Longmans, 1840. "The Gipsy," from the Metropolitan Magazine; "The Fairy's Wand," from the New Monthly Magazine; and "A Rencontre," from the first Edition of The Poacher, 1841.
R. B. J.
Author's Preface to the First Edition
I have not yet ventured upon a Preface to any of my writings, and I did not expect that I should ever have written one. Except in a work of importance, which may demand it, a Preface is, generally speaking, a request for indulgence which never will be accorded, or an explanation to which the Public is indifferent. It is only when an explanation is due to the Public, or to the Author's reputation, that he should venture to offer one. If a work is well written, the Public are satisfied; if not, they have just cause to feel otherwise; and if an Author obtains justice, he obtains all that he has a right to expect.
I write this Preface, because I consider that it may save me from a hasty remark or two, which it may be just as well to forestall. During the ten years which I have taken up the pen, I have furnished miscellaneous matter to various Periodicals, which, if it were all collected together, would swell into many volumes. Among it, as must be the case under the circumstances in which it was written, there is some which I consider tolerable; but the major portion is but indifferent; and I should be very sorry indeed, if at any future time, when I may not have the power to prevent it, all these articles should be collected and printed as mine. If ever it were done, it certainly would not be by my friends: I wish it, therefore, to be understood, that in the portions of these volumes which consist of republications, I have selected from the mass, all that I wish to acknowledge as my writing; and that the remainder (with the exception of the papers on nautical subjects, which are of no interest to the general reader) may be considered as disavowed and rejected. The major part of these volumes consist of a Diary written when I was on the Continent. It first appeared in the Periodicals, under the title of a "Diary of a Blasé:" the title was a bad one, as I did not write up to the character; I have, therefore, for want of a better name, simply called it a "Diary on the Continent;" and I mention this, that I may not be accused of having intentionally deceived.
F. M.
THE MONK OF SEVILLE:
A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Anselmo Don Gaspar, A monk disguised as a cavalier. Don Felix, A Spanish nobleman. Don Perez, Do. Superior of the monastery. Antonio, Servant to Don Gasper. Manuel, A monk. Jacobo, Porter to the monastery. Sancho, Servant to Don Perez. Donna Inez, A noble lady. Isidora, Her niece. Donna Serafina. Beppa, } Servant to Serafina. } both wives of Antonio Nina, } Do. to Isidora. Monks, Choristers, Attendants, &c. Scene laid in Seville.
Olla Podrida
The Monk of Seville
Act I. Scene I.
Enter Don Felix and Don Perez.
Felix. You say his name's Don Gaspar?
Perez. So he styles himself; but of what house, parentage, or country, cannot be gained. He keeps aloof from all, bears himself gallantly; and 'tis manifest that any question discourteously put he'd answer with his sword.
Felix. He's skill'd in fence, then?
Perez. There's none to match him. I, who have foiled half Seville, am but a scholar in his hands, when at the School we've joined the assault in courtesy.
Felix. A proper man?
Perez. Beyond comparison. He hath all the stamp of true nobility. Pride in his eye; in his address, dignified; in modes most perfect; the most envied of the men, and the most admired by all the dames of Seville.
Felix. Successful, then?
Perez. He confides in none; and hath no intimate; but I am informed he is resistless, and I much suspect, my rival.
Felix. With the Donna Serafina?
Perez. Even so; she has changed much of late; and I have discovered that one, who, from report, answers to his description, is highly favoured.
Felix. But, Perez, did you not tell me you had left her?
Perez. In faith I had; but when I discovered that another sought her, my passion then returned; and now that she rejects me, I dote upon her more than ever.
Felix. Perez, when will you be wise? when will you cease to trifle with the sex?
Perez. Never, I hope: women are my game; and I live but on the chase. Sighs, oaths, and amorous ditties are my ammunition; my guitar is my fowling-piece, and you must acknowledge that I seldom miss my aim.
Felix. I grant it, Perez, but it's cruel sport, and quite unworthy of a cavalier. How many wounded birds have hid themselves to die!
Perez. Poor things—why did they not keep out of shot range? It's useless to preach, Felix, I must have my amusement.
Felix. Be careful, Perez, that it prove not dangerous; there is no honour gained by broken vows, false oaths, and tampering with maidens' hearts. It is a fault in you I would were mended; and our relationship makes me thus free to speak my mind. It is unworthy of you.
Perez. But sufficing good for women—they are but playthings; and thus far am I renegade, that, with the prophet, I cannot allow them souls.
Felix. You are incorrigible. Change the discourse, or I shall lose my temper and that opinion of you, which, 'gainst my better sense, I fain would keep. Our subject was Don Gaspar.
Perez. Yes—and my object is to find out who he is, and, if basely born, to hunt him out of Seville.
Felix. That there's mystery is evident; but when you hunt, see if such quarry, good Perez, turn not to bay. But new in Seville, I ne'er have encountered this prodigy; if his rank be mere assumption, he must be exposed; yet, Perez, there may be many causes for an incognito. Our Spain is wide and well peopled with those who boast high ancestry.
