which the aim of instruction, or _truth_, has not been too obviously
substituted for the legitimate aim, _beauty_. In our last number, we
took occasion to say that a didactic moral might be happily made the
_under-current_ of a poetical theme, and, in “Burton’s Magazine,” some
two years since, we treated this point at length, in a review of Moore’s
“Alciphron;” but the moral thus conveyed is invariably an ill effect
when obtruding beyond the upper current of the thesis itself. Perhaps
the worst specimen of this obtrusion is given us by our poet in “Blind
Bartimeus” and the “Goblet of Life,” where, it will be observed that the
_sole_ interest of the upper current of meaning depends upon its
relation or reference to the under. What we read upon the surface would
be _vox et preterea nihil_ in default of the moral beneath. The Greek
_finales_ of “Blind Bartimeus” are an affectation altogether
inexcusable. What the small, second-hand, Gibbon-ish pedantry of Byron
introduced, is unworthy the imitation of Longfellow.
Of the translations we scarcely think it necessary to speak at all. We
regret that our poet will persist in busying himself about such matters.
_His_ time might be better employed in original conception. Most of
these versions are marked with the error upon which we have commented.
This error is in fact, essentially Germanic. “The Luck of Edenhall,”
however, is a truly beautiful poem; and we say this with all that
deference which the opinion of the “Democratic Review” demands. This
composition appears to us _one of the very finest_. It has all the free,
hearty, _obvious_ movement of the true ballad-legend. The greatest force
of language is combined in it with the richest imagination, acting in
its most legitimate province. Upon the whole, we prefer it even to the
“Sword-Song” of Körner. The pointed moral with which it terminates is so
exceedingly natural—so perfectly fluent from the incidents—that we
have hardly heart to pronounce it in ill taste. We may observe of this
ballad, in conclusion, that its subject is more _physical_ than is usual
in Germany. Its images are rich rather in physical than in moral beauty.
And this tendency, in Song, is the true one. It is chiefly, if we are
not mistaken—it is chiefly amid forms of physical loveliness (we use
the word _forms_ in its widest sense as embracing modifications of sound
and color) that the soul seeks the realization of its dreams of Beauty.
It is to her demand in this sense especially, that the poet, who is
wise, will most frequently and most earnestly respond.
“The Children of the Lord’s Supper” is, beyond doubt, a true and most
beautiful poem in great part, while, in some particulars, it is too
metaphysical to have any pretension to the name. In our last number, we
objected, briefly, to its metre—the ordinary Latin or Greek
Hexameter—dactyls and spondees at random, with a spondee in conclusion.
We maintain that the Hexameter can never be introduced into our
language, from the nature of that language itself. This rhythm demands,
_for English ears_, a preponderance of natural spondees. Our tongue has
few. Not only does the Latin and Greek, with the Swedish, and some
others, abound in them; but the Greek and Roman ear had become
reconciled (why or how is unknown) to the reception of artificial
spondees—that is to say, spondaic words formed partly of one word and
partly of another, or from an excised part of one word. In short the
ancients were content to read _as they scanned_, or nearly so. It may be
safely prophesied that we shall never do this; and thus we shall never
admit English Hexameters. The attempt to introduce them, after the
repeated failures of Sir Philip Sidney, and others, is, perhaps,
somewhat discreditable to the scholarship of Professor Longfellow. The
“Democratic Review,” in saying that he has triumphed over difficulties
in this rhythm, has been deceived, it is evident, by the facility with
which some of these verses may be read. In glancing over the poem, we do
not observe a single verse which can be read, _to English ears, as a
Greek Hexameter_. There are many, however, which can be well read as
mere English dactylic verses; such, for example, as the well known lines
of Byron, commencing
Know ye the | land where the | cypress and | myrtle.
These lines (although full of irregularities) are, in their perfection,
formed of three dactyls and a cæsura—just as if we should cut short the
initial verse of the Bucolics thus—
Tityre | tu patu | læ recu | bans—
The “myrtle,” at the close of Byron’s line, is a double rhyme, and must
be understood as one syllable.
Now a great number of Professor Longfellow’s Hexameters are merely these
dactylic lines, _continued for two feet_. For example—
Whispered the | race of the | flowers and | merry on |
balancing | branches.
In this example, also, “branches,” which is a double ending, must be
regarded as the cæsura, or one syllable, of which alone it has the
force.
As we have already alluded, in one or two regards, to a notice of these
poems which appeared in the “Democratic Review,” we may as well here
proceed with some few further comments upon the article in
question—with whose general tenor we are happy to agree.
The Review speaks of “Maidenhood” as a poem, “not to be understood but
at the expense of more time and trouble than a song can justly claim.”
We are scarcely less surprised at this opinion from Mr. Langtree than we
were at the condemnation of “The Luck of Edenhall.”
“Maidenhood” is faulty, it appears to us, only on the score of its
theme, which is somewhat didactic. Its _meaning_ seems simplicity
itself. A maiden on the verge of womanhood, hesitating to enjoy life
(for which she has a strong appetite) through a false idea of duty, is
bidden to fear nothing, having purity of heart as her lion of Una.
What Mr. Langtree styles “an unfortunate peculiarity” in Mr. Longfellow,
resulting from “adherence to a false system” has really been always
regarded by us as one of his idiosyncratic merits. “In each poem,” says
the critic, “he has but _one_ idea which, in the progress of his song is
gradually unfolded, and at last reaches its full development in the
concluding lines; this singleness of thought might lead a harsh critic
to suspect intellectual barrenness.” It leads _us_, individually, only
to a full sense of the artistical power and knowledge of the poet. We
confess that now, for the first time, we hear unity of conception
objected to as a defect. But Mr. Langtree seems to have fallen into the
singular error of supposing the poet to have absolutely _but one idea_
in each of his ballads. Yet how “one idea” can be “gradually unfolded”
without other ideas, is, to us, a mystery of mysteries. Mr. Longfellow,
very properly, has but one _leading_ idea which forms the basis of his
poem; but to the aid and development of this one there are innumerable
others, of which the rare excellence is, that all are in keeping, that
none could be well omitted, that each tends to the one general effect.
It is unnecessary to say another word upon this topic.
In speaking of “Excelsior,” Mr. Langtree (are we wrong in attributing
the notice to his very forcible pen?) seems to labor under some similar
misconception. “It carries along with it,” says he, “a false moral which
greatly diminishes its merit in our eyes. The great merit of a picture,
whether made with the pencil or pen, is its _truth_; and this merit does
not belong to Mr. Longfellow’s sketch. Men of genius may and probably
do, meet with greater difficulties in their struggles with the world
than their fellow-men who are less highly gifted; but their power of
overcoming obstacles is proportionably greater, and the result of their
laborious suffering is not death but immortality.”
That the chief merit of a picture is its _truth_, is an assertion
deplorably erroneous. Even in Painting which is, more essentially than
Poetry, a mimetic art, the proposition cannot be sustained. Truth is not
even _the aim_. Indeed it is curious to observe how very slight a degree
of truth is sufficient to satisfy the mind, which acquiesces in the
absence of numerous essentials in the thing depicted. An outline
frequently stirs the spirit more pleasantly than the most elaborate
picture. We need only refer to the compositions of Flaxman and of
Retzch. Here all details are omitted—nothing can be farther from
_truth_. Without even color the most thrilling effects are produced. In
statues we are rather pleased than disgusted with _the want of the
eyeball_. The hair of the Venus de Medicis _was gilded_. Truth indeed!
The grapes of Zeuxis as well as the curtain of Parrhasius were received
as indisputable evidence of the truthful ability of these artists—but
they were not even _classed among their pictures_. If truth is the
highest aim of either Painting or Poesy, then Jan Steen was a greater
artist than Angelo, and Crabbe is a more noble poet than Milton.
But we have not quoted the observation of Mr. Langtree to deny its
philosophy; our design was simply to show that he has misunderstood the
poet. “Excelsior” has not even a remote tendency to the interpretation
assigned it by the critic. It depicts the _earnest upward impulse of the
soul_—an impulse not to be subdued even in Death. Despising danger,
resisting pleasure, the youth, bearing the banner inscribed
“_Excelsior!_” (higher still!) struggles through all difficulties to an
Alpine summit. Warned to be content with the elevation attained, his cry
is still “_Excelsior!_” And, even in falling dead on the highest
pinnacle, his cry is _still_ “_Excelsior!_” There is yet an immortal
height to be surmounted—an ascent in Eternity. The poet holds in view
the idea of never-ending _progress_. That he is misunderstood is rather
the misfortune of Mr. Langtree than the fault of Mr. Longfellow. There
is an old adage about the difficulty of one’s furnishing an auditor both
with matter to be comprehended and brains for its comprehension.
* * * * *
_Ideals and other Poems, by Algernon. Henry Perkins:
Philadelphia._
Externally, this is a beautiful little volume, in which Mr. Longfellow’s
“Ballads” just noticed are imitated with close precision. Internally, no
two publications could be more different. A tripping prettiness, in
thought and expression, is all to which the author of “Ideals” may lay
claim. There is much poetry in his book, but none of a lofty order. The
piece which gives name to the volume, is an unimpressive production of
two pages and a half. The longest article is a tame translation of a
portion of Göthe’s “Torquato Tasso.” The best, is entitled “Preaching in
the Woods,” and this would bear comparison at some points with many of
our most noted American poems. There are also twelve lines, seemingly
intended as a sonnet, and prefacing the book—twelve lines of a sweet
and quaint simplicity. The general air of the whole is nevertheless
commonplace. It has nothing, except its mechanical execution, to
distinguish it from the multitudinous ephemera with which our national
poetical press is now groaning.
As regards the minor morals of the Muse, the author is either uninformed
or affected. He is especially fond of unusual accents; and this, at
least, is a point in which novelty produces no good or admissible
effect. He has constantly such words as “accord” and “resource”—utter
abominations. He is endeavoring too, and very literally, to render
confusion worse confounded by the introduction into poetry of Carlyle’s
hyper-ridiculous ellisions in prose. Here, for example, where the
pronoun “he” is left to be understood:
Now the fervent preacher rises,
And his theme is heavenly love,
_Tells_ how once the blessed Saviour
Left his throne above.
His roughness is frequently reprehensible. We meet every where, or at
least far too often, with lines such as this—
Its clustered stars beneath Spring’s footsteps meets
in which the consonants are more sadly clustered than the stars. The
poet who would bring uninterruptedly together such letters as t h s p
and r, has either no ear at all, or two unusually long ones. The word
“footsteps,” moreover, should never be used in verse. To read the line
quoted, one must mouth like Forrest and hiss like a serpent.
* * * * *
_Twice-Told Tales. By Nathaniel Hawthorne. James Monroe & Co.:
Boston._
We have always regarded the _Tale_ (using this word in its popular
acceptation) as affording the best prose opportunity for display of the
highest talent. It has peculiar advantages which the novel does not
admit. It is, of course, a far finer field than the essay. It has even
points of superiority over the poem. An accident has deprived us, this
month, of our customary space for review; and thus nipped in the bud a
design long cherished of treating this subject in detail, taking Mr.
Hawthorne’s volumes as a text. In May we shall endeavor to carry out our
intention. At present we are forced to be brief.
With rare exception—in the case of Mr. Irving’s “Tales of a Traveller”
and a few other works of a like cast—we have had no American tales of
high merit. We have had no skilful compositions—nothing which could
bear examination as works of art. Of twattle called tale-writing we have
had, perhaps, more than enough. We have had a superabundance of the
Rosa-Matilda effusions—gilt-edged paper all _couleur de rose_: a full
allowance of cut-and-thrust blue-blazing melodramaticisms; a nauseating
surfeit of low miniature copying of low life, much in the manner, and
with about half the merit, of the Dutch herrings and decayed cheeses of
Van Tuyssel—of all this, _eheu jam satis_!
Mr. Hawthorne’s volumes appear to us misnamed in two respects. In the
first place they should not have been called “Twice-Told Tales”—for
this is a title which will not bear _repetition_. If in the first
collected edition they were twice-told, of course now they are
thrice-told.—May we live to hear them told a hundred times! In the
second place, these compositions are by no means _all_ “Tales.” The most
of them are essays properly so called. It would have been wise in their
author to have modified his title, so as to have had reference to all
included. This point could have been easily arranged.
But under whatever titular blunders we receive the book, it is most
cordially welcome. We have seen no prose composition by any American
which can compare with _some_ of these articles in the higher merits, or
indeed in the lower; while there is not a single piece which would do
dishonor to the best of the British essayists.
“The Rill from the Town Pump” which, through the _ad captandum_ nature
of its title, has attracted more of public notice than any one other of
Mr. Hawthorne’s compositions, is perhaps, the _least_ meritorious. Among
his best, we may briefly mention “The Hollow of the Three Hills;” “The
Minister’s Black Veil;” “Wakefield;” “Mr. Higginbotham’s Catastrophe;”
“Fancy’s Show-Box;” “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment;” “David Swan;” “The
Wedding Knell;” and; “The White Old Maid.” It is remarkable that all
these, with one exception, are from the first volume.
The style of Mr. Hawthorne is purity itself. His _tone_ is singularly
effective—wild, plaintive, thoughtful, and in full accordance with his
themes. We have only to object that there is insufficient diversity in
these themes themselves, or rather in their character. His _originality_
both of incident and of reflection is very remarkable; and this trait
alone would ensure him at least _our_ warmest regard and commendation.
We speak here chiefly of the tales; the essays are not so markedly
novel. Upon the whole we look upon him as one of the few men of
indisputable genius to whom our country has as yet given birth. As such,
it will be our delight to do him honor; and lest, in these undigested
and cursory remarks, without proof and without explanation, we should
appear to do him _more_ honor than is his due, we postpone all farther
comment until a more favorable opportunity.
* * * * *
_A Translation of Jacobs’ Greek Reader, (adapted to all the
editions printed in America) for the use of Schools, Academies,
Colleges, and Private Learners; with Copious Notes, Critical and
Explanatory: illustrated with numerous Parallel Passages and
Apposite Quotations from the Greek, Latin, French, English,
Spanish, and Italian Languages: and a Complete Parsing Index;
Elucidated by References to the most Popular Greek Grammars
Extant: By Patrick S. Casserly, author of “A New Literal
Translation of Longinus” &c. W. E. Dean: New York._
We give this title in full, as affording the best possible idea of the
character of the work. Nothing is left for us to say, except that we
highly approve the use of literal translations. In spite of all care,
these _will_ be employed by students, and thus it is surely an object to
furnish reputable versions. Mr. Casserly is, perhaps, chargeable with
inflation and Johnsonism as regards his own style—a defect from which
we have never known one of his profession free. The merit of his
translations, however, is unquestionable.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic
spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and
typesetting errors have been corrected without note. Greek phrases in
this ebook contain characters which may not display in some devices due
to the fonts and character sets available in the device.
A cover has been created for this eBook and is placed in the public
domain.
[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 4, April 1842_, George R.
Graham, Editor]