When Martha the nun returns, having prepared all things for her elopement, she finds Don Juan fainting upon the ground.--"I am no longer your husband," says he, upon coming to himself; "I am no longer Don Juan; I am Brother Juan the Trappist.Sister Martha, recollect that you must die!"This was a most cruel blow upon Sister Martha, who is no less a person than an angel, an angel in disguise--the good spirit of the house of Marana, who has gone to the length of losing her wings and forfeiting her place in heaven, in order to keep company with Don Juan on earth, and, if possible, to convert him.Already, in her angelic character, she had exhorted him to repentance, but in vain;for, while she stood at one elbow, pouring not merely hints, but long sermons, into his ear, at the other elbow stood a bad spirit, grinning and sneering at all her pious counsels, and obtaining by far the greater share of the Don's attention.
In spite, however, of the utter contempt with which Don Juan treats her,--in spite of his dissolute courses, which must shock her virtue,--and his impolite neglect, which must wound her vanity, the poor creature (who, from having been accustomed to better company, might have been presumed to have had better taste), the unfortunate angel feels a certain inclination for the Don, and actually flies up to heaven to ask permission to remain with him on earth.
And when the curtain draws up, to the sound of harps, and discovers white-robed angels walking in the clouds, we find the angel of Marana upon her knees, uttering the following address:--LE BON ANGE.
Vierge, a qui le calice a la liqueur amere Fut si souvent offert, Mere, que l'on nomma la douloureuse mere, Tant vous avez souffert!
Vous, dont les yeux divins sur la terre des hommes Ont verse plus de pleurs Que vos pieds n'ont depuis, dans le ciel ou nous sommes, Fait eclore de fleurs.
Vase d'election, etoile matinale, Miroir de purete, Vous qui priez pour nous, d'une voix virginale, La supreme bonte;A mon tour, aujourd'hui, bienheureuse Marie, Je tombe a vos genoux;Daignez donc m'ecouter, car c'est vous que je prie, Vous qui priez pour nous.
Which may be thus interpreted:--
O Virgin blest! by whom the bitter draught So often has been quaffed, That, for thy sorrow, thou art named by us The Mother Dolorous!
Thou, from whose eyes have fallen more tears of woe, Upon the earth below, Than 'neath thy footsteps, in this heaven of ours, Have risen flowers!
O beaming morning star! O chosen vase!
O mirror of all grace!
Who, with thy virgin voice, dost ever pray Man's sins away;Bend down thine ear, and list, O blessed saint!
Unto my sad complaint;
Mother! to thee I kneel, on thee I call, Who hearest all.
She proceeds to request that she may be allowed to return to earth, and follow the fortunes of Don Juan; and, as there is one difficulty, or, to use her own words,--Mais, comme vous savez qu'aux voutes eternelles, Malgre moi, tend mon vol, Soufflez sur mon etoile et detachez mes ailes, Pour m'enchainer au sol;her request is granted, her star is BLOWN OUT (O poetic allusion!)and she descends to earth to love, and to go mad, and to die for Don Juan!
The reader will require no further explanation, in order to be satisfied as to the moral of this play: but is it not a very bitter satire upon the country, which calls itself the politest nation in the world, that the incidents, the indecency, the coarse blasphemy, and the vulgar wit of this piece, should find admirers among the public, and procure reputation for the author? Could not the Government, which has re-established, in a manner, the theatrical censorship, and forbids or alters plays which touch on politics, exert the same guardianship over public morals? The honest English reader, who has a faith in his clergyman, and is a regular attendant at Sunday worship, will not be a little surprised at the march of intellect among our neighbors across the Channel, and at the kind of consideration in which they hold their religion.Here is a man who seizes upon saints and angels, merely to put sentiments in their mouths which might suit a nymph of Drury Lane.He shows heaven, in order that he may carry debauch into it; and avails himself of the most sacred and sublime parts of our creed as a vehicle for a scene-painter's skill, or an occasion for a handsome actress to wear a new dress.
M.Dumas's piece of "Kean" is not quite so sublime; it was brought out by the author as a satire upon the French critics, who, to their credit be it spoken, had generally attacked him, and was intended by him, and received by the public, as a faithful portraiture of English manners.As such, it merits special observation and praise.In the first act you find a Countess and an Ambassadress, whose conversation relates purely to the great actor.All the ladies in London are in love with him, especially the two present.As for the Ambassadress, she prefers him to her husband (a matter of course in all French plays), and to a more seducing person still--no less a person than the Prince of Wales!
who presently waits on the ladies, and joins in their conversation concerning Kean."This man," says his Royal Highness, "is the very pink of fashion.Brummell is nobody when compared to him; and Imyself only an insignificant private gentleman.He has a reputation among ladies, for which I sigh in vain; and spends an income twice as great as mine." This admirable historic touch at once paints the actor and the Prince; the estimation in which the one was held, and the modest economy for which the other was so notorious.
