rhetorically set forth must be obvious to every reader acquainted with
the history of the rise and growth of states in general, however little
attention he may have given to those of Russia in particular. The
institutions of Russia differ fundamentally from those of other European
states. But the difference lies in historical conditions and
development, not in the principles underlying all human society. No
people has ever had a permanent government of its own resting solely or
chiefly on force. Wherever autocracy has acquired a firm footing, it has
done so by suppressing anarchy, establishing order and authority, and
securing national unity and independence. Nowhere has it fulfilled these
conditions more completely than in Russia. It grew up when the country
was lying prostrate under the Tartar domination, and it supplied the
impulse and the means by which that yoke was thrown off. It absorbed
petty principalities, extinguished their conflicting ambitions, and
consolidated their resources; checked the migrations of a nomad
population, and brought discordant races under a common rule; repelled
invasions to which, in its earlier disintegrated condition, the nation
must have succumbed, and built up an empire hardly less remarkable for
its cohesion and its strength than for the vastness of its territory. In
a word, it performed, more rapidly and thoroughly, the same work which
was accomplished by monarchy between the eighth and the fifteenth
century in Western Europe. If its methods were more analogous to those
of Eastern despotisms than of European sovereignties, if its excesses
were unrestrained and its power uncurbed, this is only saying that
Russia, instead of sharing in the heritage of Roman civilization and in
the mutual intercourse and common discipline through which the Western
communities were developed, was cut off from association with its more
fortunate kindred and subjected to influences from which they were, for
the most part, exempt. To hold up the crude democracy and turbulent
assemblies common in a primitive state of society as evidence that the
Russian people possessed at an early period of its history a beautifully
organized constitutional system; to contend that the most absolute
monarchy in existence has maintained itself for centuries, without
encountering a single serious insurrection, in a nation whose
distinguishing characteristic is its inability to endure a ruler; to
treat the introduction of a totally different and far more complex
system of government, the product elsewhere of elements that have no
existence in Russia, and of long struggles supplemented by violent
revolutions, as a thing that may be effected without danger or
difficulty, the "method" being "really not of importance,"--all this
strikes us as evincing a condition of mind that can only be regarded as
a survival from the period when the theories and illusions of the
eighteenth-century _philosophes_ had not yet been dissipated by the
French Revolution.
"A Naturalist's Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago:
A Narrative of Travel and Exploration from 1878 to 1883."
By Henry O. Forbes, F.R.G.S.
New York: Harper & Brothers.
Although a long succession of naturalists have done their best to
familiarize readers with the islands of the Eastern Archipelago, Mr.
Forbes's book is full not only of freshly-adjusted and classified facts,
but of curious and valuable details of his own discoveries. Even the
best-known islands of the group are so inexhaustible in every form of
animal and vegetable life that much remains for the patient gleaner
after Darwin and Wallace, who found here some of the most striking
illustrations of their deductions and theories, It is well known that
startling contrasts in the distribution of plants and animals are met
with in these islands, even when they lie side by side; and in no other
part of the world is the history of mutations of climate, of the law of
migrations, and of the changes of sea and land, so open and palpable to
the scientific observer. Mr. Forbes's object seems to have been to visit
those islands which offer the most striking deviations from the more
general type. His earlier explorations were made alone, but during the
last eighteen months he was accompanied by a brave woman who came out
from England to Batavia to be married to him at the close of 1881. It is
painful to read of the deadly ordeals of climate and the excessive
discomforts and privations to which this lady was exposed. Her diary,
kept at Dilly during her husband's absence, while she was ill, utterly
deserted, and in danger of a lonely and agonizing death, makes a
singular contrast to the record of Miss Bird and others of her sex who
seem to have triumphed over all the vicissitudes possible to women. To
the general reader Mr. Forbes's travels in Java, Sumatra, and the
Keeling Islands are far more satisfactory than in those less familiar,
like Timor and Buru. In the light of the terrible events of 1883,
everything connected with the islands lying on either side of the
Straits of Sunda is of the highest interest. Those appalling disasters
which swept away part of Sumatra and Java and altered the configuration
of the whole volcanic group surrounding Krakatoa took place only a few
weeks after Mr. and Mrs. Forbes sailed for home. This widespread
destruction seemed to the inhabitants the culmination of a series of
calamitous years of drought, wet, blight, bovine pestilence, and fever.
It was Mr. Forbes's fortune to be in Java during these bad seasons,
which, from combined causes, made it impossible for flowers to perfect
themselves and fructify. This circumstance was, however, useful to the
naturalist, offering him an opportunity for experiments in the
fertilization of orchids and other plants. The account of the Dutch
cinchona-plantations, which now furnish quinine of the best quality, is
full of interest.
Mr. Forbes's visit to the Cocos-Keeling Islands, in the Indian Ocean,
cannot be passed over. He was eager to visit a coral-reef, and this
atoll, stocked and planted only by the flotsam and jetsam of the seas,
the winds, and migrating birds, offers to the naturalist a most
delightful study; for here, progressing almost under his eyes, are the
phenomena which have made Bermuda and other coral groups. Little as the
Keeling Islands seem to offer in the way of secure habitation, they have
a population of some hundreds of people, presided over by their
energetic proprietor, Mr. Ross, who has planted the atoll thickly with
cocoanut palms. Gathering the nuts and expressing the oil is the chief
industry of the inhabitants, who are all taught to work and support
themselves in some useful way. No money is in circulation on the island:
a system of exchange and barter with agents in Batavia for necessary
products takes its place. This thriving little community has, however,
terrible forces to contend against. Darwin recounts the effects of an
earthquake which took place two years before his visit to the islands in
1836; a fierce cyclone brought ruin and devastation in 1862; and in 1876
a terrible experience of cyclone and earthquake almost swept away the
whole settlement. This was followed by a most singular phenomenon.
"About thirty-six hours after the cyclone," writes Mr. Forbes, "the
water on the eastern side of the lagoon was observed to be rising up
from below of a dark color. The color was of an inky hue, and its smell
'like that of rotten eggs.' ... Within twenty-four hours every fish,
coral, and mollusc in the part impregnated with this discoloring
substance--probably hydrosulphuric or carbonic acid died. So great was
the number of fish thrown on the beach, that it took three weeks of hard
work to bury them in a vast trench dug in the sand." Wherever this water
touched the growing coral-reef, it was blighted and killed. Darwin saw
similar "patches" of dead coral, and attributed them to some great fall
of the tide which had left the insects exposed to the light of the sun.
But it is probable that a similar submarine eruption had taken place
after the earthquake which preceded his visit to the Keeling Islands in
1836.
"Birds in the Bush."
By Bradford Torrey.
Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
We like the name of Mr. Torrey's book, which seems to carry with it a
practical reversal of the proverb that a bird in the hand is worth two
in the bush. For although in many ways it is a good and pleasant sign to
note the increase of amateur naturalists among us, we yet feel a dread
of an incursion of those lovers of classified collections, "each with
its Latin label on," who believe that in gaining stuffed specimens they
may best arrive at the charm and the mystery of that exquisite
phenomenon which we call bird-life. Mr. Torrey has no puerile ambitions
for birds in the hand, and a bird in the bush makes to his perception
holy ground, where he takes the shoes from off his feet and watches and
waits, feeling a delightful surprise in each piquant caprice of the
little songster. He tells the story of his experiences and impressions
simply and pleasantly, often utters a good thing without too much
emphasis, and yet more often says true things, which is more difficult
still. He is nowhere bookish, although he has read and can quote well if
need be. He reminds one occasionally of Emerson, oftener of Thoreau,
while his method is that of John Burroughs. His most careful studies are
perhaps of the birds on Boston Common and about Boston, but he writes
pleasantly and suggestively of those in the White Mountains. One likes
to be reminded that there are still bobolinks in the world, for they
have deserted many spots which they once favored. There used to be
meadows full of rocks, in each crevice of which nodded a scarlet
columbine, surrounded by grassy borders where wild strawberries grew
thickly, with hedge-rows running riot with blackberry, sumach, and
alder,--all reckless of utility and given over to lovely waste,--that
were vocal on June mornings with bobolinks, but where in these times one
might wait the whole day through and not hear a single note of the old
refrain. Our author finds them plentiful, however, at North Conway,
where, as he describes it, their "song dropped from above" while he sat
perched on a fence-rail looking at the snow-crowned Mount Washington
range.
"The Cruise of the Brooklyn.
A Journal of the principal events of a three years' cruise in
the U. S. Flag-Ship Brooklyn, in the South Atlantic Station,
extending south of the Equator from Cape Horn east to the limits
in the Indian Ocean on the seventieth meridian of east
longitude. Descriptions of places in South America, Africa, and
Madagascar, with details of the peculiar customs and industries
of their inhabitants. The cruises of the other vessels of the
American squadron, from November, 1881, to November, 1884."
By W.H. Beehler, Lieut. U. S. Navy.
Illustrated.
Press of J.B. Lippincott Co. Philadelphia. 1885.
The copious information given on the title-page leaves little to be
supplied in regard to the subject-matter of this volume. The same
thoroughness is displayed in the narrative and descriptions, as well of
the incidents of the voyage and the details of shipboard life as of the
history, productions, and scenery of the various places visited. They
include, of course, no events or operations such as belong to the annals
of naval enterprise or maritime discovery, but, besides the ordinary
phases of service on foreign stations,--the interchange of courtesies
with the authorities, the routine of duty and discipline, and the
scarcely less regular round of amusements and festivities,--we have
interesting episodes, such as an account of the observations of the
transit of Venus at Santa Cruz, in Patagonia, the "Brooklyn" having been
detailed to take charge of the expedition sent out under Messrs. Very
and Wheeler. A visit to some of the ports of Madagascar soon after the
bombardment of Hovas gives occasion for a readable relation of the
internal revolutions and the transactions with European powers that have
given a pretext, if such it can be called, for the French claim to
exercise a protectorate over a portion of the island, the enforcement of
which will require, in our author's opinion, "an army of at least fifty
thousand men." Cape Town was a place of stay for several weeks on both
the outward and the homeward voyage, and in this connection the history
of the South African states and colonies, including the English wars and
imbroglios with the Boers and the Zulus, is given in detail; while the
necessity for touching at St. Helena furnished an opportunity for
repeating the tale of Napoleon's captivity, with particulars preserved
among "the traditions of the old inhabitants, not generally known."
It will be seen that Lieutenant Beehler made good use both of the means
of observation and of the leisure for study afforded by the "cruise." He
writes agreeably, and seems to have been careful in regard to the
sources from which he has gathered information. The book is beautifully
printed, and the illustrations are faithful but artistic renderings of
photographic views.
Recent Fiction.
"At the Red Glove."
New York: Harper & Brothers.
"Upon a Cast."
By Charlotte Dunning.
New York: Harper & Brothers.
"Down the Ravine."
By Charles Egbert Craddock.
Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
"By Shore and Sedge."
By Bret Harte.
Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
"At Love's Extremes."
By Maurice Thompson.
New York: Cassell & Co.
Although the scene of "At the Red Glove" is laid in Berne, it is a
typical French story of French people with French ideas and
characteristics, and it is French as well in the symmetry of its
arrangements and effects and its admirable technique. In point of fact,
Berne is a city where a German dialect is spoken, but among the lively
groups of _bourgeois_ who carry on this effective little drama a
prettier and politer language is in vogue. Madame Carouge, whose
personality is the pivot upon which the story revolves, is a native of
southern France, and is the proprietor of the Hôtel Beauregard. Her
husband, who married her as a mere child and carried her away from a
life of poverty and neglect, has died before the opening of the story
and bequeathed all his property to his young and handsome wife. "Ah, but
I do not owe him much," the beautiful woman said: "he has wasted my
youth. I am eight-and-twenty, and I have not yet begun to live." Thus
Madame Carouge as a widow sets out to realize the dreams she has dreamed
in the dull apathetic days of her long bondage. Although she is bent on
love and happiness, she is yet sensible and discreet, and manages the
Hôtel Beauregard with skill and tact, while secluding herself from
common eyes. Destiny, however, as if eager at last to work in her favor,
throws in her way a handsome young Swiss, Rudolf Engemann by name, a
bank-clerk, with whom she falls deeply in love. Everything is
progressing to Madame's content, when a little convent-girl, Marie
Peyrolles, comes to Berne to live with her old aunt, a glove-seller,
whose sign in the Spitalgasse gives the name to the story. It would be a
difficult matter to find a prettier piece of comedy than that which
ensues upon Marie's advent. It is all simple, spontaneous, and, on the
part of the actors, entirely serious, yet the effect is delightfully
humorous. Berne, with its quaint arcaded streets, its Alpine views, and
its suburban resorts, makes a capital background, and gives the group
free play to meet with all sorts of picturesque opportunities. The story
is told without any straining after climaxes, but with many felicitous
touches that enhance the effect of every picture and incident. In scene,
characters, and plot, "At the Red Glove" offers a brilliant opportunity
to the dramatist, and one is tempted to think that the story must have
been originally conceived and planned with reference to the stage.
"Upon a Cast" is also a very amusing little story, and turns on the
experiences of a couple of ladies who, with a longing for a quiet life,
The world forgetting, by the world forgot,
settle on the North River in a town which, though called Newbroek, might
easily be identified as Poughkeepsie. Little counting upon this niche
outside the world becoming a centre of interest or a theatre of events,
the necessity of presenting their credentials to the social magnates of
the place does not occur to these ladies,--one the widow of a Prussian
officer, and the other her niece, who have returned to America after a
long residence abroad. They prefer to remain, as it were, incognito;
and, pried; into as the seclusion of the new-comers is by all the
curious, this reticence soon causes misconstructions and scandals. The
petty gossip, the solemnities of self-importance, and the Phariseeism of
a country neighborhood are very well portrayed, and, we fear, without
any especial exaggeration. The story is told with unflagging spirit, and
shows quick perceptions and a lively feeling for situations. Carol
Lester's friendship for Oliver Floyd while she is ignorant of the
existence of his wife is a flaw in the pleasantness; but "Upon a Cast"
is well worthy of a high place in the list of summer novels.
Although "Down the Ravine" belongs to the category of books for young
people, the story is too true to life in characters and incidents, and
too artistically handled, not to find appreciative readers of all ages.
In fact, we are inclined to discover in the book stronger indications of
the author's powers as a novelist than in anything she has hitherto
published. "Where the Battle was Fought," in spite of all its fine
scenes, had not the same sustained interest nor the same spontaneity.
The plot of the present story is excellent, and the characters act and
react on each other in a simple and natural way. The youthful Diceys,
with the faithful, loyal Birt at their head, are a capital study; and
from first to last the author has nowhere erred in truth or failed in
humor.
Taking into consideration the ease with which Mr. Bret Harte won his
laurels, and the belief which all his early admirers shared that here at
last was the great American novelist, who was to hold a distinctive
place in the world's literature, he has perhaps not fulfilled
expectations nor answered the demands upon his powers. The very
individuality of his work, its characteristic bias, has been, in point
of fact, a hinderance and an impediment. The unexpectedness of his first
stories, the enchanted surprise, like that of a new and delicious
vintage or a wonderful undiscovered chord in music,--these effects are
not easily made to recur with undiminished strength and charm. However,
one may generally find some bubbles of the old delightful elixir in Mr.
Harte's stories, and in this little group of them, regathered, we
believe, from English magazines, each is interesting in its way, and
each true to the author's typical idea, which is to discover to his
readers some heroic quality in unheroic human beings which transforms
their whole lives before our eyes.
Mr. Thompson on his title-page announces himself as the author of two
novels, "A Tallahassee Girl" and "His Second Campaign," both of which we
read with pleasure, and this impression led us to turn hopefully to a
third by the same hand. "At Love's Extremes" does not, however, take our
fancy. If the author undertook to discuss a complex problem seriously,
he has failed to make it clear or vital to the reader; and if the
various episodes of Colonel Reynolds's life are to be passed over as
mere slight deviations from the commonplace, we can only say that we
consider them too unpleasant and abhorrent to good taste to be imposed
upon us so lightly. There are also points of the story which seem to
mock the good sense of the reader. Has the author considered the state
of mind of a young widow who has heard that her husband has been
murdered in a street-brawl in Texas, who has mourned him for years, and
then, after yielding to the solicitations of a new suitor and promising
to marry him, learns from his own lips that it was his hand (although
the act was one of self-defence) which sent her husband to his tragic
death? Mr. Thompson seems to violate the sanctities and the proprieties
of womanhood in allowing the widow, after a faint interval of shock, to
pass over this fact as unimportant. This situation has, of course, its
famous precedent in the scene in which Gloster wooes and wins the Lady
Anne beside her murdered husband's bier; but that is tragedy, and we
moderns are, besides, more squeamish than the people of those mediæval
times. In this story the situation becomes more logical, even if more
absurd, after the return of the husband who was supposed to have been
murdered. With a good deal of effort to show powerful feeling, the
characters in the book are all automatons, who say and do nothing with
real thought or real passion. The vernacular of the mountaineers seems
to have been carefully studied, and is so thoroughly outlandish and so
devoid of fine expressions that we are inclined to believe it more
accurate than the poetic and musical dialects which it is the fashion to
impose upon our credulity. But it must be confessed that, with only his
own rude and pointless _patois_ in which to express himself, the
Southern cracker becomes painfully devoid of interest, to say nothing of
charm.
FOOTNOTES.
[001] John Sevier's Memorial to the North Carolina Legislature.
[002] J.G.M. Ramsay, "Annals of Tennessee."
[003] Haywood.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Lippincott's Magazine, August, 1885, by Various