No. XXX.
Reading edition
June 4, 1798.
Our ingenious correspondent, Mr. Higgins, has not been idle. The deserved popularity of the extracts which we have been enabled to give from his two didactic poems, the Progress of Man, and the Loves of the Triangles, has obtained for us the communications of several other works which he has in hand, all framed upon the same principle, and directed to the same end. The propagation of the New System of Philosophy forms, as he has himself candidly avowed to us, the main object of all his writings. A system, comprehending not politics only and religion, but morals and manners, and generally whatever goes to the composition or holding together of human society; in all of which a total change and revolution is absolutely necessary (as he contends) for the advancement of our common nature to its true dignity, and to the summit of that perfection which the combination of matter, called Man, is by its innate energies capable of attaining.
Of this system, while the sublimer and more scientific branches are to be taught by the splendid and striking medium of didactic poetry, or ratiocination in rhyme, illustrated with such paintings and portraitures of essences and their attributes as may lay hold of the imagination while they perplex the judgment;—the more ordinary parts, such as relate to the conduct of common life and the regulation of social feelings, are naturally the subject of a less elevated style of writing; 202of a style which speaks to the eye as well as to the ear,—in short, of dramatic poetry and scenic representation.
“With this view,” says Mr. Higgins (for we love to quote the very words of this extraordinary and indefatigable writer),—“with this view,” says he, in a letter dated from his study in St. Mary Axe, the window of which looks upon the parish pump,—“with this view I have turned my thoughts more particularly to the German stage, and have composed—in imitation of the most popular pieces of that country, which have already met with so general reception and admiration in this—a Play; which, if it has a proper run, will, I think, do much to unhinge the present notions of men with regard to the obligations of civil society, and to substitute, in lieu of a sober contentment, and regular discharge of the duties incident to each man’s particular situation, a wild desire of undefinable latitude and extravagance,—an aspiration after shapeless somethings that can neither be described nor understood,—a contemptuous disgust at all that is, and a persuasion that nothing is as it ought to be;—to operate, in short, a general discharge of every man (in his own estimation) from every tie which laws, divine or human, which local customs, immemorial habits, and multiplied examples, impose upon him; and to set them about doing what they like, where they like, when they like, and how they like,—without reference to any law but their own will, or to any consideration of how others may be affected by their conduct.
“When this is done, my dear sir,” continues Mr. H. (for he writes very confidentially)—“you see that a great step is gained towards the dissolution of the frame of every existing community. I say nothing of Governments, 203as their fall is of course implicated in that of the social system;—and you have long known that I hold every Government (that acts by coercion and restriction—by laws made by the few to bind the many) as a malum in se,—an evil to be eradicated,—a nuisance to be abated,—by force, if force be practicable; if not, by the artillery of reason, by pamphlets, speeches, toasts at club-dinners, and though last, not least, by didactic poems.
“But where would be the advantage of the destruction of this or that Government, if the form of Society itself were to be suffered to continue such as that another must necessarily arise out of it and over it?—Society, my dear sir, in its present state, is a hydra. Cut off one head,—another presently sprouts out, and your labour is to begin again. At best you can only hope to find it a polypus;—where, by cutting off the head, you are sometimes fortunate enough to find a tail (which answers all the same purposes) spring up in its place. This, we know, has been the case in France; the only country in which the great experiment of regeneration has been tried with anything like a fair chance of success.
“Destroy the frame of society,—decompose its parts,—and see the elements fighting one against another,—insulated and individual,—every man for himself (stripped of prejudice, of bigotry, and of feeling for others) against the remainder of his species;—and there is then some hope of a totally new order of things,—of a Radical Reform in the present corrupt system of the world.
“The German Theatre appears to proceed on this judicious plan. And I have endeavoured to contribute my mite towards extending its effect and its popularity. There is one obvious advantage attending this mode of 204teaching;—that it can proportion the infractions of law, religion, or morality, which it recommends, to the capacity of a reader or spectator. If you tell a student, or an apprentice, or a merchant’s clerk, of the virtue of a Brutus, or of the splendour of a La Fayette, you may excite his desire to be equally conspicuous; but how is he to set about it? Where is he to find the tyrant to murder? How is he to provide the monarch to be imprisoned, and the national guards to be reviewed on a white horse?—But paint the beauties of forgery to him in glowing colours;—show him that the presumption of virtue is in favour of rapine and occasional murder on the highway—and he presently understands you. The highway is at hand—the till or the counter is within reach. These haberdashers’ heroics come home to the business and the bosoms of men.—And you may readily make ten footpads, where you would not have materials nor opportunity for a single tyrannicide.
“The subject of the piece which I herewith transmit to you is taken from common or middling life; and its merit is that of teaching the most lofty truths in the most humble style, and deducing them from the most ordinary occurrences. Its moral is obvious and easy; and is one frequently inculcated by the German dramas which I have had the good fortune to see; being no other than ‘the reciprocal duties of one or more husbands to one or more wives, and to the children who may happen to arise out of this complicated and endearing connection’. The plot, indeed, is formed by the combination of the plots of two of the most popular of these plays (in the same way as Terence was wont to combine two stories of Menander’s). The characters are such as the admirers of these plays 205will recognise for their familiar acquaintances. There are the usual ingredients of imprisonments, post-houses and horns, and appeals to angels and devils. I have omitted only the swearing, to which English ears are not yet sufficiently accustomed.
“I transmit at the same time a Prologue, which in some degree breaks the matter to the audience. About the song of Rogero, at the end of the first Act, I am less anxious than about any other part of the performance, as it is, in fact, literally translated from the composition of a young German friend of mine, an Illuminé, of whom I bought the original for three-and-sixpence. It will be a satisfaction to those of your readers who may not at first sight hit upon the tune, to learn that it is setting by a hand of the first eminence.—I send also a rough sketch of the plot, and a few occasional notes.—The geography is by the young gentleman of the Morning Chronicle.”
THE ROVERS; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.
Dramatis Personæ.
Prior of the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, very corpulent and cruel.
Rogero, a prisoner in the Abbey, in love with Matilda Pottingen.
Casimere, a Polish emigrant, in Dembrowsky’s legion, married to Cecilia, but having several children by Matilda.
Puddingfield and Beefington, English noblemen, exiled by the tyranny of King John, previous to the signature of Magna Charta.
Roderic, Count of Saxe Weimar, a bloody tyrant, with red hair, and an amorous complexion.
Gaspar, the minister of the Count—author of Rogero’s confinement.
206Young Pottingen, brother to Matilda.
Matilda Pottingen, in love with Rogero, and mother to Casimere’s children.
Cecilia Mückenfeld, wife to Casimere.
Landlady, Waiter, Grenadiers, Troubadours, &c., &c.
Pantalowsky and Britchinda, children of Matilda, by Casimere.
Joachim, Jabel, and Amarantha, children of Matilda, by Rogero.
Children of Casimere and Cecilia, with their respective Nurses.
Several Children—fathers and mothers unknown.
The Scene lies in the town of Weimar, and the neighbourhood of the Abbey of Quedlinburgh.
Time from the 12th to the present century.
PROLOGUE.[268]
IN CHARACTER.
Too long the triumphs of our early times,
With civil discord and with regal crimes,
Have stain’d these boards; while Shakespeare’s pen has
shown
Thoughts, manners, men, to modern days unknown.
Too long have Rome and Athens been the rage;
[Applause.
And classic Buskins soil’d a British stage.
To-night our bard, who scorns pedantic rules,
His plot has borrow’d from the German schools;
The German schools—where no dull maxims bind
The bold expansion of the electric mind.
207Fix’d to no period, circled by no space,
He leaps the flaming bounds of time and place.
Round the dark confines of the forest raves,
With gentle Robbers[269] stocks his gloomy caves;
Tells how Prime Ministers[270] are shocking things,
And reigning Dukes as bad as tyrant Kings;
How to two swains[271] one nymph her vows may give,
And how two damsels[271] with one lover live!
Delicious scenes!—such scenes our bard displays,
Which, crown’d with German, sue for British, praise.
Slow are the steeds, that through Germania’s roads
With hempen rein the slumbering post-boy goads;
Slow is the slumbering post-boy, who proceeds
Thro’ deep sands floundering on those tardy steeds;
More slow, more tedious, from his husky throat,
Twangs through the twisted horn the struggling note.
These truths confess’d—Oh! yet, ye travell’d few,
Germania’s plays with eyes unjaundiced view!
208View and approve!—though in each passage fine
The faint translation[272] mock the genuine line;
Though the nice ear the erring sight belie,
For U twice dotted is pronounced like I;[272] [Applause.
Yet oft the scene shall nature’s fire impart,
Warm from the breast, and glowing to the heart!
Ye travell’d few, attend!—On you our bard
Builds his fond hope! Do you his genius guard!
[Applause.
Nor let succeeding generations say
A British audience damn’d a German play!
[Loud and continued Applauses.
Flash of lightning.—The ghost of Prologue’s Grandmother by the Father’s side, appears to soft music, in a white tiffany riding-hood. Prologue kneels to receive her blessing, which she gives in a solemn and affecting manner, the audience clapping and crying all the while.—Flash of lightning.—Prologue and his Grandmother sink through the trap-doors.