He had great fertility of mind, as well as copiousness of diction, and sparkling grace of style,—faculties essential to the poet and the orator, though they must be trained and pruned of all exuberance if the highest grade of either art is to be attained.

As a dramatist, Talfourd rose greatly above the writers of trage- dies since the Augustan age of Queen Anne, if not since the downfall of the stage on the triumph of the Puritans. There was more knowledge in his history and manners, more life in his lan- guage and his persons. If it was not exactly the life and manners of the age and nation he depicted, it was a great improvement on the weak traditional notion of Classic, Oriental, Spanish, and Italian, which besets the theatre even to our day. The manage- ment of his story, the conception and conduct of his persons, was rather conventional than natural. When we consider that his life was passed in a profession which is supposed to exhibit the passions and feelings of mankind naked to the observer, it is remarkable how little of real "flesh and blood" his characters possess, and how little of the naturally probable there is in the development of his fable. These deficiencies may have arisen in some degree from the refined and gentle nature of the author, which avoided (rather than rejected) the stern and rugged ; and indeed everything that passed beyond a certain elegance. The true cause, however, seems to lie in the fact that the dramatic art of Talfourd was acquired by frequenting the theatre, rather than originating in a native call. He admired, and he imitated ; he did not instinctively devote himself. His skill was great. We can see how this scene is arranged so as to exhibit striking situa- tions, or to conduce to an effective denouement ; how that dialogue is conducted so as to tell generally in the mouth of competent actors, as well as to furnish opportunities for making points either

* The Castilian: an Historical Tragedy. In tin Acta. By T. N. Talfourd. Pub- lished by Maxon.

in parts of the discourse or merely by gesture and countenance. All this, however, is the result of a knowledge of stage business and theatrical effects, rather than dramatic art. Talfourd die- carded the vulgar and worn-out conventionalisms of the " boards "; reviving the mechanism of the drama with skill, vivifying it by ge- nies, and elevating it by a higher and more finished literature than the English stage had witnessed perhaps since Beaumont and Fletcher; but he was not one of those rare masters who render the forms and matter of their art subservient to the nature from which they draw. As a " reading play," we think The Castilian equal to any of Talfourd's dramas ; though the want of centrical, perhaps of indi- vidual interest, which attaches to an historical subject, might flat- ten its acting attraction. There is, too, the broad peculiarity we have spoken of, which obtains telling excellence in parts at the ex- pense of the whole. The story is founded on the revolt of the commons of Castile, under Don John de Padilla, against Cardinal Adrian the Regent of Charles the Fifth. The main outlines of the history are preserved in the events as well as in the characters, the details only being filled up by the poet. This filling-up is not effected with artistical consistency—sometimes in a manner which runs counter to the historical outline. From Robertson's narrative and Padilla's letters the poet formed a conception of that leader as a patriot of high national spirit, a Castilian of devoted loyalty, and a politician of conservative tendency. This idea was exceedingly dif- ficult to carry out in a drama, because a rebel conservative would be so liable to appear incongruous and as desiring contraries. In fact, it is steering between Scylla and Charybdis. Padilla's loyalty is preserved by making him head the revolt, not so much because of the sufferings of the people and the encroachments of power as from insult offered to himself. An officer of the Regent is sent to carry off his son as a hostage and put himself under surveillance ; the indignation arising from this is fanned by his wife and her brother, who induce Padilla to join an already-contrived plot. In history, the people, with the democratic leaning for as high a per- sonage as they can get, put aside Padilla for Don Pedro de Giron; whose incompetency ruined the cause, which Padilla, recalled too late, was unable to restore. In the drama, Giron is a deep schemer, a wary and unscrupulous politician, who plays upon the hot and open nature of Padilla to offend the insurgent leaders by unpopular avowals of loyalty, and intemperate though " pit and gallery " speeches. In history, while Padilla is executed, Giron is lost sight of as contemptible, or perhaps a traitor. In the drama, he boldly heads the troops whose command he had treacherously ob- tained, and is killed while leading them. Donna Maria appears to have been a genuine Spanish heroine of the " Maid of Saragossa " stamp, or, which we think the most poetical view, a woman who saw everything through the medium of her husband. In the drama, she is a secret contriver or conspirator—prompted, no doubt, by admiration for her husband, whose powers qualify him for a regal station, but not without ambition—a sort of virtuous Lady Macbeth. All this is not inconsistent with scenes of rhetorical ef- fect, perhaps more so than a closer adherence to historical con- sistency ; but there will be an incongruity, more felt, perhaps, than perceived. It is obvious that Padilla, though an honest man and a gallant soldier, has small control over himself or events, and is little better than an instrument for others to play upon. " I prythee now deliver them like a man of this world," says Falstaff to Pistol when the latter arrives with the "happy news" of the King's death. It would be better if dramatists in general would comply with this request, and not seek for effects at the ex- pense of the truth of nature. When Gonsalvo, an old schoolfellow of Padilla, comes to arrest him, he talks as if he rather came to provoke him ; behaving with the arrogance of a Russian diplo- matist to a minister it was his cue to bully. The idea makes a good scene, but it is not so satisfying as the simple truth of nature. The Regent's messenger has got as far as announcing Padilla's con- finement to his own house, when this extract commences. It will be seen that there is scope for histrionic art.

PADILLA.

Who has wrought this ?

Where lurks the caitiff who has forged the lie That, by the being of a moment, taints My fame for ever ? I have done no wrong With consciousness to mortal—let me know His name, Gonsalvo I will work no harm On the poor slave, but look into his eyes And bid him gaze on mine, as now I stand Confronting you : ha! I perceive your flesh Where the soul's palsy creeps in every line That trembles with its separate cowardice Confessing that the falsehood you unfold Is your own fabric,—for some paltry gaud, An office, or a title, or a smile, You have spread your poisons on an honest life Whose youth your boyhood mated. Come ! be bold! Avow it! Speak ! I wear no sword to guard The bosom you have racked—I cannot stab The slander at your heartstrings!

OONSALVO.

You remind me That 'tis my duty to demand your sword, In token that you hold yourself a prisoner At the Imperial order.

PADILLA.

At the Emperor's?

Has Charles's warrant authorized this shame? OONSALVO (showing a parchment). You know his hand ?

PADILLA. (glancing at it and giving it back). 'Tis true—break heart—end all—

Within there ! [Calling.

Enter ALPHONSO. PADILLA.

No—not you—bid Lopez come— And bring my sword.

ALPHONSO.

Tonight, sir ?

PADILLA.

Yes—at once—

Why do you gaze upon me? Go, my boy. [Exit ALPHoxeo.

GONSALVO.

A gallant youth ! is he your son ?

PADILLA.

Bear with me : I am stricken in a moment, and should learn Acquaintance with the griefs debasement spreads On all around it ; and my son must share them; But I am not arm'd, as yet, to bid him look On the enforced surrender of that sword Which I have hoped that he would bear undimm'd Beside my bier, and after use it nobly For Charles, who now by you demands it : soon— Full soon—my boy must feel the home he honours A shameful prison.

GONSALVO.

No ; a brighter lot Shall wait him than to pace a captive's halls He shall depart with me.

PADILLA.

With you?

GONSALVO.

With me— A priceless hostage for his father's faith, Train'd in the camp by martial discipline To loyalty as firm as yours will show for While he is with me.

PADILLA.

In the camp ? Your camp ?

My child—whose opening spirit scarce retains A stain upon the purity it drew From heaven, when chrysome at the font—whence dust Of earth's pollutions, by the faintest breath Of love's rebuke unsettled, flit in air, And leave it all the angel ? Must he learn The legions of your guard-room ? Never ! Take His innocent life, and with it the two lives That are sustain'd by his—or, if that grace

Exceed your mission, find some loathsome cell— A narrow cell—there are but three of us—

Where we may waste together ;—speak, and bless me

GONSALVO.

The youth shall go with me.

PADILLA.

Wake not the spirit Your warrant crush'd, to frenzy. You and I, Who meet thus strangely on life's downward verge, With hair just whitening, parted in the prime Of boyhood—joyous, yet not graced as that You would make wretched—and though anxious years Have since revolved, the memories of our pastimes Have broken on me through their mists—do you Forget them utterly ?—or sterner hours When I have borne the meed your follies drew Without a murmur ? By those old records Of sweet and sad companionship—spare this, And take all else !

GONSALVO.

Show me a course as sure To keep the loyalty you vaunt unbroken 'Twas well imagined—bid your son prepare— The light is waning. raniu.s. (pacing the stage in great agitation). Heaven in grace look down ! I cannot answer him—the air is heavy— The ponderous storm-clouds fall and hem me in With canopy of brass—break—break above me— And let me breathe again ! They part—Goa's sky In deepest azure opens to my soul, And bids it thus defy thee !

GONSALVO.

Traitor !

,Enter MARIA, MONDELAR, and AIXLIONSO, followed by LOPEZ with Padilla's sword. PADILLA sinks on a bench at the

back of the scene, and covers his face with his hands. menu. (to Gonealvo). What is this ?

What sad news have you brought us ?

PADILLA.

You are come To hear this minion of the Regent charge

Your husband with sedition—ask his sword—

And, for the hostage of his tainted honour, Demand his precious child.

MARIA.

You do not grant them ?

Speak, speak ! You will not yield !

PADILLA.

Never our darling ; All else the Emperor shall command.

GONSALVO.

A force Sufficient to compel you to obey My great commission waits ; if you withhold The hostage, I shall call my ready soldiers, Who will enforce your duty."