obtain some assistance to throw the body into the Thames; as if it had not been safer and easier to do it without a witness. In the meanwhile, Gilbert the carver arrives-the stranger has just life enough left to tell him, in two words, Jane's story-the name of his assassin-and to point where the packet of documents is to be found. The Jew expires-Fabiani returns, and, by terrifying Gilbert with the prospect of being himself accused of the murder, he induces him to help to throw the corpse into the river. He offers Gilbert a sum of money, which, after a moment's consideration, he accepts-Fabiani then tells him, with an insolent candour, that Jane is his mistress-and that he has come to pass the night with her. Gilbert, enraged, announces that he himself is Jane's betrothed-that he knows that the supposed Sir Amyas Powlet is really Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil-and they part with mutual menaces. In the meanwhile, arrives on the scene one Simond Renard, the minister at the British court of Philip of Spain. He is at the head of a plot to overthrow Fabiani, and thinks that Gilbert will be a useful instrument. He finds Gilbert still boiling with indignation, and vowing that he would give his life to be revenged of Lord Clanbrassil-Renard takes him literally at his word, and they strike a bargain that Gilbert's life is to be at Renard's disposal, and that Renard is to avenge Gilbert's wrongs on Lord Clanbrassil. In pursuance of this object, Renard has Jane seized and conveyed to court, whither Gilbert is also brought. Now, the queen is madly fond, and of course rigorously jealous of Fabiani: her whole desire is to be loved in return -sincerely, intensely-not as a queen, but as a woman-Renard has only to tell her of her ungrateful favourite's intrigue with Jane to ruin him; and the queen immediately prepares her schemes of vengeance. She knows that she cannot condemn a man to death for seducing a young woman, but she hits upon another deviceshe causes Gilbert and Jane to be brought before her. Gilbert acquaints her majesty with Jane's birth, which the queen instantly recognizes, and promises to restore her father's estates, but, in return, she has something so ask of Gilbert-only his life. Gilbert, who had already promised the said life to Renard on one condition, now sells it to the queen on another—namely, that her majesty should swear, on her sceptre and the holy evangelists, to grant him whatever boon he may ask-she swears- -Gilbert's magnanimous request is, that Fabiani may be obliged to make an honest woman of Jane by lawful wedlock. The queen exclaims that he is mad—that she entered into the engagement in the idea that Gilbert wanted to punish Fabiani, and that, lo! on the contrary, he asks for him the greatest possible favour-a beautiful, noble, and wealthy wife. Gilbert insists-Mary is obstinate Gilbert Gilbert invokes the sanctity of the oath of the Queen and the Christian; at last Mary says, 'what if he refuses her?' 'In that case,' replies Gilbert, we are quits'—and so the bargain is ratified. And now her Majesty announces how she means to employ Gilbert's life, which he has placed at her disposal. Gilbert is to raise a poniard at the royal breast-she is to cry out-the guards are to rush inshe is to accuse him of attempting to assassinate her-Gilbert is to confess the crime, and to accuse Fabiani of having instigated him-and both are to be tried and executed for high treason. This happy and probable scheme is carried into effect:-Fabiani, of course, denies the treason, and accuses Gilbert of perjury; but the latter produces the purse which he had received from Fabiani, and the poniard he holds is the poniard of Fabiani, picked up after the murder of the Jew: this evidence, and Gilbert's oath, leave no doubt; and all parties are about to be committed for trial-when Mary desires that another personage should be introduced our readers might conjecture for ever before they would guess who this personage was no other than the exccutioner! He enters, and the Queen thus addresses him : 'I am glad to see you-you are a good servant-you are old—you have already seen three reigns. It is customary for the sovereigns of this realm to present you, at their accession, with the most magnificent gift in their power.' [This is new to us.] 6 My father, Henry VIII., gave you a diamond clasp from his own cloak-my brother, Edward VI., gave you a cup of wrought gold-'tis now my turnI have as yet given you nothing-I must make you a present. You see that head-(pointing to Fabiani's)—that young and charming head-that head which was only this morning all that I had most beautiful, most dear, most precious in the world-well—that head— you see it don't you?-I give it you.'-Marie Tudor, p. 124. If we were to stop to make comments on this extraordinary piece we should never have done-we therefore proceed with the story. The culprits are tried and condemned. An ordinary English reader does not well see how Fabiani could be condemned on the evidence of Gilbert, tried at the same time, and convicted of the same offence; but M. Hugo knows better, and Lord Chancellor Gardiner pronounces the law as follows:— 'According to the Norman law, and the statute 25 Henry VIII., (sic) in cases of high treason against the person of the sovereign, confession does not save the accomplice; nor has the Queen in such cases the right of pardon-so that you (addressing Gilbert) must die on the scaffold as well as he whom you accuse.'-Marie, p. 130. Fabiani and Gilbert are now sent to close custody in the Tower, but there seems to have been, in those troublesome times, little more difficulty about getting in or out of the Tower of London VOL. LI. NO. CI. than 6 than there is now-a-days. Jane obtains admission by bribing the gaoler with a bracelet. He introduces her into the ante-chamber, upon which the separate dungeons of the two prisoners open. Before we can discover which she comes to save-the favoured lover or the betrothed husband-the Queen enters the same apartmentJane retires behind a pillar-Simon Renard accompanies her Majesty. She comes to save Fabiani-Renard to defeat these intentions. He alleges every reason of duty and policy; but love is the strongest. Renard fails-and retires to excite a sedition, and thus work on the Queen's fears. She calls in the Lieutenant of the Tower and one of the gaolers, and orders them to assist Fabiani to escape-they refuse. She exclaims in agony, 'Is there no one then who will obey me and save Fabiani?'-upon which Jane steps from behind a pillar, and says, Yes, I will.' The Queen, believing that Jane still loves Fabiani and can only have come to the Tower to see him, is delighted, and gives her full powersorders the gaoler (who would not, a moment before, obey herself) to obey Jane, and retires. Jane knows (we cannot guess how) all the intricacies of the Tower-she has the master-keys-she determines that the prisoner shall escape by the Water-gate-but which prisoner ?-To the surprise of the gaoler she opens Gilbert's dungeon-she tells him that he is the man she now loves, is come to save, and will marry! A waterman is then called in-Gilbert is delivered to his guidance-Jane appointing to meet him by-andby under the first arch of London bridge; but as they are going, the Lieutenant whispers the Waterman not to be in any violent hurry. At this moment, the effects of Renard's efforts to excite a sedition become visible, or rather audible—a furious mob surround the Tower, calling for Fabiani's head. The queen inquires if he has yet escaped-the lieutenant answers Not yet.' After a long discussion, Renard induces the queen to allow him to appease the people by a promise that Lord Clanbrassil shall be executed that very evening, one hour after nightfall. The queen, in despair, assails the lieutenant and menaces him with death, if he does not save Fabiani. It seems now less possible than ever, for the mob are in possession of all the avenues of the Tower; but the Lieutenant, afraid for his own head, has a device ;-he goes to the window, recalls the boat in which Gilbert had been sent away, which is not yet out of sight, and resolves—as criminals in England are always executed gagged and covered all over, even down to their toes, with a black impenetrable veil-to substitute Gilbert for Fabiani and so he does; and the dismal procession, with a man in a long black veil, passes over the stage. The people shout, the death bell tolls, all London is illuminated. While Jane, with her joy for Gilbert's escape, mingles a sigh for poor Fabiani-the queen queen rejoins her; congratulates Jane and herself on Fabiani's escape-calls her sister-sister in love! Jane, astonished to hear of the safety of him she had just seen pass to execution, knows not what to think; the queen goes on to tell her that the veiled man is not Fabiani-Who then?'-' Gilbert.'—' Oh, no; thank heaven Gilbert escaped.' 'Yes,' replies the queen; but he was retaken, and substituted for Fabiani.' This was the truth, but not the whole truth. Simon Renard had observed that the veiled man was taller than Fabiani and-before the procession had left the Tower-he contrived, by some unexplained means, to rescue Gilbert and replace Fabiani under the veil. This part of the transaction is involved in such obscurity that it is not till the last two lines of the play that the Queen and Jane, or even the audience, know which of the men has been executed. At last Simon introduces Gilbert alive -announces the death of Fabiani, and exclaims that he has saved the Queen and the kingdom:—and thus finishes a drama―in the preface to which M. Hugo talks of combining the grand with the true and professes to have endeavoured to imitate Shakspeare! We must now turn to M. Dumas. We know not whether we should not have mentioned him first, for M. Hugo has indulged in some very palpable imitations of him. For instance, M. Hugo puts into the mouths of some of his young men in Marion de Lorme, represented in 1831, a criticism on Corneille, and some other writers of the age of Louis XIII., which Dumas had already done in Christine, played in March, 1830. We find also in Christine all the elements which compose Marie Tudor-a jealous, hard-hearted, and hard-headed queen-in love with an Italian adventurer-who has a secret intrigue with a young person; an enemy to the favourite betrays his duplicity to the queen, and becomes the instrument of his execution-the queen, induced to consent to the death of her paramour by the spretæ injuria forma, and repenting of her hasty vengeance, seeks consolation in the company of the seduced girl. The two plays have, in fact, but one plot. This seems to us a very remarkable coincidence-but it is no affair of ours. We have not heard that M. Dumas complains of plagiarism-and we certainly have no right to do so. CHRISTINE is, notwithstanding a few forcible passages, tedious, and was on the whole unsuccessful; but M. Dumas, excited and encouraged by the Revolution of July, of which he was an active partisan, determined to take a still newer line, and instead of looking into history (mythology had died with Voltaire) for subjects, he imagined what we may call a Melpomène bourgeoise, and transplanted the horrors of the family of Atreus and Edipus into the houses of the propriétaires and employés of modern Paris. His first work of this kind-at least the first with which we are acquainted 0 2 acquainted-is ANTONY. Antony is-like Didier and Gennaro, for these gentlemen have no great originality-a bastard and a foundling; but contrives to be received in society, and wins the affections of a certain Miss Adèle; whom, however, he leaves in an unaccountable manner, and she is married to a Colonel d'Hervey. At the expiration of three years, Antony arrives in Paris, and writes a note to request permission, as an old friend, to wait on Madame d'Hervey. She sees the danger of such an interview, and, to avoid it, gets into her sister's carriage, and drives away, leaving her to receive the visiter; but unfortunately. the horses take fright, and run away with the carriage. Antony, coming to pay his visit, sees the danger-rushes forward-stops the horses at the expense of some cuts and bruises-and of course preserves Madame d'Hervey. The accident happening almost at her own door, they are both brought to her house, where his wounds, intentionally exasperated, confine him for some time, and he has an opportunity of reviving old recollections. Again Adèle sees her danger, and wisely resolves to fly to her husband, who is quartered at Strasburg. Antony follows, and soon passes her on the road. He arrives at night-fall at a small inn, within two stages of Strasburg, whence he sends off all the post-horses, and engages the only rooms-Adèle arrives-cannot get forward-is reluctantly forced to stay all night, and is lodged in one of the rooms, which the gentleman, at the request of the landlady, cedes to her. The rooms, however, communicate by a balcony. Here we must call on M. Dumas to tell his own tale : -- (Antony appears on the balcony-opens the window-enters- Adèle. (coming out of a closet where her bed had been prepared.) What noise is that?-A man!-Ah! 'Antony. Silence! (He stops her mouth with a handkerchief.) It is I-Antony! (He forces her into the closet.)' -and the act ends! The inter-act lasts three months. When the curtain rises, we meet at a ball in Paris. Adèle arrives, attended by Antonymuch scandal is whispered round the room-a Madame de Camps talks maliciously of ladies who run away-of nights passed at inns, and so forth-Adèle is overwhelmed with conscious guilt-Antony inquires if Madame de Camps has a husband, a brother, a son; it is clear he would take revenge on them-she, luckily or unluckily, has none-he therefore has no remedy but to insult her in return-and Adèle returns home broken-hearted. Antony follows her, and, knowing from a spy that the husband. is on his way to Paris, endeavours to persuade her to elope—her maternal love for a little daughter, three years old, makes her hesitate |