gyman was seated with his family at a round oak tea-table, in the apartment which served as kitchen and parlour. He rose, on hearing me ask where I should find the grave of Romney. "Poor George Romney," said he, (the tears starting into his eyes,) "I will show you his grave myself; he was a friend I loved very truly; but first (said he very courteously) refresh yourself with a dish of tea." I excused myself from a compliance with his hospitable invitation, but gladly accepted his escort to the churchyard. My venerable conductor was above eighty years of age; he told me he had been fifty-one years Vicar of Dalton, andthat he had seen many a head laid in the grave, but none that he honoured more than poor George Romney. He took me to the plain stone tablet, on which was engraved the following inscription :

Georgius Romney, Pictor Celeberrimus, Obiit Nov. 15, 1802. Requiescat in pace.

He

The vicar told me that his oak teatable was made by Romney during his apprenticeship, and he would insist on my going home with him to see it. He said "it did him good to see one who honoured genius.' described to me a cheerful day he had passed with Cowper, Hayley, and Romney; one of those days (he said) which a man may live long without forgetting." I inquired if there were any original sketches or designs of this great artist remaining in his native village, but the old gentleman informed me, that his son, the Rev. John Romney of St John's Col lege, Cambridge, had collected all that could be found of his father's works.

After a short visit to the vicarage, where I was introduced to the vicar's

family and the oak tea-table, I took leave of my venerable acquaintance, delighted with his frankness and urbanity, and not less with his enthusiasm on the subject of his gifted friend. I am, Mr Editor, respectfully A TOURIST.

yours,

THE SPANISH DRAMA.

La invencion, la gracia y traza es propia A la ingeniosa, fabula de Espana.

Lope de Vega. Arte Nueva.

THE dramatic literature of every nation may be considered as a picture

of the national character. The lights and shades, the greatness and weakness of character, no less than the peculiarities of manners and opinions of different nations, are all, more or less, faithfully imitated in their dramatic poetry. The singular mixture of openness and reserve, of generosity and credulity, which forms the prominent feature of our own national character, is delineated with remarkable fidelity in our English comedy: the light-headed gaiety and heartlessness of French manners are drawn to the life by Moliere, Destouches, Piron, and D'Harleville: and the gloomy sublimity of the German drama, as exemplified in the "Faustus, "9 "the Robbers," and "Wallenstein," is the natural result of the metaphysical speculations, and the perpetual contemplation of the morbid anatomy of mind, to which that nation is devoted. The Spanish theatre, however, is decidedly the most strictly national in Europe. Conscious how well fitted the manners of their country were for dramatic representation, they have seldom stooped to borrow either their matter or their manner from those of other countries. And when they have done so, they have given such a national colouring to the thoughts and inventions of others, that their identity is "Tout ce scarcely to be recognized. lizé." Though, by the adoption of qu'ils ont emprunté, ils ont Espagnothis exclusive system, they might seem to have written only for their own nation, and not for strangers, yet it is this very circumstance which, at charm to the Spanish drama. It must the present day, gives a particular yield the palm to England in the delineation of individual characterto both England and Germany in the painting of passion-and to France in eloquent declamation of its tragedies; the easy wit of its comedies, and the

but the manners and the state of so

ciety which are developed in the Spanish drama, are such as would be interesting in the hands of the most injudicious writer, while it will be admitted that the Spanish dramatists have exhibited them in all the strength, beauty, and variety of contrast or combination, of which they are suscepti

ble.

It is always a task of great interest, though, at the same time, of great doubt and uncertainty, to ascertain

the moral or physical causes which operate in the formation of national manners and national literature. In general, the only landmarks by which we can be guided, are those great political events, whose consequences, by placing the mind under the operation of circumstances before untried, may be supposed to communicate to it a new direction and a visible impetus. But these important events, by which, to use the metaphor of Dugald Stewart, meridians are drawn through the vast and crowded map of time, are but of rare occurrence, and the changes of manners, so imperceptible in their gradation, as to elude research, and disappoint the most penetrating observer. In the case of Spanish literature, however, the investigation is comparatively easy. The invasion of Spain by the Arabs furnishes a point d'appui, on which speculation may rest with comparative security. We have, indeed, no data to go upon with regard to the manners or the literature of the Visigoths, for not a vestige of either has descended to our time, but judging from the situation of the other Gothic nations, and calculating the effect which a partial introduction of Eastern manners and literature would produce on a nation thus situated, we will a priori arrive nearly at the very conclusions which an examination of Spanish literature would suggest to us. In comparison with the European states, Arabia was the only seat and metropolis of knowledge, and, like ancient Rome, she disseminated science with her conquests,-she found Spain buried in ignorance and barbarism, and her exertions soon rendered it little inferior to herself. "Sateritiam invenit, marmoream reliquit." She introduced the Sciences, the Belles Lettres, the Fictions of the East. Time, and the moderation of the conquerors, gradually wore off the feel ings of mutual antipathy between the victors and the vanquished, and seldom did so intimate a union take place, between two nations differing in manners and religion, as that which prevailed in Granada or Cordova about a century after the fall of the Gothic dynasty. It was from this blending of manners and intimacy of intercourse, that the national character of Spain was gene

rated and matured, uniting to the pride, gravity, and firmness of the Gothic, the pomp, imagination, and exaggeration of Eastern manners. Yet in this union the distinguishing characteristics of either were softened only, not effaced. Had Spain become altogether Asiatic, her literature would have lost many of those points of interest which it now possesses: had she remained entirely Gothic, instead of standing forth

above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, while the other nations of Europe were sunk in ignorance, she might have been but now emerging from the womb of barbarism, and struggling into intellectual existence.

Without attempting to determine exactly what peculiarities the Spanish character possessed before the change which the Arabian invasion produced, we shall briefly analyse its features when the two component parts had been in some measure blended together. Few features of the Spanish character are more prominent than their excessive national and family pride. Both these are noble and generous emotions. National pride is the best security for national honour, and the pride of birth, regulated by judgment, may lead to the most beneficial results. The advocates of universal equality may ask with the sneer of Juvenal, "Stemmata quid faciunt?" but the dispassionate reasoner will readily answer, that the honours which have been handed down through a long and glorious ancestry are regarded by the possessor as a sacred deposit, to be carefully preserved by himself, and again to be transmitted pure and unsullied to his successor. The venerable halls, the storied trophies, and the portraits of his ancestors, are silent yet eloquent monitors, that daily remind him what he owes to his progenitors, to himself, and to his posterity. The family whose proud boast it was that "all the sons were brave, and all the daughters chaste," possessed in this belief a stimulus to virtue, more effectual perhaps than the most striking precepts of morality. Sentiments such as these, carried, as they frequently were, to an extravagant excess, gave rise to a fretful and nervous delicacy on the subject of ho

nour, which rendered an appeal to the sword a matter of daily and hourly occurrence. The Spanish cavalier

was one

que nunca ha recusado Batalla con ningun hombre Que ocasion le huviese dado.

And disposed as they were to catch at every shadow of offence, occasions were seldom wanting. For, however sensitive the Spanish cavalier might be on every point, which, in the most distant affected" the honour of way, his house," he was not, on that account, disposed to be more careful of endangering or injuring that of another. The extreme seclusion in which the Spanish ladies lived, gave rise to a thousand intrigues, plots, romantic adventures, and rencontres, and afforded an open arena for gallantry and duelling. In short, though a special reservation might be made in his own favour, the Spaniard's creed of honour with regard to others seems evidently to have been, that every action was honourable that could be avowed and defended with the sword, and that it was always a sufficient apology for a bad cause to die fighting in its

defence.

Alto morire ogni misfatto ammenda.

But the energy of the Spanish character was not always dissipated in petty quarrels, or exercised only in the inglorious field of nocturnal rencontre. The same spirit which prompted the Spanish cavalier to revenge by the sword an imaginary wrong or personal insult, animated him in defence of the king, his country, and his religion; and those currents of restless valour which overflowed in private and family quarrels, and desolated the land which they should have strengthened and fertilized, were irresistible when united in their proper channel, and turned against a foreign enemy. To be satisfied how universally these sentiments of warlike enthusiasm were diffused among the Spaniards, let us look for a moment to the lives of their poets. The uniform and unvaried tenor of the lives of literary men is a constant complaint of biographers, and yet, as Lord Holland remarks, there are few of the Spanish poets of distinguished

eminence, whose lives do not com pletely contradict the observation. Cervantes lost an arm at the battle of Lepanto. Garcelaso fell fighting at the siege of a fortress in Provence. His contemporary Mendoza was a distinguished general as well as a respectable poet.

Lopé embarked on board the Armada, and abused Sir Francis Drake in consequence. Calderon bore arms in Flanders. Ercilla, celebrated in the Arancana, the battles in which he had himself borne a part, while, like Camoens, "one hand the sword employed, and one the pen." We might easily swell the list, but we must already have sufficiently illustrated our assertion. The jealousy of the Spanish character was intimately connected with their punctilious nicety of honour, and the to effect their purpose, by actually restraint by which they endeavoured increasing the evil, augmented to an had given rise to it. In the warm alarming height the passion which temperature of Spanish character, jealousy attained an unnatural growth and expansion. It struck its roots into the heart, and choaked with its baleful luxuriance the nobler shoots

and blossoms of the soul. It became the universal theme of the poet and the novelist, the primum mobile of the stage, and the national feature by which Spain was best known to other nations. We shall have occasion, however, to advert more particularly to this point in considering the use which has been made of the passion of jealousy by the poets of the Spanish theatre.

With these discordant passions, religion was most strangely and unaccountably blended. Fallen from its native purity, and debased by superstitions, it harmonized with all, and became the alternate engine of good and evil; at one time animating the mind to the most generous actions, at another affording a specious pretext and a ready excuse for all that could debase or dishonour humanity. It mingled with the common concerns of life, with business, amusement, or intrigue. Every one knows the effect of the tolling of the vesper bell at Madrid. The loungers on the Prado, and even the actors on the stage, stop, uncover, and pray, or appear to pray for a few minutes: But the re

ligious effect of this ceremony, if any effect be produced by it, is as momentary, as the empty sound that causes it. Business and pleasure resume their respective rounds as before, and the assignation which this interruption may have broken off, is renewed before the "squilla de lontano" has ceased. This is but one instance, but many will occur to every one in the least acquainted with Spain and its inhabitants. It was this union of the externals of devotion with every petty incident, and every passion, good or bad, that induced a traveller to remark with severity, but, at the same time, with some truth, that he knew no nation that had the name of God so much in their mouths, or so little in their hearts, as the Spaniards.

In thus analysing the leading features of Spanish character, we have, according to the remark with which we set out, been describing the materiel of the Spanish theatre, and the manners and passions which it represents; for the extreme nationality of the Spanish theatre rendered the emotions exhibited on the stage a most literal and correct transcript of those which were felt and acted upon in real life. In particular, nothing can excel the truth and dramatic effect with which the passion of jealousy, the glow of chivalrous loyalty, and the pride of birth, have been transferred to the stage, and clothed in the graces of poetic eloquence. The unvarying regularity with which the former of these feelings is brought forward, may, however, appear a little revolting to the foreign reader. Jealousy, as Lord Holland remarks in his Life of Lopé, is introduced to palliate any enormity, or account for every absurdity. It is the engine by which the complicated machinery of the Spanish drama is almost invaria bly set in motion. That this passion is powerfully dramatic, will be readily admitted, but, at the same time, there are few more likely to pall upon the mind. Every change and gradation of jealousy has been anatomized by Lope, and the succeeding writers under the Philips, but yet with such a sameness and monotony in point of effect, as must lead every one, save a Spaniard, to wish that the services of

the green-eyed monster" had been less frequently called into action. The

VOL. IX.

circumstances, too, by which it is aroused are in general so very trivial, as to prevent the least pity for the sufferings it occasions, and even to communicate an air of the ludicrous to the everlasting

Muriendo estoy de zelos,

which is the whining complaint of every Spanish lover.

The enthusiastic loyalty of the Spanish character, as exhibited by their dramatists, will perhaps appear to a foreigner as exaggerated as their representations of jealousy. It is represented as paramount to every consideration, as suppressing the strongest feelings of our nature, and even leading the innocent to the commission of crime. In the "Estrella de Sevilla," the chief interest arises from the situation of Sancho Ortiz, who is informed by the king, that he had received a personal insult, and requested to revenge his quarrel. Sancho swears to do so instantly, and the king delivers to him a sealed paper containing the name of his enemy. On opening the letter, he finds that it contains the name of Bustos Tabera, his most intimate friend, and the brother of his intended wife. Though distracted by love and friendship, loyalty at last prevails, and he comes to the resolution of sacrificing every feeling to the duty he owes to his sovereign.

El rey no puede mentir
No-que es imagen de Dios.
Bustos, habeis de morir.

No se, si es injusto el rey
Es obedecerle ley,

Si lo es, Dios le castigue.

Lopé, Estrella de Sevilla, Act. I.
Esc. 8.

The Spanish writers have been emi◄ nently successful in the noble sallies of national and family pride, with which their drama abounds. It must be confessed, that some of these effusions overstep the thin partition which divides the sublime from the ridicu lous; but in general there is something extremely imposing in the orientalism of their addresses to each other, recounting their array of trophies and titles, and in the exalted sentiments of honour by which they are accompanied.

Generoso Don Ramon
Conde de Monforte invicto;

T

"

Pero en Galicia, Senores
Es la gente tan hidalga,
Que solo en servir al rico
El que es pobre no le iguala.

Jorn. I.

The Spanish poets have, in this instance, had the good sense to make even their failings lean to virtue's side," for an appeal to the pride and native honour of their characters is almost never represented as unsuccessful. In the" Por la Puente Juana," the Marquis of Villena, after exerting every art to get Juana into his power, when on the point of success, is at once disarmed by the energetic appeal which concludes her address. Alluding to the means by which he had succeeded in carrying her off to a small island in the Tagus,

she says,

Entré en la Barca, esta tarde,
Confianza peligrosa,
Pero justa, en la nobleza
De vuestra persona heroyca,
Que no ha de degenerar
De sus magnanimas obras
Sino ayudarme a cobrar
Como quien es, honra y gloria
De Girones y Pachecos,
Mi ser-mi vida, y mi honra---
Por titulo-por senor
Por grande por hombre sobra
Pues soy muger, y ¡nuger
Que os ha contado su historia.

Lopé, Por la Puente Juana,

Jor. 111. Esc. 20.

The bustling activity of the passions and manners from which the Spanish writers drew the materials of their dramas, has evidently communicated to their theatre that complexity of plot, and that negligence in delineating individual character, by which it is distinguished. Lopé and Calderon, who wrote with the facility, and frequently with the carelessness of improvisatori, found that, with such ample materials before them, it was much easier to invent new incidents, or to vary old ones, than to form a new conception of character, which was a work of patient study and observation. Accordingly, the nobler task of painting character has been almost completely neglected by the Spanish dramatists: And if the decline of the old school, and the introduction of the French taste under Yriarte and Moratin, was productive of the least benefit to the Spanish theatre, it was in the additional prominence which it gave to character. But if the Spanish writers have not chosen the better path, they are without a rival in that walk to which they have confined themselves. No dramatic authors have ever equalled them in the variety and novelty of their incidents, in the contrivance of interesting situations and coups de theatre, in the progression of interest with which they hurry the reader from scene to scene, in the ease and nature with which their underplots fall into the stream of the main action, and in the grace and happiness of their denouements. Some complain that this complication of plot is carried to such a degree, as frequently to render the piece confused and unintelligible. We must not, however, in this instance, judge by our own feelings. The Spanish dramatists wrote for ted by all who have visited Spain, their countrymen, and it is admitthat the Spaniards possess an incredible acuteness and facility in follow