Jose. I-I am call'd Louisa Rose, and I am a poor parson's daughter, who lives in this house as a companion. Husen. Rose! you shou'd be call'd rose-bud--and poor, say you? Husen. I am glad of it. Jose. Probably on account of the proverb: Birds of a feather flock together! Husen. I must be very vain, if I consider'd myself as your equal on account of my poverty. Jose. (rather perplex'd) Perhaps you have business with Mr. Plum? Husen. But little with himself, but with his daughter. Jose. With his daughter? Husen. Yes, I am come to marry her. < Jose. So? Husen. Mr. Plum and my father went to school together, and there my mother thought the children might perhaps go into the school of matrimony together. Jose. Your mother thought so! did she?' If this be deemed wit in Germany, the author is not to be blamed : but neither ought we to be censured for declaring that it cannot pass current in this country. Art. 30. Sighs; or, the Daughter, a Comedy, in Five Acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal, Hay-Market. Taken from the German Drama of Kotzebue, with Alterations, by Prince Hoare. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Stace. This is an altered version of the preceding play, and is certainly better adapted to the taste of the English reader and spectator, We shall copy Mr. Hoare's translation of the scene quoted above; Enter JOSEPHINE, Good morning, young lady. Jos. It is rather afternoon than morning. H. Wil. Not where the day breaks so brightly. Jos. Very gallant truly.-May I take the liberty to ask H. Wil. Who I am?-I am a queer fellow. Jos. Well, but queer fellows have names. H. Wil. Mine is Timothy Trifle, at your service;" plain Timothy with the men,-dear Timothy with the women.' Jos. With all of them? « H. Wil. With all who wish to please me.”—And now, what is your name? Jos. My-my name is Louisa Rose. I am a poor clergyman's orphan, who live in this house. Perhaps you have business with Mr. Von Snarl? 6 H. Wil. No-but I have with his daughter. fos. With his daughter? H. Wil. They say she has a great fortune; and, about six weeks ago, says my mother, one evening to me-Dear Timothy, you are a poor fellow, and must make your fortune by marriage. · Jose. for. Very wisely. H. Wil. Very motherly, you mean. There's Mr. Von Snarl, says she, your father's old school-fellow, has a most charming daughter-I dare say you must know her. Fos. Oh, to be sure ;-I know Josephine as well as I know myself. H. Wil. Is she handsome? Jos. When she consults her looking-glass, she thinks so. Jos. She is not handsomer than I am. • H. Wil. I like that--she has no need. Has she good sense? Jos. Not enough to prevent her from talking. H. Wil. Well, I like that.-Is she kind-hearted, good to the poor? Jos. Oh, lord! the poor get nothing in this house, if I do not give it them. H. Wil. I don't like that.-Is she grave or lively? H. Wil. Aye! Then she'll just do for me.' As the present race of dramatists are reduced to supply our stage with such productions as these, we shall beg leave to suggest a better expedient. Let Swift's "Polite Conversation" be cut down into two or three comedies; and it will be found that they will possess more wit than twice the number of German dramas. Nothing, indeed, could rival compositions of this sort, unless some pathetic genius should undertake to dramatize Poor Richard's almanack, or the maxims of Rochefoucault. Art. 31. False Shame: a Comedy, in Four Acts, translated from 25. Vernor and Hood. the German of Kotzebue. 8vo. We might justly be reproached with false shtime, if we should give way to the present rage for German plays, so far as to praise whatchooses to translate from that language. ever any industrious person We are willing to give Mr. Von Kotzebue credit for his real merits, but we cannot always admire his hasty productions; nor can we deem it any acquisition to the national literature, when we meet with translations of "Things that were wrote perhaps in half an hour." The first six scenes of this play are eked out by a sentimental gardener, who clips his hedge according to the marginal directions, and talks pathetically, during the whole time. Though seasoned to the narcotic doses of this author, we were ready to exclaim, at the sermon of this hedge-clipping philosopher, "O! 'tis so moving, we can read no more." As an instance of the false shame meant to be satirized in this piece, we shall make the following extract: Emma. Herr von Hugel, I have a message to you, Hugel. If this message gives me pain, which I greatly appre hend, there has been at least the consideration to choose an asswag ing messenger. Emma. I hope to be the messenger of peace, • Hugel. Hugel. Peace precludes disco rd-and I knew not- Hugel. Only told Emma. No sophistry-by your leave. Hugel. Well then-to my sorrow, I love Minna! Emma. Why to your sorrow?— Hugel. I am a plain countryman-which for a moment, I ceas'd to recollect Minna has deeply humbled me-it will never again be forgotten. Emma. Humbled!-that is a hard expression. Hugel. The occasion was harder than the expression-she, who treats a serious proposal as a jest --she, whose levity hurries a man with the tears of love in his eyes to a dance-let me say, does not that imply contempt? Emma. Dear Herr von Hugel-beware of an intemperate judgment-you may repent it at Minna's feet :-Do you make no allowance for a poor girl's embarrassment?-I assure you, that most of the follies of which we are accused towards your sex, arise from embarrassment-how, if Minna was heartily well disposed to you? but only shy of a certain confession, which she feared, might in the eyes of the lover, diminish the worth of the beloved. • Hugel. (smiling sarcastically) You are supposing a case?— Emma. I suppose nothing-there are certain points, Herr von Hugel, which to our sex are very important, but which, fortunately, do not always strike your eyes-should a girl be not completely what she seems to be, she may, if she can, deceive the public, but not the man whom she intends to marry. Hugel. Minna is not what she seems?--I do not understand you. Emma. A man, and especially a lover, cannot be an accurate observer- --we females examine more closely. • Hugel. I beseech you to speak plainer. Emma. Know then, that Minna's apparent levity arose, from being ashamed to acknowledge to you, what she thought indispensible that she strange !-am almost myself ashamed-(in haste) that she is somewhat mis shaped-at last-it is out. Hugel. Mis-shaped !- • Minna. On the left side-she fell down stairs from her nurse's arms-dress can conceal the defect-but to the eyes of her future husband, she wish'd not to appear more engaging than she really is-now you have a key to the enigma.False shame deterr'd her from telling you herself-for most females would rather avoid a mental defect, than a corporeal failing ;-Minna does not belong to this common class-her tongue only denied its service; now, you know all-you know what she has lost in the attraction of her formand what she acquired in the beauty of her soul:my friend murmur'd 4 1 mur'd softly in my ear, Emma, I love him!--but that, let him rather hope than know-You see, I have exceeded my powers-the coming moment will evince, whether I must repent my precipitancy. Hugel. (transported) Is this a dream?-Minna ;-noblest Minna! -where is she?-where can I find her? • Emma. Dare I inquire with what intention? Hugel. And can you inquire!-my beloved!-my bride! Emma. It is as I expected-go-where she is I know notinstinct guides a lover. • Hugel. (hastens away) Minna !—Minna !' 6 We observe a strange barbarism in more than one part of this translation: the respectable veteran, Erlach, uses the phrase babypap, as a term of contempt. Indeed the noble Captain's expressions of joy are not very congenial with English, as the following passage will evince: Erlach. (seizes overjoyed her hand) Girl! girl! what dost thou make of me?-1 could fall on my knees before thee, had I not so often fondled thee on my knee-here then stand I-would fain speak and cannot-and falter before a being, who, eight years ago, was no taller than this rose-bush ;- but one word for all, thou art my wife, my dearest wife!-Why, let them laugh-ah, ah, ha! I too will laugh -see here, see here, and disguise your envy under feign'd smiles-go your way; she is mine!-Erlach returns to his country, and the Alps shall reverberate his shouts-for never was his heart so full of extasy. eagerly and playfully he takes her hand under his arm) Yes, my good girl, we will buy us a farm, an Alpine cot, with the friendly sunbeams, sporting on our soil, where aromatic roots exhale health, and the wild roses carelessly bloom like thy cheeks-there will we mingle in the song and dance of a true hearted peasantry. Huzza! Erlach and his matchless wife. (he lifts her up and swings her round) Emma. Dear Erlach, my mother approaches • Erlach. Whom? thy mother :-I had nearly forgotten the romance and is it then true?-pardon me if I delay enquiring how all this hangs together?-it seems to me as if I were with Emma alone in the world, and had no concern with the rest of mankind. • Emma. Let us beg her blessing! • Erlach. Ay, ay! (he throws away hat and cane-takes Emma in his arms, and carries her to meet her mother half way.) We have once more to complain that the language of the transla tion is inaccurate, and even, in several instances, ungrammatical. Art. 32. The Peevish Man: à Drama, in Four Acts. By Augustus Kotzebue. Being his last Production. Translated by C. Ludger, Esq. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Jordan Hookham. 1799. Being his last production! No, gentle reader, do not fancy that this is to be the last of the Romans. Kotzebue is a man of an eternal vein, a perennial drama-bearer, whose dead foliage is replaced by an immediate supply of caducous vegetation. How, indeed, should he be drained, when the English public gladly receives back from him the crambé recocta of its own writers? The two principal cha racters of this play are taken from Tristram Shandy: Herman is Mr. Mr. Shandy, Captain Toby Edelshield is our worthy Uncle, and Aunt Dinah is metamorphosed into a notable maiden, ycleped Ulrica. Our readers may judge, from the following dialogue, how nearly the German artist has equalled Sterne, in pathos and sentiment: Ul. Providence has presented you with the gift of culling honey from every flower. Toby. Has it? (Puts down the rose-bush, and fohls his hands.) Well, then, gracious God! thou hast bestowed a happiness upon me which thousands are deprived of! Ul. And your rheumatism. Toby. Nonsense! if there were no pain upon earth, there would be no pleasure. Ul. You catch cold in wind and weather. Your delight in gardening Toby. Leave that unmolested, pray! I am the most fortunate monarch upon carth. The gardener is my prime minister. My subjects thrive; they know me only by my kindness, and reward me with fruit. Ul. If only the diversion of gardening wasn't so dirty. Ul. You often sit down to your meals with such hands Toby. With a little bit of earth sticking to them. What matters that? Man is nothing but a clod of clay, you know. Ul. Oh, brother! that is a distressing thought. I am all day busy wiping away every little bit of dust, and then I must be dust myself after all.' A long scene, written with equal taste and brilliancy with this specimen, is interrupted by the following important person,-Mr. Herman's footman: Wal. (comes vexed out of his master's room.) That's too bad. • Wal. A pocketful of bad language, my daily breakfast. Ul. Is your master risen? • Wal. Yes. Toby. And scolding again! • Wal. And scolding again. Ul. For what? Wal. First, the chimney smoaked a little; then he began to curse the chimney sweeper, then the architect who built the house, then the inventor of chimneys. Toby. Ha! ha! ha! Ul. The sinoke will smut the curtains; he may be right enough there. Wal. When he saw the weather was fair, his humour began to brighten again; he chatted and laughed till I helped him to put on his new shoes; they unfortunately were too tight. Toby. Then he gave it the shoemaker, eh? Wal. I immediately began to talk of stable-feeding, and of the Spanish clover he gave the peasants; that it throve so nice, that all the village was pleased with it. Ul. I'll lay, that instantly gave his humour a different turn. • Wal |