"I am exceedingly interested in the question of whether this attempt of mine will succeed or not. I am strongly inclined to the affirmative at present; founding my hopes on this-that, as a composition, it is certainly not inferior to any of the modern plays that have been acted, with the exception of Remorse; that the interest of the plot is incredibly greater and more real; and that there is nothing beyond what the multitude are contented to believe that they can understand, either in imagery, opinion, or sentiment. I wish to preserve a complete incognito, and can trust to you that, whatever else you do, you will at least favour me on this point. Indeed, this is essential, deeply essential, to its success. After had been acted, and successfully (could hope for such a thing), I would own.it if I pleased, and use the celebrity it might acquire to my own purposes. "What I want you to do is to procure for me its presentation at Covent Garden. The principal character, Beatrice, is precisely fitted for Miss O'Neil, and it might even seem to have been written for her (God forbid that I should see her play it-it would tear my nerves to pieces); and in all respects it is fitted only for Covent Garden. The chief male character I confess I should be very unwilling that any one but Kean should play. That is impossible, and I must be contented with an inferior actor.' " The play was accordingly sent to Mr. Harris. He pronounced the subject to be so objectionable that he could not even submit the part to Miss O'Neil for perusal, but expressed his desire that the author would write a tragedy on some other subject, which he would gladly accept. Shelley printed a small edition at Leghorn, to ensure its correctness; as he was much annoyed by the many mistakes that crept into his text when distance prevented him from correcting the press. Universal approbation soon stamped The Cenci as the best tragedy of modern times. Writing concerning it, Shelley said: "I have been cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful composition; diffuseness, a profusion of inapplicable imagery, vagueness, generality, and, as Hamlet says, words, words." There is nothing that is not purely dramatic throughout; and the character of Beatrice, proceeding, from vehement struggle, to horror, to deadly resolution, and lastly to the elevated dignity of calm suffering, joined to passionate tenderness and pathos, is touched with hues so vivid and so beautiful that the poet seems to have read intimately the secrets of the noble heart imaged in the lovely countenance of the unfortunate girl. The Fifth Act is a masterpiece. It is the finest thing he ever wrote, and may claim proud comparison not only with any contemporary, but preceding, poet. The varying feelings of Beatrice are expressed with passionate, heart-reaching eloquence. Every character has a voice that echoes truth in its tones. It is curious, to one acquainted with the written story, to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes, and yet, through the power of poetry, has obliterated all that would otherwise have shown too harsh or too hideous in the picture. His success was a double triumph; and often after he was earnestly entreated to write again in a style that commanded popular favour, while it was not less instinct with truth and genius. But the bent of his mind went the other way; and, even when employed on subjects whose interest depended on character and incident, he would start off in another direction, and leave the delineations of human passion, which he could depict in so able a manner, for fantastic creations of his fancy, or the expression of those opinions and sentiments, with regard to human nature and its destiny, a desire to diffuse which was the master passion of his soul. PETER BELL THE THIRD-DEDICATION. 227 PETER BELL THE THIRD. BY MICHING MALLECHO ESQ. Is it a party in a parlour, Crammed just as they on earth were crammed, But, as you by their faces see, All silent, and all-damned? OPHELIA.-What means this, my lord? Peter Bell, by W. WORDSWOrth. HAMLET.-Marry, this is Miching Mallecho; it means mischief. SHAKESPEARE. DEDICATION. TO THOMAS BROWN ESQ., THE YOUNGER, H.F. DEAR TOM,-Allow me to request you to introduce Mr. Peter Bell to the respectable family of the Fudges. Although he may fall short of those very considerable personages in the more active properties which characterize the Rat and the Apostate, I suspect that even you, their historian, will confess that he surpasses them in the more peculiarly legitimate qualification of intolerable dullness. You know Mr. Examiner Hunt; well-it was he who presented me to two of the Mr. Bells. My intimacy with the younger Mr. Bell naturally sprung from this introduction to his brothers. And, in presenting him to you, I have the satisfaction of being able to assure you that he is considerably the dullest of the three. There is this particular advantage in an acquaintance with any one of the Peter Bells-that, if you know one Peter Bell, you know three Peter Bells: they are not one, but three; not three, but one. An awful mystery, which, after having caused torrents of blood, and having been hymned by groans enough to deafen the music of the spheres, is at length illustrated, to the satisfaction of all parties in the theological world, by the nature of Mr. Peter Bell. Peter is a polyhedric Peter, or a Peter with many sides. He changes colours like a chameleon, and his coat like a snake. He is a Proteus of a Peter. He was at first sublime, pathetic, impressive, profound; then dull; then prosy and dull; and now dull-oh so very dull! it is an ultra-legitimate dullness. " You will perceive that it is not necessary to consider Hell and the Devil as supernatural machinery. The whole scene of my epic is in this world, which is" so Peter informed us before his conversion to White Obi- "the world of all of us, and where Let me observe that I have spent six or seven days in composing this subline piece; the orb of my moonlight genius has made the fourth part of its revolution round the dull earth which you inhabit, driving you mad, while it has retained its calmness and its splendour, and I have been fitting this its last phase "to occupy a permanent station in the literature of my country." Your works, indeed, dear Tom, sell better; but mine are far superior. public is no judge; posterity sets all to rights. The Allow me to observe that so much has been written of Peter Bell that the present history can be considered only, like the Iliad, as a continuation of that series of cyclic poems which have already been candidates for bestowing immortality upon, at the same time that they receive it from, his character and adventures. In this point of view, I have violated no rule of syntax in beginning my composition with a conjunction; the full stop which closes the poem continued by me being, like the full stops at the end of the Iliad and Odysssy, a full stop of a very qualified import. Hoping that the immortality which you have given to the Fudges you will receive from them; and in the firm expectation that when London shall be an habitation of bitterns; when St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins, in the midst of an unpeopled marsh; when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream; some transatlantic commentator will be weighing, in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism, the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges, and their historians, December 1, 1819. I remain, dear Tom, MICHING MALLECHO. P.S.-Pray excuse the date of place; so soon as the profits of the publication come in, I mean to hire lodgings in a more respectable street. PROLOGUE. PETER BELLS, one, two, and three, Wrapped in weeds of the same metre, As the mean of two extremes (This was learnt from Aldrich's themes)— Shielding from the guilt of schism The orthodoxal syllogism; The first Peter-he who was Like the shadow in the glass Of the second, yet unripe, His substantial antitype.— Then came Peter Bell the Second, Who henceforward must be reckoned And that portion of the whole Without which the rest would seem Ends of a disjointed dream. And the Third is he who has O'er the grave been forced to pass Peter Bell the First was Peter Damned since our first parents fell, Damned eternally to Hell Surely he deserves it well! PART I.-DEATH. I. AND Peter Bell, when he had been With fresh-imported hell-fire warmed, Grew serious-from his dress and mien 'Twas very plainly to be seen Peter was quite reformed. II. His eyes turned up, his mouth turned down; He oiled his hair; there might be heard Which Peter said or sang. III. But Peter now grew old, and had An ill no doctor could unravel; His torments almost drove him mad ;- Some swore it was the gravel. IV. His holy friends then came about, And with long preaching and persuasion Convinced the patient that, without The smallest shadow of a doubt, He was predestined to damnation. V. They said: “Thy name is Peter Bell, VI. Then Peter set up such a yell!— The nurse, who with some water-gruel Was climbing up the stairs as well As her old legs could climb them, fell, And broke them both--the fall was cruel. |