since the revolution, it is said Leopold was grossly insulted by the
people of Ghent, about a year since. He was on a visit there, and was
going to the theatre; but the Ganders hired all the best boxes, and
locked them up! The Ostenders, however, are more loyal. The king and
queen were greeted at the theatre here, a few evenings since, with a
poetical address. The queen is here now; but her consort has gone to
England to negotiate, as the papers say, for the Princess Victoria,
in behalf of his nephew. Whether he or his _beloved_ cousin of Orange
will succeed, yet remains a problem.
Well--Bologne was the Alpha, and now, after travelling two thousand
miles, the Omega of my continental tour. To imitate the lofty style
of Chateaubriand's preface to his memoirs: I have been solitary in
crowded cities, and in the recesses of the Highlands of Scotland,
and the Alps of Switzerland; I have promenaded the Regent-street
of London, and the Boulevards of Paris; the parks of Brussels, the
Canongate of Edinburgh, the ramparts of Stirling and Geneva; sailed
on Loch Katrine and Lake Leman, on Loch Lomond and 'fair Zurich's
waters;' slept on the Great St. Bernard, and by the side of Lock
Achray. I have gazed on magnificent panoramas of cities, mountains,
lakes, valleys, from the summits of the Trosachs and the Rhigi, from
St. Paul's and Notre Dame, from the towers of Antwerp, and Edinburgh,
of Stirling and Windsor. I have sailed on the Tay and the Rhine, the
Clyde, the Thames, the Rhone, the Seine; scaled rocky heights on the
Swiss mule and the Highland pony; climbed to the sources of glaciers,
water-falls, and the Frozen Sea. I have been in the princely halls of
Windsor and Versailles, of Warwick, Scone, and Holyrood; the Louvre,
Tuilleries, and Luxembourg; rambled amidst the ruins of Melrose and
Kenilworth; of Dryburgh and the Drachenfels. I have heard the 'loud
anthem' in the splendid temples of York and Antwerp, Westminster
and Notre Dame, St. Paul's and Cologne. I have stood over the ashes
of Shakspeare and of Scott; of the poets and heroes of England and
France. I have gazed on the Works of Raphael and Angelo, of Reynolds
and Rubens, of Flaxman and Canova. My hand has been in Rob Roy's
purse, and on the skull of Charlemagne; on Bonaparte's pistols, and
Hofer's blunderbuss; on the needle-work of the Queen of Scots, and
the school compositions of the great Elizabeth; on the crown of the
Spanish Isabella, and the spear of Guy, Earl of Warwick! I have
traversed the battle fields of Bannockburn and of Morat, of Leipsic
and of Waterloo. I have seen men and women of all grades, from the
monarch to the chimney-sweep; kings, queens, princes, heirs apparent,
nobles and duchesses; and I have seen Daniel O'Connell! I have been
preached to by the plain presbyters of Scotland, and the portly
bishops of England; and heard mass in the convent in sight of Italy,
and in the gorgeous cathedrals of Belgium. I have seen wretchedness
and magnificence in the widest extremes. I have been dazzled by the
splendors of royalty, and have shuddered at the misery of royalty's
subjects. In short, (for I am giving you a pretty specimen of
egotism,) I have seen much, very much, to admire; much that we of
the 'New World' might imitate with advantage, and more still to make
me better satisfied than ever that we are, on the whole, or ought
to be, the happiest people in the world. Let us but pay a little
more attention to our _manners_, (for they certainly _may_ be much
improved,) and let us check the spirit of lawless and fanatical
agrarianism, which has shown itself to be already dangerous to our
liberties and prosperity, and we may with conscious pride take our
station first among the nations of the earth. Yes, my dear ----, I
now feel more than ever, that
'Midst pleasures and palaces though I may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!'
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Report on the State of Public Education in Prussia, etc.
New-York: WILEY AND PUTNAM.
[12] Among them are, the point of the nail with which Christ was
pierced on the cross; a piece of the identical cross; the leathern
girdle, and a piece of the winding-sheet of Christ; morceaux of the
hair of John the Baptist; of the chain with which St. Peter was
bound; of the sponge on which they gave vinegar to Christ; a tooth
of St. Thomas; the winding-sheet of the Virgin; beside relics of
Saints innumerable. These are all printed in a book, and of course
they must be true! But the Charlemagne relics you will not question.
There are his hunting-horn, (an elephant's tusk,) a piece of his arm,
and his leg; his coronation-sword; and to _crown_ all, the skull of
the emperor himself, taken from the tomb, and preserved in a brazen
casque. And so I have actually handled the skull of this redoutable
hero and warrior, the ruler of Europe one thousand years ago!
[13] Classic ground, again. 'Quentin Durward' escorted the ladies of
Croye on the same side of the river.
[14] The French and German names of several places are puzzling--as
for instance: Aix la Chapelle, _Aachen_; Liege, _Lutchen_; Mayence,
_Mentz_; Ghent, _Gand_; Munich, _Munchen_; Antwerp, _Anvers_. The
coins, too, of the various states, are a great annoyance. None but
French and English gold, and five-franc pieces, are universally
current. The Swiss _batzen_ will not pass in Germany, nor the
Prussian _kreutzers_, _groschen_, _florins_ or _thalers_, in Belgium.
Each state, duchy, and canton, has a different currency.
[15] See KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE for February, 1833, for a full
account of this memorable siege, and a spirited portrait of its
brave hero, one of the race of those from whom sprang the genuine
KNICKERBOCKERS.
LITERARY NOTICES.
ERNEST MALTRAVERS. By the author of 'Pelham,' 'Eugene Aram,'
'Rienzi,' etc. In two volumes, 12mo. pp. 411. New-York: HARPER
AND BROTHERS.
THIS novel is but half finished. At the conclusion of the second
volume, Mr. Bulwer remarks: 'Here ends the first portion of this
work; it ends with what, though rare in novels, is common in human
life; the affliction of the good, the triumph of the unprincipled.
Ernest Maltravers, a lonely wanderer, disgusted with the world,
blighted prematurely in a useful and glorious ambition; 'remote,
unfriendly, melancholy;' Lumley Ferrers, prosperous and elated;
life smiling before him; rising in the councils of the proudest and
perhaps the wisest of the European nations, and wrapped in a hardy
stoicism of levity and selfishness, that not only defied grief, but
silenced conscience. If the reader be interested in what remains--if
he desire to know more of the various characters which have breathed
and moved throughout this history--he soon will be enabled to gratify
his curiosity, and complete what the author believes to be a faithful
survey of the Philosophy of Human Life.'
Such is the author's apology for one of the most dangerous and
seductive books which it has ever been our fortune to read. Let
us examine its plan. Alice Darvil, a beautiful child of nature,
wholly uneducated and perfectly innocent, saves the life of Ernest
Maltravers, an English graduate of a German university, who had
sought shelter at her father's cottage. The murderous and revengeful
barbarity of the father compels the daughter to desert him, and
she is immediately thrown in the way of the student. Impelled by
gratitude and pity, Maltravers shelters the destitute beauty, takes
her to a country-seat, which he purchases on purpose, teaches her
music, elevates her benighted and earthward mind to heaven, falls in
love with, and seduces her! The father of Alice goes on from crime
to crime, till his burglaries extend to the cottage of Maltravers'
mistress, and his own child, who, in the temporary absence of her
lover, is carried away beyond his protection. Maltravers returns,
misses his Alice, grows melancholy, visits Paris in company with an
impertinent and selfish acquaintance, Lumley Ferrers, falls in love
with another man's wife, is rejected by her, quits Paris in disgust,
goes to Italy, forms an affectionate, platonic attachment for another
married lady, and then returns to London. In the meanwhile, Alice
flies from her father a second time, with Maltravers' child at her
breast. She seeks the cottage-scene of her early and unsophisticated
enjoyments, finds it occupied by other tenants, and is finally thrown
on the fostering protection of a saint-like banker, who makes her
Mrs. Templeton.
While the foregoing events are taking place, Maltravers falls in love
again, and as he is on his knees, kissing the hand of his mistress,
Alice, who happens to be in the next room, enters, is heart broken,
goes away and gets married, as aforesaid. Among other important
characters now introduced, is the Lady Florence Lascelles, a great
beauty, and a greater fortune, who scorns all the fascinations of
rank, and falls so in love with Maltravers, that she writes to him
ardently and anonymously. But as other beauties sometimes are, this
one, though her whole soul is filled with Maltravers, is also a
coquette, and she gains the affections of poor Cæsarini, who is
on a visit to London, in the desperate adventure of getting fame
for poetry. Maltravers is flattered into a pseudo attachment for
Lady Florence, which ripens into love. This excites the madness
of Cæsarini, and the hatred of Lumley Ferrers, who, as cousin of
the lady, had been led to believe that his own pretensions might
be advanced in that quarter. Lumley now copies Iago, and makes use
of Cæsarini as his Cassio, who becomes instrumental in effecting a
break in the love-chain of Maltravers and Lady Florence. The latter
sickens, and dies of a broken heart. Alice is made a widow, after
having been made a lady, and Lumley Ferrers inherits her husband's
title. The daughter of Maltravers and Alice is betrothed to his worst
enemy, while the Cassio of the drama goes mad. Such is the state of
things at the conclusion of the second volume, which suggests the
explanation by the author, already quoted.
In reviewing this novel, we are struck with the consummate power
of the writer. To an imagination raised to the very focal-point of
burning, Mr. Bulwer unites the most penetrating intuition of those
psychological relations, which are comprehended by master-spirits
alone. The conceptions of his mind are invested by a transparent robe
of spirituality, through which they are mellowed and disguised, like
the beautiful time-stricken edifices in the gold-dust atmosphere
of Italy. A manifestation of this power is one of the strongest
characteristics of genius; but it serves to veil deformities
and disarm criticism. We are spell-bound while gazing on his
creations. We are so fascinated by the enchantment, that we cannot
be fastidious if we would. The true and the false are mysteriously
blended together; and, as in every distortion of the natural, we
are led, by a sort of metaphysical mirage, to be captivated more by
misrepresentation than by truth. Ernest Maltravers is certainly a
brilliant production. No other than Mr. Bulwer could have written
it. It is full of passionate beauty; it is glowing with ardent
aspirations for the beau ideal. It contains many just reflections on
human conduct, and many valuable hints on education. We are willing
to concede all this, and more. But its faults are too glaring to
be passed over, for they are the premeditated faults of a skilful
designer, who with an insincere spirit, would have the reader imagine
them to be out-shadowings of his own nature, the very portraiture of
his humanity.
We are not disposed to be hypercritical with Mr. Bulwer's writings;
but we can no longer concede that which we have heretofore claimed
for him, a purpose to hold up to the world the rewards of virtue
and the consequences of vice. On the contrary, the tendency of his
morality seems to be, that we are the victims of destiny, and that
circumstances alone determine the phases of character, and prescribe
the paths of virtue and vice. He attacks the sanctity of marriage
with unholy zeal. In 'Ernest Maltravers' he inculcates the principle
that illicit love may in certain cases be innocent, and that where
true affection is, the bond of matrimony is unavailing. His morality
has sometimes the coldness of moonlight, but seldom the radiance
and the warmth of the sun; and it is owing to the separation of the
affections from the understanding, the disunion of Love and Truth in
his nature, that Mr. Bulwer delights in the hollow and unsatisfactory
fascinations of his intellect, and is led astray by his self-hood to
despise the religion of the heart. With all his genius, he is wide
from the path of greatness. The deep well of German metaphysics, at
which he has drunk so largely, may invigorate the mind and mystify
the imagination; but the logical acumen which it imparts, does not
direct to usefulness, nor lead to truth; and the discursive powers
which range through its suggested labyrinths, come back at last to
the goal they started from, weary and disgusted with unavailing
efforts after good.
It is a truth, inseparable from the relative condition of man, that
he could not possibly have had an idea of God, unless it had been
revealed to him. After a revelation, we find in nature concurrent
proof of his existence; but by a law of mental action, we transfer
the truth derived from the revelation to the evidence which is around
us, and flatter ourselves that we reason _à priori_ from this source.
Mr. Bulwer has a glimpse of this great truth, and only a glimpse;
for in the work under notice, he inculcates the sophism that the idea
of the Creator could not arise in an uneducated mind. He does not
perceive, that under the divine dispensations manifested in the Word,
a revelation has already taken place, which is reflected from the
face of nature; and that it is impossible for one, in this advanced
state of man, not to read the record of the divine creation--not to
mention the extreme improbability, that a child of fifteen should
never have heard the name of God, when it is oftener on the lips of
the uneducated than on those of the refined, though abused and taken
in vain.
Our limits will enable us to glance at only one more of the prominent
faults of this book. We refer to Mr. Bulwer's ideas on duelling.
What do our readers think of such sophistry as this: 'There are some
cases in which human nature and its deep wrongs will be ever stronger
than the world and its philosophy. Duels and wars belong to the same
principle; both are sinful on light grounds and poor pretexts. But it
is not sinful for a soldier to defend his country from invasion, nor
for a man, with a man's heart, to vindicate truth and honor with his
life. The robber that asks me for money, I am allowed to shoot. Is
the robber that tears from me treasures never to be replaced, to go
free?' Again: 'As in revolutions all law is suspended, so are there
stormy events and mighty injuries in life, which are as revolutions
to individuals.' It follows, of course, that a revolution may take
place 'in the little kingdom man,' whenever his majesty sees fit. It
is unnecessary to show up the monstrosity of such politics, and of
that morality which, guided alone by worldly philosophy, makes it
sometimes sinful, and sometimes not, to take the life of a fellow
being. There are men enough in the world who will fight as they
judge expedient; but Mr. Bulwer is the only one who has had the
hardihood to defend the practice, as sometimes under the sanction of
omnipotence.
We had some remarks to make on the sudden transitions of character,
as delineated by our author, which strike us as exceedingly
unnatural. But we have already transcended our space, and only record
an impression here, which must be apparent to every reader. On the
appearance of the sequel to Ernest Maltravers, we may examine this
fault at leisure.
* * * * *
MEMOIRS OF AARON BURR. With Miscellaneous Selections from his
Correspondence. By MATTHEW L. DAVIS. In two volumes. Volume
Two. pp. 449. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.
THIS volume will prove even more generally interesting than its
attractive predecessor, heretofore noticed in this Magazine. The
early pages are devoted to an account of Col. Burr's habits and
character, as a man and a lawyer; a history of the rise of political
parties in this state, with copious extracts from various letters
written during the war of the revolution; an account of the Clinton
and Schuyler parties; Burr's political position on being elected
Vice-President, and his course in that office; and a report of false
entries made by Jefferson in his 'Ana,' of conversations said to have
been held with Burr. Farther than this, we have not found leisure
to read attentively; but on glancing hurriedly over the remaining
pages, we perceive that they are devoted to a detail of the most
prominent and interesting events in the life of the _notorious_
subject, interspersed with letters from various eminent Americans,
and including a correspondence with his daughter Theodosia, a full
account of the premeditated and disgraceful duel with General
HAMILTON, his departure for England, the 'incidents of travel'
in Great Britain, France, Germany, and Sweden, and his return to
New-York, in 1811. We shall take another occasion to refer more in
detail to the work, and in the mean time commend it to the attention
of our readers, with the single remark, that we see nothing in its
pages to change our opinion that the murderer of ALEXANDER HAMILTON
can only pass without censure while he passes without observation;
and that the less his friends or apologists meddle with his memory,
the kinder they will be to his reputation.
* * * * *
AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE MEMBERS OF THE AMERICAN
INSTITUTE. By the Rev. ORVILLE DEWEY. Published at the request
of the Institute.
IT was our good fortune to form one of the dense auditory before
whom this excellent Address was delivered; and although we are
unable to convey to the reader an adequate idea of the effect its
verbal publication produced, we may nevertheless afford a 'taste
of its quality,' by a few choice extracts. We were pleased, at
the very opening, to perceive that the Address was not to embrace
political questions, connected with the arts of industry, nor to
be a compendium of minute statistics, relating to the Institute,
and manufactures in general--a course so common on such occasions.
'Figures cannot _lie_,' perhaps, but they can do things quite as
disagreeable. Mere statistics are dismal bores to great masses,
oftentimes, in the hands of matter-of-fact, hum-drum speakers,
oppressively full of information; reminding the hearer of Swift's
elixir, 'which being drank, presently dilates itself about the
brain of the orator, whence instantly proceed an infinite number of
abstracts, summaries, compendiums,' etc., all reducible upon paper,
and fruitful of the most potent oscitant qualities. How many new
members of Congress, who felt it their duty to attend to the public
weal, in gratitude to their constituents, have been wakened by the
watchful sergeant-at-arms, after the house had adjourned, from a
deep sleep which had fallen upon them, as they 'by parcels something
heard, but not attentively,' of 'figure-works and statistics,' from
some arithmetical debater! 'In 1834, Sir, before the passage of the
law creating the 'North American Window-Glass and Putty Company,'
owing to the high price of putty in the United States, there were
in ten counties in the state of Mississippi, nine hundred and
sixty-two windows and a half, utterly destitute of glass; and it
is worth stating, as a remarkable fact, that of the three hundred
and twenty-seven panes which were fastened with a cheap adhesive
substitute, the large number of two hundred and eighty-three were
utterly useless. That putty--I say _that_ putty, Mr. Speaker--would
not stick!' And thus proceeds the bore statistical,[16] in a speech
'thin sown with profit or delight.' But we are keeping the reader
from 'metal more attractive.'
After a felicitous exordium, descriptive of the scene which the
Fair presented to the eye of the spectator, the writer proceeds to
consider the connection between the arts of industry, and especially
the mechanic arts, and the intellectual and moral improvement of
society. He shows that the mechanic, laboring at his work-bench, is
toiling for the general improvement; that the man who designs and
erects a noble structure, speaks to passing multitudes, who may never
read a book, and helps to refine and humanize the ages that come
after him; that 'even he who makes a musical instrument, is laying
up, in those hidden chambers of melody, the sweet influences that
shall amuse, and soften, and refine many a domestic circle through
life; and he, yet more, who can place upon our walls the canvass
glowing with life, becomes the household teacher of successive
generations.' The orator next repudiates the idea, that labor-saving
machinery has ever been the cause of permanently injuring the
working-classes; and this position he clearly establishes, by a
variety of well-chosen illustrations. A few remarks succeed, in
relation to improvements in matters of comfort and economy, of which
advantage might be taken by American house-keepers. The French
bed, consisting of two thin matresses of wool, upon a foot deep of
hay or straw, is pronounced to be four times as cheap as ours, and
twice as comfortable. One half of the fuel, too, which is burnt in
this country, the writer avers, is literally thrown away, the heat
passing into the dead wall of the chimney. This is doubtless true.
The excellent stoves of Dr. NOTT, however, now so generally demanded
in all parts of the country, from his capable successors, Messrs.
STRATTON AND SEYMOUR, of this city, have done much toward awakening
attention to the great economy of heat and fuel, which they exemplify
and inculcate.
Labor, the writer justly contends, exercises and tasks the intellect;
and he repels, with proper earnestness and force, the too common
error, that the mind never labors, save over the written page or the
abstract proposition. 'The merchant, the manufacturer, the mechanic,
is often a harder thinker than the student. The machinist and the
engineer are employed in some of the finest schools of intellect.'
The tasks for which no such consideration can be pleaded, such as the
dull, heavy labors of the hod, the writer humanely hopes some method
may yet be found to relieve.
Could any thing be more admirably reasoned, or more beautifully set
forth, than the arguments in favor of the true nobility of labor,
contained in the annexed paragraphs:
"How many natural ties are there between even the humblest
scene of labor, and the noblest affections of humanity! In this
view, the employment of mere muscular strength is ennobled.
There is a central point in every man's life, around which
all his toils and cares revolve. It is that spot which is
consecrated by the names of wife, and children, and home. A
secret and almost imperceptible influence from that spot,
which is like no other on earth, steals into the breast of the
virtuous laboring man, and strengthens every weary step of
his toil. Every blow that is struck in the work-shop and the
field, finds an echo in that holy shrine of his affections.
If he who fights to protect his home, rises to the point of
heroic virtue, no less may he who labors, his life long, to
provide for that home. Peace be within those domestic walls,
and prosperity beneath those humble roofs! But should it ever
be otherwise; should the time ever come when the invader's
step approaches to touch those sacred thresholds, I see in the
labors that are taken for them, that wounds will be taken for
them too; I see in every honest workman around me, a hero.