The conception of the character in this particular is good, and, being founded, as we know it was, on the personal convictions of Columbus himself, might have been followed out by further developments with poetical effect. But the opportunity is neglected, and, like many other occasions for success, is thrown away by Lope, through haste and carelessness. Another of the dramas of this class, “El Castigo sin Venganza,” or Punishment, not Revenge, is important from the mode in which its subject is treated, and interesting from the circumstance that its history can be more exactly traced than that of any other of Lope’s plays. It is founded on the dark and hideous story in the annals of Ferrara, during the fifteenth century, which Lord Byron found in Gibbon’s “Antiquities of the House of Brunswick,” and made the subject of his “Parisina,”[334] but which Lope, following the old chronicles of the duchy, has presented in a somewhat different light, and thrown with no little skill into a dramatic form. [334] The story was well known, from its peculiar horrors, though the events occurred in 1405,--more than two centuries before the date of the play. Lope, in the Preface to his version of it, says it was extant in Latin, French, German, Tuscan, and Castilian. The Duke of Ferrara, in his tragedy, is a person of mark and spirit; a commander of the Papal forces, and a prince of statesmanlike experience and virtues. He marries when already past the middle age of life, and sends his natural son, Frederic, to receive his beautiful bride, a daughter of the Duke of Mantua, and to conduct her to Ferrara. Before he reaches Mantua, however, Frederic meets her accidentally on the way; and his first interview with his step-mother is when he rescues her from drowning. From this moment they become gradually more and more attached to each other, until their attachment ends in guilt; partly through the strong impulses of their own natures, and partly from the coldness and faithlessness of the Duke to his young and passionate wife. On his return home from a successful campaign, the Duke discovers the intrigue. A struggle ensues between his affection for his son and the stinging sense of his own dishonor. At last he determines to punish; but in such a manner as to hide the grounds of his offence. To effect this, he confines his wife in a darkened room, and so conceals and secures her person, that she can neither move, nor speak, nor be seen. He then sends his offending son to her, under the pretence that beneath the pall that hides her is placed a traitor, whom the son is required to kill in order to protect his father’s life; and when the desperate young man rushes from the room, ignorant who has been his victim, he is instantly cut down by the by-standers, on his father’s outcry, that he has just murdered his step-mother, with whose blood his hands are, in fact, visibly reeking.