No More Learning

I have
written a tragedy on a story well known in Italy, and, in my
conception, eminently dramatic. I have taken some pains to make my
play fit for representation, and those who have already seen it judge
favourably. It is written without any of the peculiar feelings and
opinions which characterize my other compositions; I have attended
simply to the impartial development of such characters as it is
probable the persons represented really were, together with the
greatest degree of popular effect to be produced by such a
development. I send you a translation of the Italian manuscript on
which my play is founded; the chief circumstance of which I have
touched very delicately; for my principal doubt as to whether it would
succeed as an acting play hangs entirely on the question as to whether
any such a thing as incest in this shape, however treated, would be
admitted on the stage. I think, however, it will form no objection;
considering, first, that the facts are matter of history, and,
secondly, the peculiar delicacy with which I have treated it. (In
speaking of his mode of treating this main incident, Shelley said that
it might be remarked that, in the course of the play, he had never
mentioned expressly Cenci's worst crime. Every one knew what it must
be, but it was never imaged in words--the nearest allusion to it being
that portion of Cenci's curse beginning--

"That, if she have a child," etc. )

'I am exceedingly interested in the question of whether this attempt
of mine will succeed or not. I am strongly inclined to the affirmative
at present; founding my hopes on this--that, as a composition, it is
certainly not inferior to any of the modern plays that have been
acted, with the exception of "Remorse"; that the interest of the plot
is incredibly greater and more real; and that there is nothing beyond
what the multitude are contented to believe that they can understand,
either in imagery, opinion, or sentiment. I wish to preserve a
complete incognito, and can trust to you that, whatever else you do,
you will at least favour me on this point. Indeed, this is essential,
deeply essential, to its success. After it had been acted, and
successfully (could I hope for such a thing), I would own it if I
pleased, and use the celebrity it might acquire to my own purposes.

'What I want you to do is to procure for me its presentation at Covent
Garden. The principal character, Beatrice, is precisely fitted for
Miss O'Neil, and it might even seem to have been written for her (God
forbid that I should see her play it--it would tear my nerves to
pieces); and in all respects it is fitted only for Covent Garden. The
chief male character I confess I should be very unwilling that any one
but Kean should play.
That is impossible, and I must be contented with
an inferior actor. '

The play was accordingly sent to Mr. Harris. He pronounced the subject
to be so objectionable that he could not even submit the part to Miss
O'Neil for perusal, but expressed his desire that the author would
write a tragedy on some other subject, which he would gladly accept.
Shelley printed a small edition at Leghorn, to ensure its correctness;
as he was much annoyed by the many mistakes that crept into his text
when distance prevented him from correcting the press.

Universal approbation soon stamped "The Cenci" as the best tragedy of
modern times. Writing concerning it, Shelley said: 'I have been
cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful composition;
diffuseness, a profusion of inapplicable imagery, vagueness,
generality, and, as Hamlet says, "words, words". ' There is nothing
that is not purely dramatic throughout; and the character of Beatrice,
proceeding, from vehement struggle, to horror, to deadly resolution,
and lastly to the elevated dignity of calm suffering, joined to
passionate tenderness and pathos, is touched with hues so vivid and so
beautiful that the poet seems to have read intimately the secrets of
the noble heart imaged in the lovely countenance of the unfortunate
girl. The Fifth Act is a masterpiece. It is the finest thing he ever
wrote, and may claim proud comparison not only with any contemporary,
but preceding, poet. The varying feelings of Beatrice are expressed
with passionate, heart-reaching eloquence. Every character has a voice
that echoes truth in its tones. It is curious, to one acquainted with
the written story, to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven
the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes, and yet, through
the power of poetry, has obliterated all that would otherwise have
shown too harsh or too hideous in the picture. His success was a
double triumph; and often after he was earnestly entreated to write
again in a style that commanded popular favour, while it was not less
instinct with truth and genius. But the bent of his mind went the
other way; and, even when employed on subjects whose interest depended
on character and incident, he would start off in another direction,
and leave the delineations of human passion, which he could depict in
so able a manner, for fantastic creations of his fancy, or the
expression of those opinions and sentiments, with regard to human
nature and its destiny, a desire to diffuse which was the master
passion of his soul.

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THE MASK OF ANARCHY.