_For the Southern Literary Messenger_.
AN ORATION on the Life and Character of Gilbert Motier de Lafayette,
delivered at the request of both Houses of the Congress of the United
States, before them, in the House of Representatives at Washington, on
the 31st of December, 1834, by John Quincy Adams, a Member of the
House. Washington: Gales and Seaton. 1835. pp. 94.
EULOGY on La Fayette, delivered in Fanueil Hall, at the request of the
Young Men of Boston, September 6, 1834; by Edward Everett. Boston:
Nathan Hall & Allen & Tichnor. 1834. pp. 96.
* * * * *
"An Oration in praise of Hercules!!! And who ever thought of blaming
Hercules!"
The limits of the old world bounded the labors of Hercules. There
nature had planted imperishable landmarks; and on these the gratitude
of nations had inscribed, in imperishable characters, the name of their
benefactor. What could the breath of man add to his glory?
But the pillars of Hercules have been passed. Beyond this _ne plus
ultra_ of the ancient world, the genius of Columbus opened a way to new
regions, and extended the sway of his imperial master around the
circuit of the earth. A new hero was wanting, whose labors,
commensurate with this enlarged theatre, might compass the globe, and
convey to the new world the benefits which his illustrious prototype
had conferred on the old. Such a hero the bounty of Providence
vouchsafed to man. But the spirit has returned to him who gave it; and
it is in praise of his memory, that two distinguished orators have been
required to task their acknowledged powers.
But "who ever thought of blaming La Fayette?" Who feels it necessary to
utter his praise, even in this simple question? Who feels it necessary
to answer it? Is not such silence the most expressive praise; the
silence imposed by a common sentiment, which all are conscious is felt
by all?
What can be expected from eulogy in such a case? What is there in the
breath of praise; what is there in the pomp and circumstance of funeral
pageantry, but a solemn mockery of the feelings that "bleed deep in the
silent breast?" We find a natural though sad pleasure in telling the
world of the unobtrusive merit of some good man, who in voluntary
privacy had passed and closed a virtuous and useful life. We may have a
purpose in erecting monuments to the _common great_, which, perishable
as they are, may somewhat prolong the memory of those to whom they are
dedicated. The undying strains of bards may rescue from oblivion names
which might have perished. There were heroes before Agamemnon; but they
had no Homer to record their deeds, and died without their fame. But
what need had Hercules of Homer? What need has La Fayette that one
should tell his fellow of him? Why proclaim to the world what all the
world already knows? Why tell posterity what posterity can never
forget, until man has lost the records of the history of man?
We talk of monuments to Washington. Why is none erected? Is it for want
of reverence for his memory? For want of love? For want of gratitude?
These questions are reproachfully asked, from time to time, by novices
in politics, who, in striving to signalize their patriotism, their
enthusiasm, or their _eloquence_, do but signalize their ignorance of
the human heart. Such appeals are always answered by silence. It is the
answer dictated by the unsophisticated feelings of our countrymen.
Where would you place the monument? _In_ the capitol? Is not the
_capitol itself_ too small? But the capitol may be considered
symbolically as imbodying the free institutions of the country which he
made free. What then? Is not the _thing itself_ worthier than the
symbol? Is any monument to Washington so appropriate as that reared by
his genius, his toils and his virtues,--HIS COUNTRY? And what matters
it under what part of that vast tablet, every where emblazoned with his
glory, his bones repose? The silence of the people is the appropriate,
the only _natural_ expression of those sentiments which all can feel,
though all know not how to speak them. The unsuccessful orator who,
having uttered his premeditated declamation, goes his way, reproaching
their apathy, does but expose himself to scorn, as one who would
substitute _lip service_ for the homage of the heart. But even that
scorn, (such is the influence of the all-pervading reverence for the
mighty dead,) even that is repressed, and finds no voice.
These remarks are made because they illustrate the difficulty of the
task imposed on Messrs. Adams and Everett. It is a difficulty which
grows out of the nature of the subject. We are not sure that any man,
endued with all those qualities which enter into the composition of the
perfect orator, would not instinctively shrink from such a task. Mr.
Webster declined it; and it does not appear that it was sought by Mr.
Clay, Mr. Leigh, or Mr. Preston.
Of one thing we are sure. Whoever attempted it must have failed. All
such attempts must end in failure. The eulogies on Washington were all
failures. Those on Adams and Jefferson were failures too, but from a
different cause. When, on the 4th of July, 1826, the Declaration of
Independence was celebrated in jubilee over the continent; while the
political partizans of both those illustrious men, whose rivalship had
so long divided the people, were hyming their praises, it pleased him
whose instruments they had been, to touch them with his finger, and to
show that they were dust. Never was any people so suddenly and so
awfully reminded that it is _God alone_ who doeth his will on earth and
in the armies of heaven; and never did any people use so strenuous an
effort to shake off a salutary impression. They refused to lay to heart
the admonition of Providence. "The Lord of Hosts had called to weeping,
and to mourning, and to baldness, and to girding with sackcloth; and
behold joy and gladness; slaying oxen, and killing sheep; eating flesh,
and drinking wine." The worship of the living was closed by the
_apotheosis_ of the dead: the best talents in the land were engaged in
the solemn mockery: and the very ministers of the living God were seen
officiating in the profane ceremonial. What could come of all this;
what did come of it, but failure? We have no fear of offending any one
of the distinguished men who tasked his powers for that occasion, by
saying that his effort was a failure. Each one must have felt that it
was so; and each one will readily accept the excuse furnished by the
unfitness of the ceremony to the occasion. How many of those who
witnessed it, went home with hearts oppressed by a consciousness of
something wrong? And as the evils of man-worship have advanced, (_as
they are now advancing_,) to their fatal consummation, how many,
recalling the circumstances of that ceremonial, have heard a voice as
that of Jehovah, whispering, "Surely this iniquity shall not be purged
from you, until you die?"
We trust that the temper of these remarks will not be misapprehended.
They cannot be made in the spirit of party, for the subjects of them
were the very antipodes of conflicting parties. Whatever feelings such
thoughts awaken in our minds, the thoughts themselves are suggested by
considerations purely critical. We have but attempted to imbody and
apply two maxims that every master of the art of eloquence will own as
true. First; that, _in cases calling for the highest reach of that
art_, every attempt that _falls short_ of it is _felt_ to be a failure.
Second; that under circumstances that _offend the better feelings of
the heart_, the _highest reach of eloquence_ is unattainable by human
powers.
It may be readily believed that we have felt reluctant to sit in
judgment on the works of men so renowned as Messrs. Adams and Everett.
A decided condemnation would seem to many the height of presumption.
Even to ourselves it has so much of this appearance, that we are
desirous to have it in our power to charge the main defects of their
performances rather on the occasion than on themselves.
Mr. Everett has certainly made the most of it. His delineation of the
character of La Fayette is highly graphic; the incidents of his life
are judiciously and tastefully selected, and told with spirit,
simplicity and distinctness; and the comparative summary of his claims
to the grateful admiration of the world, commands the acquiescence of
the reader. The whole is interspersed with just thoughts and natural
sentiments, which do honor to the head and heart of the speaker.
But a higher praise is due to Mr. Everett. The history of La Fayette is
the history of man, in the most portentous and eventful era of his
existence. Of the events of that era Mr. Everett so speaks as to show
that he has understood and rightly applied the lesson which they teach
to the world. _He_ does not profess to see any thing "cheering and
refreshing" in the progress or the results of the French revolution.
How should he? How should a man of "untaught feelings, with a heart of
flesh and blood beating in his bosom," find any thing cheering in
theoretical good, purchased at such an expense of actual crime and
suffering? How should a friend of liberty look, but with despondency,
on the result of a series of horrors unutterable and inconceivable,
only serving to confirm the sad truth "that men of intemperate minds
cannot be free?" Those who could "hope against hope," shut their eyes
as long as possible, and tried to forget that _rational liberty_ is but
another name for _self-government_. But they have been forced to see
that some appropriate training is necessary to qualify man for freedom.
In what that training is to consist, it is not easy to say. Its
application depends on him who rules the world. When he shall please so
to order events as to qualify men by the discipline of life, for
_self-government_, they will then be capable of freedom, and not till
then. A corollary from this important truth comes nearer home to
ourselves. _When men, thus qualified for freedom and thus made free,
become wiser than their teachers, and impatient to unlearn the lessons
taught in this school of discipline, there is danger that they may
imperceptibly lose those personal qualities on which their fitness for
the function of self-government depends._ The personal qualities of a
limited monarch, who is but the minister of the actual sovereignty, may
be of small consequence; but on the personal qualities of a free
people, the efficient sovereign, _de facto_ as well as _de jure_, every
thing depends. If these be lost in experiments on the _theory_ of
government, all is lost.
We should extend our remarks too far, if we indulged in all the
reflections on this subject suggested by these two orations. By that of
Mr. Adams they are provoked by repeated allusions to it, which give to
his performance something of the character of a dissertation (not very
philosophical) on the philosophy of government. He doubtless felt the
difficulties of his situation, not the less sensibly, because he had
obviously sought it. The whole proceeding seems to have been planned by
himself, but he was probably not aware how hard a task he had
undertaken, until he set about its performance. He seems throughout to
have been at cross-purposes with himself; never decided whether to play
the statesman, the philosopher, or the orator; and not always certain
which of his two sets of political opinions had the ascendant for the
day. His digression at page four, in which he wanders away into a
statement of the titles of Louis XV and George II, is certainly one of
the strangest aberrations from the subject that we have ever seen. It
is hard to imagine his motive for it, unless he was seeking an
opportunity to record his testimony against _hereditary monarchy_. Why
he should have felt this necessary, he best knows. But his observations
on this point, after all, are superficial to very childishness; and we
can hardly help questioning his sincerity when we see him affecting to
be wholly unconscious of the true grounds on which the statesmen of the
old world place their preference of the _hereditary_ to the _elective_
principle. Yet of these Mr. Adams could not have been ignorant, and had
no right to suppose his hearers ignorant. What right had he then, to
speak over their heads, to the uninitiated multitude, who have not yet
learned that, in the judgment of the enlightened friends of liberty, it
is not desirable that the throne should be filled by a man of high
personal endowments? Such are the men to whom dangerous powers are
conceded. Such are the men who seize prerogatives never claimed before,
and transmit them to their successors. Even if the statesmen of England
had been silent on the subject, could we have supposed them so
unobservant of the history of their own country, as not to have
remarked that _all concessions in favor of liberty_ of which their
annals bear record, have been obtained from _weak princes_, from those
who held by _doubtful titles_, or from _minors_? Do they not know that
the odious tyranny, the folly, the weakness, and the cowardice of John
gave birth to _magna charta_? Had not this been extorted from him,
could it have been wrung from the stern grasp of the first or third
Edward? During the reign of this last, where slumbered that fierce
spirit which broke out on the accession of the minor Richard II, and
slunk away rebuked, the moment he showed that, though a boy in years,
he was a man in spirit? Can we identify the abject slaves who crouched
to the will of the bold and resolute Elizabeth, with the contumacious
subjects of her silly and imbecile Scotch successor? Could the spirit
which tumbled his son from the throne, have prepared itself for
explosion during her vigilant and energetic reign? If little was gained
at the restoration, it was because little was asked. The people had
lost a sense of the value of liberty, from experience of the abuses
perpetrated in her name. They only asked to be freed from a sour and
gloomy tyranny which invaded the privacy, and marred the comforts of
the domestic circle. They ask for nothing but leave to enjoy life.
Charles opposed irreligion to fanaticism, and they wished no more.
The revolution found them in a different mood. Appetite was gorged,
mirth had become stale, animal passion had spent its force, and men
found themselves once more requiring something to engage the nobler
faculties of the heart and mind.
Do we ask why, in this temper, they gained so little from William? Look
at the character of the man, and you have your answer. Able, energetic,
sagacious, firm and cold, he had power, even in the act of mounting the
throne, to arrest the progress of reform in mid career.
The weak princes of the house of Brunswick enjoyed an advantage of a
different sort, which supplied the place of talent to them. By contrast
with the odious pretender of the house of Stuart they were popular; and
this counter-prop upheld the power of the crown until that race became
virtually extinct. So sensible of this was the purest, the ablest, and
the most resolved of the friends of liberty in the reign of George II,
(we speak of Mr. Shippen)--so sensible was he of the advantage which
freedom has in contending with a weak prince, and an unpopular name,
that he had serious thoughts of bringing in the pretender with that
view.
But the house of Stuart passed off the stage; the bugbear of a popish
succession was removed; the cant of the "great and glorious revolution"
went out of fashion; and people instead of looking back to that, took
leave to look forward to something better. Our own revolution was the
first fruit of this change in public sentiment. That which was
preparing in England was arrested by the horrors of the premature
explosion in France. But that interruption of its progress was but
temporary, and it is now finding its consummation under the reign of
one who, having passed from first to second childhood, without ever
being a man, seems fitted by Providence for the place to which the
order of succession called, and in which the order of events required
him.
Have these things been lost on Mr. Adams himself? And has not his _own_
experience taught him the advantage which a questionable title, or the
folly of a ruler may give his subjects? Has he yet to learn that vanity
and obvious weakness may provoke a clamor for reforms, which the man of
spirit and address, who is brought in to effectuate them, may laugh at?
Does he believe that the revolution so "cheering and refreshing" to his
spirit, would have taken place, had Henri IV occupied the throne of
Louis XVI? Does he think the reform now going on in England would have
commenced under Elizabeth or her grandfather Henry VII? Does he believe
that the people of the United States would, at this moment, address
themselves to the reform of their representation, however unequal,
however corrupt, if its corruption only produced subserviency to the
will of Andrew Jackson? In short is he to learn, at this time of day,
that the power which the exigencies of public affairs require to be
lodged in the hands of the Executive of a _great and ambitious_ nation,
implies a _faculty of usurpation_? That such power, passing from
generation to generation successively, into the hands of men of mature
age, of bold spirits and commanding minds, will increase and multiply
itself without end, is certain. That such power will be deemed
necessary, so long as men give themselves up to dreams of glory and the
lust of conquest, is equally sure.
Why did our fathers hope that the experiment of free government might
succeed with us, though it had failed every where else? Was it not
because our local situation removed us far from war, and the
entanglements of foreign politics? Let any infatuation tempt us to
throw away this advantage, and seek the evil that seeks not us, and it
is not difficult to foresee the consequence. We shall soon find
ourselves, like the friends of freedom in England, reduced to inquire,
"what hope remains to us, but to regulate the succession on a principle
which may afford the people a chance of wresting from a weak prince,
the advantages gained by the ability and address of his predecessors?"
The solution of this problem was found in the device of "blending
together the principle of hereditary succession with that of reformed
protestant christianity," at which Mr. Adams sneers so bitterly. Its
inventors were the truest friends to freedom in the world. They were
our masters in the science of government. Relieved from the necessity
which drove them to this device, _we_ imbodied in our institutions the
lessons we had learned from them. Should our folly throw away our
peculiar advantages, and our vices render some contrivance of the sort
necessary to us as to them, may we be equally fortunate in applying the
maxims learned from them! If monarchy become necessary, (and they who
most feel the necessity often most deeply lament it,) may we hit on
some contrivance as well adapted to give the people the comfortable
sense of security, while the ruler is made to feel that he holds his
power only by their will. That in every stage of our political
existence we may choose wisely, let us shut our ears to those who would
disguise their well known predilections for strong government, by _ad
captandum_ sneers at any of its _particular modes_. What end can such
sneers answer at this moment, but to confirm our people in the fatal
error of supposing liberty secure because the _forms_ of the
constitution are preserved? because our monarch is elective, not
hereditary; a man and not a child?
Of a piece with this is the declaration (at page forty-three) that, in
the contemplation of the great results of the French revolution, Mr.
Adams finds something "cheering and refreshing." It is well known that
while the friends of freedom were animated with a hope, that the dark
hour of its commencement was but the forerunner of a day of light and
liberty and happiness, Mr. Adams belonged to a school which taught that
this bright hope was but illusory; that all the horrors of the _reign
of terror_ were gratuitous; and that the French people would, in the
end, return as near as might be, to the condition from which they were
struggling to escape. These bodings have been fulfilled. The younger
branch of the house of Capet has taken the place of the elder. The
unteachable folly of those who could neither learn nor forget, has been
superseded by the address, the subtlety, the energy and spirit of Louis
Philippe. By these qualities, and by what is _instar omnium_, his
private wealth, he has been able to stay the tempest of revolution in
its wildest rage, and to establish himself firmly on the throne. The
condemnation pronounced by Mr. Adams's school of politics, in the
earlier stages of the revolution, has been justified by the event, and
_he_ finds something "_quite refreshing_" in the result!
We have perhaps extended these observations too far, and left ourselves
but little room to remark on the style of these compositions. There is
certainly much to praise in Mr. Everett's, and we would gladly adorn
our pages with copious extracts from it; but it is in every body's
hands, and will be read by thousands whom our humble pages will never
reach.
It has been well said "that truth is sometimes more incredible than
fiction." The history of La Fayette is a chapter in the romance of real
life, more strange and interesting than any tale that imagination has
ever suggested. The succinct sketch of that history, which forms the
body of Mr. Everett's eulogy, must be read with great interest even by
those already familiar with the facts. It is quite felicitously hit
off.
We have already intimated the opinion, that the nature of the occasion
fixed the doom of failure on the attempts of both gentlemen, however
executed. We wish we could say that no part of the fault attached to
the execution itself. The circumstances justified the expectation that
each oration should be perfect in its kind. Men selected from among
millions for the occasion, and having months for preparation, were
bound to furnish specimens of composition without blemish. We are sorry
to point out faults which would merit censure in works of less
pretension. In Mr. Everett's eulogy we mark a few.
Does he mean, at page six, to intimate that the "boldness of truth" was
ONLY "_not_ WHOLLY _uncongenial_" to the character of La Fayette? We
take this as a specimen of the faults into which men blunder, who adopt
a sort of diluted style, in which affirmative propositions are stated
by _disaffirming the negation of the affirmative_. This may be very
polite and genteel. It betokens an amiable aversion to say any thing
offensive; an eagerness to qualify and explain; and sometimes even a
readiness to take back any thing that may displease. It may be called
the _apologetic_ or _bowing_ style; for whenever we meet with it, we
presently have before us the image of the speaker, ruffled, powdered
and perfumed, and accompanying every sentence with the appropriate
gesture of a deferential bow. This is Mr. Everett's besetting fault.
But for this he might have been an orator.
At pages twelve and thirteen, we were inextricably puzzled (to say
nothing of the ungraceful introduction of the _egomet ipse_,) by the
following sentence.
"Yes, fellow-citizens, that I may repeat an exclamation, uttered ten
years ago by him who has now the honor to address you, in the presence
of an immense multitude, who welcomed 'the nation's guest' to the
academic shades of Harvard, and by them received with acclamations of
approval and tears of gratitude; when he was told by our commissioners,
'that they did not possess the means or the credit of procuring [credit
of procuring!] a single vessel in all the ports of France, then,
exclaimed the gallant and generous youth, 'I will provide my own.'"
The reader may unriddle this. We cannot. If the thing were possible,
the most plausible guess would be, that the words "I will provide my
own," were the words of Mr. Everett. It is the only exclamation we hear
of.
We have not often had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Everett speak, and
cannot pronounce whether he possesses that magic power of voice, and
countenance, and attitude and gesture, which _should_ have been
displayed in the utterance of his closing paragraph. Without these, it
is a school-boy declamation. We rather fear that Mr. Everett is not so
endowed. Such was our impression on hearing him, and this is confirmed
by the fact, that his power over the house of which he has long been a
member, is no way commensurate to his acknowledged talents. We subjoin
the paragraph, adding this advice--"that no man attempt to utter such a
passage who is not very sure of his own powers." He who can do it as it
should be done, may rival Cooke in Richard, or Cooper in the
ghost-scene in Hamlet. This is the paragraph.
"You have now assembled within these _renowned_ walls, to perform the
last duties of respect and love, on the birth-day of your benefactor,
beneath that roof which has resounded of old with the master voices of
American _renown_. The spirit of the departed is in _high communion_
[does this mean _high mass_?] with the spirit of the place;--the temple
worthy of the new name, which we now behold inscribed on its walls.
Listen, Americans, to the lesson, which seems borne to us on the very
air we breathe, while we perform these dutiful rites. Ye winds, that
wafted the pilgrims to the land of promise, fan in their children's
hearts, the love of freedom;--blood which our fathers shed, cry from
the ground; _echoing_ arches of this _renowned_ hall, _whisper_ back
the voices of other days;--glorious Washington, break the long silence
of that votive canvass;--speak, speak, marble lips, teach us THE LOVE
OF LIBERTY PROTECTED BY LAW."[1]
[Footnote 1: Subjoined to Mr. Everett's speech is an account of the
circumstances of the ceremonial, much in detail. From this it appears
that _by his side_, on the platform where he stood, was placed a bust
of La Fayette, on a pedestal _just high enough_ to bring the _face on a
level with the speaker's_. The taste of this we de not propose to
discuss with the committee of arrangement. It seems to have imposed on
Mr. Everett a sort of necessity to have a word to say to the figure,
and we do not know that he could have done it better than he has done.
We incline to suspect that he would gladly have escaped from that part
of his task. We are glad he got through it so well. We are glad too we
were not there. The thought of Punch and the Devil knocking their noses
together, might have made us laugh most unreasonably. Now that the
thing is over, we venture to intreat that no man of genius and taste
may be placed in a situation so perilous and so painful.]
At pages six and seven, we have a passage, which besides savoring of
transcendentalism, smacks of the school of Garrison and Tappan. We pass
it by, because it is not with a mere occasional volunteer like Mr.
Everett that we would discuss the subject there hinted at. Indeed we
would touch him with a lenient hand, for his eulogy has great merit,
and has deepened the kindly impression which his amiable character and
classic talent had already made on us. The blemishes we have noted are
but
"Stains upon a vestal's robe,
The worse for what the soil."
We recommend it to the perusal of all (if any there be) who have not
read it.
We had noted for animadversion some of the most faulty passages of Mr.
Adams's oration, but do not find them so much at variance with the
general character of the work as to merit particular censure. When
Secretary of State to a President, who, while minister to England,
informed his government, in an official despatch, that he "had
_enjoyed_ very bad health," he acquired by contrast the reputation of a
fine writer. He was the _cheval de battaille_ of the administration.
Afterwards, when the head of a dominant party, it pleased him to lay
claim to the first place among the writers of the day, and his
followers of course accorded it to him. A fatal claim, most fatally
acknowledged! Had he known no more of writing than his successor, he
might have been President now. As it was, he perilled the enjoyment of
power, for the sake of vaunting it, in well turned sentences about
"light-houses in the skies." His vanity tore away the veil under which
federalism had lain securely hid for years. Had he, like his successor,
unmasked a battery in doing so, he might have done it safely. This may
explain some of our former remarks, when classing him among those whose
weakness afforded the people an opportunity (fatally abused) of
retrieving their rights.
Mr. Adams's style is any thing but felicitous. He has not the art of
gliding gracefully on from topic to topic. His digressions are abrupt,
untimely and rectangular; his allusions are generally of the ebony and
topaz school; his blows are never inflicted with that dexterous sleight
which engages our admiration too much to permit sympathy with the
sufferer. They never take effect but when the victim is bound hand and
foot, or on some imbecile wretch, like Jonathan Russel, who can neither
parry nor elude them. His oratory reminds us of the _fa sol la_ of a
country singing school, differing as much from the easy flow of
spontaneous eloquence, as the mellifluous stream of real music from
that harsh jangling in which each note claims its separate syllable.
To those who may be startled at this account of Mr. Adams's style, we
recommend the perusal of his oration as an exercise. We venture to
predict that by the time the sixty thousand copies ordered by Congress
have found as many readers, our judgment will be confirmed by at least
fifty-nine thousand of them. But that will never be.
To Mr. Everett's address are appended a requiem and a hymn, of which we
will say, but more emphatically, what we said of the orations. They
should have great excellence and no fault. Each should be a gem of the
first water, and without flaw. The first consists of six stanzas, of
which two or three are very fine. But what shall we say to this:
"One pulse is echoing there."
An echoing pulse!
"One pulse is echoing there!
The far voiced clarion and the trump are still,
And man's crushed spirit to the changeless will
Bows in _rebuke_ and prayer!"
Whom or what does man rebuke? If the writer meant "_under_ rebuke," he
should have said so. Again--
"Gather about his pall,
And let the sacred memory of years
That he made glorious, call back your tears,
_Or_ LIGHT _them as they fall!_"
If the writer had an idea connected with the last line it is
incomprehensible to us.
The hymn of four short stanzas being destitute of any original thought,
has not merit enough to be chargeable with any particular fault. There
_may be_ something new, though common-place, in the last stanza.
Astronomers tell us that Venus and Mercury are morning and evening star
by turns. Our poet, if we can understand his orrery, has a mind to make
the name of La Fayette both morning and evening star at once.
_For the Southern Literary Messenger_.
THE BEAUTIES of the Court of Charles the Second; a series of Memoirs,
Biographical and Critical, illustrating the Diaries of Pepys, Evelyn,
Clarendon, and other contemporary writers. By Mrs. Jameson, authoress
of "The Loves of the Poets," "Lives of Female Sovereigns," "Visits and
Sketches at Home and Abroad," &c. &c. Philadelphia: E. L. Cary & A.
Hart. pp. 304. 8vo.
Few portions of history are more replete with characters illustrating
the good and evil of human nature, in both extremes, than that of the
reign and court of Charles II. The stern dominion of a sour and
superstitious bigotry had just passed away; the disgusting hypocrisy
which had disguised all vice under the mask of religion and virtue had
been exposed; and the disclosure had awakened a doubt, even in the
minds of the wise and good, whether unbounded license was not more
tolerable than the enormities practised in those hiding-places of
crime, into which the severe discipline of the Protectorate had driven
it. The public eye might impose some restraint; but when the indulgence
of harmless mirth and the enjoyment of innocent amusement were unsafe,
except in private, who could tell what unseen abominations might be
perpetrated in recesses which the world was not permitted to look into.
Nothing is more true, than that the appetite for pleasure grows by
indulgence, and that, pushed to the verge of what is lawful, it is too
apt to pass into criminal excess. But _innocent_ pleasures men _will_
have. What security that they will be content with these? None but the
influence of public sentiment, constraining them to respect the almost
viewless boundary that divides the extreme of lawful indulgence from
the beginnings of licentiousness. The exercise of this influence is a
duty society owes to itself; but to exert it, we must bear to look upon
the scenes where its authority should be felt. If we fastidiously turn
away, and refuse to the young, the gay, the sanguine and the
thoughtless, the benefit of that aggregate judgment concerning right
and wrong, which we distinguish by the name of "public sentiment," we
incur more risk of becoming "partakers of the sins of others," than we
should by looking on with that complacent smile of benevolent sympathy,
which its objects would not willingly exchange for the frown of merited
disapprobation. In this smile and this frown are the sanctions for that
"regulated indulgence" which a wise and good man has pronounced to be
"the best security against excess."
When Charles on his accession avowed a disposition to claim for
himself, and to allow to others the unbounded license which his foreign
habits had rendered necessary to him, it was of course, that multitudes
should eagerly avail themselves of the privilege. It was not wonderful
that even the virtuous should acquiesce in this new scheme of things,
instead of endeavoring to apply correctives which they had just seen so
much abused.
The consequence was, that during that most flagitious reign, the mind
was left to put forth all its wild unpruned luxuriance. Human nature
displayed itself in all the forms of all of its varieties, each in the
most extreme dimensions. Vice walked abroad in naked deformity; and
orgies, such as the sun had never before been permitted to look on,
were perpetrated in the face of day.
But if the "poor virtues of the age lacked countenance," how
conspicuous was that virtue, which still resolutely resisted all the
allurements with which fashion invests pleasure, and in the midst of a
corrupt generation, preserved its purity inviolate. God has never left
himself without a witness. There were, even in that day, men devoted to
all their duties to him, to their fellows, and to themselves, and their
light did but shine the brighter for the darkness that surrounded it.
The pacific policy of a monarch, who is now known to have been the
pensioner of the natural enemy of his country, afforded few
opportunities to acquire fame in the service of the crown. It was
chiefly in private life that virtue had to seek that honorable
distinction which it naturally covets. That distinction the character
of the age rendered more conspicuous and honorable, and it was
therefore the more eagerly sought.
We are not particularly anxious about this theory, but it helps us to
understand, not only how it was that the pure and muddy waters mingled
without blending, but how it happened that the _unexampled_ excellence
of in Ormond and an Ossory were found side by side with the unheard of
depravity of a Buckingham and a Rochester.
Of the private as well as public history of the courtiers of Charles
II, we have the most authentic records, and they are full of amusement
and instruction. It has been lamented that they have been, for the most
part, transmitted to us through channels which must soil the reader's
mind, and endanger an injury more than commensurate to the value of the
information. We have reason to rejoice therefore, that we are at length
permitted to receive them through the refining filter of a female mind,
from which they are transmitted pure and "bright as diamond spark."
What lover ever read the history of Grammont without lamenting that it
was impossible to impart any portion of his delight to his mistress.
The difficulty is now removed; and Mrs. Jameson deserves the thanks of
her sex, for having rendered accessible to them, not only a theme of
most amusing gossip, but one of the most instructive and edifying
chapters in the history of man. We especially recommend this work to
their perusal. The witty Hamilton and the gay Grammont will still
perhaps be most read by the men, but even they will derive advantage
from looking, through the chaste eyes of a virtuous female, on the same
scenes and the same characters exhibited by this profligate pair.
Of the manner in which this work is executed, nothing need be said to
those familiar with the writings of Mrs. Jameson. It is every way
worthy of her well merited reputation. We extract a few passages, which
may serve as examples of the work. But they are not selected for any
particular merit, but merely to illustrate the foregoing remarks. They
are most attractive pictures of virtues, the exact opposite of the
vices which characterized the age; and we are not sure that they do not
as widely differ from the average standard of the human character.
What can be more captivating than this account of _La belle Hamilton_.
"She was then just arrived at that age when the budding girl expands
into the woman: her figure was tall, rather full, but elegantly formed;
and, to borrow Lord Herbert's beautiful expression, 'varied itself into
every grace that can belong either to rest or motion.' She had the
finest neck and the loveliest hand and arm in the world: her forehead
was fair and open; her hair dark and luxuriant, always arranged with
the most exquisite taste, but with an air of natural and picturesque
simplicity, which meaner beauties in vain essayed to copy; her
complexion, at a time when the use of paint was universal, owed nothing
to art; her eyes were not large, but sparkling and full of expression;
her mouth, though not a little haughtiness is implied in the curve of
the under lip, was charming, and the contour of her face perfect.
"The soul which heaven had lodged in this fair person was worthy of its
shrine. In those days, the very golden age of folly and affectation,
the beauties, by prescriptive right, might be divided into two
factions, whom I shall call the _languishers_ and the _sparklers_; the
languishers were those who, being dull by nature, or at least not
bright, affected an extreme softness--lounged and lolled--simpered and
sighed--lisped or drawled out their words--half shut their eyes--and
moved as if 'they were not born to carry their own weight.' The
sparklers were those who, upon the strength of bright eyes and some
natural vivacity and impertinence, set up for female wits: in
conversation they attempted to dazzle by such sallies as would now be
scarcely tolerated from the most abandoned of their sex; they were gay,
airy, fluttering, fantastical, and talkative--they dealt in bon mots
and repartees--they threw their glances right and left, _a tort et a
travers_--and piqued themselves upon taking hearts by a _coup-de-main_.
Miss Hamilton belonged to neither of these classes: though lively by
nature, she had felt perhaps the necessity of maintaining a reserve of
manner which should keep presumptuous fops at a distance. She wore her
feminine dignity as an advanced guard--her wit as a body of reserve.
She did not speak much, but what she said was to the purpose, just what
the occasion demanded and no more. _Fiere a toute outrance_, whenever
she was called upon to stand on the defensive, she was less possessed
with the idea of her own merit than might have been supposed; and, far
from thinking her consequence increased by the number of her lovers,
she was singularly fastidious with regard to the qualifications of
those whom she admitted upon the list of aspirants."
In the family of Ormond we have a galaxy of excellence. The following
extracts make us balance the truth of history and our experience of
real life. Whom do we know like old Ormond and his wife? Whom like his
noble son and his charming countess?
Take the character of the Duchess from the lips of an enemy.
"When the Duke of Ormond withdrew to France, in 1655, he found himself
obliged to leave his wife and family behind: and soon afterwards
Cromwell caused the Earl of Ossory to be arrested upon no specific
charge and committed to the Tower. His mother waited upon the protector
to remonstrate, and to solicit his enlargement, pleading the quiet and
inoffensive life which she led with her children in London. Cromwell
told her plainly, that he had more reason to fear her than any body
else. She replied with dignity and spirit, and in the presence of a
numerous drawing-room, that 'she desired no favor at his hands, but
merely justice to her innocent son;'--and that 'she thought it strange
that she, who had never been concerned in a plot in her life, nor
opened her mouth against his person and government, should be
represented as so terrible a person.' 'No, madam!' replied Cromwell,
'that is not the case; but your worth has gained you so great an
influence over all the commanders of our party, and we know so well
your power over your own party, that it is in your ladyship's breast to
act what you please.'"
The following descriptions of the Earl and Countess of Ossory are
delightful.
"At this time, the Earl of Ossory was about four and twenty; he was
tall, well made, and handsome; with an open expressive countenance, and
fine teeth and hair; he rode, fenced, and danced remarkably well;
played on the lute and the guitar; spoke French eloquently, and Italian
fluently; was a good historian; and seems to have had a taste for light
and elegant literature, for Sir Robert Southwell represents him as so
well read in poetry and romance, that 'in a gallery full of pictures
and hangings, he could tell the stories of all that were there
described.' These however were the mere superficial graces which
enabled him to please in the drawing-room, and to these he added all
the rare and noble qualities which can distinguish a man in the cabinet
and in the field. He was wise in council, quick and decided in action,
as brave in battle as an Amadis of Gaul--gallant 'beyond the fiction of
romance'--humane, courteous, affable, temperate, generous to profusion,
and open almost to a fault. 'In a word,' says the historian, 'his
virtue was unspotted in the centre of a luxurious court; his integrity
unblemished amid all the vices of the times; his honor untainted
through the course of his whole life;' and it is most worthy of remark,
that in those days, when the spirits of men were heated with party
rage; when profligate pens were wielded by profligate and obscure
individuals, and satire 'unbated and envenomed,' was levelled at
whatever was noble, or beautiful, or good in the land; not a single
expression can any where be traced to contradict or invalidate this
universal testimony. 'No writer,' (I quote again from history,) 'ever
appeared then or since, so regardless of truth and of his own
character, as to venture one stroke of censure on that of the Earl of
Ossory.'"
"'She was, indeed,' adds the grave historian of the family, 'an
admirable economist; always cheerful, and never known to be out of
humor, so that they lived together in the most perfect harmony
imaginable. Lord Ossory never found any place or company more agreeable
than he found at home; and when he return thither from court, they
constantly met with open arms, with kind embraces, and the most moving
expressions of mutual tenderness.'
"But this picture, bright and beautiful as it is, had its shades. In
this world of ours, 'where but to think, is to be full of sorrow,' Lady
Ossory was so far most happy, that though she suffered _through_ those
she loved, (as all must do who embark their happiness in their
affections,) she never suffered by them: but she lost several of her
numerous family at an early age; and the frequent absence of Lord
Ossory, whilst engaged in the highest civil and military employments,
must have doomed her to many widowed hours. The reckless valor too,
with which he exposed his life, and which was such as even to call down
a rebuke from his brave father, must have filled the gentle bosom of
his wife with a thousand fond anxieties: yet might not those partings
and meetings, those alternations of hope and fear, those trembling
terrors for his safety, those rapturous tears which greeted his return,
have assisted to keep freshly alive, through a long series of years,
all the romance of early passion? And was not this much? Did Lady
Ossory buy too dearly the proud happiness of belonging to that man,
upon whom the eyes of all Europe were fixed to gaze and to admire; who
from every new triumph brought her home a faith and love
unchanged--deposing his honors at her feet, and his cares in her gentle
arms? Let the woman who reads this question, answer it to her own
heart."
The following anecdote, with the appended note, illustrates a point of
character on which we always dwell with delight, though it is not often
found associated with prudence and wisdom.
"In 1671 occurred that extraordinary attempt on the life of the Duke of
Ormond by the ruffian Blood, of notorious memory; it is supposed at the
instigation of Buckingham. There was, in fact, something so audacious
and so theatrical in the idea of hanging the duke upon the gallows at
Tyburn, that it could only have originated with that 'Fanfaron de
crimes.' Such, at least, was the general opinion at the time. A few
days after this event, Lord Ossory meeting the Duke of Buckingham in
the king's chamber, the color flushed to his temples with passion, and
his eyes sparkled with such ire, that the duke took refuge behind the
king's chair. 'My lord,' said Ossory, stepping up to him, 'I know well
that you are at the bottom of this late attempt of Blood's upon my
father, and therefore I give you fair warning, if my father comes to a
violent end by sword or pistol,--if he dies by the hand of a ruffian,
or the more secret way of poison, I shall not be at a loss to know the
first author of it; I shall consider _you_ as the assassin; I shall
treat you as such, and I shall pistol you, though you stood beside the
king's chair; and I tell it you in his majesty's presence, that you may
be sure I shall keep my word.' So saying, he turned upon his heel,
leaving the duke so completely overawed, that he had not even spirit to
utter a denial."[1]
[Footnote 1: I believe no writer has remarked the singular coincidence
between the characters and fortunes of the Duke of Ormond, and his
ancestor, the Earl of Ormond, of Elizabeth's time. Both were brave,
popular, enthusiastically loyal, and inflexibly honest; both were
accomplished courtiers, and lived to experience the ingratitude and
injustice of the princes they had served; both experienced many changes
of fortune, and lived to an extreme old age, so as to behold their
heirs in the third generation. Both were opposed to the reigning
favorites, for the enmity of the Duke of Ormond and Buckingham was at
least equal to that of the Earl of Ormond and Lord Leicester. As
Buckingham was believed to have instigated Blood in his attempt on the
Duke of Ormond, so Leicester was known to have attempted the
assassination of Ormond, by means of a hired cut-throat, who was
afterwards, like Blood, forgiven and rewarded. The following anecdote
is very characteristic:--The Earl of Ormond coming one day to court,
met Lord Leicester in the antechamber: after the usual salutations, "My
lord," said Leicester, insolently, "I dreamed of you last night!"
"Indeed!" replied Ormond, "what could your lordship dream of me?" "I
dreamed that I gave you a box on the ear." "Dreams are interpreted by
contraries," replied the high spirited Irishman, and instantly lent him
a cuff on the ear, which made the favorite stagger; for this he was
committed to the tower by Elizabeth.]
We will conclude by adding the character of a lady (the wife of Hyde
Earl of Rochester,) of whom it is praise enough to say, that she was
beautiful, rich, noble and powerful, and chose to love her husband,
nurse her children, and live in obscurity.
"It is perhaps the highest eulogium that could be pronounced on the
character and conduct of his fair, gentle-looking, and really amiable
wife, that while her husband was treading the steep and tortuous paths
of court diplomacy, rising to rank and honors, and filling the highest
offices in the state, we do not even hear of her, except in her
domestic relations. In the recent publication of the Clarendon papers,
Lady Rochester is seldom mentioned; but from the manner in which she is
alluded to, we may infer, without danger of being mistaken, that she
was the excellent and submissive wife of an impatient and despotic
husband; that she lived in the utmost harmony with her children and her
relatives; that she frequented the court but little.
"It should seem that her days flowed along in one even course of
unpretending duties and blameless pleasures: duties such as her sex and
station prescribe, pleasures such as her rank and fortune
permitted,--interrupted and clouded by such cares and infirmities as
are the common lot of mortality. This description of Lady Rochester may
appear a little insipid after the piquante adventures of a Cleveland
and a Chesterfield, and others of her more brilliant and interesting
contemporaries; yet there is in its repose and innocence something that
not only refreshes, but sweetens the imagination: as in a garden where
peonies, and pinks, and carnations, and tall lilies,
'And canker blooms, with full as deep a die,
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,'
flaunt to the eye and allure the sense, should we suddenly find a
jasmine, trailing its light tendrils and luxuriant foliage round a
lordly elm, with what delight should we appropriate its starry,
unsullied blossoms, and place them in our bosom!"
CALAVAR; or The Knight of the Conquest: a Romance of Mexico.
Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1834.
Who reads an American book? was tauntingly asked some years since, by
the Edinburg or Quarterly Review,--we do not recollect which,--nor is
it important to know. For the present we will answer the question
somewhat in the Hibernian or Yankee style, by a remark which is not
exactly responsive; and that is, that if Sir Walter Scott himself were
living, he would have the candor and honor to acknowledge that
"Calavar" was vastly superior to some five or six of the last litter of
his own great genius, and not very far behind the very best of those
renowned performances which have thrown a classic glory over the bleak
hills and barren moors of Scotland. But whether that would have been
the award of Sir Walter or not, impartial critics on both sides of the
Atlantic, and coming generations, if "Calavar" should escape the vortex
of oblivion,--will undoubtedly render a judgment somewhat similar. It
is certainly the very best American novel, excepting perhaps one or two
of Mr. Cooper's, which we have ever read; that is, if boldness of
design, vigor of thought, copiousness and power of language,--thrilling
incident, and graphic and magnificent description, can constitute a
good novel. For the first fifty or sixty pages, it is confessedly
somewhat heavy; still the reader will perceive that a master spirit is
at work, to whose guidance he confidingly trusts. In a short time the
whole interest of the narrative rushes upon him; he gazes in
imagination upon the beautiful and Eden-like vallies of Mexico; he
throbs with pain at the spectacle of slaughtered thousands of the brave
aborigines, and he sympathises with the tender sorrows and heroic
sufferings of the only female who figures in the story, and she too in
the unwomanly garb of a page, destined to perform the somewhat curious,
and certainly very unthankful office, of a _menial to her own lover_.
Here we think the author has decidedly failed,--we mean in the
invention and arrangement of his story. He is entirely too _unnatural_
even for romance. There is too much improbable and miraculous agency in
the various life-preserving expedients, and extraordinary rescues which
are constantly occurring,--and which, although taken singly, do not
surpass the strange events of actual life, shock us nevertheless by
their perpetual succession, and impart to a tale founded upon
historical truth, an air of oriental fiction which is not agreeable.
The author, who is vastly superior to Cooper in dialogue, is, we fear,
equally unqualified with that writer, to depict the female character in
all its exquisite traits and attractive graces--else why not give us
more than a mere glimpse at the daughter of Montezuma, (the beloved of
the melancholy De Morla,) whose image we behold as in a "glass darkly,"
and whose wretched fate we regard with the less anguish, knowing so
little as we do of the fair and unfortunate victim. Even Jacinto is a
mysterious and shadowy, though lovely being, with whom we have not, and
cannot well have much sympathy. Some few passages indeed, illustrate
the disguised princess with great force,--and throughout there is an
unaccountable anxiety felt towards her; but she is not sufficiently
presented in the foreground of the picture, to awaken a positive and
powerful interest in her behalf. Jacinto, alias Leila, is nevertheless
a most delightful vision,--seen always under very unfavorable
circumstances,--but when seen, winding around the heart of the reader
in spite of himself,--a beautiful, modest, heroic boy,--and yet a
girl,--the discovery of whose sex, though anticipated, does not beam
upon the reader until towards the latter end of the story. By the way,
there is something very strange and improbable in the idea, that this
same sweet creature should have waited upon her own lover in the
assumed character of page or servant, _and he, the lover, not to know
it_. It is altogether too marvellous, and the author of "Calavar" ought
not to have drawn such a heavy draft upon the reader's credulity. As to
Don Amador de Leste, he is in fact the hero of the story; instead of
that demented melancholy uncle whose name gives the title to the
romance, but whose agency in it is of very little importance, and whose
wild and mournful aberration of mind attracts less of admiration than
pity, sometimes mingled with a feeling allied to disgust. The character
of Botello too, half knave and half conjurer, is, we think, somewhat of
a failure; perhaps not altogether so, for he relieves the mind from the
contemplation of spectacles of blood and misery,--and that of itself is
a refreshment for which we ought to be thankful.
Notwithstanding these strictures, which impartial justice required, we
still maintain the opinion that Calavar is the production of a man of
great capacity. If he follows up this first effort by corresponding
success in the region of historical romance, he will assuredly outstrip
all his competitors on this side of the Atlantic. The history of the
conquest of Mexico, affords an admirable field for the novelist; and in
the faithful delineation of Cortez, the extraordinary spirit who
directed the work of devastation and surmounted almost superhuman
difficulties in his triumphant career,--we think that the author of
"Calavar" has been wonderfully successful.
We forbear making quotations from the work, or entering into a more
minute analysis of the story. Our chief object is to inform our readers
that "Calavar" is an American production, which will not shrink from
competition with the very best European works of the same character.
Faults it has, and some of them obvious and censurable; but its display
of intellectual power and its various beauties are so transcendant,
that its blemishes are lost like specks upon the orb of day.
The description of the flight of the Spaniards over the dike of Tacuba,
and of the horrors of the "Melancholy night," so called in history, is
awfully sublime. In truth the whole work abounds in powerful
delineation both of character and scenery, and it is with pride that we
hail it as at once assuming and commanding a proud rank in the
department of historical romance.
JUDGE BLACKSTONE--_A Poet_.
A correspondent in January's Messenger said, that on the death of this
great lawyer, _poems_ were unexpectedly found among his papers. The
following is the only one of them we have seen. Its smooth yet vigorous
numbers, its simply touching strain of thought and language, the deep
and just feeling it evinces, and the apt felicity of its imagery, prove
the author to have possessed a genius which, had it been so inclined,
might have rendered him as conspicuous in the flowery paths of elegant
literature, as he actually became in the sterner walks of the law.
There is something strikingly magnanimous in the _self-denial_, which
could make such a mind relinquish pursuits so congenial to its tastes
and so meet for its abilities, for a profession the most abounding of
all others in dry, ponderous, and perplexing drudgery, yet amongst the
most vital to the well-being of society. What a lesson to our
_dilettanti_, who, even after having adopted that profession, cannot
bravely face and grapple with its difficulties, but remain entranced by
the Circean draughts and Syren songs of the lightest and most frivolous
of the Muses! What should be their humiliation, when they compare their
own inability to renounce the novel, the newspaper, and the frothy
magazine, with Blackstone's generous farewell to his so far noble muse?
They may rest assured, that it is only to one capable of such a
sacrifice, that Lord Coke's parting wish is not addressed in vain: "I
wish unto him the gladsome light of Jurisprudence, the lovelinesse of
temperance, the stabilitie of fortitude, and the soliditie of justice."