XLV. A hypocrite seems to be the only perfect character since it embraces the extremes of what human nature is, and of what it would be thought. [To be continued.] ERRATUM in last No. page 157, third line of paragraph xvI. for TABLE TALK. Having, in past numbers, dilated upon the heroines of the novel, we may possibly be indulged with a word or two on the vicissitudes of fashion, in relation to the heroes of the same class of invention, speaking, however, more directly of those of feminine manufacture. Passing over the robust and indelicate creations of Fielding and Smollet, the literary novel leaders for some years past have vibrated between the Lovelace of Richardson and a sort of insipid sentimental man of virtue, like the Lord Orville of Evelina; in reference to whom a lively widow once observed to us, that she somehow or other felt a much greater regard for Sir Clement Willoughby. To these varieties succeeded a stately, reserved, but honourable sort of English Spaniard-an incipient notion of which was possibly broached also by Miss Burney, in the young Delville of her Cecilia, but still more fully developed in the decayed gentlemen of ancient family, of Charlotte Smith, who to a man abounded in stateliness, chivalry, and English morgue. A something of this kind had its day, until Miss Porter gave a new notion or two in Thaddeus of Warsaw; and at the conclusion of the late war, at which era, setting aside such lusus naturæ as Coelebs, and a few more of that school, the unspeakable He for the most part consisted of a tall, well-made personage, with a somewhat of German dignity of mein his eyes dark, and at once bright as a sunbeam and soft as moonlight; his gait a little soldierly because he frequently commanded a company in an Hussar regiment. Magnanimous as Hector; but provoked, as fiery as Troilus: unutterably mild and benignant to young ladies, and open-handed as Shakespeare's Hal to melting charity. A remnant of the reserve of the Charlotte Smith class was still preserved, this sort of hero seldom talking to the crowd, and although abounding in wit, like Hudibras, very shy of using it; but when made to talk, that is to say, to the heroine ye Gods how he does talk! To crown all, he was created exceedingly prudent, always living within his pay or pittance if under adversity, and, as a fixed rule, he was never to be beholden to man, woman, or child, until within half an hour of expiring through hunger. If rich, he had nothing to do but to give away three quarters of his rentroll in charity to say nothing of an estate or two occasionally. Germany was a very fashionable country at this period for a hero, and he had always fifteen quarterings at least, and six or eight orders of knighthood. The regiment he belonged to, at that time of day, always bore a death's head in front, emblematic of hatred to the French. If an Englishman, no particular direction in this respect was necessary, a commissioned hussar in England then, and ever since, usually changing his uniform once a year, by royal order. Such was the beau-ideal, while we were feasting the despots, and for a month or two afterwards. Of the absolute thing at this moment, a lack of recent diligent reading in the line makes us ignorant, but we suspect that the Scottish novels have routed all the previous idea-ology, and that our fair scribes are rather unsettled in their present notions. Sir Walter, indeed, makes his Masters and Misses-bis Oroondateses and his Statiras perform such mawkish and subordinate parts, all ancient notions are at sea, and nothing is yet settled in the way of succession. When quite satisfied of the termination of the interregnum, we will duly announce it. A. HENRY AND EMMA-GRISELDA.-There is something in the idea of the absolute devotedness of a beloved object, maugre adversity, reverses,' and even ill treatment, which we are sorry to say, in contemplation, is much more grateful to the imagination of man than of woman. Whether it is that this implicit yielding is more out of character in the latter than in the former, we know not; but certainly, except in books of knighterranty, which are altogether fictitious, we never hear of a man excit- ́ ing la belle passion in a stronger degree, by extreme subserviency, nor in ideal portraiture are these submissive heroes treated by female pens with peculiar favour. A touch of Russian feeling, we suspect, prevails on these occasions, subdued and refined however, for it does not go so far as to regard a non-use of the whip as passionless and un- · gallant; but we firmly believe it extends to the desire of witnessing a little impetuosity now and then in proof of the masculine gender. On the other hand, the Griseldas and Emmas with poets and novellists of the opposite sex are highly admired. They are not so with us; for although there is something dramatic and picturesque in the contemplation of an all-devouring passion, which like the rod of Aaron swallows up all the rest, and while we can truly sympathise with a strength of attachment that will encounter danger, suffering, and distress, rather than forsake a beloved object, we cannot perceive the beauty of so much perseverance when the heroine is apparently spurned, insulted, and calumniated, like the aforesaid Grissel, and the Nut-brown Maid. The unity and intensity of the picture, supplied by unresisted passion, may be very forcible, but all the master touches-all that can render it permanently interesting arises out of the struggles with reason and principle. Compare the Clementina of Richardson, for instance, with the Emma of Prior, or rather of the original ballad, and which excites the most genuine sympathy?-Which again, as a portrait, is the most exquisite conception, the obtrusive Olivia, or that ideal victim of concealment and hopelessness, which the same master-hand describes as sitting" smiling at grief" ? We have observed, that an all-devoted man is not so attractive to the opposing sex, as in the reverse instances. A striking proof of this truth is to be found in one of the Plays on the Passions by Miss* Johanna Baillie. The heroine of the play absolutely hesitates to marry her lover, because she fears that he is attached to her more than to honour, rectitude, and consistency; and the business of the piece is made up of experiments to prove, whether he is so arrant and selfabandoned a Mark Antony as he appears to be. This is curious from a female pen, and may pair off, by way of contrast, with the History t of the Chevalier de Grieux, founded on fact, and written, we believe, by the celebrated Abbé Prevost, the Daniel Defoe of France. This work, translated into English under the title of Manon L'Escaut, describes the infatuated passion of a young and noble Frenchman for a youthful, bewitching, but utterly worthless and vicious girl, whom he protects under all fortunes, and finally accompanies to Cayenne, where she is transported as a convict,-quitting her only in death. The tale is simple, but is forcible from its singleness of passion and of interest; and the eccentric author of the Lounger's Common-Place Book pronounces it to be natural and possible from experience of his own. Be this as it may, the idol of the young Frenchman was as worthless a jilt as Cleopatra, and so it generally happens. Further to prove the secondary estimation, on the part of woman, of so much devotion, we may observe in a great variety of novels (from which, after all, much more is to be gathered than certain affected sages imagine) that the passion of the mild, plaintive, all-adoring swain, although acknowledged to be the best creature in the world, is almost uniformly rejected in favour of some preux chevalier of more boisterous and manly properties. Having appealed to authority, there is no more to be said. LE MISANTROPE OF MOLIERE. There is a traditionary anecdote in relation to the first performance of this excellent Comedy. In a scene of infinite humour, the plain-dealing Alceste is attacked by a Poetaster of rank, who begins with a profession of eternal friendship, and ends with requesting his opinion on a love song, which resembles some of those, by persons of quality and of honour, which were routed, horse and foot, by the excellent burlesque of " Fluttering spread thy purple. pinions" of Pope and Swift. The equivoque of the scene requires a solemn reading of one of these non-entities by the presumed author; and so admirably had Moliere caught the prevailing tone of nonsense of the day, the Parisian critics were completely taken in, and loudly applauded a tissue of no-meaning which the hero of the Comedy, in the plenitude of his sincerity, proceeds to pull to pieces as tinsel stuff, which good sense despises― "De ces Colifichets, dont le bon sens murmure," This was too deep a wound for French self-love, and for this reason alone the play was for a considerable time discountenanced. We observed last week, that in the School for Scandal about to be acted in Paris, the French would recognize a portion of their own drama. Such is the fact in regard to a scene of fashionable scandal in Le Misantrope, which clearly supplied the ground-work of a similar spirited conversation in the School for Scandal. LONDON:-Published by HENRY L. HUNT, 38, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, and 22, Old Bond-street. Price Fourpence; or, if stamped for country circulation free of postage, Sevenpence. Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in town; and by the following. Agents in the country: 霄 Edinburgh, Messrs. Bell and Bradfute. Glasgow, W. R. Macphun. Exeter, T. Besley, jun. High-street. Leeds, James Mann, Duncan-street. Liverpool, T. Smith. Bath, at the London Newspaper Office. Sunderland, W. Chalk, High-street. Birmingham, J. Drake. Printed by G. W. REYNELL, Broad-street, Golden-square. THE LITERARY EXAMINER. No. XIL-SATURDAY, SEPT. 20, 1823. THE INDICATOR. No. LXXXV. There he arriving, round about doth fly, LA BELLA TABACCAIA. (For the Indicator.) I WISH this tale had more of the romantic, or was more akin to the every day occurrences of domestic life. As it is, it may chance to please nobody. There are none of those wonderful incidents, which, without the aid of genii and fairies, prove that the tighter we stretch the chord of possibility, the more it vibrates to our extraordinary hopes and fears. Nor has it any thing like a misdirected letter, creating a volume of dilemmas, and then lost, and then getting, in worse hands, worse and worse interpreted; or a lady not at home on that unfortunate Monday, when affairs might have been set on a right footing; or the feeing a loyal servant-maid, quite by mistake, with a bad sovereign; or the doubts, deliberations, and delays of lawyers over a plain, straight-forward last will and testament; or an amorous gentleman blundering on the aunt's name for the niece's; or a husband seeing his wife embrace a long-lost brother, and calling to Thomas for pistols for three-alas! I can offer nothing of this interesting nature. It is merely one of those tales, the best parts of which, for the honour of human nature, ought to happen oftener; and perhaps they may be in fashion, when men and women grow a great deal wiser. The utmost I can say in its praise is, that it is true as affidavits and a court of justice can make it. By the by, being somewhat allied to the favourite Newgate Calendar, it strikes me it may be twisted, with considerable additions, into a tolerable melo-drama, and that is no mean recommendation. Let Drury and Covent-Garden look to it. They can get it crammed full of "good sentiments," so palpable, a child may pen them down. And if at a loss for a title, to prepare the audience for a stronger dose than usual, why not call it "The Queen of Hearts?" Besides, they can introduce an Italian vineyard, the best that can be had in London. Nina was an orphan, and, at the age of fifteen, mistress of a snuff and tobacco shop in Pisa, under the discreet guidance of an aunt, who boarded and lodged with her by virtue of her experience. The stock in VOL i. 12 trade, a little ready money, and two houses in the suburbs of Leghorn, were her patrimony. She had the fairest complexion with the darkest ringlets that ever were formed together; and though no one ever criticised her lips as rather too full, yet some fastidious admirers objected to the largeness of her eyes-but they could not have remarked their lustre and expression, nor the beautiful jet lashes which shaded them. She was called La bella Tabaccaia. The students of the University, as they returned from lecture, always peeped in the shop, to see if Nina was behind the counter; and, if she was, nine out of ten walked in and asked for segars. There they lighted them one after the other at the pan of charcoal, and by turns, puffing awhile for invention, ventured on some gallant, compliments. If these were received with a smile, as they generally were, and often more roguishly than would be considered within the rules of a bench of old English ladies, then away they went to strut on the Lung'arno with a much gayer notion of themselves. The grave ones of the neighbourhood thought it a pity she should encourage such idle talk; and the aunt constantly advised her to go into the inner room, whenever those wild young fellows made their appearance. But Nina had all the vivacity, the joyousness of youth, almost of childhood, and defended herself by saying, "La! aunt, there can be no harm in their merriment; for my mother used to tell me, young men with serious faces were the only dangerous ones." And the mother's authority never failed in silencing the aunt. Late one evening a student entered while Nina was alone in the shop. After a single glance, he sat down by the side of the counter, took up a knife that lay there, and began seemingly to play with it, but with a countenance that betrayed the most violent agitation. The poor girl, never having witnessed any thing like despair, imagined he was intoxicated; and, as the safest means of avoiding insult, remained firmly in her place. On a sudden, the youth, grasping the knife in his hand, seized her by the hair, and threatened death if she did not immediately, and without a word or a scream, give him her money. Instead of complying, quietly and on the instant, in her fright she shrieked for help, and struggled with him. Had not the youth felt a touch of pity, even in that moment of frenzy, she would have been dẹstroyed. For her struggles were in vain, and the knife was at her bosom, when some passengers, hearing her cries, together with the neighbours from the adjoining houses, ran in and seized him. Without further question, they placed him in the hands of the Sbirri, who led him directly to the Police, and Nina was required to follow. Her evidence was written down, and she was ordered to sign the paper. To this she complied, with no other thought than that she had not been guilty of the slightest exaggeration. As she laid down the pen, the officer assured her she might rely on the utmost redress for such an outrage; as her evidence was not only the clearest, but it completely tallied with the prisoner's confession; and ended with-" Be under no apprehension, my good girl, for you will shortly see him in yellow," alluding to the colour which those convicts wear who are sentenced to hard labour for life. It was not till these words were uttered that she, still trembling in her fears, had once reflected on the punishment; when starting as she heard them, she looked piteously in the officer's face, and said, “I hope not, Sir; he has not robbed me,-not hurt |