The year '35, rich as may be its promise of social and political good,
has so far done little for the cause of letters. The seductions of
political distinction, or the more substantial attractions of the
lucrative professions, have turned from the paths of literature all
whom genius and education have fitted to attain a high degree of
intellectual rank; while in the peculiar department of romance, the
master spirits, those who ruled the realms of fiction with undisputed
sway, have retired from the scenes of their glory, and left their
neglected wands to be played with by the puny arms of dwarfish
successors. COOPER[1] has sheltered himself from the furious storm,
which an injudicious and silly political pamphlet raised about his
head, in some quiet nook in his own native state; while IRVING, the
elegant, but over-nice, the gentle but languid IRVING, has abandoned
romance for reality, to favor the world with sketches of Indian
manners and scenery. PAULDING and Miss SEDGEWICK have ceased for a
time, to inflict their stories of humor and love, upon the proprietors
of circulating libraries, and provincial book-sellers. But the press
has not ceased: others have been found to succeed to, if not to fill
the places of those, whose genius the sanction of the world had
approved, and whose names ranked high in our infant literature. Who
are the new comers? Do they write as men having authority--the
authority of heaven-stamped genius, to claim to be heard for
themselves, and their cause?--or are they but raw, brawling braggarts,
who have broken into the sacred circle, rioting like buffoons,
disgracing what they could not honor? Are they menials of the mind,
underlings of the intellect, who have filled the rich banqueting hall
just abandoned by their superiors, sitting in squalid rags on the
splendid seats of genius, and gulping down the dregs of the deserted
wine, and the scraps of the half consumed feast--boors rioting in the
sumptuous apartments of their lords? Are they men, who, by a vigorous
and educated intellect, and the patient study of the works of the
great writers of romance, have fitted themselves to pour forth words
of burning eloquence, of bitter satire, of side-shaking humor, and
irresistible pathos? Are they artists, who, by the curious and
intricate construction of their fable, know how to excite and sustain
the deepest interest, ever urging upon the heart some tender
affection, some exalted feeling of honor and chivalry?
[Footnote 1: Since this sentence was penned, we have noticed the
advertisement of a new (satirical?) novel, (The Mannikins,) from the
pen of this gentleman, to be published during the summer.]
At a period when the crowd of novels issued almost daily from the
press, threatens serious injury to the literature of the age, not only
by withdrawing men of high natural capacities from the arduous study
of graver and more important subjects, but by throwing before the
public such a mass of matter, that unless they be neglected, (which
from their seductive character is not likely to be the case,) nothing
else can be read, it is of the highest importance, that an elevated
standard should be fixed by which to measure these productions. The
popular objection so often urged against this species of literature,
is not without some foundation in truth; and the only mistake made by
those who have brought it forward, consists in applying to the
species, that which is true only in individual cases. The influence of
these fictitious histories, from the rude form of the early romance,
down to the brilliant productions of the best writers of the present
century, has been, however, on the whole, advantageous to general
literature, and of the most humanizing effect upon society. Nothing
could betray more silly ignorance, than to contrast this class of
authors with those who have chosen higher and more essentially
important subjects; and because law, and philosophy, and mathematics,
may be in themselves, of a deeper interest and more universal value,
to regret the time and talent devoted to this elegant and refining
department of letters, as so much labor and opportunity thrown away.
So far from being wasted, we question, if even the most brilliant
discoveries in science, have contributed as much to the comfort and
enjoyment of society. It would be difficult to calculate the actual
amount of moral good, that may have been effected by the constant
holding up to the young and ardent, but plastic mind, the bright and
winning examples of female loveliness and manly virtue, that abound in
these popular and ever attractive volumes. And those who underrate
their powerful influence, know little of the actual workings of the
human heart--of the secret influences that direct, for good or for
evil, the wayward thoughtfulness of the young. The whole class of
romances, then, viewed as a means of forming individual character,
must assume in the eyes of the moralist and statesman, an importance
far beyond their intrinsic value, as literary works; and it is the
forgetting of the ulterior and vastly more interesting purpose which
they serve, in the general economy of society, that has misled many
virtuous and even able men, to undervalue and despise the whole
species as frivolous and worthless. A proper regard to their
influence, exerted in this way, must lie at the bottom of all sound
criticism, or the labors of the reviewer degenerate at once far below
the flippancy of the most trashy of the works he reads but to condemn.
The novel is only valuable as illustrating some peculiarities,
defects, or excellencies of character--passages of historical
interest, or the manners and customs of a class; and its success must
depend on the ability with which it is adapted to the end desired to
be accomplished. It is only the more unthinking class of writers, who
mistaking the means for the end, have lost sight of all _object_ in
the composition of their tales. Don Quixotte was not written as a mere
record of amusing absurdities; its purpose was to put down the
injurious and ridiculous follies, which the wit of Cervantes happily
lashed out of Spain. And it will be found that no work has obtained an
extensive and lasting popularity, that did not recommend itself by
something beyond the mere detail of the story, and the humor of the
dialogue. But to return from this long digression.
* * * * *
THE INSURGENTS. We commence with these volumes as decidedly superior,
in point of ability and interest, to other works on our table, from
the pens of American writers. They are the production of one who has
written before, who knows his own strength, and has fallen, (if we may
use the expression,) into the regular gait of authorship--he is broken
to the press. An outline of the plot, will the better enable those who
may not have perused the work itself, to comprehend the justice of the
scenes, and to understand the excellencies or defects of the various
characters that figure on the stage. The story is laid in
Massachusetts, at the period of the insurrectionary movements, among
the inhabitants of some of the interior counties, during the
administration of Governor Bowdoin, and immediately after the close of
the revolutionary war. _Col. Eustace_, an officer of the revolutionary
army, a generous but careless manager of his own affairs, has after
several years of arduous service, and in consequence of ill health,
retired to an estate fast falling to ruin, under the thriftless
conduct of the open-handed thoughtless veteran. _Henry Eustace_, his
eldest son, had served for two years as an adjutant to his father, and
returned after the close of the war, full of ardent aspirations, and
without any regular profession, to his paternal home. _Elizabeth
Eustace_, is the only daughter of the old Colonel, and as the
propriety of the novel requires, a lovely and interesting girl. _Tom
Eustace_, a younger brother, plays a subaltern part in the
developement of the story. _Frank Talbot_, an officer but a few years
the senior of Henry Eustace, succeeds to the Colonelcy, vacant by the
retirement of the elder Eustace; and after the disbanding of the army,
returns to his residence in the village, near the estate of Col.
Eustace, and is soon deeply immersed in professional business as a
lawyer, and in the political duties of a representative of his native
town, in the General Court, the title by which the Legislature of
Massachusetts was then distinguished. Frank too, has a sister, _Mary_,
somewhat the senior of Elizabeth, and distinguished from her by a
reserved manner and studious habit, but little characteristic of her
age and sex. The concluding portion of the second chapter, discovers
the secret attachment, which Elizabeth Eustace already bore the young
legislator, and drops the reader a hint of what the after pages of the
work more fully disclose.
The great sacrifices of property, incident to a war of seven years,
and the heavy imposts which the necessities of the state government
impelled it to levy on those who were already deeply involved, stirred
up among that class of the people, a spirit of sullen discontent; and
the legislature was already the arena on which the relief, or popular
party on the one hand, and the creditors on the other, had arrayed
themselves in fierce opposition. Talbot, who is represented as
"devoured by an ambition for political power and distinction," with an
active restless spirit, determined to disregard all principle,
whenever a more conscientious course might interfere with the
gratification of his political aspirations, embraced the side of the
malcontents, and was now on a visit to his constituents, for the
purpose of rousing them up to more active remonstrance against the
measures of the creditors' or government party, already supposed to
have secured a majority in the lower house of the State Legislature.
Henry Eustace, at this time, visits his friend, and consults with him
on the choice of a profession. Medicine, to which he at first
inclined, is soon abandoned, for the more attractive employment of
politics; and fascinated by the popular eloquence of Talbot, whose
enthusiasm had already enflamed the ardent blood of Henry, he becomes
one of the most violent of the partizans of the party to which Talbot
was then attached. While on this visit to the neighborhood, Talbot
engages himself to Elizabeth Eustace. His talents and influence had
already attracted the attention of the friends of the government, and
they resolve to tempt him to desertion from his present associates, by
the offer of electing him, by their support, to the Senate, to which
he already aspired, but with little hope of success, from the votes of
his own party. Having espoused the popular cause, from motives of
personal interest, he as readily abandons it, when more seductive
offers are held out by the opposite party. The baseness of Talbot, who
seizes the first opportunity to betray the cause he had formerly
supported, is an unexpected blow to Eustace, and severs the friendship
that before existed between them. The latter assumes the secret
command of the conspirators, while Talbot devotes all his energy and
abilities to the service of his new friends of the government; and
every day widens the difference between them. A large portion of the
two volumes is taken up with descriptions of the various marchings and
counter-marchings of the insurgents and the militia, in the course of
which Talbot and Eustace engage in single combat; the latter strikes
the sword from his adversary's hand, and spares him his life. The
story then goes on, without any thing of importance occurring, until
the conflict between the two parties in the Legislature, is decided in
favor of the government, by the passage of a law for the suspension of
the _habeas corpus_ act. The hatred between Talbot and Eustace had
already become of the most rancorous and malignant character, and the
arrest of the latter, who had been once saved by the sister of Talbot,
is now effected by her brother at the head of a party of soldiers.
Thus deprived of their chief support, in the person of Eustace, the
insurgents are soon dispersed, not however without a skirmish, in
which they are put to flight, in a way at once ludicrous and
conclusive. The first fire disperses them, never to recover. Elizabeth
Eustace and Mary Talbot, in the mean time, manage to bring about a
reconciliation between the two hostile brothers, to whom they had been
respectively engaged, and a double marriage consummates the happiness
of this quartette, and concludes the second and last volume of the
"Insurgents." So much for the story, which though simple enough in the
detail, is liable to the serious objection, that must ever lie against
that division of interest, the necessary consequence of introducing a
double set of characters into a plot, that should be single and
simple. The unities of the drama are not more essential to the
perfection of pieces designed for theatrical representation, than is
the preservation of an individual and prominent interest in the hero
of a novel. The narrow compass of a couple of duodecimos, is not more
than sufficient for the painting of one chief character, with the
sketches of the minor _personæ_, necessary to sustain the interest of
a plot. An attempt at double teaming a novel, with two sets of heroes,
invariably results in destroying that prominence of interest, which a
closer adherence to the legitimate form of the fable, naturally and
necessarily insures; and no more striking illustration of our position
could be found, than in the volumes before us. The characters of
Eustace and Talbot, neither contrast with effect, nor harmonize in the
general management of the plot; and the awkward and unnatural
reconciliation, which is finally brought about, to say nothing of the
perplexities into which the cross-loves of the four, plunge the
writer, is the best evidence that this double-plotting has injured the
effect of the story, by rendering it necessary to force a conclusion.
As the fidelity to nature, in the character of the principal actors,
must always be one of the highest sources of interest to a critical
reader, we shall notice very briefly, the manner in which the author
of the "Insurgents" has succeeded in the _personnel_ of his
descriptions. The old Colonel, the father of Henry Eustace, is exactly
such a personage as every reader may have met with--brave, generous,
careless, and ignorant, he is, perhaps, a very correct picture of the
better part of the _ancien regime_ of our colonial and revolutionary
times. Without any striking peculiarities of character, and playing
but a subaltern part in the story, he only appears as a piece of the
family furniture, brought into play, by the casual location of the
scene. The reader has no cause to regret the slightness of the
acquaintance. The Colonel's second son, Tom, is but an appendage to
the story. Henry, one of the heroes, begins in the army, a mischief
loving, rule breaking, but active and gallant youth; and in the
progress of the story, becomes an eloquent, restless, rebellious
demagogue--stirring up insurrection among the people--defending in the
Legislature, with consummate ability, their pretended wrongs and
actual treason; and upon one occasion, displaying in the field, the
chivalrous courage of his hot and impatient years. He is, however,
always honorable and sincere. His treason is infatuation, and his
_demagogueism_ (if we may coin a much wanted word,) the frenzy of
passion and thoughtlessness. Talbot, on the contrary, is bold and
eloquent; a brave soldier, and an accomplished advocate; but a cunning
and unprincipled politician, who, in the beginning of his career,
espouses the cause of the malcontents, as the only means of securing
the representation of his native village in the Legislature, and as
quickly abandons it, when a higher office is promised him by the
friends of the government, as the price of his desertion. Dr. Talbot,
a country physician "of long practice and high repute," is an abrupt,
rough, but good natured disciple of Esculapius, and seems to have been
intended for no other purpose, than to enable the author to discharge
his wit at the expense of some of the ill mannered admirers of the
surly blackguardism of the Abernethy school of medical gentility. Of
the two heroines, Mary Talbot is a thoughtful, reserved, bright eyed
_blue_; Elizabeth Eustace is younger, and prettier, but more entirely
the child of nature. Neither of them, however, say or act any thing
that can distinguish them from the common _materiel_ of all
novel-women, and serve rather the necessities of the plot, than the
illustration of any of the more touching or exalted beauties of female
character. Of the _Dii minorum gentium_--the lower order of character,
Zeek Morehouse, a worthless understrapper about the old Colonel's
domestic establishment--Hezekiah Brindle, another domestic, who, when
fortune had abandoned the standard of the Insurgents, with the most
simple hearted treachery, "'lists for a private" in the adverse
army--Deacon Hopkins, a thin visaged, flint hearted knave, the usurer
of the parish--Captain Moses Bliss, the inn keeper, one of those pert,
low rogues, so often found in village taverns--Captain Shays, the
leader of the insurgents, and the very impersonation of the spirit of
the militia service--Mrs. Appleton and Mrs. Shattuck, specimens of the
virago, are all rather amusing examples of Yankee low life, and afford
occasion for much characteristic, if not very interesting dialogue.
The other characters brought out in the developement of the story,
scarcely deserve to be noticed, serving as they only do, like soldiers
drafted from the cobbler's stalls and tailors benches, for the use of
the stage, to help the author through the necessities of his plot.
The conduct of the story, is in some respects extremely, and very
often unnecessarily, faulty. The introduction of Zeek Morehouse, in
the second chapter, is a bungling expedient to beat out the author's
_materiel_, over a larger surface for the publisher: and the whole
scene in the kitchen, and afterwards in the presence of the Colonel's
family, is low and dull. The Doctor (Talbot,) is always an unnecessary
personage, and we hardly think there is any thing about him, to
compensate the delay in the story which his presence occasions. The
affair of "Mary Gibbs's misfortune," is awkwardly brought in, and
unsatisfactorily disposed of. We are sorry for the misconduct of
Eustace, and rather vexed at the facile forgiveness with which his
mistress overlooks it; while the silence of the novelist gives a
venial character to one of the most crying offences against individual
happiness and social order. Osborne, and his adventures, from the
commencement, through his trial and mock punishment, down to the
period of the marriage with Miss Warren, form an episode that only
swells the volume, without helping on the story, or affording the
author any opportunity (that he had not before,) for remark, or the
illustration of character. He is nothing but the shadow of Eustace, in
point of character; and Miss Warren, as a sketch of a flirting
fashionable, is not worth the pains taken to introduce her to the
reader. The capital defect of the plot, however, is in the conclusion.
The bitter contempt which Eustace must have felt, (and which he seizes
every opportunity to express,) for the baseness of Talbot, in
betraying the cause of the popular party, and the rancorous hatred
which his subsequent violent persecution of him, had engendered in the
breast of Eustace, (see vol. 2, p. 266-7,) to say nothing of the
cordial detestation with which Talbot returned his ill will, (see vol.
2, p. 268,) renders the reconciliation, effected without any sort of
explanation, apology, or clearing up of the guilt of either, unnatural
and disgusting. Eustace _knew_ the baseness of Talbot, and the latter
(a bearded man, and a soldier,) had just declared that he would sooner
follow his sister to the grave, than see her united to his enemy; and
yet, presto! the author having finished out his second volume, the
traitor and his bitter foe, shake hands, and enter at once into an
exchange of sisters by a double marriage! In this particular, the
story is contrived with great want of skill.
The author seems to have been aware of the propriety and good taste of
preserving historical correctness in a novel, founded on scenes in
real life; but he does not comprehend, to its full extent, the spirit
of that sound canon. So far as the progress of the story, in the
movements of the insurgents, is concerned, the _events_ are in strict
keeping with Bradford's account of the insurrections in Massachusetts.
But this was but a small part of the duty of the novelist; and he has
violated all the rest. The open rebellion of the greater part of the
population of several counties, threatened the most serious and
alarming evil; perhaps the total overthrow of the government of the
state; and the spirit of the people had become sullen and gloomy. In
the "Insurgents," however, the whole affair is treated with ridicule,
and the reader of the novel is left with an impression that the
insurrection was of a character, compared with which, the adventures
of Don Quixotte and his squire, were serious and important! Shays, who
was the head of the malcontents, and commander in chief of the
disorderly forces that were arranged against the government, is
painted in the novel, as a despicably ignorant and silly creature.
Now, such would not have been the character of a man, elected to head
a band of desperate insurgents, upon the point of engagement with the
forces of a powerful commonwealth! We may add, that the whole body of
the relief party, with the exception of Eustace, and his friend
Osborne, are described as frivolous gasconading clowns. In this
respect, then, there has been a gross falsification of history, and
the extremely literal adherence of the author, to historical
correctness in _events_, renders this striking variation the more
apparent, and the more to be lamented.
The moral of the "Insurgents," is defective. The treachery of Talbot,
and the indignant virtue of Eustace, are rewarded with the same final
happiness; and the unfortunate Mary Gibbs does not even suggest to the
author a word of censure, upon her guilty seducer. We should have been
glad to have made such extracts from the work, as would have enabled
our readers to judge for themselves of its merit; but there are few,
if any passages, in either volume, of very striking interest, and any
partial quotation would rather have misled, than corrected their
judgment.
Men of humor are always, in some degree, men of genius; wits are
rarely so, although a man of genius may, amongst other gifts, possess
wit, as Shakspeare.
_Coleridge's Table Talk_.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.