tales, we repeat that, without exception, they are beautiful.
“Wakefield” is remarkable for the skill with which an old idea—a
well-known incident—is worked up or discussed. A man of whims conceives
the purpose of quitting his wife and residing _incognito_, for twenty
years, in her immediate neighborhood. Something of this kind actually
happened in London. The force of Mr. Hawthorne’s tale lies in the
analysis of the motives which must or might have impelled the husband to
such folly, in the first instance, with the possible causes of his
perseverance. Upon this thesis a sketch of singular power has been
constructed.
“The Wedding Knell” is full of the boldest imagination—an imagination
fully controlled by taste. The most captious critic could find no flaw
in this production.
“The Minister’s Black Veil” is a masterly composition of which the sole
defect is that to the rabble its exquisite skill will be _caviare_. The
_obvious_ meaning of this article will be found to smother its
insinuated one. The _moral_ put into the mouth of the dying minister
will be supposed to convey the _true_ import of the narrative; and that
a crime of dark dye, (having reference to the “young lady”) has been
committed, is a point which only minds congenial with that of the author
will perceive.
“Mr. Higginbotham’s Catastrophe” is vividly original and managed most
dexterously.
“Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment” is exceedingly well imagined, and executed
with surpassing ability. The artist breathes in every line of it.
“The White Old Maid” is objectionable, even more than the “Minister’s
Black Veil,” on the score of its mysticism. Even with the thoughtful and
analytic, there will be much trouble in penetrating its entire import.
“The Hollow of the Three Hills” we would quote in full, had we
space;—not as evincing higher talent than any of the other pieces, but
as affording an excellent example of the author’s peculiar ability. The
subject is commonplace. A witch subjects the Distant and the Past to the
view of a mourner. It has been the fashion to describe, in such cases, a
mirror in which the images of the absent appear; or a cloud of smoke is
made to arise, and thence the figures are gradually unfolded. Mr.
Hawthorne has wonderfully heightened his effect by making the ear, in
place of the eye, the medium by which the fantasy is conveyed. The head
of the mourner is enveloped in the cloak of the witch, and within its
magic folds there arise sounds which have an all-sufficient
intelligence. Throughout this article also, the artist is
conspicuous—not more in positive than in negative merits. Not only is
all done that should be done, but (what perhaps is an end with more
difficulty attained) there is nothing done which should not be. Every
word _tells_, and there is not a word which does _not_ tell.
In “Howe’s Masquerade” we observe something which resembles a
plagiarism—but which _may be_ a very flattering coincidence of thought.
We quote the passage in question.
“_With a dark flush of wrath_ upon his brow they saw the general
_draw his sword_ and _advance to meet_ the figure _in the cloak_
before the latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.
“‘_Villain, unmuffle yourself_,’ cried he, ‘you pass no
farther!’
“The figure, without blenching a hair’s breadth from the sword
which was pointed at his breast, made a solemn pause, and
_lowered the cape of the cloak_ from his face, yet not
sufficiently for the spectators to catch a glimpse of it. But
Sir William Howe had evidently seen enough. The sternness of his
countenance gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not
horror, while he recoiled several steps from the figure, _and
let fall his sword_ upon the floor.”—See vol. 2, page 20.
The idea here is, that the figure in the cloak is the phantom or
reduplication of Sir William Howe; but in an article called “William
Wilson,” one of the “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,” we have not
only the same idea, but the same idea similarly presented in several
respects. We quote two paragraphs, which our readers may compare with
what has been already given. We have italicized, above, the immediate
particulars of resemblance.
“The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient
to produce, apparently, a material change in the arrangement at
the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror, it
appeared to me, now stood where none had been perceptible
before: and as I stepped up to it in extremity of terror, mine
own image, but with features all pale and dabbled in blood,
_advanced_ with a feeble and tottering gait to meet me.
“Thus it appeared I say, but was not. It was Wilson, who then
stood before me in the agonies of dissolution. Not a line in all
the marked and singular lineaments of that face which was not
even identically mine own. _His mask and cloak lay where he had
thrown them, upon the floor._”—Vol. 2. p. 57.
Here it will be observed that, not only are the two general conceptions
identical, but there are various _points_ of similarity. In each case
the figure seen is the wraith or duplication of the beholder. In each
case the scene is a masquerade. In each case the figure is cloaked. In
each, there is a quarrel—that is to say, angry words pass between the
parties. In each the beholder is enraged. In each the cloak and sword
fall upon the floor. The “villain, unmuffle yourself,” of Mr. H. is
precisely paralleled by a passage at page 56 of “William Wilson.”
In the way of objection we have scarcely a word to say of these tales.
There is, perhaps, a somewhat too general or prevalent _tone_—a tone of
melancholy and mysticism. The subjects are insufficiently varied. There
is not so much of _versatility_ evinced as we might well be warranted in
expecting from the high powers of Mr. Hawthorne. But beyond these
trivial exceptions we have really none to make. The style is purity
itself. Force abounds. High imagination gleams from every page. Mr.
Hawthorne is a man of the truest genius. We only regret that the limits
of our Magazine will not permit us to pay him that full tribute of
commendation, which, under other circumstances, we should be so eager to
pay.
* * * * *
_The Vigil of Faith, and Other Poems. By C. F. Hoffman, Author
of “Greyslaer,” &c. S. Coleman: New York._
Mr. Charles Fenno Hoffman is well known as the author of several popular
novels, and as the quondam editor of the “American Monthly Magazine;”
but his poetical abilities have not as yet attracted that attention
which is indubitably their due.
“The Vigil of Faith,” a poem of fifty-two irregular stanzas, embodies a
deeply interesting narrative supposed to be related by an Indian
encountered by the author in a hunting excursion amid the Highlands of
the Hudson. It bears the impress of the true spirit upon every line; but
appears to be carelessly written.
The occasional Poems are scarcely more beautiful, but, in general, are
more complete and polished. Now and then, however, we observe, even in
these, an inaccurate rhythm. Here, for example, in “Moonlight on the
Hudson,” page 63, we note a foot too much—
“Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mothers.”
This line is not used as an Alexandrine, but occurs in the body of a
stanza. Mr. Hoffman is, also, somewhat too fond of a double rhyme,
which, unduly employed, never fails to give a flippant air to a serious
poem. It is not improbable that we shall speak more fully of this really
beautiful volume hereafter. Its external or mechanical appearance excels
that of any book we have seen for a long time.
* * * * *
_The Life of Lorenzo de’ Medici, called the Magnificent. By
William Roscoe. From the London Edition, Corrected. In Two
Volumes. Carey & Hart: Philadelphia._
The genius of Lorenzo de’ Medici has never, perhaps, been so highly
estimated, as his exertions on behalf of Italian literature. Yet he was
not only an author unsurpassed by any of his illustrious contemporaries,
but, as a statesman, gave evidence of profound ability. A week
illustrating the value of his character and discussing his vast
influence upon his age, has been long wanting, and no man lives who
could better supply the _desideratum_ than Mr. Roscoe. In republishing
these volumes Messieurs Carey & Hart have rendered a service of the
highest importance to the reading public of America.
* * * * *
_The Poets and Poetry of America. With an Historical
Introduction. By Rufus W. Griswold. Carey & Hart: Philadelphia._
This is a volume of remarkable beauty externally, and of very high merit
internally. It embraces selections from the poetical works of every true
poet in America without exception; and these selections are prefaced, in
each instance, with a brief memoir, for whose accuracy we can vouch. We
know that no pains or expense have been spared in this compilation,
which is, by very much indeed, the best of its class—affording, at one
view, the justest idea of our poetical literature. Mr. Griswold is
remarkably well qualified for the task he has undertaken. We shall speak
at length of this book in our next.
* * * * *
_Beauchampe, or The Kentucky Tragedy. A Tale of Passion. By the
Author of “Richard Hurdis,” “Border Beagles,” etc. Two Volumes.
Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia._
The events upon which this novel is based are but too real. No more
thrilling, no more romantic tragedy did ever the brain of poet conceive
than was the tragedy of Sharpe and Beauchampe. We are not sure that the
author of “Border Beagles” has done right in the selection of his theme.
Too little has been left for invention. We are sure, however, that the
theme is skilfully handled. The author of “Richard Hurdis” is one among
the best of our native novelists—pure, bold, vigorous, original.
* * * * *
[Illustration: four ladies and a gentleman dressed in latest fashions]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic
spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and
typesetting errors have been corrected without note.
A cover has been created for this eBook and is placed in the public
domain.
[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 5, May 1842_, George R. Graham,
Editor]