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Read Ebook: Die jenische Sprache by Wittich Engelbert G Nther Georg Ludolf Louis Editor
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Commentator: Mrs. Inchbald
THE COUNT OF NARBONNE; A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS;
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
WITH REMARKS BY Mrs. INCHBALD.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER ROW.
WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER LONDON.
REMARKS.
This tragedy was brought upon the stage in 1780; it was extremely admired, and exceedingly attractive.
The Cardinal Wolsey of Shakspeare, is, by Jephson, changed into a holy and virtuous priest; but his importance is, perhaps, somewhat diminished by a discovery, which was intended to heighten the interest of his character; but which is introduced in too sudden, and romantic a manner, to produce the desired consequence upon a well-judging auditor.
One of the greatest faults, by which a dramatist can disappoint and fret his auditor, is also to be met with in this play.--Infinite discourse is exchanged, numberless plans formed, and variety of passions agitated, concerning a person, who is never brought upon the stage--Such is the personal nonentity of Isabel, in this tragedy, and yet the fable could not proceed without her.--Alphonso, so much talked of, yet never seen, is an allowable absentee, having departed to another world; and yet, whether such invisible personages be described as alive, or dead, that play is the most interesting, which makes mention of no one character, but those which are introduced to the sight of the audience.
The lover of romances, whose happy memory, unclouded by more weighty recollections, has retained a wonderful story, by the late Lord Orford, called, "The Castle of Otranto," will here, it is said, find a resemblance of plot and incidents, the acknowledged effect of close imitation.
Lord Orford, attended some rehearsals of this tragedy, upon the very account, that himself was the founder of the fabric.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
OFFICERS, ATTENDANTS, &c.
THE COUNT OF NARBONNE.
ACT THE FIRST.
Ha! what art thou?
Destruction seize them both! Must I behold Their transports, ne'er, perhaps, again to know A son's obedience, or a father's fondness!
Ha! angels shelter me!
They are young and fearless. Thy flight, ungrateful Isabel, compels me To this rude course. I would have all with kindness; Nor stain the snow-white flower of my true love With spots of violence. But it must be so. This lordly priest, this Clarinsal, or Austin, Like a true churchman, by his calling tainted, Prates conscience; and in craft abets Earl Godfrey, That Isabel may wed his upstart son. Let Rome dart all her lightnings at my head, Till her grey pontiff singe in his own fires: Spite of their rage, I'll force the sanctuary, And bear her off this night, beyond their power; My bride, if she consents; if not, my hostage.
Come hither, sirs. Take twenty of your fellows; Post ten at the great gate of Nicholas; The rest, by two's, guard every avenue Leads from the convent to the plain or castle. Charge them That none but of my train pass out, or enter.
Heavenly innocence! See, the dear saint kneels at the altar's foot; See, her white hands with fervent clasps are rais'd; Perhaps for me. Have you a heart, my father, And bid me bear to lose her?--Hold me not-- I come, I fly, my life, my all! to join thee.
Blasts upon me! Wither my eyes for ever!--Ay, 'tis she; Austin with Theodore; he joins their hands:-- Destruction seize them! O dull, tardy fool! My love, and my ambition, both defeated! A marriage in my sight! Come forth! come forth!
Ring out the alarm; Fly all; bring aid, if possible, to save her.
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