The Corvey Novels Project at the University of Nebraska

— Studies in British Literature of the Romantic Period —

 

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Susannah Gunning

Mrs. Gunning. Virginius and Virginia; a Poem, in six Parts from Roman History.

1792.

 

Contemporary Reviews

Analytical Review, 13 (1792), 419-20

(Art XVI. Virginius and Virginia; a Poem, in six Parts From the Roman History. By Mrs. Gunning. Dedicated to supreme Fashion; but not by Permission. 4to. 65 pages. Price 5s. sewed. Hookham.

     The Roman story of Virginius and Virginia is so well known, that it is wholly unnecessary to draw out the argument of this poem. In the general outline Mrs. G. has closely adhered to historical truth; but, by bringing forward the several incidents and characters in detailed description, and making them express the sentiments proper to each in distinct speeches, she has wrought up the whole into a poetical tale, which appears more like a modern novel, than a piece of ancient hisotry. As a very favourable specimen of the poetry of this piece, we copy the description of Virginia, in the garden where she was found by the beldam, whom Appius had employed in accomplishing his purpose. P. 19.

   'Breathless, desponding, opportune she meets,
A cool recess, a paradise of sweets;
Here, the malignant huntress, sought repose,
And stretch'd supine, beneath a clust'ring rose;
A deeper blush, the clust'ring flow'rs pervade,
Compell'd, to yield reluctantly, their shade.
When vice, approaches, bashful virtue, bleeds;
Who sees the metaphor, the moral reads.
Say on, my muse, account, for this disgust;
Declare, who, foster'd it, by whom, 'twas nurst?
'Virginius; lord, of this, prolific land,
This shrub, implanted, by his daughter's hand,
The chaste, Virginia, first, had fix'd it there,
And, still it was, the object, of her care;
The sweet employ, of every playful, hour,
To visit, and refresh, her darling, flow'r;
With snowy fingers, prop, each tender spray,
Then lop, and throw the useless branch, away
There with her young companions, she'd resort,
and, round its grateful shadow, daily sport;
or else to meditative thought, inclin'd,
Uplift, from earth, and to the gods, resign'd,
Thither, alone, she often, would repair,
And waft on pious wings, her ardent pray'r,
That they, would shield, her absent fire, from harms,
That they, would soon, restore him, to her arms;
Sometimes, with melody, she'd fill the grove,
Chanting, the pleasures, of a well-plac'd love,
In, such her songs, would oft Icilius, name,
Boast, of his virtues, and recount, his fame.
'Perfidious fate! to lead her steps, that way,
At such an hour! ah! black disastrous, day!
At they, return, shall virgins eyes, run o'er,
Maids, shun the danger, you with tears, deplore!'

      The pointing of the above extract, which is exactly copied, does, as much as bad pointing can do, to obscure the sense. The same redundancy of commas runs through the whole work.
      Nothing can be more unfair than to lay the blame of a crime, which was an atrocious act of tyranny, upon that commonwealth whose authority the tyrant most unquestionably abused. Yet Mrs. G., having related the injustice of Appius, exclaims, P. 54.

'What dire events, from common-wealths proceed?
How much, of peace is wreck'd, how many bleed!
What tears, from violated virgins, fall!
What desparate deeds, to heav'n, for vengeance call!'

The dedication is written with spirit. The following lines pleasingly ridicule fashionable manners. P. 4.

'Madam, the roses on your cheeks, are bought,
With too much fire, and pride, your eyes are fraught;
A fire, that, does not much advance your fame,
And pride, that best deserves another name;
'Tis, craving vanity, who eager stands
To snatch, the food of flatt'ry, from ALL hands;
You, teach them how to ogle, how to stare;
I've seen their envy, and I've mark'd their leer.
'I less approve, your manners, than your face,
To ease, you sacrifice, each infant grace;
The lowly courtsy, which was wont to please;
A jirk succeeds, and this you think is ease.
To laugh at forms, be unconstrian'd in talk,
To swing your arms, and swagger as you walk,
Still it is ease-the error I deride,
Ease, is the soul of nature beautify'd;
To no grimace, no airs, no boldness prone,
All charms possessing, but affecting none,
Nature and you have been at war this age,
'Twas your's to conquer, her's to quit the stage.'

Critical Review, ns, v5 (1792), 570-72

Virginius and Virginia: a Poem, in Six Parts. From the Roman History. By Mrs. Gunning. 4to. 5s. Hookham. 1792.

      We would advise Mrs. Gunning to rest her literary fame on the basis of that credit, whatever it be, which she has acquired as a novellist [sic]. Her poetical abilities, if we may judge by this production, will never entitle her to any exalted seat among the favourites of the Muses. The story of Virginius and Virginia has been represented on our stage, and is well known to every classical reader. It is a subject capable of the highest poetical ornaments, and calculated to excite the tenderest pity, or severest indignation. The following scene, in the hand of a master, would have produced that effect. Appius commands Claudius, his agent, who claimed Virginia as his slave, to lead her off. The lover and father are of course extremely enraged upon the occasion: but the simile particularly had the sex of the beast been changed, would have been more appropriate to the latter than the former.

'As, looks the lioness, before her den,
Growling, to guard her whelps, from dangers ken!
So, look'd Icilius; so, his eye-balls glare,
So, fierce he flow'd, so upright stood his hair;
Virginius, saw his sad, distracted mind,
And, in his looks, rage, vengeance, death defin'd!

      The words noted in Italics seem to shew that Mrs. Gunning occasionally found some difficulty in completing her rhymes. But to proceed: Virginius opposes the attempt, and appeals to the people.

'With one accord, the multitude cry,
Save we, the victim! let the tyrant die!
'Hope, and despair, like kings, alternate reign,
Dispensing pleasure, or, inflicitng pain;
Rous'd by this cry, hope, mounts Icilius' breast,
The cry subsides, and hope, is dispossest.'

These monarchs of the mind, and their rapid succession to each other, recal the scenical representation of the Brentford kings.

'Must it be said, the greasy, tatter'd crew,
Coward, and, panic struck next moment flew,
Before a handful, of Death's licenc'd men,
To each of whom, their numbers, counted ten;
Alas! too true, they fled; and left behind,
Unprop'd; the ornaments, of human-kind;
Whilst, on they run, these pitious sounds pursue,
Am I forsaken! can it be by you?
Where's now, that love, you to Virginius bore?
Where, that assistance, you so lately swore?
Think, on my pangs; and listen, how I mourn:
Pity Virginia, pity, and, return!
Ah! go not from us! to our rescue run;
Turn back; or, oh! Virginia, is undone.
'He pray'd, he wept, 'twas all, that he could do,
Those hands, were bound, accustom'd to subdue:
And, on Icilius, bonds, they would have laid,
But, as they forc'd them on, his spirit fled!
Bodies, will bear controul, souls will bear none,
They, feel no freedom, but, in death alone.
'For all the victories, in war, he'd gain'd,
Or, honours, by those victories, obtain'd,
Virginius, triumph'd, in a less degree,
Than, for that stroke, which sat Icilius free.
'O'er, the pale corse, he bent, with stern delight,
To screen, the object, from Virginia's sight;
Who, panting, trembling, at the loud alarms,
Was flown, for refuge, to her uncle's arms:
And, whilst the horrid tumult, had prevail'd,
In his fond breast, her drooping head conceal'd.
Too, old he was, to mingle in the fray;
But not too old, to wipe her tears away,
'From the hard, grasp of pow'r, he could not save;
Accursed Claudius, seizing as his slave!
The loveliest form, a mind, the most correct,
That nature's hnad, did ever yet effect;
Thoughts chaster, than the pilgrim's at his shrine,
Without excelling, and within divine!
This, was the peerless gem, he could not save,
This, was the angel, Claudius, call'd his, slave:
Touch'd by the Brute, who monster'd human shape,
In looks a Tyger, but in form an Ape.
Her gentle voice, soft, as the shepherd's flute,
In echo's vale, when all beside, is mute,
Now raves, Virginius, and Icilius, name,
Calls them, to snatch her, from eternal shame!
Whilst Nutamora, strengthless, and, forlorn,
Loud curs'd, the day, the hour, he was born.
'Not so Virginius, he, with humble air,
Said, Appius, pray thee, my confession hear?
This rebel heart, obience [sic] shall, be taught,
And, by reflection, to its duty, brought:
Thou, mercy lov'st, and, has my penitence,
My, former deeds, to mercy, no pretence
These chains unloose, and, when that act is done,
I will proclaim thee, mercy's darling son.'

      The costume is but little attended to in this extract. The Romans were not apt to die of grief at the loss of a mistress, or the dread of being bound in chains, as Icilius, contrary to historic testimony, is here represented to have done. Nor was it natural for Virginius, or any one, to feel 'a stern delight' at the loss of a friend, particularly at the time he stood in need of his assistance; nor to pray in so very humble a manner that Appius would 'hear his confession.' This expression of an old roman in the times of the commonwealth, though we do not suppose it was meant as allusive to a penitent of the roman church, has an odd effect on the mind, and impresses it with modern ideas: and Virginia's being compared to 'an angel,' and her thoughts to those of 'a pilgrim at this shrine,' are Christian images, and totally ungenial to the characters of the story. Virginius, likewise, soon after says, that it would be no pleasure to meet his daughter gain, 'on this side heav'n.' --Why Nutamora is substituted for Numitorius, the uncle of Virginia, we know not. Some grammatical defects, and they are too frequent in the poem, occur in the lines preceding and subsequent to that wherein Claudius is called a brute, who 'monster'd human shape.' --It is, on the whole, a tame and tiresome performance. The dedication to Fashion, however, possesses some original humour and fair satire, but no poetry.

English Review, 21 (1793), 148

(Art. 28.) Virginius and Virginia; a Poem, in six Parts, form the Roman History. By Mrs. Gunning. Dedicated to supreme Fashion, but not by Permission. pp. 65. 4to. 5s. Lane. London. No Date.

      All our readers are acquainted with the story of Virginius and Virginia. The subject afforded ample room for the exercise of the powers of the poet. We are sorry, however, to say that the muses seem not to have inspired Mrs. Gunning. The story is ill told-the language by no means poetic, and the thoughts often puerile. We enter into no particular analysis of the poem.

Monthly Communications, 1 (1793) [not seen]

Monthly Review, ns, v9 (1792), 315-16 [not seen]

-Prepared by Margaret Case Croskery, Ohio Northern University, July 2003