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state of the Italian national comedy, enjoyed an extensive intercourse with Italy, from its Neapolitan connexion,) in its Captain Fuego y Sangre; in short, as any new feature of national character became prominent in any of the Italian provinces, it immediately found a representative in some of those comic masks which composed the personages of the national drama; and thus, although the movements of each character, in its leading features, were, like those of pieces at chess, chalked out beforehand and invariable, yet, from their power of combination and contrast, and from the variety and point which might be given to the dialogue, by actors of ability and imagination, such as the Colalti, Zanoni, Fiorelli, Sacchi, and others, this unique and carnivalesque drama never failed, before the time of Goldoni, to fill the theatres, and to form the delight of an Italian audience.

Goldoni himself, had, at the outset of his career, been well aware of the capabilities of the Italian masks, and had frequently written dramas in which they were introduced; though, in general, by tracing out minutely for them beforehand the whole turn of the dialogue, he deprived the national comedy of what was at once its most remarkable feature, and its peculiar attraction, -the improvisation which made every actor at once a poet as well as a player. Latterly, however, as the imitation of French models became more and more visible in his manner, the hapless masks were gradually laid aside; the crowds which had once flocked to witness, with shouts of laughter, the bêtises of Arlequin, or the jokes of Truffaldino, now sat, as Wordsworth mildly says, "all silent and all damned," during the representation of the Donna di Garbo; and the Sacchi Company at Venice, at that time the most celebrated performers of the masked drama, found, with infinite annoyance both to their purse and feelings, their occupation gone.

crowded theatres, as proof of their superior talent,-to revive the taste for a species of scenic representation, which he justly considered as the most original and characteristic which Italy possessed, to pave the way for the introduction of those more poetical views which he himself entertained of the objects of the Drama, by exposing the trivial, vulgar, and prosaic nature of that which they had been taught to believe so classical and so ingenious; and, at the same time, to rescue from poverty and distress a deserving body of men, who had embarked their all in that very national comedy which had been thus suddenly discountenanced and superseded. He accordingly presented them with a dramatic sketch under the title of the Loves of the Three Oranges-in which he had attempted to unite, as much as possible, their different views.

Charity, good taste, and personal feeling, therefore, combined to enlist Count Gozzi in their behalf. He wished to humble a little the pride of the present dictators of the Venetian stage,-Chiari and Goldoni, -who triumphantly pointed to their

When Gozzi's new piece was first advertised by the Sacchi Company, his well-known reputation for talent and satirical humour, secured a brilliant and numerous attendance at the theatre of St Samuel, then the residence of the company. Many were probably aware that some satirical explosion lurked under this whimsical title. Some came to witness a bona fide nursery tale, others to see what a man of talent could possibly make of a theme so extravagant and incomprehensible. The curtain rose to soft music; a prologue directed against the weak points of his opponents, put the audience upon the proper scent, and this strange capriccio, which had formed the subject of conversation in Venice for weeks before, commenced. The King of Diamonds, dressed like his prototype upon a pack of cards, was discovered in deep conversation with his prime minister Pantalon, (the time-honoured Pantaloon of the Masked Comedy,) on the critical condition of his son Tarlaglia, who had fallen into a state of incurable melancholy. A thousand specifics are suggested by Pantalon, each embodying some piece of satire against some noted Venetian quack,-but all in vain. He even ventures to insinuate some hints as to the possibility of the Prince's malady being owing to the youthful indiscretions of the monarch himself, though his majesty imme

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diately reprobates the idea" in some spirited sentences, in which he vindicates his conjugal fidelity, and general correctness of deportment. He assures Pantalon, that his son's malady is mental, not corporeal, and that his only chance of recovery consists in his being induced, by some device or other, to enjoy a hearty laugh-a consummation of which he began to despair. Pantalon endeavours to console him, advises him to have recourse to Truffaldino, an experienced practitioner in the art of laughter, and recommends a course of festivals, tournaments, plays, and other expedients, as the only means of combating the fatal melancholy of the heir-apparent.

Meantime, a counterplot, in which the leading actors are Clarice, the niece of the King of Diamonds, and Leander, the Knave of Diamonds, and prime minister, is maturing, the object of which is to poison the unfortunate prince with a course of Alexandrine verses, to make way for Leander, to whom Clarice is attached. In this detestable scheme they are abetted by the Fairy Morgana, who hates the King of Diamonds on account of the monies she has lost upon his painted Image, but favours the Knave, because by means of him she had partly recovered her losses. The news of the arrival of Truffaldino (the representative of the Masked Comedy) strikes the conspirators with dismay; but learning that he has been supposed to be sent by the Magician Celio, (the representative of Goldoni,) they console themselves by thinking, that by forming a coalition with him, they may put an end entirely to the formidably comic powers of Truffaldino.

The scene changes to the chamber of the invalid. The unfortunate Prince of Diamonds was discovered seated in an arm-chair, attired in the most extraordinary raiment, and with an array of phials, ointments, pills, boluses, draughts and spit-boxes spread before him in most admired disorder. He lamented, in mock-pathetic strains, filled with the most ludicrous technicalities, his wretched situation, when Truffaldino was introduced for the purpose of making the first experiment on his risible muscles. A scene, entirely all' improvista, which, if it did not produce the proper effect

upon the Prince, at least convulsed the audience with laughter, followed. Truffaldino, by smelling to the Prince's breath, at once discovers the odour of the undigested Alexandrines, which he had been feloniously induced to swallow. The Prince is seized with a cough-a copious expectoration follows. Truffaldino examines the contents of the vesseland detects, beyond all doubt, a quantity of semiputrescent Alexandrines in a most offensive state. The main cause of the Prince's disorder is now evident; ointments, boxes, and phials, are forthwith thrown out of the windows, and Truffaldino laying hands on the indolent and unresisting Prince, drags him away, almost by force, to witness the scene of gaiety which the King has arranged as a specific for his cure.

The Prince is placed on a balcony to witness the various spectacles in the court below; masks of all sorts, some ludicrous, some melancholy, are seen moving about, performing the most extraordinary antics, under the direction of Truffaldino. Among others, the fairy Morgana has found admittance under the disguise of a hideous old woman, with a view to destroy the Prince on the spot by some new attack of melancholy. The gambols of Truffaldino's troop are in vain; the Prince weeps, and desires to be put to bed. At last a mimic scuffle takes place among the populace, round the two fountains in the court, one of which discharges oil, and the other wine; and in the course of this contest, Morgana, in the character of the old woman, is suddenly overturned in a position so ludicrous, that the Prince, to the delight of the court, bursts out into a fit of laughter. Morgana rises, and copying exactly the style of Chiari, discharges on the head of the Prince some bombastic stanzas, of which the import is, that the Prince is condemned to fall in love with three oranges, and his life to be spent in their acquisition.

The remainder of the piece, in almost every scene of which some of the weak points of Chiari or Goldoni were exposed, followed, in its general outline, the fairy tale from which Gozzi had taken the hint of the piece. It would be useless to analyze a series of prodigies, mingled with the most whimsical caricatures and allusions

to passing events; it is sufficient to observe, that the deep attention and delight with which the audience listened to the fairy wonders of the tale, satisfied Gozzi that he had not overrated their natural sensibility to a style of poetry, in which imagination, rather than prosaic pictures of actual manners, should be the leading feature.

Venice in the meantime was in an uproar. The partisans of Chiari and of Goldoni united in abusive attacks on the Count through the newspapers. Goldoni himself, unable to bear "the deep damnation of his taking off," began to think of taking himself off, on pretence of reforming the Italian opera at Paris-a project which the continued and increasing success of Gozzi's pieces, soon after induced him to carry into effect. The next of Gozzi's Dramatic Fables (Fiabe Teatrali), shewed that he did not require the art of satirical allusions, to excite a deep and general interest. It was called Il Corvo, (The Raven,) the hint being taken from a tale in the well-known Neapolitan Collection, the Pentamerone. The Loves of the Oranges had been a mere outline, no part of it being written except the burlesque verses and parodies occasionally uttered by the representatives of the Abate or the Advocate; but on this occasion, the whole of the tragic scenes, and the greater part of the comic, were composed and written out with care. Fraternal love is the mainspring of the piece; one brother, to avert a fatal prediction from the other, submits to be suspected by him, imprisoned, and at last turned into a living statue. Out of this subject Gozzi has produced a piece of the most vivid interest, transporting the reader,with the magic of genius, into those imaginary regions of Frattombrosa where the scene is laid, and making the most improbable marvels springs of emotion, curiosity, and pity. He now shewed that the mind so acutely alive to the ludicrous, was not less master of the pathetic and impassioned; and that, while he could display, with all the comic talent of Ruzante, the capabilities of the masks, he could, with equal ease, eclipse the Maffeis and Ruccellais in the more regular and serious drama.

But Gozzi was annoyed to hear

it constantly reiterated by the gentlemen of the press that the secret of his success lay in his fairy pa geantry; in his speaking ravens, his men transformed into statues, his statues into men; and that, without the aid of the supernatural machinery, he would find himself unable to sustain the interest of a dramatic piece. This led him to select from the Persian Tales the story of the Princess of China, who imposes on her suitors the necessity of solving three riddles as the condition of obtaining her hand-the disagreeable alternative, in case of failure, being that the unsuccessful candidate was to atone for his presumption with his head. The Count, however, in his preface, is rather too anxious to magnify the difficulties of his task, by representing the fable as one affording in itself little materials for tragic interest. "Three riddles and two names," says he," are but a slender basis for a theatrical work, which was to engage for three hours the serious attention of a cultivated audience." A squabble about a pound of flesh, and a lottery-drawing scene at Belmont, it might as well be said, are but slender materials for a tragedy. Gozzi should have remembered that life and love depend on the solution of those riddles, as they do on the bargain for the pound of flesh, or the choice of the caskets. The truth is, the story, as every one must recollect, is highly dramatic, stimulates curiosity in the highest degree, and by its graceful close satisfies every condition of a well-constructed plot. We have accordingly selected this as the fable most likely to interest our readers, and give an idea of Gozzi's dramatic talent. As such it appeared to Schiller, who has translated it for the German stage, occasionally shortening and improving the dialogue, which, from the rapidity of the Count's composition, and a certain diffuseness into which the fatal facility of the Italian iambics is apt to lead, is frequently marked by a great degree of carelessness and want of condensation.

The piece opens before the gate of Pekin, above which are seen grimly frowning the heads of the unfortunate suitors of Turandot, who have already unsuccessfully at

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dot; and at last his own arrival at Pekin, after having procured an asylum for his parents at the court of the king of Barlas. He comes determined to win fortune and rank in the service of the Emperor, or to die. He has heard of the beauty and cruelty of Turandot, but at first disbelieves the tale. His doubts, however, are suddenly put an end to by the appearance of Ismael, the governor of the young Prince of Samarcand, who enters, weeping, to announce that his young master, like his predecessors, had this instant suffered the penalty of his imprudence.

Gozzi's Turandot.

1833.]

tempted to solve the riddles. Calaf,
the son of the king of Astracan, en-
ters, and is recognised by Barak, the
former prime minister of his father.
He relates to Barak his misfortunes
since the sudden invasion of Astra-
can had compelled him to fly with
his father, Timur, and his mother,
Elmaze; his temporary residence in
a menial capacity at the court of
Cheicobad, king of the Saracens, in
order to procure a miserable sub-
sistence for his parents; the attach-
ment formed for him by Adelma, the
daughter of Cheicobad; the defeat
of Cheicobad, and supposed death of
Adelina, by order of Altoum, Em-
peror of China, and father of Turan-

SCENE II.

ISMAEL. CALAF.-BARAK.

Ismael (stretches out his hand to Barak, weeping bitterly.)
'Tis done the stroke of death hath fallen. Oh! why
Fell it not rather on this useless head!

Barak. Merciful Heaven!-But why permit the Prince
To tempt his doom in that unblest divan?

Ismael. Think'st thou my misery needs this new reproach?
Had I not warned, implored, and struggled with him

As duty dictated, as love inspired?

In vain-my friendly voice no more was heeded,
His evil destiny impelled him on.

Barak. O calm thyself!

Ismael. Calm! sayest thou? Never! never!
Barak, I've seen him die. I stood beside him,
I caught the glance of his last living look,
I heard his latest parting words, that pierced
Like pointed daggers deep into my heart.
"Weep not," said he, " death hath no terrors for me,
Since life denies me her I loved so well.

My father will forgive me that I left him
Without the comfort of a last embrace.

It could not be. He never would have granted

His sanction to my deadly pilgrimage.
But shew him this."

[He draws a small miniature by a riband from his breast. "When he beholds its beauty,

His heart will pity and forgive his son."
With burning kisses and with sobs deep drawn,
He pressed the hateful picture to his lips,
As if he could not quit it even in death;
Then down he knelt, and at a blow-the thought
Curdles the very lifeblood in my bones-

I saw the blood spout forth, the trunk fall down,
The dear head quiver in the headsman's hand ;-
In horror and despair I rushed away.

-

[Dashes the picture with indignation on the ground.
Thou baleful image, curses rest upon thee!
Lie there, and be thou trodden into dust.
O could I trample on the original,
The tiger-hearted, as I do on thee!
Why did I ever bring thee to my king!

No!-Samarcand shall see my face no more.
I'll hie me to the wilderness, and there,
Beyond the reach of human ear or eye,
Bewail my much-loved prince's early doom.
SCENE III.

CALAF and BARAK.

Barak (after a pause.)

Well, Prince, thou hast heard the tale.

Calaf
I stand at once
Struck dumb with wonder, horror, and confusion.
How can this senseless image, the creation
Of human hands, work with such magic spell?
[Goes to lift up the miniature.

Barak (hurrying to prevent him.)
Great Gods! what wouldst thou do?

Calaf (smiling.) Nothing, but lift
A picture from the ground. I would but look
On this same murderous beauty.

Hold off, I say, old man, thou troublest me.

[Stretches towards the miniature, and lifts it up.
Barak (holding him back.) Hold thy hand!
Better to gaze into Medusa's face,
Than look upon this deadly countenance.
Away! away with it! It shall not be.

Calaf. Art in thy senses? If thou feel'st so weak,
Not such am I. No woman's charms have e'er
Had power to touch mine eye, far less my heart.
Well then-if living beauty failed to move me,
What from a lifeless painting should I fear?
Barak, thy fears are folly, sadder things
Lie nearer Calaf's heart than thoughts of love.
[Is about to look at the miniature.
Barak. O yet, my prince, I warn thee, do it not.
Calaf (impatiently.)

What do I see?

Barak (wringing his hands in despair.)
Woe's me- -O wretched chance!

Calaf (seizing him hastily by the hand.) Barak!
Barak Bear witness,

[Draws him back, gazes at the miniature, and stands
fixed in astonishment. After a pause,

Ye gods, for me-I, I am not to blame.
Bear witness that I could not hinder this.

Calaf. O Barak! in these gentle dovelike eyes, In this sweet form, these softly speaking features, The savage heart thou speak'st of cannot dwell.

[Exit.

Barak. Unhappy prince, what say'st thou? fairer far
A thousand times than aught this picture shews,
Is Turandot herself; her beauty's bloom
Could never mortal colours counterfeit;
Even so, her pride and cruelty of heart,
No mortal tongue or language can proclaim.
O cast it from thee, this accursed picture,
Away with it—let not thine eye drink in
The deadly poison of its murderous look.

Calaf. Hold off! thou seek'st to startle me in vain.
Celestial grace-O warm and glowing lips!
Eyes bright as love's own goddess wears! What heaven
To call this paragon of charms my own!

[He stands for a moment lost in contemplation of the miniature,
then turns suddenly to Barak, and grasps his hand.

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