Though I cannot but be gratified by the Dedication of this Drama to me, it does not, and was not intended to influence my judgment. Its noble and unusual aims of “demanding Justice for every living thing, from Ruler to Subject, of either sex, and for the brute creation and advocating the reign of Truth and destruction of Imposture”—could not fail to command my sympathy and admiration. Written when the authoress was a girl, the drama is a marvel of thought and power. I know of no one, save Shelley, who, at so early an age was troubled about the questions she discusses with such generous passionateness. Apart from immaturities of expression, natural to immaturity of years, the Drama is a wonderful piece of writing. But the occasional youthfulness of style creates the greater surprise at the maturity of conception and often original expression.
The Drama opens with what George Henry Lewes entitled the great problem of “Life and Mind.” The first words Isola speaks are:
“Vast attribute of the Eternal mind. Thought, and thy clinging twin, fair Memory. Art thou and she imperishable parts Of Life and Matter?”
Here is a perfect philosophic theory excellently put. Surely never Queen before was set to answer such questions.
Isola is a Lady Macbeth of a nobler kind, but has the same undaunted spirit. She is bold but tender—and only inflexible for the Right. Her conception of womanly independence is original in literature. The legal and ecclesiastical restrictions woven about her, which limit her freedom and frustrate her equality, are discerned with great acumen and described with great power. Such indignation at wrong; such energy and eloquence in its denunciation, such devotion, sacrifice and unbewailing courage—constitute the Rebel Queen a new inspiration. Rugged expressions which occur here and there, seem congenial to the rugged and impetuous times in which the scenes are laid. Even there there is gold in the quartz. Keats tells us that Columbus when he first saw new lands from the peak of Darien, viewed them with “glad surprise.” In like manner the reader comes upon fresh unexpected sentences. The moral interest of the Drama has great charm. Every speech, however impassioned, has a certain quality of restraint; amid fiery denunciation of regal and legal wrong, there is no insurgency against law, but against unjust law Isola abdicates her throne in generosity to her rival. Her love of justice and right brings her to the scaffold, which she contemplates with quiet heroism, in which there is no fear, or flutter of fear—neither bravado nor shrinking. No hysterical word escapes her. No word of reproach, such as Madame Roland uttered, is spoken by Isola. Her sole desire is to save others and to serve the cause of right. As the tragic death of a woman, capable both of heroism and reflection, the last hours of Fortunatus are memorable.
The reader will not need to be told of the felicity in the invention of names; nor of the spirited scenes in the public Hall, where the orators of the People speak; nor of the intrigues of courts, nor the conspiracy of priests—which make these pages alive with interest. The speech of Merani on the consciousness of her approaching death, has queenly dignity, as well as flashes of true poetry. The reader will see in the “Last Watch” of Fortunatus on the heights of Avenamore, the beauty, the dignity, the determination without defiance, of Isola. Intellectual intrepidity in defence of the Right, is the soul of the Drama of the Disinherited.
G. J. Holyoake.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
