NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. No. XCII. JULY, 1836. ART. I. 1. .11 History of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, from its Eizploratior& and Settlement by the Whites, to the Close of the .Northwestern Campaign, in 1813; with an Introduction, exhibiting the Settlement of Western Virginia from the first Passage of the Whites over the .JliIountains of Virginia in 1736, to the Treaty of Camp Charlotte, near Chilicothe, Ohio, in 1774. By MANN BUTLER. Second Edition ; revised and enlarged by the Author. Cincinnati; published by J. A. James and Co. Louis- ville; by the Author. 1836. 2. Sketches of History, Life, and Manners in the West. By JAMES HALL. In Two Volumes. Philadelphia; Harrison Hall, 62 Walnut Street. 1835. Two works on the important subject of Western History. Both of them are valuable, and we hail them as useful addi- tions to the scanty library which contains our historical records. They are useful, however, in different ways. Mr. Butlers work contains the fruit of much patient research among family records, and public and domestic archives ; and is a storehouse of facts and documents, far the most complete which has yet been given us upon western annals. It is the most thorough book on the subject. It is, what it professes to be, a hi~~ory. The work of Judge Hall is written in his usual easy and grace- VOL. XLLII.NO. 92. 1 2 Western History. [July, ful style ; it is calculated to interest readers who would not venture upon a regular history ; without being very profound, it has an air of philosophy, well adapted to a parlour fireside; without much accuracy, it rambles over the whole ground, so as to satisfy an easy curiosity. It is the most entertaining hook on the subject. It is, what it professes to be, a collection of sketches. Judge Hall is a popular writer. He is known to the public by various essays and tales, which have appeared from time to time in periodicals. He is also the Editor of The Western Magazine. A year or two since he published a novel, called the Harpes Head. He professes to be a western man ; the scene of his stories is generally in the west; his incidents are taken from western life ; but of the western character he knows little, and of the western spirit he possesses nothing. He wants the intellectual openness, which would enable him to catch the spirit of society. His mind is shut up in its own ways of thinking and feeling, and his writings, in consequence, give no true reflection of western character. In this respect, he is the exact antithesis of Timothy Flint, whose writings, though sometimes inaccurate in detail, are always charged full with a western spirit. Flints Ten Years Residence is one of our few genuine national works. It could have been written nowhere but in the Western Valley. It could have been written by no one, whose mind had not been moulded by a constant contact with western scenery and people. Judge Halls books might all have been composed by one who had never been beyond the atmosphere of London, but who had heard a few anecdotes and read a few works about the western world. Judge Hall should not have been so positive in as- serting in the Preface to the book before us, that the works which have professed to treat of the whole western region have been failures. He will have added to his already well- earned fame, when he shall have produced such a failure as Mr. Flints Ten Years Residence in the Mississippi Valley. Judge Hall is not an accurate writer. In the york before us (Vol. i. p. 247), he informs us that Sir William Johnson pur- chased of the Six Nations, in 176S, their claim to the lands on the northwcst side of the Ohio to the Great Miami. This does not appear on the treaty. Page 251 represents two grants from the Cherokees to Henderson and his company; whereas 1836.] Halls ~Sketches. 3 it appears there was only one, the other being a grant to the Crown in 1770. On page 31 (Vol. ii.) he alters the date of the purchase of Louisiana, from 1803 to 1795, probably confound- ing it with the Spanish treaty of 1795. On page 36, he comes to the conclusion, that there was nothing treasonable in the Spanish conspiracy on a dispassionate consideration of the whole matter. But in this dispassionate consideration, he has wholly omitted the most treasonable features, saying no- thing of the proposal made through Power in 1797 to with- draw from the Federal Union, and to form a government whol- ly unconnected with that of the Atlantic States ; nothing of the one hundred thousand dollars offered to Sebastian as a bribe to hring about this; and nothing of the concealment of the whole matter, by all concerned. All this looks a little treasonable. On page 119 he calls Kaskaskia a garrisoned town, when the fort was unoccupied, and the town defended only by militia ; and, on page 124, he tells us that the capture of Vin- cennes in 1779 led to -the settlement of Louisville in 1778. These are small matters ; but Judge Hall should pluck the beam out of his own eye, before he undertakes to be severe on careless writers. Judge Hall, in attempting to make out a theory which char- acterizes the intercourse of the Americans with the Indians as habitually cruel and unfaithful, has brought an accusation against the Pilgrims of New England so grossly inaccurate, that we cannot let it pass unnoticed. After praising them for various qualities, he goes on to say, that the perversion of public opinion which could lead such men, themselves the victims of oppression, and the assertors of liberal principles, to treat the savages as brutes, must have been wide spread and deeply seated ; yet such was certainly their conduct. The Italics are ours. But this charge filled us, on reading it, with surprise. We tried to recall the events in New England annals, which might justifv such a sweeping assertion. Was it John Eliot who treated the Indians like brutes in his labors among them for their conversion, lahors, the like of which, for intensity of love, have not been seen since the apostolic times ? Or was that touching visit of Edward Winslow to the sick Sachem Massasoit, and his tender nursing of him, treat- ing him like a brute ? It has always seemed to us more like the parable of the good Samaritan. But the author acknowl- edges, himself, the unquestioned fact, that for forty years the 4 Western History. [July, New-Englanders lived in peace with all the Indians but the Pequots. They could hardly, one would think, have lived thus, if they were in the habit of treating them like brutes. He tells us, there were several periods at which they (the Indians) could with ease have exterminated all the colonists. That they did not, he brings as a proof of their peaceable and friendly disposition. But does he really think that the Indians, in New-England, or elsewhere, have ever been of so extreme- ly forgiving and pacific a temper as to spare those who treated them like brutes, when they had them wholly in their power ? To prove the ingratitude of the English for this Indian kind- ness, the war with the Pequots and its consequences are pro- duced. Either Judge Hall is himself very ignorant of the early Indian history of New England, or he writes for those whom he believes ignorant of it. His argument stands thus. The Narragansets and Massachusetts tribes, neighbours of the Plymouth and Bay colonies, were friendly and kind ; therefore, it was base ingratitude for the Pilgrims to go to war with the Pequots on the Connecticut, who were the deadly enemies of all of them. In the same way it might he reasoned; The French were very kind to us in the Revolutionary war therefore it was base ingratitude to go to war with their ene- mies, the English, in 1812. We would not undertake to acquit the Pilgrims of all taint of the sternness and intolerance which belonged to their age. No New England historian ever does so. It was only last autumn, that in the presence of thousands, assembled to do honor to the remains of a body of whites, waylaid and massacred in King Philips war by Philips Indians, that the orator, standing in the defile where they fell beneath bullet and tomahawk, entered into a noble defence of the Indians who slew them. And of those listening thousands, whose heart did not beat, and whose eye did not fill, at the thrilling statement of the bitter sufferings which drove the In- dian to desperation ? The sympathy was as complete as Judge Hall himself could desire. But for all this, the Indians were not treated like brutes, nor with base ingratitude. With these qualifying remarks, we recommend the Sketches to our readers as a work full of entertaining anecdote and description. Mr. Butlers style is not so good as Judge Halls. It fre- quently wants perspicuity ; the sentences are sometimes badly constructed; superlatives are somewhat too frequent; the met- 1836.1 Butlers History. 5 aphors are sometimes in bad taste; and the whole seems writ- ten in a hurry. This last appearance may explain all the rest, for there are parts, to which none of our ohjections apply, and which prove that Mr. Butler has the power of writing with smoothness, elegance, and force. But what shall we say to a sentence like this ? (p. 206.) The most distinguished man in this body, and who may emphatically be called the author of the first Constitution of Kentucky, was George Nicholas, the most eminent laxvyer of his time in Kentucky, whether his learning or his powers of mind be regarded, and the father of the present Judge Nicholas. We should have called this the worst possible construction of a sentence, did not the same volume supply a worse one ; for which, how ever, not Mr. Butler, but Humphrey Marshall is accountable. On page 121 we read, in a description of a battle which reminds us both of Homer and Knickerbocker ; And thus both sides firmly stood, or bravely fell, for more than one hour; upwards of one fourth of the combatants had fallen never more to rise, on either side, and several others were wounded. We take the following to be the worst metaphor in the book. There was one man who had the firmness, amidst the general delusion, to turn a deaf ear to the syren song of peace and farming, which was so artfully sung by Colonel Burr. The syren song of peace and farming means the pretence of Burr, that be was not going to fight, but to cultivate the Washita lands. In the higher qualities of an historian, however, Mr. Butler is deserving of all praise. In fairness, earnestness, and fidelity, he excels, as far as he falls behind in expression and outward dress. lie writes, it seems to us, in a highly candid and im- partial spirit. His book in this respect compares advanta- geously with the former history of Kentucky by Humphrey Marshall, which, though written xvith great force and in a picturesque style, is obnoxious to a charge of political parti- sanship, which, it may be owned, was hard to be escaped by one, xvho undertook to describe scenes, quorum pars magna fuit. Marshall was a stern Federalist of the strictest sect. Mr. Butler inclines more to the Jefferson school, though an enlarged experience has taught him to qualify very much the maxims and notions of the Monticello sage, which once were looked upon as containing all things necessary for politi- cal and social salvation. But, though candid, Mr. Butler is not indifferent. He is thoroughly in earnest, and treats his sub- 6 Western History. [July, ject with enthusiasm. It is evidently a labor of love with him. And in this respect he is right. A cold, skeptical spirit, which seeks to explain away all that is noble and lofty in human achievements, is far from being the true historical spirit, though too often mistaken for it. It is only by sympathizing with the character of a people, by entering into the feelings which moved them, by giving ourselves up to the influences which impressed and swayed them, that we can rightly under- stand their history. Thus alone can we seize the great leading principles, the ruling ideas, which determine the course and destinies of a nation. Without this, a writer may give us effects, hut the causes will be hidden from him. He can nar- rate facts, but he cannot give us principles. He can tell what a people did, but not what they were. He may be a good an- nalist, he cannot be a good historian. But perhaps the most important requisite of a good histo- rian in the present age of our country, and particularly of the NVestern country, is fidelity of research. The early records, the family traditions, even printed journals and the official ac- counts of legislative proceedings, are daily perishing for want of a little care and attention. Documents, xvhich a century hence would be invaluable, are lost through carelessness and indifference. The best service which an historian can perform is to save such documents from this fate. how much is New England history indehted to Thomas Prince, for his Chro- nology, which when first published could not find subscribers for the second volume, but which now is the only source of knowledge with regard to a large portion of the New England annals. Here again, Mr. Butler deserves our gratitude for the efforts he has made, and their success in procuring much new information. This is the chief worth of his book. The second edition is a great improvement on the first in this re- spect. The work was before incomplete, without beginning or end. It now contains the outline, at least, of every thing which we could wish. It has, in addition to the contents of the first edition, an Introduction in seventy-two pages, two more chapters at the end, and a large number of important documents, omitted in the former Appendix. The Introduc- tion gives an account of early discoveries by the French and others in the l\Iississippi Valley, and the settlements of Western Virginia. This appears to us a more suitable opening than Rafinesques Ancient Annals of Kentucky, prefixed to 1836.] Butlers History. 7 Marshalls History. That worthy antiquary, whose motto is Nunquarn otiosus, has given us an account of the inhabitants of Kentucky from the time of Adam, with a minute detail of the rise and fall of various dynasties, of invasions, revolutions, cmi- grations, through successive periods, down to the discovery of Columbus. Former historians, we know, always adopted this plan ; but of late years we are satisfied that as firm a foundation can be obtained by digging down a few feet, as if we went to the centre of the earth. And the only xvriter of modern times who has adopted Rafinesques plan is, to the best of our recol- lection, the worthy author of The History of New York. The first book of that renoxvned work is occupied with different cosmogonies and theories of the universe, deduced from the traditions of China, India, Egypt, Chaldea, and other equally authentic sources. Mr. Butler has taken Marshalls History as the basis of his own. This xvork, which xve noticed in a former Number, must always be considered the original fountain of Kentucky history. Mr. Marshall has heen an actor in many scenes which he descrihes, and has heard descriptions of others from the lips of those engaged in them. Mr. Butlers chief additions to this work, consist in the before-named Introduction, an ac- count of Indian treaties by which the soil of Kentucky was ceded to the whites, notices of Hendersons proprietary gov- ernment, and a minute and interesting account of Gen. Clarks Illinois campaigns. In addition to this, he has diligently con- sulted original sources to confirm, explain, and rectify all the other portions of the history. The first chapter of the History is devoted to an examina- tion of the Indian title to Kentucky Mr Butler has brought to light a treaty, concluded at Fort St~tnxx ix in the State of New York in 1768 with the S~x Nations by the geilcy of that extrao~luarv man Sn XV illi irn Jeli ~on By tl~~ icaty, that poweilit c euf Oeric\ , x~ ho had cxtei~dcd LCii cont{uests west to the M1 ~S~11)0i ann 5~111t0 to 10 ii O~i00~C ~Vc1, Ps-. linquished to the En ~~h a large poi on of Qe ore~ert State of Kentu i~ [he 1)rol)abilty ~een~ to be, LilVt, 1Juu~a they had contro of tIe te n~oi x dL dil(l a1tei toW time tIl i~s ocen pation by the Thglish, it was not taken possession of by any one Indian tribe, hut was hunted over by all. Johnson was one of the few Englishmen who could manage a successful diplomacy with the Indians ; probably because he united cour 8 Western History. [July, teousness with firmness, and to independence and courage a respect for the feelings and opinions of the red man. To these qualities of Johnson it appears that the people of Ken- tucky owe a fair Indian title to their land. Such a title is little valued now, and still less was it considered in those days of the early emigrants. For why? Because the good old rule Sufficed for them, the simple plan, That those shall take, who have the power, And those shall keep, who can. Yet xve helieve the days will come, when the people of every State in the Union will be proud to treasure up memo- rials, that their fathers were not unjust to the red man. In parliamentary proceedings it is sometimes permitted to the Speaker to descend from his seat and take part in the dis- cussion. Even so the Reviewer, who was originally a kind of presiding officer in the republican assembly of authors, placed apart to see that the rules of good writing were observed and to call to order those who infringed them, has of late plunged, himself, into the dehate ; somewhat to the neglect, indeed, of his peculiar vocation. Having performed our duty as critics, we would use this privilege also. We would turn from the hook to its subject, from the historian to the his- tory. And the interesting point to us, in Western history, is the light which it throws upon Western character, so far as that character is now developed. It is beginning to he generally understood that the Western people, and in particular the inhabitants of Kentucky, ~ the germs of a very original and strongly-marked character. Various traits of mind and disposition are ascribed to them hy travellers, journalists, and other writers. Among these are usually mentioned activity of intellect, versatility of talent, ease of manner, an independence of character which runs into the extreme of recklessness, and a freedom which often de- generates into lawlessness. Warm hospitality, ardent friend- ship, excitable feelings connect them with the South; enter- prise, self-reliance, and readiness of talent, remind us of New England. To he sure, this character is yet in an unformed state; its ingredients are fermenting together; hut intelligent ohservers can distinguish plainly very strong and individual traits, which point at a high degree of future nationality. 1836.] & ttlement of Kentucky. 9 But, in order to understand a work of art or nature, it always becomes necessary to look at the history of its formation. Would you comprehend the complicated machinery of a cotton factory, or gain insight into the action of a steam-engine, study them first in their simplest forms. See how inconven- iences suggested alteration, and improvements grew out of necessities. The character of the adult is learned in the history of his boyhood, for the child is father of the man. Arid thus national character can only be understood out of national history. Taking our stand on this ground, we will pass in review some of the striking events in the history of Kentucky. We have not to go far hack to find the commencement of this history. Those now alive, who have reached the age of seventy years, were horn before the first white man entered Kentucky. For the English have never displayed the same love of discovery as the Spaniards and French, either in North or South America. Wherever they have fixed them- selves, they remain. A love of adventure, an eager curiosity, a desire of change, or some like motive had carried the French all over the continent, while the English colonists continued quietly within their o~vn limits. The French Mis- sionaries coasted along the Lakes and descended the Missis- sippi, a whole century before the Virginians began to cross the Alleghany ridge, to get a glimpse of the noble inheritance which had remained undisturbed for centuries, waiting their coming. It was not till the year 1767, only eight years before the breaking out of the revolutionary war, that John Finley of North Carolina descended into Kentucky for the purpose of hunting and trading. The feelings of wonder and delight experienced hy this early pioneer in passing through the rich lands, which were filled with deer, buffaloes, and every kind of game, and covered with the majestic growth of centuries, soon communicated themselves to others. Like the spies who returned from Palestine, they declared, The land, which we passed through to search it, is an exceeding good land. They compared it to parks and gardens, or a succession of farms, stocked with cattle and full of birds tame as farm-yard poultry. Instigated by these descriptions, in 1769 DANIEL BOONE, a man much distinguished for bravery and skill, entered VOL. XLIII. -NO. 92. 2 10 Western History. [July, Kentucky. And now commenced a series of enterprise, romantic adventure, chivalric daring, and patient endurance, not surpassed in the history of modern times. Nothing in the tales of knight-errantry, in the rornans de longues haleines, which occupied the leisure of pages and squires in old baroni- al days, or in the Waverley novels and their tail of ro- mances of the second class, which amuse modern gentlemen and ladies, nothing in these works of imagination can exceed the realities of early Kentucky history. From 1769 till Waynes victory on the Maumee in 1794, a period of twenty- five years, including the whole revolutionary war, the people of Kentucky were engaged in Indian warfare, for life and home. Surrounded by an enemy far outnumbering them, deadly in hatred, of ferocious cruelty, wielding the same rifle with them- selves, and as skilful in its use, they took possession of the country, felled the forest, built towns, laid out roads, and chauged the wilderness into a garden. No man could open his cabin door in the morning, without danger of receiving a rifle bullet from a lurking Indian ; no woman could go out to milk the cows without risk of having a scalping-knife at her forehead before she returned. Many a man returned from bunting, only to find a smoking ruin where he had left a happy borne with wife and children. But did this constant danger create a constant anxiety? Did they live in terror? Fightings were without ; were fears within? By no means. If you talk with the survivors of those days they will tell you We soon came to think ourselves as good men as the In- dians. We believed we were as strong as they, as good marksmen, as quick of sight, and as likely to see them, as they were to see us ; so there was no use in being afraid of them. The danger produced a constant watchfulness, an active intelligence, a prompt decision ; traits still strongly ap- parent in the Kentucky character. By the same causes, other, more amiable and social qualities were developed. While every man was forced to depend on himself and trust to his own courage, coolness, and skill, every man felt that he de- pended on his neighbour for help in cases where his own pow- ers could no longer avail him. And no man could decline making an effort for another, when he knew that he might need a like aid before the sun went down. Hence we have frequent examples of one mnan risking his life to save that of 1836.] Settlement of Kentucky. 11 another, and of desperate exertions made for the common safety of the dwellers in fort or stockade. As an example of such generous exertions we extract the following anecdote, which has been frequently told, but is here given, by Mr. Butler, in the words of an actor. On the 7th of July, 1776, the Indians took out of a canoe which was in the river, within sight of Boonesborough, Miss Betsey Calloway, her sister Frances, and a daughter of Daniel Boone. The last two were about thirteen or fourteen years of age, and the other grown. The affair happened late in the af- ternoon, and the spoilers left the canoe on the opposite side of the river from us, which prevented our getting over for some time to pursue them. Next morning by day-light we were on the track; but found they had totally prevented our following them by walking some distance apart through the thickest cane they could find. We observed their course, and on which side they had left their sign, and travelled upwards of thirty miles. We then imagined they would be less cautious in travelling, and made a turn in order to cross their trace, and had gone but a few miles before we found their tracks in a buffalo path; we pursued and overtook them on going about ten miles, just as they were kindling a fire to cook. Our study had been more to get the prisoners without giving the Indians time to murder them after they discovered us, than to kill them. We discovered each other nearly at the same time. Four of us fired, and all rushed on them, which prevented their carrying any thing away except one shot gun without any ammunition. Mr. Boone and myself had a pretty fair shot just as they began to move off. I am well convinced I shot one through, and the one he shot dropped his gun; mine had none. The place was very thick with cane, and being so much elated on recovering the three little broken- hearted girls, prevented our making any further search. We sent them off without their moccasons, and not one of them so much as a knife or a tomahawk. Butlers History, p. 32. The three most distinguished men among the early settlers were James Harrod, Daniel Boone, and Benjamin Logan. Of the last-mentioned gentleman we insert the fol- lowing anecdote. His fort ~vas besieged by a large party of Indians in 1777. The garrison consisted of only fifteen men. The Indians made their attack on the fort with more than their usual secrecy. While the women, guarded by a party of the men, were milking the cows outside of the fort, they were suddenly fired upon by a large body of Indians, till then concealed 12 Western History. [July, in the thick cane which stood about the cabins. By this fire, one man was killed, and two others wounded, one mortally; the residue, with the women, got into the fort, when, having reached the protection of its walls, one of the wounded men was discovered, left alive on the ground. Captain Logan, distressed for his situation, and keenly alive to the anguish of his family, who could see him from the fort, weltering in his blood, endeav- oured iii vain, for some time, to raise a party for his rescue. The garyison was, however, so small, and the danger so appalling, that he met only objection and refusal; until John Martin, stimulated by his Captain, proceeded with him to the fort gate. At this instant the wounded man appeared to raise himself on his hands and knees, as if able to help himself, and Martin with- drew, deterred by the obvious hazard. Logan, incapable of abandoning a man under his command, was only nerved to new and more vigorous exertions to relieve the wounded man, who by that time, exhausted by his previous efforts, after crawling a few paces, had fallen to the ground. The generous and gallant Captain took him in his arms amid a shower of bullets, many of which struck the palisades about his head; and brought him into the fort to his despairing family. ibid. p. 91. After reading such anecdotes as this, can we wonder at the strong family attachments now existing in Kentucky? The remembrance of such hours of common danger and mutual sacrifice, and generous disregard of self, must have sunk deep into the hearts of those earnest men. He saved my life at the risk of his own. He helped me bring back my wife from the Indians. He shot the man who was about to dash out my infants brains. Here was a foundation for friendships, which nothing could root up. Whispering tongues can poison truth ; but no tongues could do away such evidences of true friendship as these. No subsequent coldness, no after injury could efface their remembrance. They must have been treasured up in the deepest cells of the heart with a sacred gratitude, a religious care. And hence, while Indian warfare developed all the stronger and self-relying faculties, it cultivated also all the sympathies, the confiding trust, t hegen- erous affections, which to the present hour are marked on the heart of that peoples character. But besides producing independence and generosity, Indian warfare tended especially to quicken the intellect, making it wakeful to perceive danger and prompt to decide on a way 1836.] ~FIdventures of Clark. 13 of meeting it. The whole of the existence of the settlers was a game, which to play, required constant watchfulness and skill, and of which life was the stake. This necessarily gave an activity of intellect and an interest to every thing done or attempted, which, in a safer community, could not he mani- fested. Life was crowded with action. Every new neces- sity prompted to new invention. All was animation, vigilance, interest. And such to this hour continues the intellect of Kentucky. One other element, however, is to he taken into the account. The richness of the soil, and the plentifulness of game, took off the burden of low and narrowing care, and produced a certain freedom of spirit, which is not equally to he looked for in those regions where the whole stress of industry will but bare- ly support life. Around the first settlers of New England, for instance, the horrors of famine were added to the terrors of the Indian yell and tomahawk. A sterner principle was there necessary ; a willingness to endure cold and hunger, no less than dare the attack of the red foe. Such was not the case in Kentucky. Had it been so, the settlement would not have been effected at least for a half century later; for the motive which induced the enterprise would have been wanting. The adventures of General George Rogers Clark are given to the public, for the first time, in full detail, in the third, fourth, and fifth chapters of Butlers History. lYe shall l)resent an ahstract of them, both as illustrating the energy of western character, and because we believe they will he new to many of our readers. George Rogers Clark was born in AIhe- marIe county, Virginia, in 1753. In 1775 he first entered Kentucky. He had already been engaged under Lord Dun- more in conflict with the Indians, and now wandered through the scattered settlements, making himself acquainted with the people, and interesting them by his intelligent mind and manly sl)irit. He is said to have received a command over the Kentucky troops at that time. Returning to Virginia in the fall, he came back to Kentucky in the spring of 1776. Though so young a man, he had inspired so much confidence in the community as to induce them to call a meeting at 1-Jar- rods to~vn for the purpose of sending agents to Virginia, to negotiate with that government for assistance, or, if not suc- cessful in this, to offer bounties of land for help in men and means from the citizens, and to establish an independent 14 Western History. [July, government. For a mere boy, as we should call him, to form a plan like this, and then to induce a sagacious community to follow it, certainly demonstrates no small powers of reflection and character. This convention met in the absence of Clark, and chose him and another person members of the Assembly of Virginia. They immediately departed through the wilder- ness to the seat of government. After suffering great hard- ships they reached Virginia, and found the Assembly ad- journed. Clark then went on hy himself to Patrick Henry, the Governor, and received from him a letter to the Execu- tive Council. He asked of them five hundred pounds of gun- powder to defend Kentucky. This was refused. The Council offered to lend it to them as friends, but, as they were yet not joined to the State, they could do no more for them. But this young man was not of a temper to yield to opposi- tion lightly. He reflected within himself, and determined to go back to Kentucky and establish there an independent State. With this view, he returned to the council their or- der, informed them he had no means of conveying the powder through a hostile country, expressed his sorrow that Virginia was unwilling to assist her children, but concluded that they must seek help elsewhere, and should no doubt find it. The consequence of this letter xvas an order for the powder to be delivered at Fort Pitt, for the use of the inhabitants of Ken- tucky. After this, before leaving Virginia, he succeeded in procuring Kentucky to be erected into a distinct county of that State, and from this time he was established in the affections of the people as their chief counsellor. Hereafter he was to appear as their general and commander. We pass over the various difficulties which occurred in getting this ammunition conveyed into Kentucky, in order to come to Clarks greatest enterprise. This was the expedi- tion, projected, prepared, and executed by him against the British posts of Kaskaskia and St. Vincents. The plan, it appears, originated with him ; and is proof in itself of much military talent. Nothing could have been conceived better suited to intimidate the savages and protect the whole frontier of Kentucky, than an effective blow aimed at those posts from whence the Indians derived ammunition, arms, and clothing. It was bold, but yet practicable. The great distance, and the difficulty of transporting soldiers, which seemed at first ob- jections, in fact insured its success, by lulling suspicion, and 1836.] adventures of Clark. 15 giving the final blow an overwhelming character. All this Clark perceived, but, communicating his ideas to no one, he left Kentucky in October, 1777, for Virginia. He laid his plans before Patrick Henry, the Virginia Governor, who, after mi- nutely examining them, and consulting with several gentlemen, at last entered warmly into the project. On the 2d of January, 1778, he received two sets of instructions, one public, direct- ing him to proceed to Kentucky for its defence, and the other secret, ordering an attack on the British post of Kas- kaskia. The troops were to be raised west of the mountains, in order not to distract any of the force necessary for the great revolutionary struggle. He descended the river on the 4th of February, from Pittsburg, to the Falls of the Ohio, and there fortified a post on Corn Island, just opposite the present town of Louisville. Here Clark discovered to his troops their real destination to Kaskaskia; and, with the ex- ception of one company who shamefully deserted, all testified satisfaction. The post of St. Vincents, though nearer, was better fortified, and more difficult to be taken, and Clarks whole available force was now but four companies. On the 24th of June, 1778, the sun being in a total eclipse, the boats passed the Falls. At the mouth of the Tennessee they met a party of hunters, lately from Kaskaskia, who communicated much valuable information with respect to the place. They learned from them, that its defences were such, that, except they could surprise it, their chance of success was small ; but, succeeding in this, they would have little difficulty. They were also told, that the French inhabitants of the place enter- tained great fear of the Americans, being taught by the British to look on them as more barbarous and cruel than the savages. Colonel Clark saw, that by wisely managing this prejudice, and the information he bad received on the river, of the treaty between France and the United States, he might be able to secure the assistance of the French; without this he could have little hope of ultimate success. After a difficult march they reached the town on the evening of July 4th, 1778. It was completely surprised, taken possession of, the inhabitants disarmed, and the British Governor secured without a drop of blood being shed. The French submitted to the Bos- tonais, as they called all Americans at that time, without any resistance. But, although the town was taken, the work was hardly 16 Western History. [July, begun. The object was to act on the minds of the inhabit- ants. For this purpose, not force, but judgment and tact were necessary. And the account which Mr. Butler has given of this transaction, taken from original and unquestionable sources, appears to us of such exceeding interest, that we shall pro- ceed to describe it for our readers entertainment. Let us imagine then the situation of this ancient place, which contained about two hundred and fifty houses, and had stood for a century and a half in the midst of a blooming prairie, its simple and peaceful French inhabitants dealing only with the Indians, and the present generation of them almost ignorant of any other race. Taught to regard the Americans as monsters of cruelty, they found their town suddenly fallen into their hands. Gloom and fear dwelt visibly on the faces of all. To increase this feeling, Clark commanded all intercourse among the inhabitants, and between them and the soldiers, to cease. For a slight offence against this rule, he commanded several French officers to be put in irons. At last the priest of the village, accompanied by five or six of the oldest inhabitants, came to reqtlest permission for the citizens to meet in the church, to take leave of each other. rrheir property was in the hands of the conquerors, but they hoped they should not be separated from their wives and children, and that some small quantity of provisions and clothes would be allowed them. Clark, seeing that the fears of the people were wound up to the highest point, now determined to let the reaction, which he was aiming at, take place. For what do you take us, gentlemen ; said he, for savages ? We do not make war on innocence, or helplessness, or women, or children. It was to defend our families, that we took up arms against the British, not for plunder. The French King has now joined us, and the war must soon cease. The people of Kaskaskia, however, may take which side they wish. Neither their properly nor families shall suffer. The village was immediately filled with demonstrations of extravagant delight, and as had been expected the inhabitants sided at once with the Americans. A party of them, accompanied by some of Clarks soldiers, went to Cahokia, another post opposite to the present site of St. Louis, and persuaded the French of that place to a like submission and alliance. All this was very good, but yet was not enough. The post of St. Vincents lay no great distance off between his present 1836.1 .Jldventures of Clark. 17 position and Kentucky, and garrisoned by a force superior to any which Clark could possibly bring against it. Policy, therefore, and not force, must again be resorted to. And here unexpected aid was afforded by the French Priest of Kaskaskia, who was also the spiritual father of the French at St. Vincents. Always a friend to the Americans, and grate- ful for the religious toleration showed by Clark, he volunteer- ed to bring over the inhabitants of St. Vincents to the cause of the Americans without any fighting. Hardly believing it possible, Clark dismissed him on this embassy. The British governor was absent, and M. Gibault succeeded entirely. In two or three days after his arrival, the inhabitants threw off the British government, and, assembling in a body in the church, took the oath of allegiance to Virginia. A command- ant was chosen, and the American flag displayed over the fort, to the astonishment of the Indians. The savages were told by their French friends, that their old Father, the King of France, was come to life again, and was mad with them for fighting for the English; that if they did not wish the land to be bloody with war, they must make peace with the Amer- icans. Though Clark had effected so much, having taken two bin- portant posts from the British, and having won the favor of the French, there was yet another influence to be propitiated, more important and more hostile than either. The business, now more difficult than any thing he had yet accomplished, was to awe or persuade the Indians of the Wabash into an alliance with the Americans. And in this affair he displayed as much sagacity and perseverance as in his previous exploits. The French have invariably succeeded in winning the friendship of the Indians. The English almost as invariably have failed. By an attentive study of the Indian character, Clark had learn- ed to combine the dignity and firmness xvhich awe, with that respectful and ceremonious behaviour which pleases the pride and vanity of the savage. In the treaties held by him at Ca- hokia and on the Wabash, ~vas displayed the correctness of this view of the Indian. We will extract from Butler a speech of Clarks, in which he explained and simplified to the understanding of the Indians the causes of the war between the United States and England. The Big Knife is very much like the red people; they dont know how to make blankets, and powder, and cloth; they buy VOL. XLLTI.2N0. 92. 3 18 Western History. [July, these things from the English, from whom they are sprung. They live by making corn, hunting, and trade, as you and your neighbours the French do. But, the Big Knife daily getting more numerous, like the trees in the woods, the land became poor and hunting scarce; and having but little to trade with, the women began to cry at seeing their children naked, and tried to learn how to make clothes for themselves; soon made blankets for their husbands arid children; and the men learned to make guns and powder. In this way we did not want to buy so much from the English; they then got mad with us, and sent strong garrisons through our country (as you see they have done among you on the Lakes, and among the French); they would not let our women spin, nor our men make powder, nor let us trade with any body else. The English said we should buy every thing of them, and since we had got saucy, we should give two bucks for a blanket, which we used to get for one; we should do as they pleased, and they killed some of our people to make the rest fear them. This is the truth, and the real cause of war between the English and us; which did not take place for some years after this treatment. But our women became cold and hungry, and continued to cry; our young men got lost for want of counsel to put them in the right path. The whole land was dark; the old men held down their heads for shame, because they could not see the sun; and thus there was mourning for many years over the land. At last the Great Spirit took pity on us, and kindled a great council-fire, that never goes out, at a place called Phila- delphia; he then stuck down a post, and put a war tomahawk by it, and went away. The sun immediately broke out, the sky was blue again, and the old men held up their heads, and assembled at the fire; they took up the hatchet, sharpened it, and put it into the hands of our young men, ordering them to strike the English, as long as they could find one on this side the great waters. The young men immediately struck the war- post, and blood was shed; in this way the war began, and the English were driven from one place to another, until they got weak, and then they hired you red people to fight for them. The Great Spirit got angry at this, and caused your old father, the French King, and other great nations to join the Big Knife, and fight with them against all their enemies. So the English have become like a deer in the woods; and you may see, that it is the Great Spirit that has caused your waters to be troubled, because you have fought for the people he is mad with. If your women and children should now cry, you must blame yourselves for it, and not the Big Knife. You can now judge who is in the right; I have already told you who I am; here is a bloody belt 1836.] .fldventures of Clark. 19 and a white one, take which you please. Behave like men, and dont let your being surrounded by the Big Knife cause you to take up one belt with your hands, while your hearts take up the other. If you take the bloody path, you shall leave the to~vn in safety, and may go and join your friends, the English; we will then try like warriors, who can put the most stumblingblocks in each others way, and keep our clothes longest stained with blood. If, on the other hand, you take the path of peace, and be received as brothers to the Big Knife with their friends, the French, should you then listen to bad birds that may be flying through the laud, you will no longer (leserve to be counted as men ; but as creatures with two tongues, that ought to be de- stroyed. ibid. p. 68. We also extract an incident which occurred during these negotiations, xvhich Mr. Butler justly regards as of a romantic character. It also is a good specimen of the authors happiest manner. A party of Jndians, composed of stragglers from various tribes, by the name of Meadow Indians, had accompanied the other tribes, and had been promised a great reward if they would kill Colonel Clark. For this purpose they had pitched their camp about a hundred yards from Clarks quarters, and about the same distance in front of the fort, on the same side of Cahokia creek with the one occupied by the Americans. This creek was about knee-deep at the time, and a plot was formed by some of the Indians to pass the creek after night, fire their guns in the direction of the Indians on the other side of the creek, and then fly to Clarks quarters, where they were to seek admission under pretence of fleeing from their enemies, and put Colonel Clark and the garrison to death. About one oclock in the morning, while Colonel Clark was still awake with the multiplied cares of his extraordinary situation, the attempt was made; and the flying party, having discharged their guns so as to throw suspicion upon the other indians, came running to the American camp for protection, as they said, from their enemies, who had attacked them from across the creek. This, the guard, who proved to be in greater force than ~vas anticipated, prevented by presenting their pieces at the fugitives, who were compelled to return to their own camp. The ~vhole town arid garrison were now im- mediately under arms, and these Indians, whom the guard had recognised by moonlight, were sent for, and on being examined, they declared it was their enemies, who had fired upon them from across the creek, and that they had sought shelter among the Americans. Some of the French gentlemen, who knew these 20 Western History. [July, Indians better than the new conquerors, called for a light, and discovered their moccasons and leggins to be quite wet and muddy, from having passed the creek over to the friendly camps. This discovery quite confounded the assassins; and, as there were a great many Indians of other tribes in the town, Clark thought the opportunity favorable to convince them of the closest union between the Americans and the French; he therefore sur- rendered the culprits to the French, to do what they pleased with them. Secret instructions were, however, given, that the chiefs ought to be sent to the guard-house in irons; these direc- tions were immediately executed. In this manacled condition they were brought every day into council, but not suffered to speak until all the other busi- ness was transacted, when Colonel Clark ordered their irons to be taken oW and told them every body said they ought to die for their treacherous attempt upon his life, amidst the sacred deliberations of a council, lie had determined to in- flict death upon them for their base attempt, and they them- selves must be sensible that they had justly forfeited their lives; but, on considering the meanness of watching a bear and catching him asleep, he had found out they were not warriors, only old women and too mean to be punished by the Big Knife. But, as you ought to be punished, said he, for put- ting on breech-cloth like men, they shall be taken away from you, plenty of provisions shall be given you for your journey home, as women dont know how to hunt, and during your stay you shall be treated in every respect as squaws. Then without taking any further notice of these offenders, Colonel Clark turn- ed off and began to converse with other persons. This treatment appeared to agitate the offending Indians to their very hearts. In a short time one of their chiefs arose with a pipe and belt of peace, which he offered to Clark, and made a speech; but he would not suffer it to be interpreted, and a sword lying on the table, he took it and indignantly broke the pipe which had been laid before him, declaring the Big Knife never treated with women. The offending tribe then appeared busy in conversa- tion among themselves; when suddenly two of their young men advanced into the middle of the floor, sat down, and flung their blankets over their heads, to the astonishment of the whole assembly, when two chiefs arose, and, with a pipe of peace, stood by the side of these victims, and offered their lives to Colonel Clark, as an atonement for the offence of the tribe. They hoped this sacrifice would appease the Big Knife, and they again offer- ed the pipe. Clark ~vould not yet admit a reconciliation with them, but directed them in a milder tone than before to be seated, for he would have nothing to say to them. After keeping them 1836.] .Jldventures of Clark. 21 some time longer in suspense, Colonel Clark, deeply affected by the magnanimity of these rude sons of the forest, ordered the young men to rise and uncover themselves, said he was glad to find there were men in all nations, and through them granted peace to their tribe. ibid. p. 72. By means of such cautious management Clark succeeded in undermining the British influence among the Indian tribes from the Mississippi to the Lakes, and impressing them with a respect for the Americans hitherto unknown. One military exploit remained for him to perform, as the crowning glory of this singular campaign. He had for some time been anxious with respect to St. Vincents, in which he had been unable to post any American troops, though it had been put under the command of one of his captains. And on the 29th of January, 1779, he received news that Governor Hamilton had marched a force against it from Detroit, and had reduced it again under the power of the British. Had he continued his march to Kaskaskia, with his four hundred Indians brought from Detroit, he would probably have overpowered the small force of Clark. But, as winter was advanced, he thought this impracticable, and let his Indians scatter themselves, intending to re-assem- ble his forces in the spring, and march on Kaskaskia, where he was to be joined by seven hundred Indians from the north and south. With this force, beside his own and some artil- lery, he intended to sweep Kentucky as far as Fort Pitt, and entertained no doubt of success. But when opposed to an enemy like Clark, his delay was fatal. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the season, that officer immediately resolved on marching against St. Vincents, for, said he, I knew if I did not take him, he would take me. He despatched a boat with forty-six men and the artillery found at Kaskaskia up the Wabash river, to wait below the town for further orders. He then commenced his march with one hundred and seventy men, of whom two French companies made a part, across the drowned lands of the Wabash, for St. Vincents. This was in the month of February, and the march carried them through places where the water was two and three feet deep for miles, and in some places up to their armpits. To keep up the spir- its and courage of the troops under such exhausting hardships required great exertion on the part of their commander. In about a fortnight they reached St. Vincents. After a con- test of one or two days between the cannon of the fort and Clarks rifles, the latter bad such a decided superiority that 22 Western History. [July, the post was surrendered, with seventy-nine British soldiers prisoners of xvar, arid considerable stores. The rifle had the whole honor of reducing their strong fort, for the artil- lery had not arrived. The peremptory and commanding manners of Clark, conveying the impression that his power was much greater than it was, had a large share in this re- suit. Indeed, in perusing the accounts of his decided and inflexible conduct in negotiation, and remembering the stern, unmoved expression of brow, eye, cheek, and mouth in the portraits of him, which are common in Kentucky, we gain from the simple record and the caricature of the un- skilfiid artist the idea of a man, before whose look few could stand unmoved. Such was this Kentuckian, and such were other Kentuckians. These were the events which were pass- ing on the frontier, while the Revolutionary war was raging on the Atlantic coast. We pass over some years and come to another period of Ken- tucky history. The country has become more populous ; the danger from Indians has almost gone by; the forest is felled. The wars are all over, The sword it hangs idle, The steed bites the bridle And stands in the stall. We drink but what s drinking? A mere pause from thinkino No bugle awakes us with life-and-death call. The activity of mind, the love of excitement, the restless, adventurous spirit remains, while the field on which it was ex- ercised is removed. It must display itself in another way; it must find some other channel of action. And thus Ken- tucky becomes the theatre of the most daring political schemes. Accustomed to act on a wide scale, these people cannot sit down contented with the natural proceeds of a rich soil, and the natural comforts of a temperate climate. Not satisfied, like the inhabitants of other States and sections, with the local prosperity of their own little villages and counties, they con- template the interests of the xvhole Valley and the destinies of the coming age. They find themselves on navigable streams, which bind together tens of thousands of miles of country.* * The endless ramifications of the mammoth River of the West has made more specific terms necessary in speaking of its tributaries. In New England we have only brooks and rivers. But in the XVest we hear of a branch, of a run, of a fork, of a creek, of a river which empties into the Ohio, which falls into the Mississippi. 1836.1 The ~Spanish Conspiracy. 23 Distance vanishes. Those who live a hundred miles from theni are their neighbours. They immediately take a broad view of their inheritance and its valne, and only one thing is necessary to make their wilderness the garden of the earth. The navigation of the .ILlississippi is absolutely necessary to them. They fix their hearts on it. They must, they will, possess a free trade upon its broad bosom. The most igno- rant boatman, the poorest farmer, understands its importance. An enthusiastic and lightly moved Imeople are excited against the government by what they consider its neglect of their rights and delay in attending to their petitions. Jays proposition to Congress to cede the navigation of the river to Spain for twenty years, roused a violent feeling of indignation against himself and his party. Disorganizers and ambitious men took advantage of this state of feeling, and hence arose what has been known as the Spanish conspiracy. The ascertained facts in relation to the Spanish conspiracy, as stated by Butler, are these. In the year 1788, under the old confederation, John Brown, the Representative to Con- gress from the district of Kentucky, had certain private con- ferences with Don Gar~1equoi, the Spanish minister. In consequence of which he writes letters to the President of the convention held at Danville, and to Judge Muter, in which he informs them that if Kentucky will separate from the Union and establish an independent government, Spain is ready to give to them the free navigation of the Mississippi. At this very time, Kentucky was petitioning Congress through the mouth of this very John Brown, to be admitted into the Union as an independent State. After this, at another convention at Danville, General Wilkinson, a leading man in Kentucky in those days, stands up, and proposes the establishment of an independent State, which should treat with Spain separately for the navigation of the Mississippi, and find its way into the Union afterwards. Thereupon the same John Brown gets up and tells the convention, as the Spanish organ in that body, that, if they can be unanimous in the adoption of Wilkinsons measure, Spain will grant them whatever they wish. But the people were not ripe for such a step, though their leaders evi- dently were so, and the convention parted without adopting any separating measure. The admission of Kentucky into the Union as an independent State terminated, for a season, these inclinations. This was in 1778. In 1795, according to Mr. Butlers 24 Western History. [July, division, began the second part of the affair. In that year, while negotiations are going forward in Madrid, to secure the mLlch-desired navigation of the Mississippi, Governor Caron- dolet writes to Judge Sebastian, a judge of the Court of Ap- peals, and who it afterwards appeared was a hired and pensioned partisan of Spain, by one Power, informing him that the Spanish kin~ was desirous of opening the Mississippi to the western States, and establishing a commercial treaty with them. Sebas- tian communicated this proposal to Tones, Judge of the United States Court, William Murray, and Colonel Nicholas, influ- ential citizens of Kentucky, and by their advice goes to New Orleans, arranges the terms of the treaty-, and is on the point of concluding it, xvhen news arrives of the treaty between Spain anil the United States at Madrid. This induces the Spanish governor, in opposition to the urgent entreaty of Judge Sebastian, to break off the negotiation. In 1797 it recommences. Power comes from New Orleans with a proposition to Sebastian, Innes, Nicholas, and Murray, to withdraw from the Federal Union, and form a govern- ment wholly unconnected with that of the United States. To aid in this, orders for one or two hundred thousand dollars on the royal treasury at New Orleans, were offered to those who would engage in this scheme, together with arms and equipn)ents, twenty field-pieces, powder, ball, & c. After deliberation between Sebastian, Innes, and Nicholas, they conclude that the proposition is dangerous, and ought to be rejected. And so the affair terminated. None of the gentlemen concerned in these negotiations seemed to have felt their obligation to bive information of these treasonable designs till the year 1806. In that year, an in- quiry was ordered to be made into the conduct of Judge Sebastian by tbe Kentucky legislature. He had contrived to hold the office of Judge of Appeals to that day. Then the circumstances of his pension from Spain were revealed by the testimony of Judge Tones, who assigns reasons taken from party politics for not having done his duty in revealing the Intrigues before. I-Ic was of the party opposed to John Adamss administration, he says ; he was suspected by him, and he might suffer, either from him, or from the peoples thinking him to be courting favor with that administration. Miserable reasons for neglecting a public duty. Mr. Butler, however, thinks them sufficient, and calls the omission, by what we think 1836.] The French Conspiracy. 25 a somewhat badly chosen term, a theoretical fault. This theoretical fault is usually known, we believe, by the harder name of misprision of treason. From these facts, taken wholly from Mr. Butler, who is evidently disposed to shield the actors in them as far as pos- sible from censure, it appears evident, that most of the lead- ing men in Kentucky, through a long course of years, were in favor of separating from the Union, and establishing an inde- pendent government, and took every measure in their power to bring this about. Let us now turn to another similar at- tempt, made in the interval between the first and second Spanish negotiation, by the notorious Frenchman, Genet. In the year 1793, in the midst of that democratic fever which raged through the land, and in which Kentucky largely shared, he sent four individuals into that State with the avowed purpose of organizing an expedition against New Orleans. Two of these men have the impudence to ~vrite to Governor Shelby from a place close to his own door, asking him whether he shall interfere with their operations. He gives them a cau- tious answer, in which he says he shall be compelled to do his duty. They however go on to raise two thousand men under French authority, to distribute French commissions, buy can- non, & c. They give G. R. Clark a commission of Major- General in the armies of France. The veteran is dazzled by this title, and yields. He issues proposals for raising an army. In the mean time the Secretary of State, General St. Clair, and General Wayne write to Governor Shelby, informing him of these proceedings and urging him to interfere. He writes an answer to the Secretary, full of doubts as to his constitutional right to prevent citizens from going on this expedition. In consequence President Washington issues a proclamation, ad- monishing all citizens of the United States to abstain from these measures. Soon after, Genet is superseded, and the attempt relinquished. Part of the letter of La Chaise on this occasion may be inserted as a curiosity. To the Democratic & ciety of Lexington. CITIZENS, Events unforeseen, the effects of causes which it is un- necessary here to develope, have stopped the march of two thousand brave Kentuckians, who, strong in their courage, in the VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 4 26 Western History. [July, justice of their rights, their cause, the general assent of their fellow citizens, and convinced of the brotherly dispositions of the Louisianians, waited only for their orders to go, and, by the strength of their arms, take from the Spaniards, despotic usurpers, the empire of the Mississippi, ensure to their country the navi- gation of it. break the chains of the Americans, and their bre- thren the French, hoist up the flag of liberty in the name of the French Republic, and lay the foundation of the prosperity and happiness of two nations, destined by nature to be but one, the most happy in the universe. * Here again we see distinguished citizens of Kentucky, such men as Shelby and Clark, underrating or overlook- ing the duties which they owed to the Federal govern- ment, in a mad sympathy with French Republicanism. Mr. Butler attempts to defend Governor Shelby for the course taken by him in this matter, and Judge Hall passes over it with his usual easy negligence. We have no desire to injure that governors venerable name. He was in heart a patriot, but in head he greatly erred. He confesses, that he thought it a favorable opportunity, when the mind of Washington was alarmed by foreign intrigues, to gain for Kentucky, through his fear of losing it, ~)rivileges which could not otherwise be se- cured. We cannot hold this to be the part of a patriotic citizen of the United States. Butler laments the conduct of Clark, and does not seek to justify his hero. For him this only excuse can be proffered, that he was a man of war from his youth, and not used to xveighing the niceties of international law. So it has ever been with the people of Kentucky. Easily led away by artful and insinuating demagogues, they have com- inonly seen their character, in time to draw back. The whole enthusiasm of the State went with Burr for a season, and ena- bled him quietly to defy the honest efforts of J. H. Daviess f to arrest his treasonable undertakings. A grand jury declared they found no testimony which could, in the smallest degree, criminate him ; this decision was received with shouts of joy by the spectators in the court ; and a public ball was given him in honor of his triumph. * Journal of the Kentucky Assembly, 1806. Proceedings on the trial of Judge Sebastian. Who was soon after turned out of office by Jefferson. He had called him a milk.aad-water President in the streets of Frankfort. 1836.] Western Character. 27 All the traits of character we have attempted to delineate were displayed again in full activity during the last war. The hunters of Kentucky were in every battle, from Niagara to New Orleans. Those who fell with the generous Daviess at Tippacanoe ; who fought by the side of their aged gov- ernor, Shelby, and charged with Johnson at the Thames ; or who were in that desperate struggle where the sound of the musketry and battle-shouts were swallowed up in the deep roar of the cataract on whose verge they fought, these all carried with them the native genius of their country.* A genius deep, rich, strong, various, and full of promise. But as yet it is unbridled, undirected, and ungoverned. If its faults sometimes lean to virtues side, its virtues as often hurry into faults. The activity of mind which should be em- ployed on great and noble enterprises, wastes itself away in trifling amusements and indolent conviviality. For fear of using Puritanical restraint, the child is left t6 go his own way to destruction. Mothers encourage their children to fight with their companions, and praise their spirit when they dis- play passion and anger. The death of those children, stabbed or shot in some wild fray, is too often the terrible result of such early lessons. Young ladies lavish their favor and appro- bation on the chivalric, and give their smiles to the lawless reprobate who glories in the murders he has committed on the field of honor. Over the corpse of tbeir own chosen one, they may afterward bewail, with unavailing repentance, their guilty encou~agement of those who break Gods most sacred laws. Gray-haired men, judges, counsellors, and statesmen, to whom the country naturally looks for example, are known to spend days and nights at the gaming-table. What wonder that this vice should eat into the very heart of social virtue, and sweep into ruin the fairest promise of the land ? What wonder if they are called to lay in a dishonored grave the son whom their own example has destroyed? * We are sorry to see, that Mr. Butler, in speaking of Hulls surrender of Detroit, applies as usual the words dastardly and cowardly to that old revolutionary soldier, without alluding to his Letters on the Northwestern Campaign, and the singular facts there developed. It is the duty of the historian to do careful justice to the memories of those who have died heart-broken under the weight of public contumely, and the dark cloud of shame and dishonor. At all events, such epithets should not be applied, without so much as an allusion to a book, which caused a decided change of opinion through a great part of the Union. 28 Glasss Life of Washington. [July, Of force and impetus there is enough in the western char- acter ; all that is lacking is direction. The ship has enough of headway, she only needs to be skilfully steered. Religious restraint is needed, moral principle is needed, wise guidance is needed. A deep reverence for truth, a profound respect for law, a ready submission to right, a loyal allegiance to duty, these will make the western character as perfect as humanity can ever hope to become. ART. II. Gcorgii Washingtonii, flrnericce Septentrionalis Civitcttum Fwderatarum Prwsidis Prirni, Vita, Francisco Glass, .1. .111., Ohioensi, Litteris Latinis conscripta. Neo-Eboracopoli; typis fratrum Harperorum. 1835. FRANCIS GLASS, the author of this life of Washington, was educated, as we are informed by the editor, Mr. Reynolds, in Philadelphia ; and spent the earlier part of his life in that city and vicinity, in literary pursuits. Afterwards, he resided some time in the interior of Pennsylvania, and then removed to Ohio; where, in a secluded spot, oppressed with domestic discomfort, and surrounded by all the ills of pov- erty, he was employed in school-keeping ; teaching those, who, for the most part, were acquiring the simplest ru- diments of an English education. Glass seems to have possessed much sensibility, a preparation not always the most effectual for contending against the ills of life ; but ad- versity did not entirely break his spirit. In circumstances the most unfavorable for mental effort, he continued to cherish the favorite studies of his youth ; and though re- moved from books and learned men, he was not beyond the reach of literary ambition. He early formed the plan, sug- gested, no doubt, by his occupation, of preparing a life of Washington in Latin, for the use of schools ; and in spite of numerous discouragements, and with few of the necessary helps for writing this language with a proper regard to au- thorities, especially in treating of modern transactions, he at length brought his contemplated work to a conclusion. To Mr. Reynolds, who had been his pupil, and who afterwards generously acted towards him the part of a patron, he de

28 Glasss Life of Washington. [July, Of force and impetus there is enough in the western char- acter ; all that is lacking is direction. The ship has enough of headway, she only needs to be skilfully steered. Religious restraint is needed, moral principle is needed, wise guidance is needed. A deep reverence for truth, a profound respect for law, a ready submission to right, a loyal allegiance to duty, these will make the western character as perfect as humanity can ever hope to become. ART. II. Gcorgii Washingtonii, flrnericce Septentrionalis Civitcttum Fwderatarum Prwsidis Prirni, Vita, Francisco Glass, .1. .111., Ohioensi, Litteris Latinis conscripta. Neo-Eboracopoli; typis fratrum Harperorum. 1835. FRANCIS GLASS, the author of this life of Washington, was educated, as we are informed by the editor, Mr. Reynolds, in Philadelphia ; and spent the earlier part of his life in that city and vicinity, in literary pursuits. Afterwards, he resided some time in the interior of Pennsylvania, and then removed to Ohio; where, in a secluded spot, oppressed with domestic discomfort, and surrounded by all the ills of pov- erty, he was employed in school-keeping ; teaching those, who, for the most part, were acquiring the simplest ru- diments of an English education. Glass seems to have possessed much sensibility, a preparation not always the most effectual for contending against the ills of life ; but ad- versity did not entirely break his spirit. In circumstances the most unfavorable for mental effort, he continued to cherish the favorite studies of his youth ; and though re- moved from books and learned men, he was not beyond the reach of literary ambition. He early formed the plan, sug- gested, no doubt, by his occupation, of preparing a life of Washington in Latin, for the use of schools ; and in spite of numerous discouragements, and with few of the necessary helps for writing this language with a proper regard to au- thorities, especially in treating of modern transactions, he at length brought his contemplated work to a conclusion. To Mr. Reynolds, who had been his pupil, and who afterwards generously acted towards him the part of a patron, he de Modern Latin. 29 1836.] livered his manuscript with an urgent request, that it should he published. This was promised ; and accordingly, during the last year, under the care of Mr. Reynolds, the work appeared from the press. The author, in the mean time, had paid the debt of nature ; and xvas denied the pleasure of hearing, that his long-cherished performance was in the hands of the public. The writing of a life of Washington, in the Latin language, though doubts have heen expressed as to the necessity or use of such a work, and a preference strongly declared for the vernacular tongue, is a literary enterprise, xvhich, so far from deserving censure, ought rather to be met with corn- mendation. The time has been, and that not distant, when the language of Rome was selected by historians as the best adapted to give notoriety as well as durability to their per- formances, and even now, a faithful account of the exploits and character of the principal founder of our republic, exhib- ited in pure Latin, would be read by numhers, to whom the same story in English, would he either not at all, or only partially known. Among the numerous students in our coun- try, who acquire some knowledge of the Latin, some may he excited to new zeal and assiduity, hy having their attention called to the manner in which events of our history may he recorded in that language ; or, if such a work should he thought suited only to the taste and fancy of a few, and to he a mere curiosity in letters, neither its preparation nor publica- tion can be justly a matter of reproach. It is a mistake to suppose, as some have done, that there are any insuperable difliculties, in communicating a knowledge of modern improvements and events, in an ancient language so copious as the Latin. If we inquire, how our own language, for the last two or three centuries, has been accommodated to the progress of the arts and sciences, the changes of govern- ment, the extension of commerce, and to the numerous im- provements in the intercourse of nations, as well as of the internal condition of so many countries, we shall find, that it has been done to a small extent by the introduction of new words. Old terms, employed before in cases somewhat an- alogous, have generally been adopted to supply the want. It is an excellence rather than a defect of language, that most words taken separately, are ambiguous, and are made definite by their adjuncts. These latter varying endlessly, a form of 30 Modern Latin. [July, speech even moderately c~pious, easily suits itself to any exigency. When the art of printing was invented in the fif- teenth century, very few words were coined to express the new mechanical contrivances and new processes for multiply- ing the copies of books. Thus type, press, proof, to com- pose, to print, and most of the nomenclature of this novel mystery, will be found to be old words in new applications. No change was made in the idiom or structure of the lan- guage ; the meanings only of certain words were extended to objects analogous to those which they formerly designated. The same fact is seen in the vocabulary of fire-arms. The words arms, powder, ball, shot, shell, mortar, to fire, to shoot, and most others, were by their adjuncts made intel- ligible in their new use. A few novel terms were adopted, here, as in other cases, from foreign languages ; but their number is comparatively small. In the later innumerable improvements in manufactures of various kinds, and even in the accession of new objects in the construction and use of steam-boats and rail-roads, the same adaptation of old words to new uses may be noticed. This principle likewise has been extended to the sciences, to subjects of national policy and government, and, indeed, to whatever is of recent origin, or which has in any way assumed the aspect of novelty. The various objects in these later inventions and improve- ments may all be made the topics of discourse in the lan- guage of Dryden and Addison, by the change of a few combinations, with the introduction of an inconsiderable num- ber of new terms. The English language, in accommodating itself to its necessities, has not been varied in its idiom or construction. If changes have been made in these respects, they must be ascribed to other causes. Those authors who first wrote in Latin on subjects where modern discoveries and improvements were to be described, followed the same modes of expression as had been adopted in the modern tongues. Thus, when speaking of the art of printing, a press was called prelum, and to print was expressed by the corresponding word imprimere. A similar accommoda- tion of old words to new objects was adopted in the vocabulary of war, and wherever else a like change in the language was called for. The principal source of errors here has been, that novelties would be introduced, where the language already possessed the requisite forms of expression; and that writers, 1836.1 Modern Latin. 31 succeeding each other, would not, in all cases, comply with the precedents, set them by their predecessors. Wherever in any art or science, or in any subject possessing novel qualities and relations, words arid phrases had been se- lected to mark them with sufficient distinctness, for a suc- ceedin g writer to make another selection, though in itself equally correct, was a misfortune ; as the multiplication of terms and phrases on the same subject, or where there is no important difference in idea, has the direct effect to render language indefinite. But, notwithstanding some inconven- iences arising from this disregard of authorities, the phrase- ology of modern Latin, on all the principal topics where changes have been made, is tolerably well settled ; and no one should write in the Latin language on any subject of recent date, without first making himself familiar with the proper authorities. The Latin language has, indeed, been represented by some writers, as comparatively barren in expression. But Cicero, Cresar, Tacitus, and Pliny, to say nothing of the poets, leave little to be desired. Ernesti seems hardly extravagant, when be says, in his preface to the familiar letters of Cicero, that there is no species of style which these epistles do not fur- nish, and no topic in the affairs of life, which is not there treated of in appropriate phraseology. It should be remem- bered, however, that the language of Rome has been peculi- arly unfortunate. A large number of the productions of the most distinguished authors, who wrote the Latin in its ptrity, are irrecoverably lost. If the voluminous writings of C ato, Varro, and Lucceius, and the lost works of Cicero, Livy~ Sallust, C~esar, Tacitus, Pliny, and of the numerous orators mentioned by Cicero and Tacitus, had been preserved ; and if we now possessed the lost comedies of Plautus and Terence, and the innumerable dramatic works which ap- peared in Rome, from the time of Plautus to the commence- ment of the decline of the Latin language, no doubt the vocabulary as well as compass of expression would be en- larged. As it is, numerous modern authors, who have writ- ten in Latin, following, when necessary, the example of Cicero in his derivations from tire Greek, have found no difficulty in expressing themselves with clearness on any subject. Among those writers in modern times, who have employed the Latin language with the greatest success in historical corn- 32 Histories in Modern Latin. [July, position, may be mentioned Paolo Emili, or, as he styles himself, Paulus IErnilius, an Italian ecclesiastic, of Verona, who was invited into France by Louis the Twelfth, to write the history of that country. This work, the labor of nearly thirty years, was hrought down by iEmilius himself to the time of Charles the Eighth, in eluding part of the reign of that monarch ; and hy his continuators to the accession of Henry the Fourth. Its language was polished with extraordinary care. Perhaps the attention of the author to classical purity was excessive ; and from this cause, probably, his phraseology is sometimes general and indistinct, where, by a slight accom- modation to the times of which he was writing, and without any real sacrifice of Latinity, his descriptions would have been more exact and graphic. This history of ~milius, including within its range the rise of the French monarchy, the early transactions of the French in Italy and Germany, and their early contests with the English, the whole story of the crtisades, and, in the continuation, the civil wars which preceded the elevation of the house of Bourbon to the throne, is made up of an endless variety of topics, which put to the severest trial the powers of the language. This work may not rank as high as some others, for a display of philosophical disquisition nor does it evince any uncommon extent of research; btit as an exhibition of the great facts in a most interesting portion of modern history, in flowing and pure Latin, which xvas probably the great object of ~milius, it xviii always be held in high estimation. In the history of discovery, maritime adventures, foreign conquest and colonization, there are two writers, who are distinguished among others for exhibiting the Latin language to great advantage, Jerome Osorio and John Peter Maffei. The former was bishop of Silves in Portugal. He was invited by Cardinal Henry to write the history of his country during the reign of Emmanuel the Third. It was in this reign that the Portuguese discovered the Cape of Good Hope, and made their principal establishments in India. The history of Osorio, besides the details of discovery and conquest, con- tains an account of the wars carried on by Emmanuel with the Moors in Africa, and the transactions of Portugal with Spain and other European states. The author, though writing under the patronage of the court, speaks with great freedom of the outrageous cruelties practised towards the Jews; and by no 1836.1 Osorio and .Jilaffei. 33 means spares Emmanuel himself. The following is a specimen of the manner, in which a Catholic bishop of the sixteenth century, writing in a country where the Inquisition was in full vigor, could speak of forcible conversions. Fuit quidem hoc nec ex lege, nec ex religione factum. Quid enim? Tu rebelles animos, null~que ad id suscept& re- ligione constrictos, adigas ad credendum ea, qua~ summ~. conten- tione aspernantur et respuunt? Idque tibi assumas, Ut liber- tatem voluntatis impedias, et vincula mentibus injicias? At id neque fieri potest, neque Christi sanctissimum numen approbat. Voluntarium enim sacrificiurn, non vi et malo coacturn, ab hominibus expetit; neque vim mentibus inferri, sed voluntates ad studium vera~ religionis allici et invitari jubet, etc. De Rebus Emm., Lib. i. The style of Osorio is, perhaps, copious to a fault. He is everywhere not only full, but overflowing; and, at times, may he thought too rhetorical for the simplicity of the historic muse. His narrative is suited, from the great variety of topics of which it treats, to excite a deep interest in the reader; and shows the Latin language to be fully adequate to the purposes of modern history. Maffei was an Italian Jesuit, who, in the latter part of the sixteenth century, was invited by the Portuguese court, to write a general history of their Indian possessions. For this purpose, the archives of the government and the records of the Catholic missions were submitted to his inspection. The work which lie produced is divided into sixteen books commencing with the earliest discoveries of the Portuguese on the western coast of Africa, and terminating with the close of the reign of John the Third, sixty years after the passage of the Cape of Good Hope by De Gama. Cardinal Ben- tivoglio, in his Memoirs, speaks of his acquaintance and intimacy with Maffei, and describes him as a true representa- tive of the polished Romans of the Augustan age. He considers Maffei as particularly eminent in historical descrip- tion, exhibiting objects not only in the colors of the painter, but presenting their very images to the eye. There is an anecdote of Maffei, not however, as it seems, very well authenticated, that he obtained a dispensation from the Pope to perform his devotions in Greek, that the purity of his Latin might not be endangered by the barbarisms of the Breviary. This history, besides the civil and military transactions of the vOL. XLIII. .NO. 92. 5 34 tiJ/Iaffeis History. [July, Portuguese in India, contains a detailed account of the attempts of the missionaries to introduce the Catholic religion among the nations of western Africa, and of the apostolic labors of Xavier in India and Japan. There is likewise some account of China and its inhabitants. No historian has better understood how to combine, with a general narrative, the more alluring details of individual adventure ; and his work, uniting the highest excellences of style to the greatest variety of incident, retains throughout the undivided attention of the reader. This history, however, is far from being perfect in all its parts. There is in it much less of philosophical reflection, than, fron the subject, might he expected, and occasionally there are stories introduced, which are puerile and ridiculous, and which clearly betray the vocation of the author. Thus it is gravely related, that when the Portuguese crops, in a part of India, were in danger of being devoured by mice, a timely application of holy xvater caused these vermin to confine themselves to the fields of the native inhabitants ; and that a sea-monster, on which a Portuguese ship was nigh foundering, after witnessing the sign of the cross and other similar cere- monies, retired peaceably, and the ship escaped destruction. Such passages remind the reader of the prodigies of Livy. But it is as an author, who has been in the highest degree successful in adapting the Latin language to modern transac- tions, that Maffei is chiefly to be prized. It is difficult to select a passage, which will properly exhibit the characteristics of this writer. The folloxving extract, however, may give some notion of his style and manner. The Portuguese on the island of Ternate, one of the Moluccas, were destitute of provisions, and, to supply them- selves, fell upon the summary mode of plundering the houses of the natives. A party of these marauders, in a village not far from the Portuguese head-quarters, had provoked the inhabitants to retaliate, and were severely beaten with rods. On their return, Menez, their commander, ordered Aroez, the native governor, to deliver up to him the chief of the vil- lage and two of the principal inhabitants. The latter he sent back to their homes, after having rniost barbarously cut off their hands, and the former he exposed with his arms tied behind his back, in the presence of both the Portuguese and the Indians, to be torn in pieces by famished mastiffs. This story is thus told by Maffei. 1836.1 .llaffeis History. 35 Cum . . . . . inopia eresceret in singulos dies, Gomeziuni Arium ad conquirenda cibaria eum armatis aliquot insulain pera- grare placuit. Haud longe ab urbe Ternate vicus est, Tabonam ap- pellant. Eo progressi pauci cx Arii comitatu, quasi ad populan- durn non ad precandum venissent ; ita in ~des irrumpere, cibos efflagitare; si mora fieret, per vim egerere. Cam major quam pro numero et loco audacia esset, non tulere diutius insolentiarn incob~ ; arreptisque qu~ fors obtulerat telis, Lusitanos minis deterrere a rapilPi institeruat. mdc rixa cam jurgiis orta, et Anus, procul clamore suorum audito, ad opem ferendam et sedandurn tumultuin accurrit. Neque segnius ac majore cum manu affuit pra~scs loci, vir egregie fortis; accensisque ad ira- cundiam anirnis, cum nihilominus in tcmerario incepto Lusitani perstarent, pauci a multo pluribus circuniventi, multis acceptis plagis, quidam etiam arinis exuti, in arcem ad Menesium rever- tuntur. Horum conspectu et vociferatione ostentantiurn vibices, et sese fustibus indignum in modum acceptos ab agresti plebe qucrentium, commotus baud satis cognit~ caus~ Menesius, auc- tores ejusmodi facinoris ab Aroezio postulat. Graves addit~ min~, ni extemplo dedantur. Aroezius, licet malum id sibimet Lusitanos contraxisse non ignoraret, t amen urgente meta invitus obtemperat. Tabon~i citati pr~ses et duo e primariis, Mencsio sine mor~i sistuntur; e quibus ille duos pr~ccisis inanibus domain remisit. Pra~sidcm vero, brachiis post tergum revinctis, in litore destitutum, ferocissimis duobus molossis objecit. Quorum urn- petum ac dentes, vani~ corponis declinatione, aliquamdiu frustra evitare conatus, horrente sapplicii fccditatem dfl7us~i cx oppido multitudine, circumspectare pnimo empit fligam. Cam terres- tres omnes exitus milite o1)scssOs cerneret, in mare se, quod supererat unum, ad incertam spein salutis immisit. Neque canes, quippe jam inescati, ab insequendo abstitere. Pedibus tantum nanti pone cam adhmrerent, dolore ac desperatione in rabiem actas, repente sese convertit; dentihasque, horribile dicta, certare cam belluis institit atque ad extremam, unius anne mordicus apprebcns& , cam jam sanguis viresque deficerent, mo- ribundas molossum una secam ad ima detraxit. Atrox et mba- manam id pmn~ genus baud immenito visam, co magis quod Lasitano cx patriis institutis ac legibas gloniani licet, nullam gentiarn in homines damnatos mitiora exencere sapplicia. Hist. lad., Lib. x. The last clause of this extract, containing a compliment to Portuguese humanity, seems to have been suggested by a remark of Livy on the horrid execution of the Alban Mettus; and it may he doubted whether this salvo to the nation of Menez bad any better foundation. 36 Jllaffeis Life of Loyola. [July, The Life of Ignatius Loyola, by the same author, is a speci- men of Latin on a subject entirely modern, and which, for ele- gance and a strict adherence to classic authority, has rarely if ever been equalled. That Maffei should put forth all his strength in writing the history of the founder of his order, was to be expected ; and the narrative part of this work, from the skill with which it is constructed, no less than from the facts de- tailed, acquires and maintains the strongest hold on the attention of the reader. Cardinal Bentivoglio refers to the description of Venice in this Life by Maffei, as possessing uncommon beauty; and, indeed, to furnish in a few short sentences, a graphic sketch of so diversified a city, is no common achievement in any language. Ignatius, barefoot and in xags, on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, having distributed among beggars the little money given him in charity for support on his travels, was ap- proaching Venice. The plague was raging in many of the Italian cities ; and the admission of strangers into Venice was attended with unusual difficulties. But the future saint, with- out a passport, entered, as it should seem, almost by miracle, unquestioned and unnoticed. Sa~viebat etiam tum locis aliquot freda lues atque contagio; dispositique custodes aditus oppidorum assidue tuebantur. Ig- natium vero ex ipso corporis habitu vel in summ& celi temperie metuisses. Obsita erat squalore vestis, et horrida; color exsan- guis, cavum macie caput, conditi introrsuin oculi, et manes faucium sinus. Quocirca fiebat, non solum ut exclusus a diversoriis omnibus pernoctare sa~pe cogeretur in publico, sed etiam ut pallore et macic peremptum rigentemque, prmetereuntes aliquando nonnulli ceu monstrum quoddam aut triste simulacrum horrerent. Ipse vero lingua~ imnperitus, ignarus itinerum, cum pr~ defatigatione s~epe deficeret, ad Fossam tamen Clodiam, deo adjuvante, pervenit; quo ex emporio brevis et quotidianus Venetias trajectus est Venetiarum urbis in recessu intimo sinus Adriatici ea regio ac situs est, Ut leniter stagnantes ex alto aqu~e illam cx omni parte circumluant. Ea inclita~ urbi et ad merces copiasque invehendas opportuna receptacula, et contra hostiles incursus munimenta firmissima sunt. Ex us porro mestuariis, majores minoresque euripi totam urbem inter- cursantes, variis mmandris ac flexibus ita distinguunt, ut, quot in partes pedibus, in toticlem fere man aditus sit; egregio sane vel artis vel naturin miraculo. mdc vicorum, insu larum, ac pontium ingens numerus; Ut qui diutius ibi versati non sunt, viarum locorumque, modo varietate modo similimudine sa~pe 1836.] De Thou and Strada. 37 fallantur. Sed contra ejusmodi ambages, certum paratumque remedium est maxima multitudo cymbarum, qu~ usquequaque dispersa~ nominatim ad omnia et publica et privata loca quemli- bet, haud ita magn& mercede, trajiciant. Ignatius navi Patavin& , ex us qua~ per Medoacum flumen assidue coinmeant, in arek Marcian~i sub noctem expositus, cum neque vias ad publica xenodochia nosset, nec I)ortitori conducendo suppeterent nummi, assuetus longo jam usu male cubare, sub porticu Procuratori~, quam appellant, intendentibus jam se tenebris, vacuum opificis cujusdam fulcrum elegit, in quo fessos artus utcunque refice- ret, etc. Ign. Vit., Lib. i. But the author in the Latin language, who, in modern times, has taken the widest range in treating of European J)OlitiCS, and of all subjects whether of war or peace, which fall within the province of the historian, is Thuanus. The place assigned this xvriter by some French critics, who would represent him as hardly inferior in any respect to the classic writers of antiquity, may be too high; but any one, who will inquire, what faults have in fact been pointed out in his Latin, even by those who have been the most ready and eager to detect them, will be surprised to see the smallness of their amount. The Decades of Strada, containing a history of the Belgic revolt against Philip the Second of Spain, have been likewise highly commended for their Latin style. Bentivoglio has, indeed, censured the plan on which Strada has conducted his narrative, rather too severely perhaps, (as the digressions of which he complains add, in our judgment, greatly to the value and interest of the work,) but acknowledges his merits as a writer. In England, of those historians, who have adopt- ed the Latin language, Buchanan and Camden are the most noted. But in every country of Europe, authors have written in this tongue ; and where learning has most flourished, they have acquired high reputation in all departments. The Italians have, perbaps, appeared best in Latin, both as poets and prose writers, though in Holland, France, England, and Germany, numbers contest with them the prize of pre- eminence. To go into detail on this subject, would carry us too far from the work, which we wish to notice more particularly in this article. As to the life of Washington by Glass, the circumstances in which it was written, in a good degree disarm criticism. It is hard to point out faults, where the means of avoiding 38 Glasss Life of Washington. [July, them were so few ; and where there are so many proofs of a knowledge of the Latin language and a familiarity with its use, beyond what are ordinarily fonnd among American scholars. Glass, if an opinion may be formed from this work, had not read the Latin classics very extensively ; but those which he had read, he had conned with much care. The formation of simple sentences had obviously received more of his at- tention, than the strnctnre of periods and continued discourse. Hence, not unfrequently, where there is no transgression of the common rules of syntax, and where all the words are employed in their proper meaning, the form and complexion of the whole, is not entirely Latin. But in the use of words and of idioms the faults are numerous. Names are Latinized in this Life with little uniformity. The termination ius seems to have been a favorite with the author. Thus we have Washingtonins, Clintonius, Hamilto- nius, and Tryonius, hut Hudson, Knowlton, Thomson, and others of the same ending in English, are made to undergo no change. Some are written both with and without a variation of termination. We find, for instance, Randolph and Randol- phius, Franklin and Franklinius, Montgomery and Montgom- erius, Bunker and Bunkerius. Fayette and La Fayette are both used. The Latin form of this last is, we believe, in the French writers, Fayeta. Dinwiddie, Duquesne, De Villier, Burgoyne, Schuyler, Leitch, Muffin, Jay, Marshall, Bona- parte, are unvaried ; but we encounter Arnoldius, Kenne- beckius, Braddockius, Hancockius, and a multitude besides, with ius added. Camden generally adds us to English names, though in this he is not unifnrm. He has Randolphus, Grin dallus, Dracus, Coxus, Goodus, Hornus) Proudus, Red- headus, and Witheadus. As the connexion of the parts of a sentence in Latin, and its meaning, depend so much on the termination of words, this Latinizing of names is not only expedient, but often necessary.. But the changes of termi- nation to make English names Latin, should he conducted hy some rule ; and where a Latin form has once been adopted, there seems to be no good reason for afterxvards varying it. The manner in which Glass often designates the generals, and other commanding officers in the American and British armies, is supported neither by ancient nor modern practice. Thus we read, Dux Gage, Dux Howe, Dux Prescotius, Dux Carletonius ; and when the same names again occur, the same phraseology is often repeated. On page 42, it is said, Dux 1836.1 Glasss Life of Washington. 39 Howe, cujus virtus hac pugn~i, etc. and tbe same person- age, when again introduced, page 55, has his title repeated. Namque DLIX Howe, quem Novum Eboracurn tendere recta oportehat. Dux should here be omitted, and the name Howe, ought to have a Latin termination. We find nothing in C~sars Commentaries of Dux Cmsar, or Dux Ponipeins. Dux, when applied to a military leader in the classics, is generally in some oblique case or in a descrip- tive clause. The author perhaps was misled by the use of tbe word rex in the classic writers. But this appellation be- longed so exclusively to the individual to whom it was at any time given, that it partook of the use of a proper name. An analogy between rex and dtix will not hold. Dtix, in the modern Latin historians, is usually employed for Duke, but not often, if ever, at the beginning of a sentence. Thus ~milius ; Opes Tolosatis jam destinat~ erant genero Duci Alphonso. And Comes in verba Ducis juravit ; et Dmix Panagio jurejurando se regi fratri obstrinxit. (Lib. vii.) The same writer, likewise, when once he has given a l)articular designation of a commander, if his name occurs again, intro- duces it xvithout any addition, unless there is a necessity of dis- tinguishing him from some one else . followino in this respect, the example of the classics. Speaking of the Venetian fleet, be says, Turn forte lienricus Dandulus classi pra~erat afterwards the language is, Dandulus miram virtutem pr~e- stitif.. (Lib. vi.) Not Henricus Dandulus, or Dux Dandulus. The names of fortifications of all kinds are not applied by Glass in strict accordance with any approved usage. Thus, page ~7 ; Sub hoc tempus, propugnaculum Washingtonium ex~)ugnatum, pra~sidiumque, etc. ; and Hoc propug- naculo capto, aggerem Lee, litore Ca?sarete situm, etc. It is the common, we believe uniform practice, of the best modern writers in Latin to put the name of a fort, citadel, or encampment, in the genitive case, or to make use of the adjective form. The following example is from Strada. He is giving an account of orders issued by the Prince of Parma in battle. At ubi jam pr~esens tam inultos hostium fossorumque super aggerem videt; suosque, undarum ritu, modo inferre modo navium tormentis obnoxios ref~erre pedem; simulque audiit a Camillo a Monte tot primariorum ca~dem, Georgiani castelli 40 Glasss Life of Washington. [July, discrimen, et desperatam propemodum Palatai defensionem; omiss6i vel modic~ verborum cunctatione, ubi celeritate factorum opus esset, Montio inandat, qua~ per viam tormenta subduxerat, ex Divi Pctri Dioceque Barbarce propu~nacu1is, illico transferat in snum Divi Jacobi castellurn, atque inde in naves indesinen- ter explodat; idem ut agat e Crucis munitione, pr~cipit Man- dragonio. Dec. Sec., Lib. vi. And in the same manner LEmilius. Jam turrim occup~rat Francus, quue Angeli dicebatur, quod ibi nuntii ceelestis sigrium siturn erat. And again. Ubi igitur accepit, Angeli turn potitos Francos, de se actum ratus, etc. bib. VI. The eighty-third book of Thuanus, in which is described the siege of Antwerp in 1585, would have aided Glass very much in the use of military language. Faults likewise in the selection of words and in con- struction are numerous. Thus, opening the book at the eighth chapter, we will note a few of what appear to be obvious errors. The first sentence is, Postquam sese Novo Eboraco Americani receperant, velita- tio pnimarn inter Britannorum aciem, nonnullasque copias Americanas, a pr~fectis Knowlton et Leitch ductas, facta est. The word velitatio is here used, as throughout the volume, in the sense of a skirmish, a slight combat, or between small parties. This does not appear to have sufficient authority. Such contests were, indeed, carried on by the velites in the Roman army, and velitatio might seem, therefore, a proper xvord in this case. But, as it is not used by Livy and Caesar, it must have been liable to objection. The lan- guage of Livy is, levis pugna, leve certamen, fiunt parva prelia. Hirtius says, minutis preliis dirnicare. The younger Pliny calls a skirmish pugn~e pralnsio atque prtecursio. Velitatio is used in the comedies of Plautus, and was probably thought to he a word too familiar for elevated historical narrative. The best modern writers follow the ancients in rejecting this use of the word. .~{~milius says, Levibus proiiis, qua~ in summam universte rei spem profice- rent, Anglo fatigato, etc. (Lib. Ix.) Similar exatnples occur in Maffei, but never, it is believed, velitatio. 1836.1 Glasss Life of Washington. 41 Another sentence of Glass on the same page is, Wee victoria prim~m ab Americanis, ex quo Washingtonius imperium sibi sunipserat, reportata. Reportare, in the active voice, when used in the sense here intended, governs the accusative, and the ablative with the preposition ab. Thus Cicero, in his Oration for the Manilian Law, says of the Roman generals, who preceded Pompey in the war with Mithridates, Ita vestri cum jib rege contenderunt imperatores, ut ab ilbo insignia victorke, non victoriam, reportarent. To use this verb in the passive voice and ab with an agent, will hardly do, without authority. But Cicero says, Nihil pr~ter laudem bonis atque iiinocentibus, neque ex hostibus, neque a soejis est reportandum. (Dc Leg. iii. 8.) The preposition ais here used in the same sense as before with the active verb. The word sumpserat, in the above sentence, conveys a very different idea from what the author intended. Surnere imperiurn is to assume power on ones own authority. It is the language of royalty. C. Nepos, in his Life of Eu- rnenes, speaking of the conduct of certain individuals on the death of that king, adds, Jideun post hujus occasum statim regium ornatum nomenque sumpserunt. Imperium acci- pere, capere, gerere, hahere, cum imperio esse, is the language of Cicero, in cases like that under consideration. On the next page (p. 76) is this sentence; Et denu6 omnes obsecratus, ne causam decoram, qu& versa- bantur, dehonestent. The construction rather requires, that the last word should be dehonestarent. The next sentence is, Howe, imperator Britannus, Washingtonii commeatus a civitatibus eois intereludere ope summ~ nitebatur. Here the author intended to say, that the British General Howe made strenuous efforts to intercept the supplies of Washington from the Eastern States; but he has failed in idiom. Intereludere, in its ordinary use, governs the dative of the person and the accusative of the thing, or the accusative of the person and ablative of the thing; but here the person is in the genitive. A, in the clause a civitatihus eois, is an Anglicism. Caisar, in a case very vOL. XLIii.NO. 92. 6 42 Glasss Life of Washington. [July, similar, says of Ariovistus, Postridie ejus diei printer castra Cinsaris suas copias transduxit, et millibus passuum II. ultra eum castra fecit; eo consilio, uti frumento commeatuque, qui ex Sequanis et ZEduis supportarentur, Cinsarem intercin- deret. (Bell. Gall. Lib. i.) Cicero says, tlisce omnes aditus ad Syllam intercludere ; where his is in the dative case. The next sentence begins in this manner; Hujusce rei caus~, exercitus regius, non procul a comitatu Cestriensi, exponehatur. Th~ meaning seems to be, For this purpose, a royal b army was landed not far from the county of West Chester. The word exponere, however, does not of itself mean to land. Where this idea is expressed by exponere, in con- nexion with its use there is always an ellipsis. A ship, a boat, a sea, or navigable water of some kind, if not directly mentioned, is necessarily implied. But here the implication depends on a knowledge of the geography of the country, where the military operations in question were carrying on. Exponere is used with other ellipses, and with very dif- ferent import; and perspicuity requires, that forms of expres- sion so distinct in signification, should not be confounded. On the next page is this sentence Nullum, printer hoc, pra~sidium insul~. Eboracensi erat Americanis, idque diutifis tenere, vacuandi recipiendique rationi maxime contrarium fuit. In a note, the latter part of this passage is thus translated; was especially repugnant to the l)lan of evacuating and re- treating, adopted at that time by Washington. The verb vacuare, in the sense of evacuating a fortress, is never used in the classics ; and the verb recipere, in the sense of retreat- ing, is used only where the reciprocal pronoun is express- ed, or the construction requires it to be understood. It may be reasonably doubted, whether Cinsar, with all his military knowledge, could have ever conjectured the meaning of this passage. Besides, there is no need of novel phraseology in this case. Cinsar and Livy furnish numerous examples of appropriate phrases. The conjunction at is used by Glass with a frequency which has no parallel in the classic writers. In this eighth chapter, which consists of less than ten pages including the notes, it is found nine times; as often as it oc- curs in the first four books of Cinsars Commentaries of the 1836.] .~merican Writers in Latin. 43 Gallic War. This is an example of the unskilfulness before alluded to, with which sentences are often united. But enough, perhaps, has been said of the faults of idiom and construction in the style of this hook ; as our object is not to exhibit a complete list of errors, but a few specimens only, from which an opinion can be formed of the whole. But, not- withstanding what has been said on this subject, we have no hesitation in declaring, that the author has furnished abundant evidence of his capacity, not only of acquiring and using an ancient language, but of constructing a narrative clear, suc- cinct, and with the parts well proportioned to each other. He is often happy in the choice of words and phrases, and passa- ges occur of terseness and strength ; nor does the author seem to have been xvanting in any thing to make this work a worthy companion of other modern histories in the same language, hut a freer access to books and the advantages of a more correct and thorough criticism. We douht, however, whether this Life of Washington can be used to advantage in schools; cer- tainly not, without constant attention on the part of the instruc- ter to point out its errors and defects. The number of writers in America, who have adopted the Latin language, is small. The Latin has been taught in our colleges, and in many of our schools; but, though multitudes have made such progress in the language as to read it with ease and pleasure, few have employed it in writing; as the occasions for its use have been much less frequent here, than in Europe. The earliest literary performance in Latin, relat- ing to this country, and which had its probable origin on this side of the Atlantic, is a descriptive poem written by William Morrell, an Episcopal clergyman, who caine to New England in 1623, with Robert Gorges. The author resided at Plym- outh ahout a year, and published this poem after his return to England. Some of the lines are elegant and harmonious. We have now before us a copy of an oration pronounced at Harvard College at the Commencement, in 1648, by the Rev- erend Samuel Whitne)r of Lynn. Mr. Whitney was educated in England, at Emanuel College, Cambridge ; and his oration is a specimen of the learning and taste of the first clergy who emigrated to New England. The language is such, no doubt, as was at that time common in the English Universities ; but the performance is chiefly remarkable for the fiery zeal, with which the orator attacks the hierarchies of England and 44 ./Imerican Writers in Latin. [July, Rome. In 1648, likewise, was published in London, the re- ply of the Reverend John Norton of Boston to certain queries from Holland, respecting the ecclesiastical polity of New England. This treatise was in good Latin ; and is said by Dr. Cotton Mather to have been the first book written in that language in America. Inaugural and funeral orations, of great- er or less merit, in the Latin language, pronounced at some of the earlier colleges, have been published ; but the most re- markable specimen of American Latinity, is the Pietas et Gratulatio, presented by the President and Fellows of Har- vard College to George the Third, on his accession to the throne. The Universities of Europe have long been accus- tomed to compliment new sovereigns in this way; and Oxford and Cambridge, on this same occasion, presented poems to the King, not only in Latin and Greek, but in various Eastern languages. The President and Fellows of Harvard in their address say, We have observed, that your Universities in England have been permitted to lay before your Majesty their poetical oblations ; we have flattered ourselves, that we may be allowed to express the fullness of our hearts in the same manner. There are in this collection thirty-one poems of various merit. The first is attributed to President Holyoke, and the last to Governor Bernard. We will copy the latter as a favorable specimen of the volume. EPILOGUS. ISIS et CAMUS placide fluentes, Qua novem fastos celebrant sorores, Deferunt Vatum pretiosa REGI Dona BRITANNO. Audit ha~e Flumen, prope Bostonenses Quod NOvANGLORUM studiis dicatas Abluit sedes, eademque sperat Munera ferre. Obstat huic Pha~bus, chorus omnnis obstat Virginum; frustra officiosa pensum Tentat insuetum indocilis ferire Plectra juventus. Attamen, si quid studium placendi, Si valet quidquam Pietas Fidesque Civica, omnino rudis baud peribit Gratia Musax 1836.] ./Imerican Writers in Latin. 45 Quin erit tempus, cupidi augurantur Vana niVates, sna curn NOVANGLIS Grandius quoddam meliusque carmen Chorda sonabit. Dum regit mundum occiduum BRITANNUS, Et suas artes, sna jura terris Dat novis, nullis cohibenda metis Regna capessens; Durn DEUS, pendens agitationes Gentium, fluxo moderatur orbi, Passus humanum genus hic perire, We renovari. Seven of these loyal effusions are ascribed to Stephen Sewall, at that time an undercrraduate, and afterwards professor of Oriental literature. The same gentleman, in 1786, publish- ed a translation of the first book of Youngs Night Thoughts, in Latin hexameter verse. This version, styled b)r the au- thor Nocte cogitata, has lines not unworthy of the original. An oration in Latin, pronounced in the College of William and Mary in Virginia 1782, by John Francis Coste, chief of the medical staff of the French army in the United States, is to be reckoned among the curiosities of its kind. The author at that time received the degree of Doctor of Medicine from the College. His discourse is entitled, De antiqu~ medico- philosophi~ orbi novo adaptand~. Of the same class of compositions are our countryman Dr. Waterhouses Dis- sertatio Medica de Sympathi~, read at his graduation in Leyden in 1780, and the same gentlemans Oratio Inaugu- ralis in Academia HarvardianA, in 1783. Probably the most considerable essay in Latin composition, which ha~ been made by a native of this country, is the hex- ameter version of the Telemachus, by the Abbe Viel, pub- lished in Paris in 1808, and, in a second edition, in 1814. Etienne Bernard Alexandre Viel xvas born in New Orleans in the year 1736. He studied at Paris, and became a member of the Congregation of the Oratory. At the dissolution of that body by the new French government, he returned to Louisiana, and exercised the priestly function in the parish of Attakapas. In 1812, he returned to France, and died there in 1821. The first edition of his work was published during his absence in America, at the cost of six of his pupils, who accompanied it 46 Viels Telemachus. [July, with a dedication to the author. The second edition he, in turn, dedicated to them. At present we have not at hand a copy of the work, and are therefore unable to speak of it so fully as, from its great curiosity and value, we should desire, or to add any thing to the remarks which lie by us in a few memoranda. As the language of the Telernachus received its complexion, in a great measure, from the familiarity of its author with the poets of antiquity, the Abb6 says, in his Ad- vertisement, that in his version he has not dared to correct Virgil and Horace, but has adopted their phraseology, as being appropriate to his object. We think it may be said with safety, that he shows a perfect acquaintaince with the language of all the principal Latin poets, and has very hap- pily imitated them. His versification is easy and spirited and, in general, very correct. We have a copy, made when the volume was in our hands, of a short passage from the first book; it is the description of the prospect from the cave of Calypso. Stabat in acclivi Diva~ domus: unde per omnem Prospectus patet oceanum; mode fluctibus mquor Stat placidum mode saxa fremens latrantibus undis Verherat, insanitque minax, et surgit aqua~ mons: Parte ali~ flumen spatiatur; et insula fundo Plurima consurgit, quam circum frondibus ornant Florentes tilia~: superaddita populus ingens Eminet ostentans caput ambitiosa sub auras. Ipsi autem campis fusi circum undique fontes Ludere amant; quorum vitreas hic pr~epete cursu Volvit aquas, tardat sopitos ille canales: Mille per ambages alter, per mille recursus Ad caput ire loci captus dulcedine fingit: Eminus aerei, nimbosa cacumina, montes Mille sims pandunt varios, spectacula mule: Vicinos colles, ceu pendula serta, coronat Pampinus: uvarum raras sibi purpura frondes Qumrit, et ipsa su~ vitis sub mole laborat. Exhilarant campos horti sub imagine het~ Immens~ ficus, olea~que, et Persica malus, Ca~teraque, arridens qu~e plurima pullulat arbos. Among the numerous poems, didactic, pastoral, and epic, in the Latin language, which appeared in Italy, after the re- vival of literature, there is one, which, from its relation to 1836.] Ocirraras Columbus. 47 America, and especially from the circumstance, that it was probably written in the new world, at least in part, may seem to deserve some notice here. It is an epic poem on the dis- covery of America, entitled Columbus, written by Ubertino Carrara, an Italian Jesuit. This poem was first published, in 1715, at Rome. The author was a Neapolitan, and of noble descent ; and was for many years professor of polite literature at Rome in the Jesuits College. He is said, in the Biographie Universeile, to have continued in this sta- tion till his death ; but this seems to be contradicted by a passage in the poem itself. Near the end of the last book of the Columbus, there are the following lines, which imply, that the poet had resided at least ten years in America. At me jam dud urn defunctum flaibus Indis, Semiferina inter Caribum commercia, voces Dedoctum Latias, et barbara verba sonantem, Suadet amor quassam cursu revocare phaselum Tybridis ad ripas; ubi, post duo lustra reversus, Dulcibus expector vix agnoscendus amicis, Fassus crine senem. Jam me gratissimus amnis Accipit averso labeatem gurgite ; nosco Reptatam geminis a Fundatoribus oram, Altricisque Lup~e caveam; gradiorquc sub umbra Heliadum, quas digrediens arbusta reliqui. Lib. XI[. 941. As the author died in 1715, the same year in which his poem was published, and as he had then just returned from America, it may be fairly inferred, that the poem was chiefly written, or greatly modified, on this side of the Atlantic. There are passages, likewise, which indicate familiarity with the scenery of the Canary Islands and the West Indies. The Columbus is constructed according to the most ap- proved rules of epic song. The unities are fully preserved and the whole plan of the poem, including episodes and char- acters, would no doubt receive the sanction of the Stagyrite, except perhaps the introduction of the heathen mythology, in connexion with Christianity, which admits of no other defence than the practice of some of the predecessors of Carrara ; p~~- ticularly of Camoens in the Lusiad. The author obvious- ly meant to have authority for the arran~ement of the principal parts of his poem. Like the 1~neid, it consists of twelve books; and the whole number of lines differs but little from 48 Carraras Columbus. [July, that of the epic of Virgil. ZEneas arrives in Italy in the sixth book; and it is in the sixth book that Columbus first lands on the American shore. The 4~neid terminates with the secure establishment of the Trojan exiles in Latium ; the admission of America to all the rights of sisterhood with Eu- rope, Asia, and Africa, is the closing scene of the Columbus. The annunciation of the subject of the poem is in simple language. Primus ab Enrop5, Solis qui viserit urnam, Pcrqne prophanatum velis mare, max imaregna Regihus Ilispanis, orbemque adjecerit orbi, Sit mihi materies opens. Lib. i. 1. The poet calls to his aid the powerful goddess of Cyrrha, and addresses his patron, the librarian of the Vatican. Fame reports, that a ship of discovery is to sail from Cadiz ; a multitude assemble at that place, and Columbus, who corn- mands the expedition, having harangued them, cuts the fast- enings with his sword, and sets sail. Beyond the Fortunate Islands, Discord, on a rock in the ocean, gives vent to her fears that parts of the world hitherto severed, were about to be brought into close union. She descends to the residence of Proteus, and inquires of that divinity, whether he is aware of the evils impending. He informs her, that the time for uniting the txvo worlds had arrived ; but consoles her with the assurance, that the gold of the west, would occasion new con- tests ; and that Pluto xvould favor the progress of the Span- ish miners. The fleet is dispersed through the agency of Proteus ; Discord joins in the fray; the Admirals ship is sep- arated from the rest, and broils are excited among the men. In this exigency, the goddess .flretia addresses the Thunderer in Olympus, prays for a more intimate union of different parts of the globe, and that aid may be afforded to Columbus, who is now on the verge of destruction. Pater cvther~us re- plies, that his former promises are confirmed, and that to Europe, Asia, and Africa, there shall be added a fourth sister. He says, that the daughter of the chief of Cuba is dear to him. beyond all others, that ere a lustrum is completed, .iluria shall take the name of .flmerica. He then commands Aretia to rescue the fleet, and to prepare Columbus for impending dangers in India. Aretia descends with Love accompanying her. Love enters the hearts of all, and discords cease. The 1836.] Carraras Columbus. 49 fleet approaches Teneriffe, where Columbus had understood there was an arch erected to Janus, and a fearful gate, which being unopened, there would be no passage to India. On the arch was inscribed, Janua pandetur nulli, qua~ ducit ad Indos. The goddess Aretia visits the spot and alters the inscrip- tion to India pandetur, patriam cui Janua fecit. As that part of the fleet which was separated from the Ad- rniral approached the Island of Teneriffe, the men are regaled with the spicy breezes from the island. Discord, alarmed at the prospect, assumes the garb of the goddess of Fortune, and hastens to the temple of the divinity. She extols the powers of the priestess as superior to those of Circe; and adds, that a people, upon whom the power of Proteus had been in vain exerted, would soon approach the Island, and ex- horts her to deceive them with such splendid forms of happi- ness, that they may believe themselves to have already reached the golden realms of India. The Spaniards land, and are at length entangled in the toils of the priestess of the temple of Fortune. They are invited to her mansion and regaled with a sumptuous feast. While they are at table, the priestess enter- tains them xvith the story of the planting of the vine in Tene- rife, and the Spaniards consider this Island as the residence of bliss, and that no other couutry need be sought. Columbus, in the mean time, arrives at the Grand Canary, and, leaving his men, goes out to explore the country, with no other guard than his sword. He is met by the Genius loci, in the form of a nymph, who entertains him with legends of the island, and invites him to visit the wonders of the place. In their rambles, he sees, between two lofty mountains, the gate of Janus ; and a voice was heard declaring, that he was the individual designated by the inscription. Use is here made of the double meaning of the word Janua, which signifies a gale, and Genoa, the native place of Columbus; all which has quite too much the nature of a conceit. As the gate is dis- covered, a loud roaring follows, and the doors open. A tem- ple appears, the dome of which ascends to the sky. While Columbus is contemplating the splendors of the building, the goddess Aretia, veiling her radiance in part, advances, and de- clares herself to have been his guardian angel from childhood. VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 7 50 Carraras Columbus. [July, Columbus, filled with wonder, inquiries where he is, and the design of the magnificence surrounding them ; and imagines himself to be either in heaven, or heavens suburbs. The poet now enters on a course of splendid description, in which he has some success. Witbout undertaking to follow him in detail, it will be suflicient to say, that Columbus finds himself in the palace of the Virtues ; and, after having passed a hundred doors, as many staircases, and as many halls, he at length reaches the lofty summit of the edifice. Here is seen a spacious apartment, into which no earthly vapor ever enters ; the residence of the holy sisters. Among other wonders, Columbus is furnished with arms for his voy- age, particularly a shield, on which is embossed much of the future history of Spain, the discoveries of De Gama in the East, and a sketch of the New World. Columbus puts on the armor, and inquires what enemy is to be encountered. The goddess replies, that he would hereafter be attacked by can- nibals, and that this shield would be needed. She likewise informs him of the situation of his companions, teaches him ho~v to rescue them, and, before leaving him, brings to his view the daughter of the king of Cuba, hanging from a rock, and exposed to a sea-monster. This princess Columbus is to deliver; and Aretia engages, that the difference of language shall be no obstacle to his intercourse with the natives. Columbus hastens to his companions, delivers those who were in thraldorn to the Goddess of Fortune ; and all are eager to sail for the Indies. A new ship havin0 been built of fir from the grove of Fortune, the fleet~ again spreads its sails. During the passage, Columbus entertains his companions with a narrative of the wars in Granada, against the Moors. As the voyage, however, is long, the men become mutinous ; but, hy the discreet management of their commander, they are so far pacified, that they yield obedience, till land is seen, and the New World is discovered. Superstition had artticipated her own downfall ; and, in her rage inspired by despair, determined to destroy Auria, the daughter of the king of Cuba, the heiress of India. The ocean, through the influence of the fiend, had been thrown into violent commotion; and Arviragus, the father of Auria, was warned by an oracle, if he would still the waves, to expose his daughter on a rock, that she might be married to a monster of the deep. Great preparations were made for the 1836.] Carrctras Columbus. 51 performance of this cruel act, and multitudes were assembled to witness the event. At this moment Columbus arrives at Cuba, from the place where he had first landed. The poet in his description of the residence of Arviragus, had in view, perhaps, the site of the modern city of Havana. Est in conspectu portus, quo nullus ad Indos Divitior: sedet in clivo puicherrima Cuba; Et quia de miro creta~ candore penates Crustantur, longe meret hinc argentea credi. Inter utrumque latus colles, studiosaque forsan Parthenopes simulacrum aliquod regionibus illis Reddere, Pausilypurn geminum natura locavit. Addidit et concham spatiosi gurgitis, utque Dormiat in clauso mitis tranquilliter unda, In mare protendit tanquam duo brachia tellus Vestita arboribus: credas hoc litore natas Alnos Pyramidas nemorum, pinusque gigantas In spem primarum ratium, sedemquc libenter Hauc colere, et primas hic expectare secures. Pulchra loci facies, nec tempore pulchrior nIb, Quam quo sub noctem scopulo pendebat in alto Non nisi cum magno moritur a Auria paratu; Plebe, viris, pueris, et matribus omnia plena Litora, prata, vias, turres, delubra, fenestras, Pompa favillarum feriebat; at ignea posset Ignibus astrorum jam tunc contendere Cuba. Lib. vii. 378. Auria is of course rescued; hut Androphagus, a neighbour- ing chief, resolves on fighting for her hand. A series of con- tests ensues ; Androphagus is finally vanquished, and the union of Auria, under the name of America, with the Tuscan Americus is made sure. This is a very general and imperfect outline of the Colum- bus. The poem has a sufficient variety of incident, and the versification is smooth and melodious; but there are few pas- sages, which reach the sublime. In one instance where sub- limity is evidently the aim of the poet, his failure is most signal. It is where the fleet of Columbus is dispersed by Proteus, at the solicitation of Discord. As A%lus is so far distant that the ocean is undisturbed by winds, Proteus, blow.. ing his shell, assembles his marine forces ; and the breathing, spouting, and snorting, of so many huge animals, as were now 52 Carraras Columbus. [July, collected, were more terrible to the fleet, than a tempest. A scene so inherently ludicrous does not admit of relief from sounding hexameters. The conception belongs of right to the mock-heroic. Many of the episodes are beautiful, and excite a strong interest in the reader. Traits of Indian character are happily introduced, and the customs of the aborigines occasionally described. In the eighth book the king Arviragus and Anna visit the Spanish ships, ask numerous questions, and receive satisfactory replies. Columbus entertains them with a brief narrative of his voyage, and puts their faith to a severe trial by broaching the doctrine of the existence of .ilrttipodes. Columbus regales them with wine ; and a sumptuous entertain- ment is sent to the ships from the royal palace. Among other delicacies, a serpent of huge dimensions is served up entire. Ecce autem facies epuli nova; magnus in orbe Gemmantis patin~e, manibusque ingentis Ephebi Vix sustentandus, mensis apponitur anguls Integer, et patrix conditus aromate frugis. Anguis erat, taleni frons extima et esse monebat, Crista, caput, squamm, quicque extra porrigitur vas Cauda, volubilium spirarum ca~rula tractu. Terruit Hispanos colubri priesentia; nemo Tangere sustiinuit, credunt vix cernere tutum; Dax anceps alio vultus num fiecteret, hmsit. Lib. viii. 380. To relieve the guests from their embarrassment, the beau- tiful and gentle Auria enters upon a full account of the animal, and describes its food and modes of life. Still further to inspire confidence, she takes herself the first slice; Columbus follows, and the Spaniards, one and all, Accipiunt, mandunt, admiranturque, nec ore Aut oculis tantum, gestu quoque gaudia fassi. But enough of the epic of Carrara. If the preceding remarks appear desultory, it may be recollected, that they are united, though perhaps loosely, by the common bond of mod- ern Latin. 1836.] Boston .flcademy of .Music~ 53 ART. III. 1. First annual Report of the Boston .Icaderny of .Illusic. 1833. Svo. pp. 11. 2. Second .Ilnnual Report. 1834. Svo. pp. 23. 3. Third annual Report. 1835. 8vo. pp. 24. WE presume there is no doubt of the successful establish- ment among us, at length, of an institution for the cultivation of the higher branches of music, in which instruction shall be given regularly and abundantly. It is time for such an insti- tution, for tl)e prevalent ignorance has been, and indeed still continues lamentable ; yet an interest seems to be now awak- ing iii the community which the Boston Academy should cherish, and the calls of which for better music than we have hitherto had, it should supply. We doubt not that judicious efforts will be perseveringly made. The tone of the Reports is resolute, and the performances at the Odeon, the past season, have been of a promising character. We are glad to perceive that premature efforts are not made to accomplish what cannot be done well; for, though the art is illimitably long, yet a slow progress is the most sure, and will ultimately be found the most rapid. The taste of the public, too, cannot be forced ; but must be carried gradually and easily along to the highest branches of the art, or it will fall back again to the rude and unformed state from which it is just emerging. The progress of this taste and of a corresponding skill in other times and other countries, is a curious subject for inquiry for of all the fine arts music, though it may be the last to attain perfection, was probably the first to arrive at some degree of excellence. Nature abounds, to such an extent, in musical tones, and the physical organization of man affords so perfect an instrument, it is, moreover, so strong an impulse of our constitution to express our emotions with the quick, rapid cry of joy, or the prolonged intonation of grief, that we are irre- sistibly led to the conclusion, that men must soon have follow- ed in a path pointed out so clearly by nature. Our first mother doubtless soothed her first infant by a tnusical modu- lation ; and, however multiplied and various the tribes of her descendants, none have ever become so rude as not to possess some musical ideas, and some taste for those arrangements and combinations of sound which we call melody and harmo- fly. Music must be cultivated, however, and some improve-

1836.] Boston .flcademy of .Music~ 53 ART. III. 1. First annual Report of the Boston .Icaderny of .Illusic. 1833. Svo. pp. 11. 2. Second .Ilnnual Report. 1834. Svo. pp. 23. 3. Third annual Report. 1835. 8vo. pp. 24. WE presume there is no doubt of the successful establish- ment among us, at length, of an institution for the cultivation of the higher branches of music, in which instruction shall be given regularly and abundantly. It is time for such an insti- tution, for tl)e prevalent ignorance has been, and indeed still continues lamentable ; yet an interest seems to be now awak- ing iii the community which the Boston Academy should cherish, and the calls of which for better music than we have hitherto had, it should supply. We doubt not that judicious efforts will be perseveringly made. The tone of the Reports is resolute, and the performances at the Odeon, the past season, have been of a promising character. We are glad to perceive that premature efforts are not made to accomplish what cannot be done well; for, though the art is illimitably long, yet a slow progress is the most sure, and will ultimately be found the most rapid. The taste of the public, too, cannot be forced ; but must be carried gradually and easily along to the highest branches of the art, or it will fall back again to the rude and unformed state from which it is just emerging. The progress of this taste and of a corresponding skill in other times and other countries, is a curious subject for inquiry for of all the fine arts music, though it may be the last to attain perfection, was probably the first to arrive at some degree of excellence. Nature abounds, to such an extent, in musical tones, and the physical organization of man affords so perfect an instrument, it is, moreover, so strong an impulse of our constitution to express our emotions with the quick, rapid cry of joy, or the prolonged intonation of grief, that we are irre- sistibly led to the conclusion, that men must soon have follow- ed in a path pointed out so clearly by nature. Our first mother doubtless soothed her first infant by a tnusical modu- lation ; and, however multiplied and various the tribes of her descendants, none have ever become so rude as not to possess some musical ideas, and some taste for those arrangements and combinations of sound which we call melody and harmo- fly. Music must be cultivated, however, and some improve- 54 History of .i1llusic. [July, ment must be made upon the sounds which are the effect of mere natural impulse, something like system must be intro- duced, before it deserves the name of an art. It cannot be uninteresting to trace the progress of this art, in the various ages of the world, to the great and delightful results it is able to produce in this our day. It has, at all times and in all places, been an object of deep interest; and from the moment when the first sound issued from Mernnons statue, or Miriams tuneful voice led the song of triumph, or Ti- motheus varied lays surprised his delighted audience, down to the last night of the last new opera, from Jubal to Bellini, the whole interval has been filled with the triumphs of this beautiful art; the whole human race has felt its power, enjoy- ed its sweetness, and honored its professors. In vain has the satirist sneered, the moralist lamented, the severe reproved. Music is a necessity of our nature. It is impossible fully to express our emotions without its aid ; and whether we exult in triumph, or humble ourselves in contrition, whether we enjoy Gods bounties, or pray for his mercy, the service is incomplete, the expression is inadequate, unless music lend her various strain. But interesting as this study might be, we are unhappily deprived of the means of pursuing it with regard to the earlier ages of refinement and cultivation. It is only since the revival of letters that the progress of the art can be traced satisfacto- rily. It has, indeed, been invented twice ; and our opinion of what it was in the primitive ages of the world must be formed from the following sources only, namely, the analogy of nature, the effects produced by it, and the imperfect description of its character found in the authors of classic antiquity. No instru- ments have come down to us by which the tone of a single sound of their scale can be determined ; and, in the absence of all positive knowledge on this subject, we are left to the presumption, that, as the natural scale of the human voice and the construction of the human ear were probably the same then as now, the instruments formed to harmonize with the one, and gratify the other, must have been of a kind analo- gous, at least, to those of a more modern date, if not abso- lutely identical with them ; and that the art, so far as it was cultivated at all, was pursued in a manner somewhat similar to that of our own times. The earliest music on record is the song of Moses and the Israelites after the passage of the Red sea, when Miriam took 1836.] flistory of .Music. 55 a tirubrel in her band, and answered them. And all the women went out after her with tiinbrels and dances. Here it may he observed, that the instrument, whatever it was, that is called timbrel, was used merely as an accompaniment to the voice, or, it may be, to the dance. And this is true of nearly all the instrumental music of those times called ancient. It was, for the most part, little more than an accompaniment to the voice, generally following it very exactly in its modula- tion and its time. Still the power of music could not have been slight or unimportant ; for it is not merely, nor principally, by the pleasure it affords the ear, that it produces its effects but by the natural expression of emotion or passion, thus appealing to and exciting feelings which may be of the most intense energy. Such effects may be produced by music of a simple character, as well as by that of a complicated and scientific kind. Expression can be given to the wild war-hoop of the Indian, as well as to the elaborate con]position of the European ; and expression never fails to excite a correspond- ing emotion in the breast of the auditor. In speaking and thinking, therefore, of the strange and astonishing effects ascrib- ed to ancient music, which, after all due allowance for poetic exaggeration, will still remnain very great, it should he con- stantly borne in mind, that these effects are due, not to scien- tific combinations of sound, but to natural, strong expres- sion, which exercises its sympathetic power in proportion to its naturalness, rather than its abstract science. It is, indeed, the aim of all true science in music to give to those studied comohinations which please the cultivated musical intellect, that various and trtie expression which is able to touch the heart of every hearer, whether skilled or not in the charming art. Nothing is so barren, so tedious, so utterly vexatious, as a long, labored, scientific piece of harmony, in which expres- sion is either wanting or indistinct. It is addressed, not to a mixed audience, but to the scientific composer only, who alone can appreciate the great difficulties conquered, or the immense labor bestowed; and one might as well attempt to please an assembly by a dissertation on the differential calcu- lus, intelligible to the mathematician only, as by such a musical coml)osition. This fact seems to have been lost sight of in the inter- minable discussions which have taken place respecting the musical attainments of the ancients. It has been inferred. 56 ~fInc~ent .Alusic. [July, from the extraordinary stories which have come down to us of its effects, that it must have been very elaborate, scien- tific, and skilfully complicated ; and, on the other hand, it has been inferred, from the obvious, acknowledged simplicity of the instruments in use, and the seeming imperfection of the ancient scale, xvith the uncertainty respecting the means of combination of sounds then understood, that all those stories were mere fables, absolute inventions of the fathers of history and poetry. Neither inference is necessary ; and if it be recollected that the effect of music does not depend upon its scientific arrangement, so much as on its expressive simplicity, the accounts of its effects, however wonderful, may be easily reconciled with the comparative rudeness of the instruments by the aid of which those effects were produced. It may be remarked, too, that one instrument was then in use, which, there is no reason to doubt, was as perfect as it is at the present moment ; capable of producing the same thrilling tones, the same touching cadences, the same variety, strength, and delicacy of expression. That these powers should have lain dormant among people of luxurious tastes and intellectual refinement, is altogether incredible, whatever may have been the artifickd divisions of the gamut, or however imperfect the means of recording the tones of the hunian voice. There was a long period, however, in the history of the world, when luxury and refinement did not exist; and when, without doubt, music was in the same imperfect and rude state as the other arts of life. It is certain, that no very rich combinations of harmony could have been made by those who were acquainted with no other instrument than the timbrel, just mentioned, and the trumpet. Moses, who had been carefully trained in all the learning of the Egyptians, in which music was deemed worthy to hold a place, caused two silver trumpets to be made for the calling of the assembly, and for the journeying of the camps ; and no other instrument of music is mentioned throughout the history of the Hebrew legislator. It would be rash to infer that nothing else was kno~vn, at this period, to the Egyptians ; for the condition of the Israelites scarcely permitted them to give much attention to the superfluities of life, and, though it is impossible to fix tl)e date of their invention, it is well known that several other instruments were in use among the ancient inhabitants of Egypt. The lyre, the pipe, the kettle-drum, and the sistrum 1836.] .Jlliusic of the Hebrews. 57 are reckoned by Burgh the only instruments of that people but to these must be added the trumpet and timbrel, as it is scarcely probable that Moses invented them, and an instru- ment of two strings, somewhat resembling the mandolin in shape and size, described by Dr. Burney from a figure on an ancient obelisk. It is known, too, that the learned men of Egypt early made profound mathematical calculations respect- ing the proportions of sounds, a study implying some acquaint- ance with the vibrations of musical strings ; but, as historians in those days were less careful than writers of a later time to fix the dates of events, it is impossible to speak with the desirable precision of the order of invention of musical instru- ments, as well as of many other things still more important. All we can do is to observe, that at certain periods progress in the art is perceptible, and the most thorough investigation could lead to nothing more than a conjecture as to the year or even the century of an invention. From the time of Moses no mention of music is made, in the history of the Hebrews, till the reign of Saul ; with the exceptions of the song of Deborah and Barak, which does not appear to have been accompanied by instruments ; and the tim- brel of the unhappy daughter of Jephthah, who went to meet her more unhappy father with timbrels and with dances. * In the hands of David ~ve first hear of the harp, and in the use which he made of it we find perhaps an early instance of the instrument being played independently, and not simply as an accompaniment to the voice and the poetry, which seem to have constituted a principal part of the charm of an- cient music. We find, too, a striking resemblance in the effect produced by the minstrelsy of the Hebrew shepherd boy, and that of our own contemporary music; a resemblance which shows, that, if the human heart had the same feelings and affections then as now, the music which produces like effects cannot be very dissimilar in its character. And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him. t How many a melancholy spirit has been cheered, * The rams.horns, used at the siege of Jericho, can scarcely be regard- ed as musical instruments. t 1 Sam. xvi. 23. VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 8 58 .Music of the Hebrews. [July, bow many a sorrowing heart has been soothed by the irresist- ible charm of music in later days. And it has often occur- red to us tbat the moody gloom, which, like Sauls, amounts almost to madness, might be chased from the soul, and greatly alleviated, if not wholly cured, by the skill of the cunning player, or the voice of the xvell-instructed in song. The musical taste and, talent of David were not uneruploy- ed during his whole reign. He composed, and encouraged others to compose those Psalms, which from the day they were written have heen held in the highest esteem, as the most beautiful specimens of devotional poetry existing in the litera- ture of any people. The poets of antiquity were always musicians, and there is no reason to doubt that David himself prepared the music as well as the verse of his own sacred songs. Another very probable occupation may have been superintending the musical education of those who were train- ing for the splendid service of the future temple ; for it ap- pears, that iii his old age, when he had resigned the kingdom to Solomon, the number of the singers set apart for this ser- vice was two hundred and eighty~eight,* and the number of the Levites taught to play upon instruments made by David himself ~ xvas four thousand. This is the first Conservatorio of which we have a distinct record ; and we cannot bold it in light esteem, when we observe that David himself prepared the poetry, the music, and the instruments, that it was constantly under the eye of the king, and that it was intended as an Academy for the education of those who were to officiate in the highest and most interesting service known to the nation, the service of the Temple. What those instruments were that were invented by David, or which were in use in his day, it is now in vain to inquire. Nothing is left, from which even a probable conjecture can be formed. All we know is, that they were of various sorts, of both wind and stringed instru- ments, the names of which have been translated, to be sure, into various languages, but, so far as we are concerned, might as well have been left in the original Hebrew4 The lute, the * ~ Chron. xxv. 7. t 1 Chron. xxiii. 5, and 2 Chron. vii. 6. t Our English Bible says, Jubal was the father of all such as ban- die the harp and the organ. Jubals organs were probably not like that of York, or of Haarlem. But the French translators thought proper to call Jubal, the father of such as handle the violin and the organ; thus carrying the invention of the fiddle farther back than the painter who put one into the hands of Apollo. 1836.1 .Music of the Hebrews. 59 pipe, the timbrel, the trumpet, the horn, are English words certainly, as well as the harp, the cymbal, the drum, and the organ, but they may, and probably do, stand for things very different in character from Davids instruments ; while it would he difficult for a mere English scholar to give a definite idea of what is meant by a psaltery, a shawm, or a sackbut. Here are already twelve instruments, and it seems not impro- bable that others are intended by the words neginoth, gittith, sherninith, ~c., which occur in the titles of the Psalms, and which have been a sad stumblingblock to the learned com- mentators, who would have been satisfied, could they hut have fallen upon an English name, with some degree of plausi- bility. At all events, we may feel some confidence in the as- sertion, that the accompaniment of instruments to Hebrew music possessed considerable richness. And, if we believe what is stated in the first Book of Chronicles,* that the singers were employed in that work day and night, we can have little doubt of their accomplished skill. The reign of Solomon was pre~minent, in the history of the Jews, for every thing which elevated them in the relative rank of nations. Their subsequent intestine divisions, and subjugation to a foreign yoke, prevented them from retaining the taste for music, which had flourished in the days of their national prosperity ; and we hear no more of their skill in the art, or their fondness for its practice. The only other nation, whose music can be traced back to so high an anti- quity as that of the Jews, is the Egyptian ; but, in ascending to so remote a date, we are lost in a cloud of uncertainty, which rapidly gathers into the night of total ignorance. It is but stating the truth to say, that the amount of our knowledge respecting it is, that the Egyptians had some kind of music, and some kinds of musical instruments, though what they were it is impossible to determine ; that music was much studied and held in honor among them, and that from them was derived much which was afterwards known and practised in Greece. It is in the music of Greece and Italy, that we are naturally more interested than in that of any other of the people of an- tiquity, on several accounts. The Greeks were more refined in various ways, than any other nation, and we know more 1 Chron. ix. 33. 60 ~l1ifusic of the Greeks. [July, of their character, history, and habits. Their literature is more familiar to us ; and though all that we know of their music amounts to but little, yet even that little is unknown with re- spect to the music of all other civilized inhabitants of the an- cient world. It is extremely difficult to rescue that which may seem probable, in relation to ancient music, from the almost unintelligible jargon by which it is covered up, by writers who have interpreted ancient authors according to a preconceived theory of their own, or who have undertaken to translate musical terms without either knowledge of the art, or respect for its theory, and have overlaid with a mass of perplexing erudition a subject already sufficiently involved in obscurity. We shall endeavour carefully to separate what is known and certain, from what is unknown or doubtful, and to distinguish, as clearly as may be practicable, between the probable and the improbable. The first fact, which is undisputed on all hands, is the inti- mate connexion existing between the poetry in all its forms, the eloquence, and the music of the ancients. Their poets sang their own compositions, their orators were attended by musi- cians with instruments to give them the pitch of their voice, and their dramas were sung as well as acted. It has been as- serted that they had no music unconnected with the voice, though one can scarcely imagine an assertion more entirely gratuitous. The mention of instrumental music is, to be sure, rare among the authors to whom we must recur for informa- tion on the subject; but let us suppose for a moment an age of barbarism to supervene on the present state of the world, and all existing literature and art to be blotted out, and then recovered again as those of the Greeks have been. It would not be very difficult, one would think, to frame a theory with respect to modern music, which should exclude instruments, except as an accompaniment to the voice, if no writings of a professed musician should happen to be recovered from the common destruction. In works of general literature, music is rarely described in such a way as to give precise and accurate ideas of its character; and, though the shapes assumed by lit- erature in modern times are so much more various, though we have tours, letters, dictionaries, and a thousand other produc- tions which the Greeks had not, yet we can easily conceive of an Australian antiquary, some two thousand years hence, as- serting with the confidence to which his researches may entitle 1836.] Music of the Greeks. 61 him, that the instrumental music of the ancient Europeans, and their less cultivated descendants in America, was merely used as an accompaniment to the voice ; that part of their religious worship was the singing of psalms accompanied hy the organ; that in their social meetings the piano accompanied the song, and at their theatres the whole object of the orchestra, com- posed as it was of all the instruments then known, was to sus- tam the voice of the singer, and fill up the short pauses requir- ed by the meaning of the words ; indeed, that the only use that can he discovered of instrumental music independently of the voice, ~vas to regulate the step of a procession or of a mili- tary corps. This sounds absurdly enough, and we should say that our Australian descendant might give us a little more credit for progress in the art, though he could not find any account of instrumental music in the Poems of Cowper, or the Essays of Johnson, the Dramas of Racine, or the History of Hume. Why is it not equally ahsurd to make such an assertion with regard to the ancient Greeks ? They were a people of at least as much ingenuity as any that have since existed ; they had a decided taste for music, and, if we may judge hy the general acccunts of its effects which have reached us, great skill in its execu- tion ; they had instruments of many kinds, both wind and stringed, and yet they never could play unless some one sang. It is enough to state such a proposition ; reply is unnecessary. We know, too, that music was constantly practised by the people and profoundly examined by their philosophers. The best treatise of ancient music, that has come down to us, is by Euclid, in which he examines the relations of harmonic sounds; and if we understood what he treats of without ex- planation, as familiar to all, we should probably arrive at some more just ideas of ancient music. Another thing which is generally agreed on by writers on this subject is, that the Greeks had but two divisions of sound in regard to time, namely, a long and a short one, and that the latter was just half the length of the former. Brilliant music this would make ! The rudest inhabitant of Central Africa has a greater variety than this, and a better idea of musical rhythm. Just imagine Sappho whining out her lyrics in alter- nate longs and shorts, or Timotheus drawling before Alexan- der, softly sweet, in Lydian measures. The softer the better, one would think, in such measure. But it cannot be imagined. It ie utterly inconceivable, that the instincts of 62 Music of the Greeks. [July, nature should be tamed down to such miserable insipidity in a people of lively imagination, like the Greeks. We cannot but regard it as a piece of that pedantry, which will believe nothing but what is on record, and will insist on interpreting the record according to its own limited conceptions. We venture to take it for granted, without quoting authors to prove it, that the Greeks, as well as the Hehrews, as they had in- struments, could play upon them without singing, and that their long sound was subdivided into more than two equal parts. Another point upon which all must he agreed, as there is no room for uncertainty about it, is, that the ancients had nothing corresponding to the musical score or notation of modern times. They had a name and a sign, derived from their al- phabet, for every note of the scale, and according to the most respectable conjectures (see Burneys History) their scale em- braced three octaves, or t~venty-two notes ; they had three genera, the diatonic, the chromatic, and the enharmonic, and fifteen modes or keys, in all of which the name of each sound was different, so that, according to the computation of Burette, the names of their notes amounted to sixteen hundred and twenty. If this be true, the study must have been laborious indeed, and would require the three years, which Plato allowed the young to devote to it, to acquire its elements. There is much, also, which is mysterious, and indeed unintelligible, in the accounts that are given us of the genera and tones, or keys, of Grecian music ; and it would he neither interesting nor profi- table to attempt the hopeless task of explaining what so many scholars and musicians have failed to make clear. It is indeed manifest, that without a definite idea of the sound of a single note, or an accurate knowledge of a single interval of their scale, and with absolutely nothing to guide us as to their di- visions of time, it can be but dreaming and trifling to think of proving any thing precise or satisfactory with regard to the musical composition of the Greeks. If proof be required that we really do know nothing important respecting it, we have a demonstration in the attempt of Meibomius, one of the most learned and thorough of all the commentators on ancient au- thors who touch upon music, to imitate the Grecian style of singing and playing. Queen Christina, of Sweden, to whom he had dedicated his elaborate work, desirous of obtaining a more accurate idea of the ancient music than she could do from 1836.] .llliusic of the Greeks. 63 the book, directed him to have instruments made of Grecian construction, to accompany a song composed on Greek prin- ciples as lie understood them, to which another professor was to add a Greek (lance. When the hour of this concert arriv- ed, and the performance began, it was accompanied by the irrepressible laughter of the assembled court; and the enraged Meiboniius, after inflicting a box on the ear of the person whom he suspected of instigating the plot, quitted Stockholm for ever.* Is it possible to imagine, for a moment, that what excited mere laughter at Stockholm, could have been the de- light of Athens two thousand years before? Could a people, of so strong a musical taste as the Greeks, have been so singularly rude in the practice of the art ? Or is it more probable that Meibomius, and all xvho have copied him in his account of an- cient music, have fallen into errors, and made assertions not warranted by the accuracy of their knowledge One of these assertions, which seems to us of doubtful character, is that the octave of the ancients was divided into two tetrachords ; and that this was regarded as the principal division of the scale, instead of octaves. The word tetra- chord means literally four strings, or an instrument of four strings, such as were some of the earliest harps or lyres used in Greece. The question is, How were these strings tuned ? Did they consist, as would be naturally supposed, of the third, fifth, and octave of the tonic, or were they, according to this theory of the tetrachords, the first, fourth, fifth, and eighth, and the lyre thus divided into the two halves of an octave ? It must be recollected that the ancient lyre was played with the hand, or struck with a plectrum, and that there were no finger- board and bow, like those of the violin, to regulate the sound of the strings. They must necessarily have given the sound to which they were tuned, like the strings of the modern harp. We must believe the ears of the Greeks, then, to have been differently constructed from our own, or to have been most extraordinarily obtuse, if they could have enjoyed the sounds which would have been produced by either the consecutive or simultaneous touching of these strings, a combination, says Another version of this story is, that the Queen directed Meihomius to compose a mass according to his explanation of the Grecian music, and that its performance was prevented hy the inextin,ruishahle laughter of singers, players, and audience. Discorso sulla Origime, Progresso, e Stato aUuale delta Musica Italiana di Andrea Majer. 64 Music of the Greeks. [July, Majer, enough to drive a dog mad. But on the other hand, what could be more natural or more pleasing than to tune them at intervals of thirds, thus forming the fundamental chord ? It is xvorthy of remark, too, that the outside strings were considered as fixed, being the extremes of the octave and the inside strings as movable, that is, they might be tuned higher or lower. This, on the supposition that the middle strings ~vere the third and fifth, would give an opportunity for a change of key from major to minor, or the reverse, with- out affecting the outside strings ; but it would be to little pur- pose, if they were tuned as the fourth and fifth. One would think the half of the octave must be as much fixed as the ex- tremes. It is extraordinary, if Meibomius, Martini, Burney, and oth- ers have interpreted the Greek system of music amight, that they should have imagined the ancients could have thought the fourth and fifth a chord with the first. This is manifestly im- possible. It is a discord which the ear rejects with disgust and pain; and neither Timotheus, nor Philoxenus, nor Sap- pho, nor Apollo himself could make any thing else of it. Why should we insist, then, upon the Greek music being dis- cordant, rather than imagine a few modern scholars to have fallen into error, especially when, from the scanty means of forming an opinion xvhich are left, such an error is very fairly excusable ? Still the language of the ancients respecting the tetrachords remains to be explained in some way; and if we may be allowed, without incurring the charge of temerity, to make a suggestion on this vexed subject, we should say the difficulty might, perhaps, be solved, by supposing them to have divided their notes by semitones instead of tones. It is ob- vious that the interval between major thirds is two tones, or four half-tones; and here we have at once a tetrachord of semi-tones, of which there would be three in every octave,* and the first notes of each tetrachord would be in harmony. Thus C, E, and G would accord with each other, and with the C which would complete the octave, and form the first note of the following tetrachord. We merely throw out this suggestion, without venturing to assert that it would solve the * Suppose C to be the tonic, the first tetrachord would consist of C, cTh D, D4~ the second of B, F, FTh G; the third of G~, A, A4~, B. 1836.] .lilusic of the Greeks 65 problem, but leaving it to others to justify or reject it. Non nostrum tantas componere htes. But the great subject of discussion among the literati, who have treated of ancient music, is whether or not the ancients understood counterpoint, or the arrangement of different parts or voices in such manner, that there should be melody in each, and harmony in the whole together. While some have con- tended, that this complicated art must have been understood, from the effects produced by music in ancient times, so far surpassing what it is able to do now, others again, not content Witi) denyiiig them the finished skill of modern composers, have even refused them any thing like harmony ; and have contended, that the voices and instruments, however numerous they might be, were all in unison. In the absence of all histo- rical record on the subject, one would say that each of these extreme opinions was equally improbable. With regard to the argument from the effects, it has been somewhat ludi- crously overstrained. People seem almost to have believed in sincerity, that Amphion built walls, Anon rode dolphins, and Orpheus made trees dance, by the mere power of harmony. Probably the influence of song upon the modern art of navi- gation is quite as powerful as it was upon the ancient art of ma- sonry ; yet no one will contend that sailors are now-a-days very accomplished musicians. Nor can it be imagined, that these strange stories, though not taken literally, yet must be considered as poetical representations of wonderful effects. The results, stripped of their coloring, are no more extraor- dinary than are constantly produced now ; and indeed we are persuaded it must have been far less difficult for Timotheus to have stirred the excitable temper of an Alexander to vehe- ment action, than for a modern songstress to have thrown the calm population of Boston into such a kind of ecstatic delirium, as many of us have witnessed, and some of us have experi- enced, the past winter. Let it be remembered, that the greatest effects in music are always produced by the human voice. Instruments and harmony and scientific combinations of tones are all very delightful ; but it is the song or the chorus which melts the heart with tenderness, or fills it with joy, or over- awes it with sublimity. It is sympathy with emotion express- ed, which we feel ; and, as the human voice can give greater depth and variety of expression than any other instrument what VOL. XLiti. NO. 92. 9 [July, 66 Music of the Greeks. ever, it cannot fail, as long as human nature continues un- changed, to produce the most powerful effects in music. And what was there to render ancient Greece less musical than modern Italy ? had they not the taste, the refinement, the quickness of perception, the climate, which seem suitahle for the cultivation of the art in perfection ? And shall we believe, that all this aptitude for music was lost, thrown away upon them, hecanse a few students tell us they had 110 knoxvl- edge of harmony, and no other rhythmical divisions of sound than into one long and one short one ? Those who think more highly of names than of nature will helieve all this, hard as it may he to credit; hut we think the dictates of nature are not to he set aside so easily. The musical ear must have fallen upon harmony hy accident, if it could not attain it hy study ; and, as for their rhythmical divisions, to suppose they had hut one lon~ and one short sound, is denying the Greeks 6 the musical instinct, of which, hy general consent, they had a large share. 13 ut this question need not be referred to nature alone for decision. There are some passages of ancient authors which would seem to he of difiicult interpretation, if the ancients had no just ideas of harmony, hut which are perfectly and at once intelligible, if such ideas be conceded. Take, for instance, the following language of Longinus ; For, as in music the principal note derives sweetness from those which are called chords,~ so periphrasis, & c. (Chap. 28.) He could hardly have used language referring more plainly to harmonious soun(ls ; and what can he made of those few words, unless his ear an(l those of his readers were accustomed to harmony? There is also a passage of Tertullian, quoted hy Majer, of which the following is a translation. Look at the prodigious richness of Archimedes. I speak of the hydraulic organ ; so many memhers, so many parts, so many contrivances, so many passages and cornhinations of sound, so many changes of mode, a whole army of pipes, and all this one mass Who could better descrihe the modern organ ? Was Archimedes, then, ignorant of harmony ? And those who * Ha9dtbwvo is a word which nobody translates, but which, if its ety- mology may be trusted, is equivalent to the Latin coissonus and the English choTd. 1836.] Music of the Greeks. 67 listened to his instrument, were they unacquainted with its effects? Consider for a moment the construction of the ancient theatrical chorus. It is well known that the Greek dramas were sung ; that they were in fact what we call operas; and that the chorus was composed, as in modern times, of all the four parts into which the voice is divisible. Ilere is a description of it by Seneca. Do you not see of how many voices tl)e chorus consists ? Some are shrill, some deep, some intermediate. The tones of woman are joined to those of man; instruments are added; and individual voices are merged in the union of the whole. Had the man who wrote this sentence no conception of music, except that de- rived from melody ? The idea seems preposterous. It is not contended, that the ancients were familiar with counter- point in all its modern extent and expansibility ; hut it is im- possible to believe, that their knowledge of music reached no farther than to the production of melody or unison, after a due consideration of the passages quoted. Nothing arrives at perfection suddenly ; and, though we are very much in the habit of thinking ourselves perfect, and that the science of inn- sical composition has in our day reached its ne plus ultra, yet constant experience demonstrates a constant improvement and perhaps our children will express as much wonder and pity at our music, as we feel for the more imperfect attain- meats of our fathers. Indeed, if we consider for a single moment the number of changes that may he produced by a few notes, we shall he convinced that the varieties of musical composition are indeed infinite. In an octave there are twelve semitones, and upon any instrument, however simple, containing these twelve sounds, there may he produced four hundred and seventy-nine million, one thousand, six hundred changes. Multiply these by the numher of octaves, and the number of instruments now in use, and we have a variety as inconceivable as it is inexhaustible. We are still far from per- fection, then, and why should we suppose the ancients to have made no progress in an art, which we practise but incom- pletely ourselves, and the first elements of which are easily attained ? Another point, which strikes us quite as strangely as this, and which runs through almost all writers on ancient music, is, that 68 Music of the Greeks. [July, the Greeks composed all their music in the minor mode.* One might as well imagine all their poetry was elegiac, all their ora- tions funereal, and all their songs death-songs. The earliest music of all countries is generally, like the music of the nursery, of a plaintive character, and in a minor key; but, whenever and wherever music has been cultivated as an art, it has never rested in that primitive and simple condition, so far as is really known; and, in the actual state of our knowledge, or rather of our ignorance of ancient music, it seems to us the very height of presumption to assert, that the ingenious Greeks never got beyond the threshold of musical composition. If any thing can be said to be known of the Athenians, it is, that they were a lively, witty, imaginative race, more resembling the modern Parisians than any other people of the present day and it would he about as probable, that all French music should be minor, as that all Greek music was. It is a point which, of course, may be established by suflicient evidence but such evidence has not yet been presented to us. Of the effect of music upon the character of a people, as well as on that of individuals, a striking example is referred to by Burney and others, the authority for which is no less than Polybius, the judicious and careful historian. The Arcadians were generally distinguished for their mild character and amiable virtues, whilst the inhabitants of Cynmtha, one of the cities of Arcadia, were as remarkable for the ferocity and quarrelsome barbarity of their dispositions. This is ascribed by the historian to the neglect of the Arcadian institutions of music ; and it is a suggestion, which by no means deserves to be ]igbtly regarded. It is not easy to limit the effect of con- stant causes ; and, if music bad been the favorite entertainment of our own parent country, instead of bull-baitings, cock-fights, and sparring-matches, it is no very strained inference, that there might have been less of crime on the records of its courts, and less of harshness in the national manners. Cer- tainly the kindred blood of Germany is favorably operated on by the prevailing fondness for music; and it is not easy to believe, that one who is really devoted to so refined and refin * Gardiner in his Music of Nature, page 461, says, in an incidentat clause of a sentence, the minor key, the only key known to the Greeks and Romans, & c.,as if it were a thing universally admitted, and on which no douht could rationally he suggested. 1836.] Sacred .Music. 69 ing a pursuit, can be the victim of the coarser and more violent passions of our nature. The unbounded variety of expression, of which music is susceptible, renders it easily applicable to all circumstances and situations where emotion of any kind is called forth ; and it is a necessary appendage to all public celebrations of events or ceremonies, in which any deep interest is felt. Its connexion with the religious observances from wbich human nature can- not refrain, has in all ages been most intimate, and must con- tinue to be so as long as we seek to express in the strongest manner the deep emotions which are excited by religious subjects. The earliest recorded song is one of praise to Jehovah; and, as we trace the history of music down through the periods of Greek and Roman cultivation, we find it always associated with religious rites. No sacrifice could be accep- table, no pomp could be imposing, if not accompanied by the beautiful or the sublime of musical intonation. Their dramas, too, were originally very much of the nature of religious ser- vices. Founded on some tale of their mythology, they were made the vehicles of such religious and moral instruction as the wisest of the ancients could convey ; and Livy informs ns,* that the first introduction of theatrical representations into Rome was expressly for a religious purpose, namely, as a means of averting a pestilence which was attributed to the anger of the Gods. Music has, from the earliest periods, been associated with the services of the Christian church. One of the first profane notices of the existence of such a sect is the letter of Pliny to Trajan, in which he says, They assemble and sing hymns to Christ as a God. Even in those primitive times of simplicity and peril, when the cave and the forest were the Christians only shelter, and the arch of heaven their only temple, even then rose the choral hymn; the fulness of the heart could not be repressed, and, surrounded by the magnificent and the beautiful of creation , they adored their Creator in music that whis- pered a heart-felt devotion in song and in prayer. In after ages, when the persecuted religion, everywhere spoken against, became the favored and triumphant system, music accompanied its introduction into the basilica, the tem- ple, and the church. It has been fancifully enough imagined * Lib. vii. cap. 2. 70 Sacred JJIUSiC. [July, that the style of chanting, which was in use at that period, was derived from some species of more ancient, Grecian or even Hebrew music, thus forming a connecting link between the remotest ages and our own time. It is not impossible ; but that is all that can be said in favor of a notion, which rests, like many others, advanced by the historians of music, on the imagination alone. The chanting of that era, as far as can be learned from the imperfect accounts of it transmitted to us, very probably resembled, in a great degree, that of the priests of the Roman church of the present day, with little variety of modulation, and little regularity of measure. Very much was left to the discretion of the singer, and the influence of tradi- tion ; the time was absolutely so, as no time table had yet been invented. In the progress of taste, the singing in the church became more ornamented ; and it is a curious instance of the uncom- promising consistency of human nature, of the perpetual recurrence of the same prejudices and feelings, that com- plaints were from time to time made of the excessive orna- ment of music, which, to our ears, would probably be charge- able with any thing rather than too much grace. The canto fermo of the church was originally, in all probability, chanting in unison and with great simplicity. When ornaments were introduced, they must have been performed by a single voice, while the rest continued the original chant; and thus the per- formance gradually became separated into two parts, of which one was the principal air, and the other a connected accom- paniment. This was called discant, or double chant; and, as music became more important in the church, performers were engaged for this service ; and they were employed to sing one part and to organize the other, or imitate the sound of the organ in firmness and continuity. At least this seems a suffi- ciently probable interpretation of a word which can hardly be exactly defined now. The invention of the organ was begun in the early ages of Christianity, though it may not be possible to fix its precise date. In the reign of Charlemagne a national controversy arose, which, though then settled by royal authority, has been open ever since ; and will be finally put to rest when national rivalry shall cease. The singers of Charless court attended him to Rome to celebrate the festival of Easter ; and a violent dis- pute arose between them and the Italian performers, as to the 1S36.] Music of the .]Jliddle ages. 71 taste and correctness of their execution of the music of St. Gregory. The king gave it against his own choir, and em- ployed Italian masters to reinstruct them in the true Gregori- an style, which, he said, they had manifestly corrupted. From this period, the close of the eighth century, to the beginning of the eleventh, there was no such rapid or sudden progress in the art of music as to mark any particular I)oint of time as an era in its history. Still, progress was made in it, and facilities were gradually accumulating for its study and its practice. The chanting became double, that is, in two regular parts accoin- panying each other in harmony throughout; and the system of notation xvas improved hy the introduction, at first, of a single line, red for the key of F, and yellow for the key of C, above and below which line the notes were ranged, according to the acute or grave character of their tone. This was already a decided improvement on the preceding system of placing a hieroglyphic over each syllable of the word to he sung, rep- resenting the name and sound of the note; hut a variety of plans were at different times tried, such as drawing a line for each note, then using six lines for the notes of a hexachord, and afterwards reducing the number of lines to four, and using the spaces also, as in the modern system. The four lines and three spaces were Just enough to give a place to each of the seven notes of the octave in the key of C, which was once the only key used in the church, the pure diatonic scale being the only one practised. Afterwards the key of F was intro- duced, and rendered necessary the use of the flat B, or B molle, as it was then called. This rich sound was the first acci(lental ever heard in a church.* The separation of the notes from the words, hy placing them in a score, gave an opportunity for doing what must naturally have suggested itself to the composer, namely, writing the discant or double chant on two separate sets of lines, in which each note would cor- respond with one of the other part, and with the syllable on which it was to he sounded. This was doubtless the origin of counterpoint, note ag(tiflst note; and from this small begin- ning has arisen, in the course of ages, the complicated art of the modern harmonist. The earliest notes used ~vere square, * It is to be presumed, that those at least, who believe in the Hebrew or Grecian origin of the canto fermo, will not contend that ancient music was always in the minor mode. 72 Guido of arezzo. [July, or lozenge-shaped, without stems, and were easily and fre- quently chauge(I in writing into mere points. Hence the ~vord counterpoint. Stems were ere long added to some notes to mark a different duration, thus giving a hint of a more exact division of sounds hy the time they occupied. Letters were also prefixed to the score, which were gradually corrupted into the clumsy clefs now in use. They were originally in- tended to mark the key F, or C, and not the voice by which the part was to he sung. Thus we see, that, previous to the commencement of the eleventh century, there was a beginning of many things which served to facilitate both the coinposi- tion of music and the practice of singing, as lines, notes, ac- cidentals, and clefs. The use of accidentals implies, of course, changes of key. We say all this was begun hefore the eleventh century for at that time appeared one of those distinguished men, who, effecting much for the progress of the science to which they devote themselves, acquire a renown even greater than their merits justify. This was Guido, the monk of Arezzo, who, in later times, has been held up to reverence as the inventor of counterpoint, and consequently the father of modern con]po- sition. From what has been said, it appears that this is rather more than he is entitled to. lie doubtless contributed much to tl)e improvement of musical composition in his day, but can scarcely be called the inventor of an art previously exist- ing in its rudiments or simplest state. The praise to which he is entitled, and it is no small amount, is for having banished for ever the ancient names of the notes, and substituted for them six syllables that were found to predominate in the first verse of a hymn of St. John, ut, re, mi, fa, sol, Ut. When the sixteen hundred and twenty tremendous names of the ancient scale are recollected, such as nete synemenon, paryp ate meson, hypate hypaton, proslambanornenos, & c., names which could be of no use in singing, and which, if they were not Greek, we should call Gothic and barbarous, it will readily be conceived what an immense facility was afforded to the student of music by the ingenuity of Guido. The ptogress of his pupils in a few months was equal to that made in as many years under the old system, and he was repeatedly sent for by the Pope, to establish schools upon his plan at Rome. Such, however, was the secltision of the monasteries, where alone, almost, music was then either taught or practised, so 1836.1 Invention of the Time- Table. 73 infrequent were communications, and so toilsome was travel- ling, that even this vast improvement was long in making its way into general use. It was not till ages after Guidos time, that the octave was conipleted by the addition of the syllable si, and still later that the Italians substituted the more open and euphonious sound of do, for the contracted one of ut. Great as are the obligations of music to Guido for giving simplicity to its arrangement and the method of instruction in it, yet it may be reasonably doubted if lie contributed so much to the progress of the art as the inventor of the time-table, whoever he was. The regular subdivision of notes was not fairly and fully accomplished till the fourteenth century, three hundred years after the time of Guido, and it is uncertain by whom it was then achieved. Musical writers, according to Dr. Burney, have heretofore ascribed it to Jean de Muris; but Jean de Muris himself attributes it to Master Franco of Cologne, thus carrying the invention back to the middle or end of the eleventh century. The probability seems strong, that many contributed their efforts, at different l)eiiods, to tIme perfecting of that branch of the art, whuich yields to none in importance. It was the propel and accurate subdivision of notes, and the strict observance of time, which made music a really independent art. Before that was studied, singing must either have been guided by the intention of the composer, and handed down by tradition, or it must have been entirely ad libitum, and at time momentary pleasure of the performer and if a number of vocal or instrumental performers were to execute a piece of music together, nothing but the most im- mense and laborious practice could have enabled them to keep within harmonious distance of each other. The difficulties of the art must have been immeasurably greater than at present, and will account for the great number of years that were thought necessary to attain reasonable skill even in its then imperfect condition, and for the very slow progress which was made in its improvement. Think, for a moment, what would be the effect of setting a piece of music before even a well- instructed choir at the present day, in the score of which no measures were marked, and in which but one kind of note, of unvaried form, was used for every tone introduced; a l)iece, in short, from which all marks of tinie were obliterated. It is very much to be feared that the skill of the choir would, for a time at least, be baffled, and that the piece, however simple, VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 10 74 Palestrina. [July, would be rapidly converted into a specimen of most admired disorder. This must be distinctly perceived, in order to at- tain an idea of the condition of music as an art, both in ancient times and in wl)at are called the middle ages. The observ- ance of time, if it does not itself constitute harmony, is cer- tainly a necessary attendant on its existence ; it is that, without which lnrmony cannot be created ; and it must be marked, either by the distinctions of notes and rests, or by the direc- tion of a leader, or by the undirected taste of the performer. In ancient days the time was indicated, very imperfectly of course, but still in some degree, by the length of the syllables to which the music was set, and by a leader who beat the time audibly. But in what way it was marked in the chanting of the church, in the first thousand years of Christianity, there are no means of determining. It was, perhaps, a thing of tra- dition altogether. No wonder, then, the progress of the art both of coml)osition and of performance was slow. ~o won- dem, where so much was left of necessity to the unguided itn- provisation of the singer or player, that bad judgment was more prevalent than good ; and that the art was mole and more corrupted from the simplicity which is the guide of cor- rect taste. Five centuries elapsed from the time of Guido, during which music was wandering in dotibt, and obscurity, and weakness, without a guide on whom to rely, and without a definite object of ptirsuit. This long period was not, howev- er, wholly lost. The caprices of even bad taste revealed some of the powers of song, as the freaks of alehymy de- veloped some of the laxvs of nature. Rules of composition, and sotnething like a regular system of notation, became of ac- knowledged authority; and in the fifteenth century the art of printing came powerfully to its aid, as it did to that of every other human pursuit. At length, in the sixteenth century, ap- peared one of those truly illustrious men, endowed with those great powers, with which the Almighty from time to time adorns our nature, for bringing beauty otit of deformity, order out of confusion, and for stamping the impress of his fertile genius on his own and all succeeding ages. This was Johann Pierluigi of Palestrina. He was born at Pr~neste in 1529, a peiiod when, though the rules of musical composition were beginning to be settled, yet the taste and invention displayed in it were not usually such as to excite admiration or pleasure. 1836.] Palestrina. 75 So bad was the style of the music performed in the church, that Pope Marcellus the Second, in 1555, was about to issue an edict to abolish the use of it in the sacred office, when Palestrina besought him to hear a mass of a different char- acter from the frivolous, florid music then in vogue, and to give the nohie art still a place where it could be most ef- fective. He ohtained the permission lie asked, and produced a niass, which, by its simplicity and dignity, completely con- quered the strong and probably not unjust dislike the Pope had expressed for the more popular music of the day. This signal triumph, obtained by a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, not only saved music from the threat- ened banishment from its sacred home, but placed Palestrina at once at the head of the art, as the best composer, not only of his own, but of all preceding time. This position he never lost, and through all succeeding ages he must continue to be regarded as the successful reformer of a barbarous era, and the father and founder of a better school, which, from that day to this, has been considered as the school of true taste. His compositions xvere numerous, comprising nearly all descrip- tions of the serious style now in use. They are still ex- tant, and are not unfrequently performed in Italy by those who have a just reverence for his genius and skill. They may not possess the flowing ease of some more modern pro- ductions, but they are of a kind which will never cease to produce a strong effect upon mens minds and hearts. It is a mistake to suppose that there is a particular style of music which is adapted to a particular period of the world. Music is a universal language, and what is able powerfully to affect one generation of men will not fail to affect another. There may be conceits and fancies in fashion at certain periods or places, which soon pass away, because they are not in good taste; but that which can interest and please in tone, im- itation, or harmony, will never cease to interest and please. Palestrina had the merit and the glory of pointing out the true path in which music should walk, the true mode in which she must produce her effects ; and from his day to the present there has been but one school of good music. Divided and subdivided as the schools have nominally been, correct taste is one and indivisible ; and all must be conducted by her guid- ance, or they cease to be schools of music, and degener- ate into academies of uproar. There is, in reality, little to distinguish the so-called different schools, but the different 76 Jjlusic of the Theatre. [July, degrees of attainment and genius of the authors who have been educated at different places. The ob tacles which have ob- structed the progress of some, and the facilities which have surrounded others, may, perhaps, he perceived ; hut all aim at the same object by the same general means, and therefore belong to the same school. This deserves, in some respects, to be called the school of Palestrina. He pointed out the path in which music may go on for ever improving ; he taught men to explore that garden of inexhaustible fertility, in which the plants that lie trained still live, and in which the succes- sive brilliant productions of music will remain for ever fresh and fair. We do not mean that it is inipossible to point out differences between the composers of one nation and those of another, or to deny that some are more successful in melody, and some in harmony ; but as we hold that both are necessary to the production of the best music, any defect in either must be counted as an imperfection in the author as a musical com- poser, to whichever school, as it is called, he may belong. From the days of Palestrina until now, the musical taste and the musical productions of the civilized world have in- creased in an accelerating ratio. Invention has been applied, not only to the writing of music, hut to the instruments hy which it is to he performed, and the art of execution on those instruments ; so that each successive age has reached a point, both in composition and performance, which was either not thought of, or deemed unattainable, by its predecessor. Since bis time, too, another style of music has been introduced, and become so much a favorite as almost to supplant the more venerable music of the church, which was the first to be brought to some degree of perfection, and was the foundation of all that has succeeded. Towards the close of the sixteenth century music began to appear in company with the dramas, which were then popular; and, rude as the first essays proba- bly were, and imperfect as the instrumental accompaniment certainly was, the effect produced upon the feelings of the au- dience was great beyond any thing known in those days, and was compared to that of the ancient Greek and Roman dra- rnas.* The moralities and mysteries, the title under which the drama first appeared in the middle ages, were frequently performed by strolling companies upon an ambulatory stage * I3umney, Vol. IV. p. 18. 1836.1 The Opera. 77 and there is an interesting account in Della Valle, of the first secular musical drama in Rome, which we shall extract from Dr. Burney. ~ The music of my cart, or movable stage, composed by Quagliati, [his master,] in my own room, chiefly in the man- ner he found most agreeable to me, and performed in masks through the streets of Rome during the Carnival of 1606, was the first dramatic action, or representation in music, that had ever heen heard in that city. Though no more than five voices, or five instruments, were employed, the exact number which an amhulant cart could contain, yet these afforded great variety ; as, hesides the dialogue of single voices, sometimes t~vo, or three, and, at. last, all the five sung together, which had an admirable effect. The music of this piece, as may be seen in the copies of it that were afterwards printed, though dramatic, xvas not all in simple recitative, which would have heen tiresome, but ornamented with beautiful passages, and movements in measure, without deviating, however, from the true theatrical style ; on which account it pleased ex- tremely, as was manifest from the prodigious concourse of people it drew after it, who, so far from heing tired, heard it performed five or six several times. There were some who even continued to follow our cart to ten or twelve places where it stopped, and who never quitted us as long as we remained in the street, which was from four oclock in the evening till after midnight. The scholar will remark the curious coincidence hetween the earliest dramatic representations of Gre~ce and of Italy; and the musician will cease to wonder at the effects of ancient skill, when he reflects upon those of Della Valles ambulatory cart. It may he ohserved, that here is an early mention of recitative, which seems to have been coeval with the secular drama, and which corresponds, in some degree, with what was originally called chanting in sacred music. It is the chantirg of the theatre, with greater variety and expression than that of the church, but quite as far removed from the graceful regularity of the air or song. During the succeeding century the opera gradually assumed its regular form, and became an established hranch of public amusement. It was not, however, till perfected hy the dra- matic genius of Metastasio, that it assumed the high rank it has since maintained in theatrical literature. The last century Ibid. pp. 37, 38. 78 Handel. [July, was, in all respects, the most interestiug and important period. which has occurred in the history of music. New branches of the art were cultivated, while those previously known were vastly developed and improved, by the genius of the greatest composers the world has yet seen. It would be at once use- less and unil)teresting to insert, in this rapid sketch of the pro- gress of music, the long list of the names of those who, with various success, have devoted themselves to its different de- partn)er)ts. Nor will it be possible to assign to precise dates, or to paitic~lar individuals, the improvements in instruments and methods of performance, which have successively added to the power of music and the means at the disposal of the coniposer. We must remain satisfied with the general fact that each following age has had greater resources than its pre- decessor, and with tl)e probability that succeeding times will go on improving, as long as man is endowed with ingenuity, and feels an interest in the illimitable, the divine art. It is impossible, however, even to think of music without instantly recollecting the names of those illustrious men of the last century, who are identified with its very existence, and who, if no other composers had ever written, would have sufficed to make the era glorious, and to furnish the highest pleasures of mtisic to all after time. We refer, of course, to George Frederic Handel, Joseph Haydn, and John Chrysostom Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. George Frederic Handel, or, as he would be more properly called, Hacadel, was born at Halle, in February, 1684. He was the son of a physician, who had determined to educate him to the profession of law, and by no means encouraged the early propensity he (liscovered for music. Such, how- ever, was the strength of his passion for it, that, notwithstanding these circumstances, he had attained remarkable skill on the harpsichord at the age of seven years, without particular in- struction, solely by the force of his own industry and young enthusiasm. At nine years of age he began to compose church music with full instrumental accompaniments, and soon surpassed his master, who was organist of the cathedral at Halle. In 1698 he went to Berlin, where the opera was flourishing under the direction of Frederic the Great, and where Handel soon distinguished himself by his knowledge and skill. He did not remain here, however, but going to Hamburg, where also an opera was established, he immedi- ately became its director, and, before he was fifteen years old, 1836.1 Handel. 79 began his career as a composer of operas. 1-us first piece, Almeria, was performed thirty nights in succession ; and two others were received with equal favor. After five years of study and success in Hamburg, he travelled to Italy, where he spent six years in improving himself, and delighting others by his operas and other musical compositions. Here he wrote the oratorio of the Resurrection, and many sonatas and songs. In 1710, after a short visit to his native country, he went to England, which was thenceforth to be his home, and which he never left but for a short period, till his death in 1759. For nearly fifty years spent there, he was constantly employed in writing operas, oratorios, and every species of music, and was director at the Ilaymarket and Covent Garden successively. He was often engaged in quarrels with those who envied his success, or could not yield to his very natural pride. One occasion is worth mentioning. In 1720 he produced an opera, which met with unprecedented success, and excited the jeal- ousy of his rivals, at the head of whom was Buononcini. The dispute which arose was referred to a trial of skill for adjustment. Both were to compose an act of the same opera, and the possession of the theatre was to be the prize. Han- del wrote the overture and the last act, and retained the theatre. Hoxvever unfavorable these controversies may have been to his personal comfort, or his reputation for mildness of charac- ter, tl)e musical world will scarcely regret their occurrence for it was to avoid any dependence upon jealous rivals that lie turned his attention more to the composition of oratorios, and produced those mabnificent works, xvhich have ever since been the delight of all who have heard them, and in which heauty and sublimity are so happily mingled. The Messiah was one of his later works, and will easily be conceded to he one of the best musical productions extant. It belon6 s to the highest class of compositions ; for much, that would be well adapted to a lighter style, would serve to degrade the elevated char- acter of a sacred drama. Nothing is insignificant, nothing trifling, and there are numerous airs of unsurpassed beauty, numerous choruses and other passages of unequalled sublimity, and a power of adaptation and strength of expression, which belong to musical genius of the highest order only. The operas of Handel have been laid aside to make way for newer 80 Haydn. [July, productions in another, which we xviii not call a better style but we are inclined to believe, that, were they revived with the aid of the better instrumentation of the present day, they would be received at once as a novelty and as a class of productions of superior merit. The multiplicity of his xvorks is very great, and proves the untiring industry of a long life, combined with the inexhaustible fertility of a beautiful imagination. Of an entirely different character was the genius of the next of the great composers of the age. haydn was the son of a wheelwright, and xvas born at Rohrau in Lower Austria, in 1732. He distinguished himself at the same early age as Handel by his passion for music ; and, with the aid of a neighbouring schoolmaster, acquired some knowledge both of singing and playing at the age of seven. From eight to ei~hteea he was one of the choir of St. Stepben s at Vienna ; and, after quitting that situation, he experienced for several years the ills of poverty and obscurity. At length an opera, composed in his twentieth year, procured for him at once reputation arid comfort, as he was soon appointed direc- tor of the chapel of Prince Esterhazy. In this situation he had opportunity to devote himself to composition in such style as his own inclination dictated ; and the result was an abun- dance of productions, which have placed him in the foremost rank of skilful and scientific composers. As might be ex- pected from his early education, his taste led him rather to the serious style of church music than to the gayer one suited to the theatre ; and the greater part of his vocal compositions are masses and oratorios. In these are exhibited, in the most striking manner, a solemn grace and dignity of expression, which never forsake this wonderfully grand master ; while he is occasionally carried, by the impetus of his sublime concep- tions, to the utmost limit of expression and of the power of human sympathy. There are few things which give a more intense excitement to human feelings, and it may be doubted if even strong nerves could bear a more i)Owerful stimulus than is produced by some of Haydn s music. Bat, extraordinary as were his talents in the vocal depart- ment, they were, if possible, exceeded by his skill in the em- plovinent of instruments. The novelty, variety, beauty, and intensity of expression in his numerous compositions of this class, would, i priori, be quite incredible; and nothing but 1836.] Mozart. 81 the actual bearing can convince one of the possibility of pre- senting such vivid pictures to the ear. It is not less delightful than astonishing, to witness this power of imitation. It is a combination of intellect and sensation, on the part of the hearer as well as the inventor, which is among the highest gratifications of earth ; and for how many a thrill of pleasure, pure, refined, and heart-felt, is not the world indebted to the sublime, the boundless genius of Haydn ! Of all musical writers who have yet lived, he is the greatest master of this art of imitation. He made instruments speak a new language, and under his hand a new-created world of music sprung into being. Of Mozart it is difficult for the lovers of music to speak with that moderation, which is necessary to give weight to lan- guage. He so enchanted mens minds, so beguiled them of their affections, appealed so strongly to the tenderest sensibil- ity, and produced so often specimens of the most lovely crea- tions of genius, that one almost despairs of either doing jus- tice to his memory, or making others sensible of his pre- eminent power. He was called, in his own time, the musical prodigy ; and xvell he might be, for from the age of three years to his death at that of thirty-six, he was constantly astonishing men either by his precocious ability, or by the wonderful beauty, the sweetness, the inexpressible charm of his exquisite music. In his fifth year he began to compose little pieces, which he would play to his father on the piano, and then write off in score. In his sixth year he wrote a concerto for the piano, in strict conformity with the rules of composition, and so difficult as to require no inexperienced hand to perform it. In this year he visited Vienna, in com- pany with his father and sister, and played before the im- perial court the most difficult pieces of the most eminent composers ; and so conscious was he of his own extraordi- nary powers, as to treat with entire disregard the commenda- tions of any hut those who were themselves skilful. He had hitherto played on the piano only; but at Vienna he was pre- sented with a little violin, on which he taught himself to play during the journey home to Salzburg, so well as to execute with entire precision the second part of a trio, to the infinite surprise of his father, who did not know of his acquisition. In his seventh year he was taken to Paris, and afterwards to London, where he passed a year and a half, and then went home VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 11 82 Mozart. [July, by way of Holland and the Rhine, everywhere exciting astonishment and delight by his early and beautiful talent. At twelve years old he again went to Vienna, and presided over the imperial orchestra at the performance of some of his own music. At thirteen he went to Italy; and at fourteen he wrote his first regular opera, for the theatre of Milan. This was so much admired as to he repeated more than twenty times. From this period till his death he produced in rapid succession operas, which were then and still continue to be the delight of the civilized world, besides a great variety of music of almost every kind, instrumental and vocal. The highest qualities of music are to be found in them all. There is no deficiency of variety, although they all hear marks of their paternity. With a single exception, the most promi- nent quality of them all is beauty, a gentle, feminine grace and delicacy, which, like the same traits in the female character, are wonderfully combined with spirit, dignity, and energy. The exception to which we refer is his Don Juan, in which there is a mixture of the gay and reckless character of the hero, with the horror of his fate, which gives it a style alto- gether unique. Sublimity is rather its characteristic than beauty. Approaching more nearly than was usual with Mo- zart to the direction of the genius of Haydn, it drew from the latter the opinion, that its author was the first of living composers. The Requiein too is marked quite as much by its rich and deeply flowing solemnity, as by the beauty of its strains, or the noble harmony of its composition. In speaking of Mozart one must he excused for combining epithets xvhich may seem exaggerated, but which, on exami- nation, will be found not merely justified but required by his merits. He possessed all the highest powers of musical corn- position, whether in melody or harmony, expression or imita- tion ; and never failed to exert them. He wrote nothing which was faulty, or even chargeable with mediocrity ; nothing which was not animated by the very spirit of beauty. He was, indeed, a musical prodigy. I-us compositions form a striking climax to the musical history of the last century. Handel abounds in passages of singular beauty, a sort of physical charm, yet by no means destitute of intelligence, which pervades his works ; Haydn commands our attention and engrosses all our faculties by his elevation, his power of expression, and his sustained dignity; Mozart captivates us 1836.1 Recent Composers. 83 by all these qualities ; by the easy grace of his lighter strains, and the appropriate expression of those which are of a higher character. It seemed as if, in the case of musical composers, as in that of the poets, The force of nature could no further go; To make a third, she joined the other two. The musical variety of nature is, however, inexhaustible and, since the time of Mozart, other genius has been exerted, not in vain, in her wide-extended dominion. Beethoven has shown us a wonderful scientific skill, and a dark imagination, lightened occasionally by a soft halo which shines the brighter by contrast; and Weher has exhibited his wayward and beau- tiful fancy and Rossini yet lives to extend, if he pleases, his already vast empire over mens tastes. Rossini is the great enchanter of the present day ; and, if his genius be judged by the effect it has produced, it will scarcely be deemed inferior to that of either of the authors we have named. The enthu- siasm of the public, in all Europe and America, which his operas first excited, has now continued undiminished for thirty years ; and so long as the most refined elegance, the most cheerful temperament, the most fertile invention shall continue to please, so long will Rossini continue to captivate. His music produces on the ear the same effect that is caused on the eye by the graceful air, the ease of manner, the animated expression of a beautiful woman ; and we cannot be surprised if we find in both a similar careless confidence in the power to please, the same frequent repetition of a successful man~uvre, the same heedlessness of established rules. We have mentioned only a few of those whose talents have aided the progress of music, as it would be impossible to enu- inerate all within the limits of a volume; and we have spoken of none who were natives of France or England, because, though multitudes have, in both countries, done honor to the science, yet none have reached the pre~minence of those bright particular stars which have shone with such bril- liant lustre. As for our own country, music cannot be said to have any history, and scarcely an existence here. Without a single native composer of instrumental music, and with only here and there one who ventures upon a song or an anthem, it becomes us to use a tone of modesty, which is unhappily too rare, with regard to our musical attainments, taste, and 84 .Music iu lmerica. [July, skill. There is every thing to hope for a vigorous young country, where the luxuries of art are rapidly growing, under the protection of a still more rapidly accumulating wealth; hut, as yet, all is the subject of hope, not of coniplacent recollec- tion. It is probably within the memory of the youngest of our readers, that a change has taken place in the style of perform- ing the music in our churches, indicative of the neglect into which it had previously fallen, rather than of the excellence it has yet attained. The formation of the Boston Handel and Haydn Society was the dawn of a spirit of improvement; but how long did it languish under the want of resources, and the neglect of the public. It is only within a very few years, that its success has been encouraging, and has corresponded with the effect which a good school should have upon the public. The recent establishment of the Academy is another proof of the increasing number of those, who so love the concord of sweet sounds, as to be willing to devote their leisure to the acquisition of the art of producing them ; its present state should, however, be regarded rather as the foundation of better things to come, than as a theme of self-satisfaction. They have begun a good thing in a good manner; but it would show a very limited conception of the value of music, to rest satisfied with the ability to give an occasional concert in a re- spectable style. This is but a humble branch of the art; and the attainment of the degree of skill necessary, ought, and we trust will be ere long, so common as to be no ground of boast- ful complacency. It must be recollected, that we are greatly behind the other civilized countries of the world in common musical proficiency; and, if we would compete with them at all, we must fix on something higher, as an object of pursuit, than has heretofore been attempted among us. We must look forward to the production of music of every kind ; to training up a school, not merely of vocal, but instrumental performers, who shall be thoroughly taught in all that can be taught of music, and whose native talent shall be fostered and encour- aged, till some among them shall be able to repay the care be- stowed, by the display of new musical creations, acquiring for themselves, and their country, a name like that we are already claiming in the sister arts. The time when this shall be ac- complished may not be near; and yet, if the public will afford the due support, it may not be so far distant as some might imagine. 1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 85 It may, perhaps, have been observed, that five out of the six brilliant names we have mentioned, of the last and present cen- tury, are German. How does it happen, that a nation of kin- dred origin with our own parent stock, and with a language almost as unmusical as ours, should have produced such an uncommon proportion of musical genius of the highest order, while that of England has been certainly less brilliantly dis- played ? Is it not manifest that the national practice of giving the rudiments of a musical education at school must have con- tributed largely to the developement of the whole national tal- ent for the art ? This then should be pursued as the most mi- portant means of eliciting the now dormant taste and talent of our country. It xvill be found easy, pleasant, and profitable; and upon institutions like the Academy devolves the respon- sibility of urging the importance of the acquisition in terms commensurate with its value. Let it be presented to all who bave charge of the education of youth, till they shall he sat- isfied that the elements of music are not the least important of those which may he taught in schools ; and, if the system should not extend beyond our oxvn city, its advantages would soon be so evident as to add another to the favorable distinc- tions of our already favored home. ART. IV. 1. .JVarodne Serpske pjesme, izdao WUK STEP. KARADJIdH. Servian Popular Songs, published by VUK STEP. KARADJIdH. Vol. IV. Vienna. 1833. 2. Piesnie Ludu palsiziego i ruskiego w Galicyi, zebrane parzez WACLAWA Z. OLESKA. Songs of the Polish and Russian People of Galicia, collected by WENcESLAUS OLESKY. Lernberg. 1833. Tuis is the age of utilitarianism. The Genius of poetry still lives indeed, for he is immortal ; but the period of his living power is gone. His present dwelling is the study the sphere of his operations the parlour; the scene, where his exhibitions are displayed in a dress of morocco and gold, is the centre-table of the rich and the genteel. Popular poetry, we do not mean that divine gift, the dowry of a few blessed

1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 85 It may, perhaps, have been observed, that five out of the six brilliant names we have mentioned, of the last and present cen- tury, are German. How does it happen, that a nation of kin- dred origin with our own parent stock, and with a language almost as unmusical as ours, should have produced such an uncommon proportion of musical genius of the highest order, while that of England has been certainly less brilliantly dis- played ? Is it not manifest that the national practice of giving the rudiments of a musical education at school must have con- tributed largely to the developement of the whole national tal- ent for the art ? This then should be pursued as the most mi- portant means of eliciting the now dormant taste and talent of our country. It xvill be found easy, pleasant, and profitable; and upon institutions like the Academy devolves the respon- sibility of urging the importance of the acquisition in terms commensurate with its value. Let it be presented to all who bave charge of the education of youth, till they shall he sat- isfied that the elements of music are not the least important of those which may he taught in schools ; and, if the system should not extend beyond our oxvn city, its advantages would soon be so evident as to add another to the favorable distinc- tions of our already favored home. ART. IV. 1. .JVarodne Serpske pjesme, izdao WUK STEP. KARADJIdH. Servian Popular Songs, published by VUK STEP. KARADJIdH. Vol. IV. Vienna. 1833. 2. Piesnie Ludu palsiziego i ruskiego w Galicyi, zebrane parzez WACLAWA Z. OLESKA. Songs of the Polish and Russian People of Galicia, collected by WENcESLAUS OLESKY. Lernberg. 1833. Tuis is the age of utilitarianism. The Genius of poetry still lives indeed, for he is immortal ; but the period of his living power is gone. His present dwelling is the study the sphere of his operations the parlour; the scene, where his exhibitions are displayed in a dress of morocco and gold, is the centre-table of the rich and the genteel. Popular poetry, we do not mean that divine gift, the dowry of a few blessed 86 kSlavic Popular Poetry. [July, individuals ; we mean that b eneral productiveness, wbich per- vades the mass of men as it pervades Nature, popular poetry is, among all the nations of Europe, only a dying plant. Here and there a lonely relic is discovered among the rocks, pre- served by the invigorating powers of the mountain air; or a few sickly plants, half withered in their birth, grow up in some solitary valley, hidden from the intrusive genius of mod- ern improvement and civilization, who makes his appearance with a brush in his hand, sweeping mercilessly away even the loveliest flowers which may be considered as impediments in his path. Twenty years hence, and a trace will not be left, except the dried specimens which the amateur lays between two sheets of paper, and the copies preserved in cabinets. Among the nations of the Slavic race alone is the living flower still to be found, growing in its native luxuriance ; but even here, only among the Servians and Dalmatians in its full blossom and beauty. For centuries these treasures have been huried from the literary world. Addison, when he en- deavoured to vindicate his admiration of the ballad of Chevy- Chace, hy the similarity of some of its passages with the epics of Virgil and Homer, had not the remotest idea, that the immortal blind bard had found his true and most worthy successors among the likewise blind poets of his next I-Iyper- horean neighbours. The merit of having lifted at last the curtain from these scenes, belongs to Germany, chiefly to Herder. But only the few last years have allowed a more full and satisfactory view of them. In laying before our readers a view of Slavic popular poetry, we must renounce at once any attempt at chron- ological order. Slavic popular poetry has yet no history. Not that a considerable portion of it is not very ancient. Many mysterious sounds, even from the grey ages of paganism, reach us, like the chimes of distant hells, unconnected and half lost in the air ; while, of many other songs and legends, the coloring reminds us strongly of their Asiatic home. But the wonderful tales they convey, have mostly heen only confided to tradition ; especially there, where the fountain of poetry streamed, and streams still, in the richest profusion, namely, in Servia. Handed down from generation to generation, each has impressed its mark upon them. Tradition, that wonder- ful offspring of reality and imagination, affords no safer basis to the history of poetry, than to the history of nations themselves. 1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 87 To dig out of dust and rubbish a few fragments of manuscripts, which enable us to cast one glance into the night of the past, has been reserved only for recent times. Future years will furnish richer materials ; and to the inquirer, who shall resume this subject fifty years after us, it may be permitted to reduce them to historical order, while we must be contented to appreciate those, which are before our eyes, in a moral and poetical respect. The Slavi, even when first mentioned in history, appear as a singing race. Procopius, relating the surprise of a Slavic camp by the Greeks, states that the former were not aware of the danger, having lulled themselves to sleep by siuging.* Kararnsin, in his history of the Russian Empire, narrates, on the authority of Byzantine writers, that the Greeks being at war with the Avars, about A. D. 590, took prisoners three Slavi, who were sent from the Baltic as ambassadors to the Chan of the Avars. These envoys carried, instead of weap- ons, a kind of guitar. They stated, that, having no iron in their country, they did not know how to manage swords and spears; and described singing and playing on the guitar as one of the principal occupations of their peaceful life.t The gen- eral prevalence of a musical ear and taste among all Slavic na- tives is indeed striking. Where a Slavic woman is, says Schaffarik, there is also song. House and yard, mountain and valley, meadow and forest, garden and vineyard, she fills them all with the sounds of her voice. Often, after a weari- some day spent in heat and sweat, hunger and thirst, she ani- mates, on her way home, the silence of the evening twilight with her melodious songs. What spirit these popular songs breathe, the reader may learn from the collections already pub- lished. Without encountering contradiction, we may say, that among no other nation of Europe is natural poetry extant to such an extent, and in such purity, heartiness, and warmth of feeling, as among the Slavi. 4 Although we recognise in the last sentence the voice of a Slavic enthusiast, we copy the whole of his remarks as per- fectly true ; and would only add, that we do not consider heartiness and warmth of feeling more a characteristic feature of Slavic than of Teutonic popular poetry. As for the * De Bello Gothico, Lib. xii. c. 14. 1 Vol. I. p. 69. t Geschichte der Slavisohen Sprache und Literatur, p. 52. 88 kSlavic Popular Poetry. [July, purity and universality with which popular poetry is preserved among the Slavic nations, we strongly fear that the chief cause of these advantages lies in the harrenness of their literature, and in the utter ignorance of the common people, even of its elements. Before we attempt to carry our reader more deeply into this subject, we must ask him to divest himself as much as possible of his personal and national feelings, views, and preju- dices, and to suffer himself to be transported into a world for- eign to his habitual course of ideas. Human feelings, it is true, are the same everywhere; but we have more of the artificial and factitious in us than we are aware of. And in many cases we hold, that it is not the xvorst part of us ; for we are far from be- longing to the class of advocates of mere nature. The reader, for instance, must not expect to find in all the immense treas- ure of Slavic love-songs, adapted to a variety of situations, a single trace of romance, that beautiftil blossom of Christianity among the Teutonic races. The love expressed in the Slavic songs is the natural, heartfelt, overpowering sensation of the htirnan breast, in all its different shades of tender affection and glowing sensuality ; never elevating, but always natural, al- ways unsophisticated, and much deeper, much purer in the fetnale heart, than in that of man. In their heroic songs, also, the reader must not expect to meet with the chivalry of the more western nations. Weak vestiges of this kind of ex- altation are, with a few exceptions, to be found among those Slavic nations only, who, by frequent intercourse with other races, adopted in J)art their feelings. The gigantic heroism of the Slavic Waywods and Boyars is not the bravery of hon- or ; it is the valor of manly strength, the valor of the heroes of Homer. The Servian hero Marko Kralyewitch was regard- ed by Goethe as the personification of absolute heroism ; but even Marko does not think it beneath him to flee, when he meets one stronger than himself. These are the dictates of nature, which only an artificial point of honor can overcome. But, for the full enjoyment of Slavic popular poetry, we must exact still more from the reader. He must not only di- vest himself of his habitual ideas and views, but he must adopt foreign views and prejudices, in order to understand motives and actions ; for the Oriental races are far from being more in a state of pure nattire than ourselves. He will have to transport himself into a foreign clime, where the East and the 1836.] Slavic Popular Poetry. 89 West, the North and the South blend, in wonderful amalga- mation. The suppleness of Asia and the energy of Europe, the passive fatalism of the Turk and the active religion of the Christian, the revengeful spirit of the oppressed, and the child- like resignation of him who cheerfully submits, all these seeming contradictions find an expressive organ in Slavic pop- ular poetry. Even in respect to his moral feelings, the reader will frequently have to adopt a different standard of right and wrong. Actions, which a Scotch ballad sometimes shields by a seductive excuse, as for instance in the case of Lady Bar- nard and Little Musgrave, xvhere we become half reconciled to the violation of conjugal faith by the tragic end of the transgressors, are detestable crimes in the eyes of the Ser- vian poet. On the other hand, he relates with applause, deeds of vengeance and violence, xvhich all feelings of Chris- tianity teach us to condemn; and even atrocious barbarities, which chill our blood, he narrates with perfect composure. This latter remark refers, in fact, chiefly to the ancient epics of the Servians. Much less of barbarism and wild revenge meets us in their modern productions, namely, the epic poems relating to the war of deliverance in the beginning of the pres- ent century ; although their oppressors had given them ample cause for a merciless retaliation. In the shorter and more lyric songs, of which a rich treasure is the property of most Slavic nations, and in which their common descent is most strikingly manifested, there prevails a still purer morality, and the most tender feelings of the human breast are dis- played. It was on account of this decidedly exotic character of Slavic popular poetry, that, when the Servian popular songs were first published in German, Goethe considered it as an advantage, that the work of translation had fallen into the hands of a lady. Only a female mind, the great poet thought, was capable of the degree of accommodation requisite to clothe the barbarian poems in a dress, in which they could be relish- ed by readers of nations foreign to their genius. Even the love-songs, although of the highest beauty, be thought could only be enjoyed en masse. But this last remark applies in a certain measure to all popular poetry, for these little songs are like the warbling of the wood-birds ; and a single voice would do little justice to the whole. The monotonous chirp- ing of one little feathered singer is tedious or burthensome; VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 12 90 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, while we enjoy their full concert as the sweetest music of nature. One swallow does not make a summer. But the whole blissful sense of nature waking from her wintry sleep comes over you, when you hear the full, mixed chorus of the little songsters of the grove ; and the monotonous cry of the cuckoo seems to belong just as much to the completeness of the concert, as the enchanting solo of the nightingale. If we attempt to characterize Slavic popular poetry as a whole, we have chiefly to consider those shorter songs, which are common to all Slavic tribes, and which alone can be com- pared to the ballads of other nations. For, among the Slavi, only the Servians, including the Dalmatians and Croats, who speak the same language, and indeed among all other mod- em nations they alone, possess long popular epics, of a he- roic character. What of this species of poetry still survives among the first, is only the echo of former times. The endless- ly protracted stone of the Italians are, indeed, often longer than the Servian heroic tales; but in no other respect do they afford a point of comparison with them. The Slavic popular songs have nothing, or very little, of the bold, dramatic character which animates the Scotch, Ger- man, and Scandinavian ballads. Even dialogues occur sel- dom, except in some narrative form; as for instance; To her brother thus the lady answered; or, And the bonay maiden asked her mother. A division into epic and lyric ballads would also be difficult. A considerable l)Ortion, especially of the Russian and Servian songs, begin with a few narrative verses ; although the chief part of the song is purely lyric. These introductory verses are frequently allegorical ; and if we do not always find a con- nexion between them and the tale or song which follows, it is because one singer borrows these introductions from another, and adds an extemporaneous effusion of his own. These little allegories, however, frequently give a complete picture of the subject. They are, also, not always confined to the iritroduc- tion, but spun out through the whole poem. The following Russian elegy on the death of a murdered youth, may illustrate our remarks. We translate as literally as possible. The Russian original, like the translation, has no rhymes; 1836.] ,Slavic Popular Poetry. 91 0 thou field! thou clean and level field! O thou plain, so far and wide around! Level field, dressed up with every thing, Every thing; with sky-blue flowrets small Fresh green grass, and bushes thick with leaves. But defaced by one thing, but by one! For in thy very middle stands a broom, On the broom a young grey eagle sits, And he butchers wild a raven black, Sucks the ravens heart-blood glowing hot, Drenches with it, too, the moistened earth. Ab, black raven, youth so good and brave! Thy destroyer is the eagle grey. Not a swallow t is, that hovering clings, Hovering clings to her warm little nest To the murdered son the mother clings! And her tears fall like the rushing stream, And his sisters like the flowing rill; Like the dew the tears fall of his love: When the sun shines, it dries up the dew. * Servian songs begin also frequently with a series of ques- tions, the answers to which form mostly a very happy intro- duction to the tale. For instance; What s so white upon yon verdant forest? Is it snow, or is it swans assembled? Were it snow, it surely had been melted; Were it swans, long since they had departed. Lo! it is not swans, it is not snow, there, T is the tents of Aga, Hassan Aga, & c.t In Russian songs, on the other hand, a form of expression frequently occurs, which we venture to call a negative antithe- sis. It is less clear than the Servian, but just as peculiar. A preceding question seems to be frequently supposed; as we have also seen in the piece adduced above. It is not a swal * This song is among the few which Russian critics think as ancient as the sixteenth century. See Karamsins History of Russia, Vol. X. p. 264. Bowrings translation. 92 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, low, the poet says, that clings to her nest; it is a mother who clings to her son. In other songs we bear; Not a falcon floateth through the air, Strays a youth along the rivers brim, & c. or, Not a cuckoo in the forest cool doth sing, Not in the gardens sings a nightingale; In the prison dark a brave youth sighs, He sighs and pours out many parting tears. The frequency of standing epithets, characteristic more or less of all popular poetry, is particularly observable among the Slavic nations. The translator will be troubled to find corre- sponding terms ; but whatever he may select, it is essential always to employ the same ; for instance, he must not trans- late the far-extended idea of bjeloi, white, alternately by white, bright, snow y,fair. In Slavic, not only things really white are called so, but every thing laudable and beautiful is called white; as, the white God, i. e., the good God; the white Tzar, i. e. the monarch of white, or great and powerful, Russia. In most cases the poet himself no longer thinks of the signification and original meaning of the word. Yards, walls, bodies, breasts, hands, & c. are invariably white; even the breast and the hand of the tawny Moor. The sea is seldom mentioned with- out the epithet blue; Russian heroes have black hair, but the head of the Servian hero is called J?usja glava, fair-haired, with a reddish shade. Russian youths, together with their steeds, are invariably dobra~, that is, good or brave ; the heart is in the poetry of the same nation retivoe, cheerful, rash, light. The sun is in Servian yar~o, bright ; in Russian kras- nai, which signifies fair and red. Doves are in both languages grey. How much the poets are accustomed to these epithets, and how heedlessly they use them, appears from a Servian tale, called Hayknnas Wedding, a beautiful poem, and even much more elaborated Than is common, where the breasts of a heautiful girl are compared to two grey doves. To remind our readers of the father of popular poetry, Homer, and of the like use by him of stereotype epithets, is unnecessary. The Slavic popular ballads, like the Spanish, very seldom lay any claim to completeness. They do not pretend to give you a whole story, but only a scene. They are, for the most 1836.] Slavic Popular Poetry. 93 part, little pictures of isolated situations, from which it is left to the imagination of the hearers to infer the whole. rrhe narrative part is almost always descriptive, and, as such, emi- nently plastic. If the picture represented has not the dramat- ic vivacity of the ballads of the Teutonic nations, it has the distinctness, the prominent forms, and often the perfection of the best executed has-reliefs of the ancients. Like these, the Slavic poems seldom represent wild passions or complicated actions ; hut, by preference, scenes of rest, and mostly scenes of domestic grief or joy. When we look at the celebrated Greek has-relief which represents an affianced maiden the eve- ning before her wedding, weeping, or bashfully hiding her fair face, while a servant girl washes her feet,* we cannot help be- ing impressed with just the same fe~ings, which seize us when we hear or read one of the numerous Slavic songs devoted to similar scenes. To illustrate our remarks, and to make our readers understand exactly what we call the plastic character of Slavic popular songs, we insert here the following Servian love-scene. We add that it was one of Goethes favorites, worthy, in his opinion, to be compared with the Canticles.f There is a melody in the language of this song, not to be imi- tated in any translation. We confess that Frederic Schlegels definition of architecture, frozen music, occurs to us when we read it in the original. Cross the field a breeze it bore the roses, Bore them far into the tent of Jovo; In the tent were Jovo and Maria, Jovo writing and Maria broidering. Used has Jovo all his ink and paper, Used Maria all her burnished gold-thread. Thus accosted Jovo then Maria; 0 sweet love, my dearest soul, Maria, Tell me, is my soul then dear unto thee? Or my hand findst thou it hard to rest on? Then with gentle voice replied Maria; 0, in faith, my heart and soul, my Jovo, * The piece to which we allude was in the possession of the Cardinal Albani, at Rome; but has since been carried to England. A fine copy in plaster is in the Museum at Paris; from which numerous drawings have been taken, now scattered all over Europe. t Kunst und Alterthum, Vol. II. p. 49. 94 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, Dearer is to me thy soul, 0 dearest, Than my brothers, all the four together. Softer is thy hand to me to rest on, Than four cushions, softest of the soft ones. The high antiquity of Slavic popular poetry is manifest among other things, in the frequent mythological features which occur. In the ballads of the Teutonic nations, we recollect very few instances of talking animals. As to those which talk in nursery tales, we are always sure to discover in them en- chanted princes or princesses. In one Scotch ballad, The Grey Goshawk, a horse speaks ; and, in a few other instan- ces, falcons and nightingales. In Spanish popular poetry we do not meet xvith a single similar example. In the songs of all the Slavic nations, conversing, thinking, sympathizing animals are very common. No one wonders at it. The giant Tugarin Dragonsons steed xvarns him of every danger. The great he- ro Markos horse even weeps, xvhen he feels that the death of his master approaches. Nay, life is breathed even into inani- mate objects by the imagination of Slavic girls and youths. A Servian youth contracts a regular league of friendship and bro- therhood with a bramble-bush, id order to induce it to catch his coy loves clothes, when she flees before his kisses. lEven the stars and planets sympathize with human beings, and live in constant intercourse with them and their affairs. Stars be- come messengers; a proud maiden boasts to he more beautiful than the sun; the sun takes it ill, and is advised to burn her coal- black in revenge. The moon hides herself in the clouds when the great Tzar dies. One of the most interesting Servian tales, called The Heritage, is the fruit of the moon and the morning stars gossipping with each other. It begins thus To the morning star the moon spake chiding; Morning star, say where hast thou been wandering? Where hast thou been wandering and where lingering, Where hast thou three full white days been lingering? To the moon the morning star has answered; I ye been wandering, I ye three days been lingering, Oer the white walls of the fortress Belgrade, Gazing there on strange events and wonders. The events which the star had witnessed, it now proceeds to relate to the moon; and these make the subject of this beau- tiful tale. 1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 95 After having touched upon these general features, did our limits permit, we should speak more at large of those mytho- logical beings of a more distinct character, which belong to the individual Slavic races ; for example, the Vila of the Servians, the Russalki of the Malo-Russians, and the like ; at least so far as this belief is interwoven in their poetry, the only respect in which it concerns us here. But we niust confine ourselves to a few brief remarks. Tue strong and deeply-rooted superstitions of the Slavic nations, are partly mandest in their songs and tales ; they are full of foreboding dreams, and good or bad omens ; witchcraft of various kinds is practised ; and a certain Oriental fatalism seems to direct will and destiny. The connexion with the other world appears nevertheless much looser, than is the case with the Teutonic nations. There is no trace of spirits in Russian ballads ; although spectres appear occasionally in Russian nursery tales. In Servian, Bohemian, and Slovakian songs, it occurs frequently that the voices of the dead sound from their graves ; and thus a kind of soothing intercourse is kept up between the living and the departed. The supersti- tion of a certain sl)ecies of blood-sucking spectres, known to the novel-reading world under the name of vconpyres, a super- stition retained chiefly in Dalmatia, belongs also here. In modern C-reek, such a spectre is called Brukolaca.s, in Servian Wukodlak. We do not however recollect the appearance of a vampyre in any genuine production of modern Greek or Ser- vian poetry. It seems as if the sound sense of the common people had taught them, that this sLtl)erstition is too shocking, too disgtmsting, to be admitted into poetry ; while the over sated palates of the fashionable reading-world ct-ave the strong- est and most stimulating food, and can only he satisfied by the - most powerful excitement. In the whole series of Slavic ballads and songs, which lie before our eyes, we meet with only one instance of the return of a deceased person to this worlrl, in the like gloomy and mysterious way, in which the Christian nations of the North and West are wont to represent such an event. This is in the beautiful Servian tale, (~Jelitza* and her Brothers. As it is too long to be inserted here entire, we must be satisfied with a sketch of it. Jelitza, the beloved sister of nine brothers, is married to a Ban on the other side of the sea. * Pronounced Yet itza. 96 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, She departs reluctantly, and is consoled only by the promise of her brothers to visit her frequently. But the plague of the Lord destroys them all, and Jelitza, unvisited and ap- parently neglected by her brothers, pines away and sighs so bitterly from morning to evening, that the Lord in heaven takes pity on her. He summons two of his angels before him; Hasten down to earth, ye my two angels, ro the white grave, where JovTh lies buried, The lad Jov~n, Jelitzas youngest brother. Into him, my angels, breathe your spirit, Make for him a horse of his white grave-stone, Knead a loaf from the black mould beneath him, And the presents cut out of his grave-shroud. Thus equip him for his promised visit The angels do as they are bidden. Jelitza receives her brother with tielight, and asks of him a thousand questions, to which he gives evasive answers. After three days are past, lie must away ; hut she insists on accompanying him borne. No- thing can deter her. When they come to the church-yard, the lad Jov~ns home, he leaves her under a pretext and goes back into his grave. She waits long, and at last follows him. When she sees the nine fresh graves, a painful presentiment seizes her. She hurries to the house of her mother. When she knocks at the door, the aged mother, half distracted, thinks it is the plague of the Lord, which, after having car- ried off her nine sons, comes for her. The mother and daughter die in each others arms.* This simple and affecting tale affords, then, the only instance, in Slavic popular poetry, of a regular apparition ; hut even here that apparition has, as our readers have seen, a character very different from that of a Scotch or German ghost. The same ballad exists also in modern Greek ; although in a shape perhaps not equal in power and beauty to the Servian. ~ * The whole of this tale is translated in Bowrings little volume of Servian Popular Poetry. The Creek ballad is entitled The Journey by Night, and begins thus; 1IKILIVS1X, 118 TOV4 ~V511X LYOV VtOV~, ~1L1~ /18 TflV /AUX Coy 0 mother, thou, with thy nine sons, and with thine only daughter. A Russian ballad also begins very similarly; At Kiev, in that famous town, Resided a rich wido~v Nine sons the widow of Kiev had, The tenth was a daughter dear. The story however is essentially different. 1836.] Slavic Popular Poetry. 97 But the very circumstance that its subject is so isolated among the Slavic nations, who are so ready to seize other poetical ideas and to mould them in various xvays, leads us to bclicve, that the Servian poet must have heard somehow or other the Greek ballad, or a similar one ; and that the subject of the Servian ballad, althou 0h this is familiar to all classes, was originally a stranger in Servia. Nowhere indeed, in the whole range of Slavic popular poetry, do we meet ~vith that mysterious gloom, with those enigmatical contradictions, which are peculiar to the world of spirits of the Teutonic north, and which xve think find their best explanation in the antithesis between the principles of Christianity, and the ruins of paganism on which it was built. It is true, that, wherever Christianity has been carried, simni lar contradictions must have necessarily taken place; but the mind of the Slavic nations, so far as it is manifest in their poetry, seems never to l]ave been perplexed by these contra- dictions. History shows, that the Slavic nations, xvith the exception of those tribes, who were excited to headstrong opposition by the cruelty and imprudence of their German converters, received Christianity with childlike submission in most cases principally because their superiors adopted it. Wiadimir the Great, to whom the Gospel and the Koran were oTered at the same time, was long undecided which to choose, aid was at last induced to embrace the former, because his Russians could not live without the pleasure of drinking. ~ The wooden idols, it is true, were solemnly destroyed ; but numerous fragments of their altars were suffered to remain undisturbed at the foot of the cross ; and the passion-flower grexv up in the midst of the wild broom, the branches of which, tied together, the Tsbuvasb considers, even at the present day, as his tutelary spirit or Erich. ~ No struggle seems ever to have taken place, to reconcile these contradic- tory elements ; while the more pl)i10501)hical spirit of the Teutonic nations and their genius for meditation and reflection, VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 13 * This remarkable fact is mentioned by all Russian historians, on the good authority of the ancient annalist Nestor. The Tshuvashes have a Penate, which they call Erich. This Erich is nothing but a bundle of broom, cy/isus, tied together in the middle with the inner bark of the linden. It consists of fifteen branches of equal size, 98 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, could not be so easily satisfied. The character of the world of spirits is the reflex of this struggle. The foggy veil which covers their forms, the mysterious riddles in which their exis- tence is xxrappad, the anxious pensixTeness WI)icll forms a part of their character, all are the results of these fruitless and mostly unconscious endeavours to amalgamate opposing ele- ments. We cannot approach the region of their mysterious existence without an awful shuddering ; xvhile the few fairies, which Slavic poetry and superstition present us, strike us by the distinctness and freshness of their forms, and give us the unmmgled impression either of the ludicrous or of the wild and fantastic. It remains to speak of the moral character of Slavic popu- lar poetry. If, in respect to its decency, we may judge from, the printed collections, we must he struck with the purity of manners among the Slavic nations, and the unpollutedness of their imagination. Hacquet, speaking of the Sloveuzi or Vindes, tl)e Slavic inhabitants of Carniola, states that the songs with which they accompany their (lances are often in(leeent. * But there is little dependence to be placed on judgments of this description. Sometimes expressions and ideas are rashly call- ed indecent, which only differ from the conventional forms of decency without really violating its laws. Ilacquet moreover only half understood tl]ose songs of the Sloveuzi. We will at least not condemn them xvithiout having seen them. Among the Russian songs, there are some of a certain wanton and equivocal character, displaying xvith perfect naYvet~ a scarcely half-veiled sensuality. The boldness, with which these songs are sung in chorus by young peasant women, has often ex- cited the astonishment of foreigners. The number of bal- lads of this description is, however, as far as we are informed, not considerable ; and the character of Russian love-ballads in general is pure and chaste. As for the Servians, they about four feet long; above is a piece of tin attached to it. Each house has such an Erich, ~vliich usually stands in a corner of the entry. Nobody ventures to touch it. When it becomes dry, a new Erich is tied together, and the old one placed in running water with great reverence. See Stimmen des Russ. Voiks, von P. v. Goetze, Stuttg. 1828, page 17.The Tshuvashes, however, are not a Slavic, hut a Finnish race, living under the Russian dominion. * Dobrovskys Slavin, 1834, page 113. 1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 99 have in fact a great multitude of songs of a very marked levity and frivolity ; and Goethe, when these first appeared in the German version of Gerhardt, could not help finding it remarkable, that two nations, one half-barbarous, the other the most practised of all, (die durchgei~bteste, meaning the French) should meet together on the step of frivolous lyric poetry. * But these Servian songs are pure in corn- parison with many Grub-Street ballads and German Zoten- lieder. The spirit of roguery and joviality, which prevails in them all, proves that they are more the overfiowings of wild and unrestrained youth, than the fruits of dissoluteness of man- ners. They are often coarse, but never vulgar; they are indelicate, but they are not impudent. At any rate, we never meet in them that confounding of virtuous and vicious feelings, which has so often struck us painfully even in the best Scotch and German ballads. We refer the reader here to our pre- vious remarks on the measure of right and wrong to be applied in our judgment of nations, foreign to us in habits and 1)ursuits. The heroes of the Servian epics are always represented as virtuous, often to harshness. Marko Kralyewitch is always ready to punish young women for any trespass against female modesty, by severing their heads from their shoulders ; and even to his own bride, when he thinks her too obliging towards himself, he applies the most ignominious names, and threatens her with the sword. Love and heroism, the principal subjects of all poetry, are also the most popular among the Slavi. But one of the pecu- liarities of their poetry is, that these two subjects are kept apart more than among other nations. While in the exploits of the Spanish heroes, which the popular Romances celebrate, love is so interwoven with heroism, and heroism with love, that we are not able to separate this two-fold exaltation of a generous mind, love is almost excluded from the heroic poems of the Slavi ; or at least admitted only about in the same degree as in the epics of the ancients. It is seldom, if ever, the motive of the heros actions. We need then add nothing more, to describe the character of Slavic heroism. It is never animated by romantic love ; althon bh sometimes, in the more modern epics of the Servians, by romantic honor. * Werke, Ausgabe letzter Hand, Vol. XLVI. p. 332. 100 ~Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, In one of the modern Servian tales, perhaps about a century old, which describes a duel between a Dalmatian Servian and a Turk a scene of the most perfect chivalry occurs. The young Dalmatian captain, Vuk Jerinitch, having just reached manhood, inquires of the older captains, which of the Turks had most injured their country during the last invasion, while he was a cl)Ild. The old captains name to him Zukan, the Turk- ish standard-bearer. Vuk consequently challenges him, pro- posing at the same time, in true Oriental character, that, himself having a beautiful sister and the Turk a wife of equal beauty, both shall belong to the victor. Zukan of course accepts tl]e challenge. Their meeting is in the best chivalric style they demand of each other no pledge or oath of faith, but meet in Vuks tent with perfect confidence ; they embrace and kiss each other, and make friendly inquiries after each others health. The first hour of their meeting flies away in conviviality, and in admiration of the ladies. At last the desire to gain the Chris- tian girl induces the Turk to interrupt their drinking. But, be- fore they begin the fight, they kiss each other on the cheeks, and forgive each other mutually their blood and death. This scene indeed has a decidedly Oriental costume; but the feelings, from which it results, are produced by as much of romantic exaltation as any Spanish romance could exhibit. Goetze, in the introduction to his German translation of Russian popular ballads, observes ; In the Russian love songs we meet with more softness of feeling then romantic deli- cacy. We do not perceive any marked difference in that respect between the character of Russian and of other Slavic erotic songs; and apply therefore his remark to the whole race. Romantic delicacy we must not, in fact, expect to find but often all the natural delicacy of warm, tender, devoted love ; all the freshness of youthful, unsophisticated feelings all the burning passion of Spanish love, with the same strong tincture of sensuality ; though seldom, very seldom, that depth, that infiniteness of the same feeling, so affectingly ex- pressed in more than one popular ballad of the Scandinavians, Germans, and British, that love which reaches far beyond the grave, and chains souls to each other even in different worlds. Russian lovers, who are compelled by circumstances to leave their mistresses, give frequently the following or similar advice Weep nct, weep not, 0 sweet maid! Choose, 0 choose another love! 1836.] kSlavic Popular Poetry. 101 Is lie better, thou it forget me Is he worse, thou it think of me, Think of rue, s~veet soul, and weep ! Love, among the Sla vi, mnre than among any other Chris- tian race, seems to be a drectnr of youth. Amonb unmarried persons of both sexes, free and easy intercourse is kept up. But nothing can favor less a free and lasting affection, than the national mode of contracting marriages. Among those Slavic nations, who have lived long in connexion with the Teutonic races, the national manners have of course partly changed in this respect, as in others ; especially amon~ the higher class- es. But among the Se rvians, the old Asiatic custom, accord- ing to which a marriage is agreed on by the parents of the parties, often without these knowing each other, is kept up in its fullest extent ; and, even among all Slavic nations, strong traces of this custom are still left. Affianced Slavic girls often do not see their intended husbands before the wedding- day. Thus a girl, even in attaching herself to a youth, must early familiarize herself with the thought, that the time may come when she will have to take hack her heart at her parents bidding. Illegitimate love is rare ; and is considered as the highest crime. Of the Russian popular songs, no small portion describe lovers taking leave of each other, because the youth or the maid must marry another ; in another considera- ble portion, young married women are represented lamenting their miserable fate. The following popular ballad will afford the reader a characteristic specimen of the whole tenderness of such a Russian partine scene. THE FAREWELL. Brightly shining sank the waning moon, And the sun all heautifid arose Not a falcon floated through the air, Strayed a youth along the rivers brim. Slowly strayed he on and (lrealrmitvflv Si~hiu~ looked unto the ~ardeu grecu, Heart all filled with sorrow museri he so All the little birds are now awake, All, embracing with their little wings, Greeting, all have sung their mornmn~ songs. But, alas! that sweetest doveling mine, ,Slavic Popular Poetry. 102 [July, She who was my youths first dawning love, In her chamber slumbers fast and deep. Ah! not even her friend is in her dreams, Ah! no thought of me bedims her soul, XVhile my heart is torn with wildest grieg That she comes to meet me here no more. Stepped the maiden from her chamber then Wet, 0! wet with tears her lovely face, All with sadness dun med her eyes so clear, Feebly drooping hung her snowy arms. was no arrow that had pierced her heart, T was no adder that had stung her so; Weeping, thus the lovely maid began: Fare thee well, beloved, fare thee well, Dearest soul, thy fathers dearest son I have been betrothed since yesterday; Come, to-morrow, troops of wedding-guests; To the altar, I, perforce, must go! I shall be anothers then; and yet Thine, thine only, thine alone till death. But the warm and tender hearts of the Slavic women, nevertheless, find means to satisfy that natural want of the fe- male breast, to pour out on certain objects the whole blessing of love. Family connexions are among no other race regard- ed as so holy, the ties of relationship are nowhere so cher- ished, as aikiong the Slavi. Maternal tenderness is the subject of very many songs ; and is set by comparisons in the most shining light. In the Russian ballad above adduced,* we have seen how slightly the poet thinks of the love of the wife her tears are dried up by the sun, like the morning dew while the mothers tears gush out incessantly like the waters of the mountain stream. In a Servian ballad, a youth wounds his hand. The Vila, a malicious mountain-nymph, offers to cure him. But she exacts a high price, from his mother, her right hand, from his sister, her hair, and from his wife her necklace of pearls. The mother willingly gives her right hand, and the sister her hair, but the wife refuses the necklace. The love of a mother is often described by the image of swal- lows, clinging to their own warm nest; or of tender doves, * Page 91. 1836.1 Slavic Popular Poetry. 103 bereft of their young ones. The rights of a mother are re- spected with true filial piety, even by the barbarian hero Mar- ko, who never fails to pay his aged mother filial respect. More remarkable, hoxvever, in Slavic popular poetry, is the peculiar relation of the sister to the brother. This re- mark holds especially good of Servia. Sisters cling to their brothers with a peculiar warmth of feeling. These are their natural protectors, their supporters. They swear by the head of their brothers. To have no brother is a misfortune, almost a disgrace. A mourning female is represented in all Slavic poetry under the constant image of a cuckoo, and the cuckoo, according to the Servian legend, was a sister who had lost her brother. Numerous little songs illustrate the great importance which a Servian girl attaches to the possession of a brother. Those who have none, think even of artificial means for pro- curing one. This is exhibited in a pretty little ballad, where two sisters, who have no brother, make one out of white and pink silk, wound around a stick of box-xvood ; and, after put- ting in two brilliant black stones as eyes, txvo leeches as eye- brows, and two rows of pearls as teeth, put honey in his mouth, and entreat him to eat and to speak. In another ballad, of a more serious description, Georges young wife loses at once in hattie her husband, her brideman (parartym- phos, in Servia a females legitimate friend through life), and her brother. The gradations of the poetess in her de- scription of the widows mourning are very characteristic, and give no high idea of conjugal attachments in Servia. For her husband, she has cut her hair; For her brideman she has torn her face; For her brother she has plucked her eyes out. Hair she cut, her hair will ~roxv again Face she tore, her face will heal again But the eyes, they 11 never heal again, Nor the heart, which bleedeth for the brother. After having thus attempted to point out to the reader what we consider as the general characteristic features of Slavic popular poetry, we proceed to add a few remarks on the dis- tinguishing traits of the different nations of the Slavic race individually, so far as our limits permit. The RUSSIANS have very few ballads of high antiquity; and, even in this small number, hardly any have reference to 104 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, the heroic prose tales, which make the delight of the Russian nurseries. By far the lar~ est portion of Russian popular songs is of the erotic kind. According to the best Russian authori- ties, even their oldest bvllads, to judge from the language, can- not be traced further than to the last quarter of the sixteenth century ; and the number even of these is very small. Most of those now current among the people are derived from the beginning or the middle of the last century. According to Goetze, the reign of Peter the First was very favorable to popular poetry. If we may draw a conclusion from the fre- quency with which modern historical events have given birth to popular ballads, one must suppose that many ancient ones are lost. The victories of Peter the First are celebrated in many popular ballads, some of which arc of no inconsiderable merit. The French invasion, also, of 1812, which aroused the Rus- sian nation so ~)owerfully, gave rise to not a few patriotic songs, of many of which the authors were peasants and com- mon soldiers. There are, however, various indications, which seem to justify the belief, that several of the Russian ballads still cur- rent among the people are, in fact, more ancient than they ap- pear, or perhaps even than they actually are in their present shape. We have not room here to dwell on this subject. We remark only, that from one circumstance alone we may draw the safe conclusion, that the Russians have ever been a siu~iug race. We allude to their custom of attaching verses full of allusions and sacred meaning to every festival, nay, to every extraordinary event of human life, and thus of fettering the flying hours xvith the garland chains of poetry and song. They have to this very day their wedding songs, Pentecost and Christmas carols, and various other songs, named after the different occasions on which they are chanted, or the game which they accompany. Although these songs, also, have been modernized in language and form, they seem always to have been regarded xvitb a kind of pious reverence, and ap- pear to have been altered as little as possible. Most of their allusions are, for that reason, unintelligible at the present day. That their ground-work is derived from the age of paganism, is evident from the frequent invocations of heathen deities, and from various allusions to heathen customs. The Russian songs, like the Russian language, have a pe- culiar tenderness and are full of caressing epithets. These 1836.] Russian Popular Poetry. 105 are even frequently applied to inanimate objects. A Rus- sian postilion, in a simple and charming song, calls the tavern, which he never can make up his mind to pass without stopping, his dear little tuother. The words .JJiIatushka, Batushka, kStarinka, which we may venture to give in English by moth- erling, fathcrling, oldling, are in Russian favorite terms of endearment. The posthoys song may stand here as eminent- ly characteristic of the cheerful, child-like, caressing disposi- tion of the nation. It is translated in the measure of the orig- inal, as nearly as it could he imitated in English. THE POSTILION. Tzarish Tavern, thou Our good motherling, So invitingly Standest by the ~vay! Broad highway, that leads Down to Petersburg; Fellows young as I, As they drive along, When they pass thee by, Always will turn in. Ah, thou bright sun-light, Red and bright sun-light, Oer the mountain high, Oer the forest oaks, Warm the youngsters heart, Warm, 0 warm me, sun, And not me alone, But my maiden, too. Ab, thou maiden dear, Fairest, dearest maid, Thou my dearest child, Art so kind and good! Black those brows of thine, Black thy little eyes, And thy lovely face All so round and white; Without painting, white, Without painting, red! To thy girdle rolls Fair and braided hair; And thy voice is soft, Full of gentle talk. VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 14 106 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, Russian lovers are quite inexhaustible in fondling and ca- ressing expressions. My shining moon, my bright sun, my nourisher (Kormiletz), my light, my hope, my white swan, together with all those epithets common to all languages, as, dove, soul, heart, & c., are current terms in Russia. Especial- ly favorable to this affectionate manner of address is the abundance of dirninutives wl]ich the language possesses. Not only little soul, little heart, iDushinka, kSerdzirtka, & c., are favorite expressions of Russian lovers ; but we find even Yagodka, little berry, and Lapushka, little paw, & c. Love is ingenious in inventing new diminutives for the be- loved object. This exquisite tenderness in the Russian love-songs is united with a deep, pensive feeling, which indeed pervades the whole Russian popular poetry. Were we to describe the character of this in one expression, we should call it melancholy-musical. Even the more frivolous and equivocal songs have a tincture of this pensiveness. While the Servian songs of this description are the ebullitions of merry and petu- lant youth, the Russian are frequently not without a spice of sentimentality. Girls are often represented painting the un- happy consequences of their weakness with a very suspicious mixture of penitence and pleasuic ; so that the hearer remains undecided, whether the former or the latter is predominant. In perfect harmony xvith this melancholy is the Russian na- tional music. The expressive sxveetness of the Russian mel- odies, has long been the admiration of those foreign compos- ers, to whom circumstances had made them known. The history of these melodies is just as uncertain as that of the verses ; they seem always to have been united ; no one knows where they came from. In respect to popular tunes and songs, the answer which the Ashantees gave to Mr. Bowditch has often occurred to us ; They were made when the coun- try was made. The Russian tunes are richer and more varied than are popular airs in general. Of most of the songs only the first two verses are set to the melody ; all the follow- ing being repeated in the same tune. But there are some which extend farther. Some of these airs include more than a whole octave in their notes ; while the national melodies of most other nations move in general among a few notes. The following sweet little elegy we translate from a Russian An- nual, the editor of which, Baron Delvig, took it down from the lips of a peasant girl. 1836.1 Russian Popular Poetry. 107 THE FAITHLESS LOVER. Nightingale, 0 nightingale, Nightingale so fill of song, Tell me, tell me, where thou fliest, Where to sing now in the night ? Will another maiden hear thee Like to me, poor me, all night Sleepless, restless, comfortless, Ever full of tears her eyes? Fly, 0 fly, dear nightingale, Over hundred countries fly, Over the hlue sea so far Spy the distant countries througih, Town and village, hill and deli, Whether thou findst any one, Who so sad is, as I am! 0, I bore a necklace once, All of pearls like morning dew; And I hore a finger-ring, With a precious stone thereon; And I bore deep in my heart Love, a love so warm and true. When the sad, sad autumn came, Were the pearls no longer clear; And in winter burst my ring, On my finger, of itself! Ah! and ~vhen the spring came on, Had forgotten me my love. There is one trait in the Russian character, which we recog- nise distinctly in their poetry, namely, their peculiar and al- most Oriental veneration for their sovereign, and a blind sub- mission to his will. There is indeed somewhat of a religious mixture in this feeling ; for the Tzar is not only the sovereign lord of the country and master of their lives, but he is also the head of the orthodox church. The orthodox Tzar is one of his standing epithets. The following ballad, which we consider as one of the most perfect among Russian popular narrative ballads, exhibits very affectingly the coniplete resig- nation with which the Russian meets death, xvhen decreed by his Tzar. In its other features, also, it is throughout natural. Its historical foundation is unknown. Both these are bad omens for a Russian girl. 108 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July CC THE ]3OYAR S EXECUTION. Thou, my head, alas! my head, Long hast served me, and well, my head; Full three and thirty summers long; Ever astride of my gallant steed, Never my foot from its stirrup drawn. But alas! thou hast gained, my head, Nothing of joy or other good; Nothing of honors or even thanks. Yonder along the Butchers street, Out to the fields through the Butchers gate,* They are leading a prince and peer. Priests and deacons are walking before, In their hands a great hook open; Then there follows a soldier troop With their drawn sabres flashing bright. At his right, the headsman goes, Holds in his hand the keen-edged sword; At his left, goes his sister dear, And she weeps as the torrent pours, Loud she sobs as the fountains gush. Comforting speaks her brother to her: Weep not, weep not, my sister dear! Weep not a~vay thy eyes so clear, Dim not, 0 dim not thy face so fair, Make not heavy thy joyous heart! Say, for what is it thou weepest so? Is t for my goods, my inheritance? Is t for my lands, so rich and wide? Is t for my silver, or is t for my gold ? Or dost thou weep for my life alone? Ah, thou, my light, my brother dear, Not for thy goods or inheritance, Not for thy lands, so rich and wide, Is t that my eyes are weeping so; Not for thy silver and not for thy gold, T is for thy life, I am weeping so. Ah, thou, my light, my sister sweet! Thou mayest weep, but it wont avail; Names of the strect and gate in Moscow, through which formerly criminals were led to execution. 1836.1 Russian Popular Poetry. 109 Thou mayest beg, but t is all in vain; Pray to the Tzar, hut he will not yield. Merciful truly was God to me, Truly gracious to me the Tzar, So he commanded my traitor head Off should be hewn from my shoulders strong. Now the scaffold the prince ascends, Calmly mounts to the place of death; Prays to his Great Redeemer there, Humbly salutes the crowd around; Farewell world, and thou people of God; Pray for my sins that burden me sore! Scarce had the people ventured then On him to look, when his traitor head Off was hewn from his shoulders strong. * Different dialects are spoken and different ballads are sung by the population of LITTLE or MALO RussIA, and those western Polish-Russian Provinces called WHITE RUSSIA. The of the former extends itself, with slightly varying provincial deviations, to the Russniaks in Galicia and Hungary, who sing also the same songs. These songs have likewise become familiar to the Polish population of the same region. The White-Russian dialect is strongly tinctured with Polish but not so much so but that it would be understood without difficulty both by the Malo-Russian and by the Russian proper. The elegiac character common to all the Russian songs, is still more predominant in the popular lays of the Malo and White Russians ; the historical foundation of the Rus- sian ballads is wanting, and the musical element is exclu- sively prevalent. Nay, the pensiveness of the southern songs becomes in the more northern ditties almost a melancholy gloom. We give here one of the few narrative ballads cur- rent among the Malo-Russians. It is interesting on account of the peculiar popular superstition it exhibits. The Leshes are a kind of Satyrs ; covered like them with hair, and of a peculiarly malicious nature. They steal children and women * Buinayn golowushka, that is, the fierce, rebellions, impetuous head, and mogutshiya p!etsha, or strong shoulders, are standing expressions in Rus- sia, in reference to a young hero; the former especially when there is allusion to some traitorous action. 110 ~Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, and their approach, operating to benumb the senses, is always fatal. In the present instance, however, we may conjecture that the brandy, the wine, and the mend, had some prepar- atory influence. SIR SAVA AND THE LESHES. With the Lord at Nemirov Sir Sava dined so gladly; Nor thought he that his life Would end so soon and sadly. Sir Sava he rode home To his o~vn court with speed; And plenty of good oats He bids to give his steed. Sir Sava behind his table To write with care begun His young wife she is rocking In the cradle her infant son. Holla ! my lad, brisk butler, Bring now the brandy to me; My well-beloved lady, This glass I drink to thee. Holla, my lad, brisk butler, Now bring me the clear wine; This glass and this, I drink it To this dear son of mine. Holla, my lad, brisk butler, Now bring me the rriead so fast; My head aches sore; I fear Ive rode and drunk my last! Who knocks, who storms so fiercely? Sir Sava looks up to know; The Lesbes stand before him, And quick accost him so; We how to thee, Sir Sava, How farst thou, tell us now! To thy guests from the Ukraina, What welcome biddest thou U What could I bid you, brethren, To-day in welcomes stead? Well know I, ye are come To take my poor sick head. 1836.] Servictn Popular Poetry. 111 And tell us first, Sir Sava Where are thy daughters fair? They are stolen hy the Leshes, And wash their linen there. Now to the fight he ready! Sir Sava meet thy lot Thy head is lost! one moment, Death meets thee on the spot. The sabre whizzes through the air Like wild hees in the wood; The young wife of Sir Sava By him a widow stood. The following little elegy in the White-Russian dialect, we have always considered as one of the gems of poetry. It is a sigh of deep, mourning, everlasting love. THE DEAD LOVE. White art thou, my maiden, Canst not whiter he! Warm my love is, maiden, Cannot warmer be! But when dead my maiden, White was she still more And, poor lad, I love her, Warmer than before. Of far greater importance, in respect to our subject, are the SERviANs ; although we may suppose, that the majority of our readers know little more about this nation, than what they have occasionally learned from a newspaper paragraph. We regret the more, that our limits do not permit us to speak of their present situation and their past history ; and it is our sincere desire, that the few words for which we here have room, devoted exclusively to their poetical char- acter, may excite the readers curiosity sufficiently to prompt him to seek elsewhere for further information. With nations as with individuals, poetry is to the greater part at most a holyday pleasure, which has little to do with the reality of every-day employments. The poetry of the Servians, however, is most intimately interwoven in their daily life. It is the picture of their thoughts, feelings, actions, and sufferings; it is the mental reproduction of the respective conditions of 112 Slavic Populctr Poetry. [July, tl)e mass of individuals, who compose the nation. The hall where the women sit spinning around the fireside ; the mountains on which the boys pasture their flocks ; the square where the village youth assemb~e to dance the kolo ; the plains where the harvest is reaped ; the forests through which the lonely traveller journeys, all resound with song. Song accompanies all kinds of business, and frequently re- lates to it. The Servian lives his poetry. The Servians are accustomed to divide their songs into two great portions. Short compositions in various measures, either lyric or epic, and sung without instrumental accompani- ment, they call sheaske pjesne, or female songs, because they are mostly made by females. The other portion, consisting of long epic tales in verses of five regular trochaic feet, and chanted to the Gusl~, a simple instrument xvith one chord, they call Yu- natchke pjesne that is, heroic or young mens songs. The first are, in a very high degree, of a domestic character. They accompany us through all the different relations of domestic life ; as well through its daily occupations, as through the holidays and festivals which interrupt its ordinary course. Much has been said and more could be said in praise of these harmonious effusions of a tender, fresh, and unsophis- ticated feeling ; but, as xve have already dwelt at large upon their general character, we must be satisfied here ~vit1i adding only that which distinguishes Servian lays from other Slavic songs. And this distinction we find principally in the cheerful- ness, which is the fundamental element of Servian poetry, a serenity clear and transparent like the bright blue of a southern sky. The allusions to the misfortunes of married life alone, gathet sometimes in heavy clouds on this beauti- ful sky. The fear of being chained to an old man, or of a grim mother-in-laxv, or the quarrelling of the sisters-in-law, or the increasing cares of the household~ for, in the true patriarchal style, married sons remain in the house of the parents, and all make together only one family, - all these circumstances disturb sometimes the inexhaustible serenity of the Servian women, and call forth gentle lamentations, or per- haps still oftener horrible imprecations, from their humble breasts. Indeed the songs not made for particular occasions also bear strongly and distinctly the stamp of domestic life, and are full of allusions to family relations. Love is also 1836.1 Servian Popular Poetry. 113 here the grand and prevailing theme. To judge from these songs, Servian girls and youths keep up a frequent and ten- der intercourse with each other. The youth bears carefully in memory the hour when the girls go to fetch water ; and the frequent festivities, where the dance is not permitted to fail, give the best opportunity for mutual intercourse. Fur- ther to the south and between the mountains, the customs are more strict, and love-songs are less frequent. The reader has already seen a beautiful specimen of Ser- vian song above. We subjoin a few short ballads more~ just as they happen to come to hand. RENDEZVOUS. Sweetheart, come, and let us kiss each other! But, 0 tell rue, where shall be our meeting? In thy garden, love, or in my garden? Under thine or under mine own rose-trees ~ Thou, sweet soul, become thyself a rose-bud; I then to a butterfly will change rae Fluttering I will drop upon the rose-bud Folks will think I in hanging on a flower, While a lovely maiden I am kissing! ST. GEORGES DAY. To St. Georges day the maiden prayed; Comst thou again, 0 dear St. Georges day! Find me not here, by my mother dear, Or be it wed, or be it dead! But rather than dead, I would be wed! ~ UNION IN DEATH. Two young lovers loved each other fondly, And they washed them at the self-same water, And they dried them with the self-same napkin. One year passed, their love was known by no one; Two years passed, and all the world did know it, And the father heard it and the mother; And their love the mother would not suffer, But she parted the two tender lovers. Through a star the youth sent to the maiden; Die, 0 love, on Saturday at evening, * Servian popular poetry has properly no rhymes; but wherever a rhyme occasionally occurs, it appears to be welcome; so in this little piece, which is faithfully conformed to the original. VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 15 114 ~Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, I, thy youth, will die on Sunday morning. And they did as they had told each other; Died the maiden Saturday at evening, Died the youth on Sunday morning early; Close together were the two then buried; Through the earth their hands were clasped together; In their hands were placed two young green apples. Little time had passed since they were buried; Oer the youth sprang up a verdant pine-tree, Oer the maid a bush with sweet red roses, Round the pine-tree winds itself the rose-bush, As the silk around a bunch of flowers. Objects of still higher admiration the Servians afford us in their heroic poems. Indeed, what epic pol)ular poetry is, how it is produced and propagated, what powers of invention it naturally exhibits, powers which no art can command, we may learn from this multitude of simple legends and com- plicated fables. The Servians stand, in this respect, quite isolated ; there is no modern nation, that can be compared to them in epic productiveness ; and a new light seems to be thrown over the grand compositions of the ancients. Thus, without presumption, we may pronounce the publication of these poems one of the most remarkable literary events of modern times. The general character of the Servian tales is the objective and the plastic. The poet, in most cases, is in a remarkable degree above his subject. He paints his pictures, not in glow- ing colors, but in distinct, prominent features ; no explanation is necessary to interpret what the reader thinks lie sees with his own eyes. If we compare the Servian epics with those, which other Slavic nations formerly possessed, we find them greatly superior. In the Russian Igor, the whole narrative is exceedingly indistinct; you may read the whole of it five times, without being able clearly to follow out the coinposi- tion. Not a single character stands in relief. The mode of representation has more of the lyric than of the epic. The ancient Bohemian poems have more distinctness and freshness. No obscurity disturbs us. But the passions of the poet break forth so often, as to give the whole narration something of the subjective character; while the Servian, even when repre- senting his countrymen in combat with their mortal enemies and oppressors, displays about the same partiality for the former, as Homer for his Greeks. 1836.] Servian Popular Poetry. 115 The introductions, not only to the tales themselves, but even to new situations, are frequently allegorical. A distinct image is placed before the eyes at once. A tale, describing a famous sanguinary deed of revenge, commences thus What s that cry of anguish from Banyani? ~ Is t the Vila? is t the hateful serpent? Were t the Vila, she were on the summit; Were t the serpent, it were neath the mountain; Not the Vila is it, nor a serpent Shrieked in anguish thus Perovich Batrich In the hands of Osman, son of Tchorov. t Ravens are the messengers of unhappy news. The battle of Mishar begins with the following verses Flying came a pair of coal-black ravens Far away from the broad field of Mishar, Far from Shabatz, from the high white fortress; Bloody were their beaks unto the eyelids, Bloody were their talons to the ankles; And they flew along the fertile Matshva, Waded quickly through the billowy Drina, Journeyed onward through the honored Bosnia, Lighting down upon the hateful border, Midst within the accursed town of Vakup, On the dwelling of the Captain Kuhn; Lighting down and croaking as they lighted. Three or four poems, of which courtships or weddings are the subjects, begin with a description of the beauty of the girl. Especially rich and complete is the following Never since the world had its beginning, Never did a lovelier floweret blossom, Than the floweret in our own days blooming; Ilaikuna, the lovely maiden flower. She was lovely, nothing eer was lovelier! She was tall and slender as the pine-tree; White her cheeks, but tinged with rosy blushes As if mornings beam had shone upon them, Till that beam had reached its high meridian. And her eyes, they were two precious jewels, And her eyebrows, leeches from the ocean; * A mountainous region in the vicinity of Montenegro. See the similar beginning of Hassan Aga, above, page 91. 116 kSktvie Popular Poetry. [July, And her eyelids, they were wings of swallows; And her flaxen braids xvere silken tassels; And her sweet mouth was a sugar casket; And her teeth were pearls arrayed in order; White her bosom, like two snowy dovelets, And her voice was like the dovelets cooing; And her smiles were like the glowing sunshine; And the fame, the story of her beauty Spread through Bosnia and through Herzgovina. We should never end, if we continued thus to extract all the beautiful and striking passages from the Servian popular lyrics ; although their chief merit by no means consists in beautiful passages, but, in most cases, in the composition of the whole, and in the distinct, graphic, and plastic mode of representation. In respect to their style, we add only a single remark. Slavic popular poetry in general has none of the vulgarisms, which, in many cases, deface the popular ballads of the Teutonic nations. Yet dignity of style cannot be ex- pected in any popular production. Tlnse whose feelings, from want of acquaintance with the poetry of nature, are apt to be hurt by certain undignified expressions interspersed un- consciously sometimes in the most beautiful descriptions, will not escape unpleasant impressions in reading the Servian songs. The pictures are always fresh, tangible, and striking ; but, although not seldom the effects of the sublime, and of the deepest tragic pathos, are obtained by a perfect simplicity, nothing could be more foreign to them than the dignified state- liness and scrupulous refinement of the French stage. The author of the JVarodrte Serpske pjesme, which is named first at the head of our article, is the true discoverer of this mine of beauty ; of which, before his time, only slight glimpses had been allowed to a few of the initiated; nay, the very existence of which was, some ten or twelve years since, un- known to the literary world. In this fourth volume he adds to the eighty or ninety epic tales already published, not less than forty-four others~ ancient and modern, now for the first time written down. In the Preface, he gives very valuable information as to the origin of these poems, their authors, and the usual mode of chanting and reciting them. The nations of the Western Slavic stock, which chiefly require our consideration, are the BoIIEMIANs, the SLOvAKS, and the POLES. The last have hitherto neglected their 1836.1 Polish and Slovac Poetry. 117 popular poetry. They have no ancient ballads of importance; but the many little songs, which are probably scattered among the peasantry of Great Poland and traditionally propagated, have never yet been collected. The Russian-Polish popula- tion of Galicia aud of Lithuania, two distinct races, sing a great deal, and in a language almost as nearly approaching the Polish as the Russian ; but they belong to the Eastern stock, and their songs are comprised under those of the White and Malo Russians. Lest our readers should be discontented at missing a specimen of genuine Polish popular poetry, we sub- join the following little song, which exists also in Bohemian. In a green grove Sat a loving pair; Fell a bnu~ih from above, Struck them dead there. Happy for them That both died together; So neither ~vas left To mourn for the other. The Slovaks, the Slavic inhabitants of the northwestern districts of Hungary, are considered as the direct descendants of the first Slavic settlers in Europe. Although for nearly a thousand years past they have formed a component part of the Hungarian nation, they have nevertheless preserved their lan- guage and many of their ancient customs. Their literature is not to be separale(l from that of the Bohemians. Their pop- ular effusions are original, althomwh likewise between them and the popular poetry of their Bohemian brethren, a close affinity cannot be denied. Both of these nations are still rich in pretty and artless songs, both pensive and cheerful ; but the original Slavic type is very much effaced from both. The surrounding nations, and above all the Germans, have exer- cised a decided and lasting influence upon them. This is true especially of the Bohemians. Only in the Russian and Servian ballads can tl)e genius of Slavic popular poetry he said still to live in its primitive purity. The reader may jtidge for himself, when we inform him, that the first two of the following ditties were sunb in Bohemia, at least as early as the thirteenth century ; while the third song, and the verses which follow, are still heard, at the present day, from peasant girls in Servia and Russia. 118 Slavic Popular Poetry. [July, ANCIENT BOHEMIAN SONGS. I. 0 my rose, my fair red rose, Why art thou blown out so early? Why, ~vhen blown out, frozen? Why, when frozen, withered? Withered, broken from the stem! Late at night I sat and sat, Sat until the cocks did crow; No one came, although I waited Till the pine-torch all burned low. Then came slumber over me; And I dreamed my golden ring Sudden slipped from my right hand; Down my precious diamond fell. For the ring I looked in vain, For my love I longed in vain! II. 0, ye forests, dark green forests, Miletinish forests! Why in summer and in winter, Are ye green and blooming? 0! I would not weep and cry, Nor torment my heart. But now tell me, good folks, tell me, How should I not cry? Ah! where is my dear good father? Woe! he deep lies buried. Where my mother? 0 good mother! Oer her grows the grass! Brothers have I not, nor sisters, And my lad is gone! SERVIAN SONG. ~ 0 my fountain, so fresh and cool, O my rose, so rosy red! Why art thou blown out so early? None have I to pluck thee for! If I plucked thee for my mother, Ab! poor girl, I have no mother; If I plucked thee for my sister, Gone is my sister with her husband; If I plucked thee for my brother, To the war my brother S gone. 1836.] Bohemian Popular Poetry. 119 If I plucked thee for my lover, Gone is my love so far away! Far away oer three green mountains, Far away oer three cool fountains! PASSAGES OCCURRING IN SEVERAL RUSSIAN BALLADS. I. Last evening I sat, a young maid, I sat till deep in the night, I sat and waited till daybreak, Till all my pine-torch was burnt out. While all my companions slept, I sat and waited for thee, love! II. No good luck to me my dream forebodes; For to me, to me, fair maid, it seemed, On my right hand did my gold ring burst, Oer the floor then rolled the precious stone.~7 We subjoin the following little songs, by way of compari- son ; songs current at the present day among the Bohemians and Slovaks. And first the Bohemian. THE AFFLICTED GIRL. Little star with gloomy shine, If thou couldst but cry! If thou hadst a heart, my star, Sparks would from thee fly, Just as tears fall from mine eye. All the night with golden sparks Thou wouldst for me cry! Since my love intends to wed, Only cause another maid Richer is than I. LIBERAL PAY. Flowing waters meet each other, And the winds, they blow and blow; Sweetheart with her bright blue eyes Stands and looks from her window. Do not stand so at the windo~v, Rather come before the door; If thou givst me two sweet kisses, I will give thee ten and more, 120 Liebers Reminiscences of .Niebuhr. [July, TUE LYING BIRD. What chatters there the little bird, On the oak-tree above? It sings, that every maid in love Looks pale and waii from love. My little bird, thou speakst not true, A lie hast thou nov said; For see, I am a maid in love, And am not pale, but red. Take care, my bird; because thou liest, I now must punish thee; I take this gun, I load this gun, And shoot thee from the tree. The influence of the neighbouring nations is less evident in the popular poetry of the Slovaks. Tile following song of a loving and longing girl is certainly quite original. MAN AND MOON. Ah! if but this evening Would come my lover sweet, With the bright, bright sun Then the moon would meet! Alas! poor girl, this evening Comes not thy lover sweet; And ~vith the bright, bright sun The moon dotli never meet. ART. V. Reminiscences of an Intercourse with .Mr. .Nie- buhr the Historian, during a Residence with him in. Rome, in the Years 1822 and 1823. By FRANCIS LIEBER, Professor of History and Political Economy in South Carolina College. Philadelphia. Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 1835. l2mo. pp. 192. IN the last Number of this journal some account was given of the iirincipal facts in Mr. Niebuhrs life, together with an extended analysis of his great work on Roman History. It may not be uninteresting to the readers of that article to have some notice of Mr. Liehers Reminiscences of the opinions,

120 Liebers Reminiscences of .Niebuhr. [July, TUE LYING BIRD. What chatters there the little bird, On the oak-tree above? It sings, that every maid in love Looks pale and waii from love. My little bird, thou speakst not true, A lie hast thou nov said; For see, I am a maid in love, And am not pale, but red. Take care, my bird; because thou liest, I now must punish thee; I take this gun, I load this gun, And shoot thee from the tree. The influence of the neighbouring nations is less evident in the popular poetry of the Slovaks. Tile following song of a loving and longing girl is certainly quite original. MAN AND MOON. Ah! if but this evening Would come my lover sweet, With the bright, bright sun Then the moon would meet! Alas! poor girl, this evening Comes not thy lover sweet; And ~vith the bright, bright sun The moon dotli never meet. ART. V. Reminiscences of an Intercourse with .Mr. .Nie- buhr the Historian, during a Residence with him in. Rome, in the Years 1822 and 1823. By FRANCIS LIEBER, Professor of History and Political Economy in South Carolina College. Philadelphia. Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 1835. l2mo. pp. 192. IN the last Number of this journal some account was given of the iirincipal facts in Mr. Niebuhrs life, together with an extended analysis of his great work on Roman History. It may not be uninteresting to the readers of that article to have some notice of Mr. Liehers Reminiscences of the opinions, 1836.] Liebers Reminiscences of .Niebuhr. 121 character, and appearance of so remarkable a man, laid before them. The author of this little volume has been well known in the United States, during several years past, for the variety and extent of his attainments, and his indefatigable literary activity. His edition of the Conversations-Lexicon, is a proud monu- ment of learning, enterprise, and industry. His Stranger in America contains a great variety of information on the United States, communicated in a style of uncommon liveliness and piquancy ; and his volume on education, submitted to the trustees of the legacy of the late Mr. Girard for a college in Philadelphia, shows a familiarity with the details of the science of instruction, which justifies the confidence that the govern- ors of South Carolina College have lately reposed in him, in calling him to one of the most important chairs in that insti- tution. These Reminiscences are extremely interesting and in- structive. Thcy carry on their face marks of their entire fidel- ity; and being, as tl)ey are, records of the historians opinions and feelings, expressed in the ease and familiarity of domestic life, they give us more insight into his real character, than could be obtained from many a volume of much higher l)retel)sions. The value of such works does not consist wholly, or even mainly, in the importance of the opinions they record. A great man must he supposed to talk, in his moments of relaxa- tion, ahout subjects which are not above the comprehension of small men ; he probably says many things, xvhich it would not severely task the intellect of a very ordinary personage to utter; and yet these subjects and these sayings, when connect- ed with the daily life of an illustrious man, acquire an interest wholly aside from their intrinsic importance. WI]en, during Dr. Johnsons Highland tour, the sooty blacksmith bounced out of bed for the accommodation of the sage aud his trusty squire, the event was by no means an extraordinary one; yet, when it came to be related afterwards, first in English, and secondly in Johnsonese, it became almost as renowned in liter- ary history as any event in the life of the great lexicographer himself. Indeed it is unreasonable to insist upon a great mans always playing the great mans part. A king cannot always wear his robes of state ; he must have his hours of amuse- ment, when he may chat with his friends, or ride a hobby- horse with his children. And a great author must be allowed VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 16 122 Liebers Reminiscences of JViebuhr. [July, to talk sometimes as freely, as if he had never got into type. His sentences cannot always be rounded with rhetorical ele- gance and precision; his thoughts cannot always be thoroughly reasoned and oracularly delivered ; and it is precisely these exhibitions of his mind, in this unbended state, which are most attractive. We know, from his elaborate works, the grasp and power of his intellect ; the variety and depth of his learning; the purity, elegance, and eloquence of his style. But the minute shades of his intellectual character; the tenderness of his domestic feelings; his whims, prejudices, eccentricities, which all take delight in knowing, we can only know through the medium of correspondence and reminiscences like these before us. But yet the familiar conversation of a great man will display at times his superiority over other men. The conversational talents of the late Sir James Mackintosh and Mr. Coleridge have acquired a well-merited and universal celebrity. Who has not heard of Dr. Johnsons eulogy on Burke, that no man could step under a shed with him of a rainy day, and not find out that he was the greatest man in England ? The scholars daily dis- course will have a tincture of learning, the philosophers con- versation will take a speculative turn, and the poet will adorn his most careless talk with the graces of imagery and sentiment. Somethnes, indeed, the excitement of conversation bet~veen congenial spirits draws out flashes of wit, of poetry, of wisdom, and of eloquence, which surpass in beauty the graver and niore sustained productions of the closet. If these could all be trans- ferred glowing with the warmth of excited feeling, and fresh from the talkers lips, to the printed page, they would form a far more interesting chapter in the history of the human mind, than the cautiously weighed, coolly expressed convictions of private study. But as this can never be wholly done, and not often partially, we must be content with such scattered notices of eminent men as the memory of friends, and the letters of cotemporaries, can furnish. Even Boswells admirable records of Dr. Johnsons conversation extend over a very small por- tion of that great mans life, and his work is incomparably the best, the most minute, and the liveliest book in that branch of literature. But to return to our author. He had an excellent opportu- nity of becoming familiarly acquainted with the moral and in- tellectual character of the great historian. It appears from the 1S36.] Liebers Reminiscences of .Niebuhr. 123 Introduction that Mr. Lieber, animated, in common with many of his young countrymen, by a lively enthusiasm in the cause of struggling Greece, had engaged in her service in 1821. Being disappointed in his hopes, and finding it impossible to remain, he was obliged to return in the following year. He accordingly took passage at Missolunghi, in a vessel bound to Ancona, having only one scudo and a half, after paying his passage. In this almost destitute condition, he was detained some time by quarantine regulations on the coast of Italy. Remembering that a friend of his had devoted himself to the fine arts, he immediately addressed a letter to him in Rome, which was attended to with the promptness and good feeling that are always found among fellow-students. Another diffi- culty was still to be surmounted; when he applied to the police-officer to sign his passport to Rome, he was informed that orders had been received that no passport of a person re- turning from Greece should be signed, except for a journey home. However, he got it signed for Orbitello, a town in Tuscany, in the neighbourhood of Rome. Having succeeded thus far, he, and a Philhellenic friend in pretty much the same condition with himself, hired a vetturino, and made the best of their way to the Eternal City, which they entered without license and without obstruction. Mr. Niebuhr was, at that time, the Prussian Minister at the Papal court; appointed by his liberal-minded monarch for the express purpose of giving him an opportunity to prosecute his historical researches with every advantage that a residence on the spot, and a high di- l)lomatic station, would afford him. Mr. Lieber determined to apply at once to his learned countryman, and to disclose frank- ly his situation, justly thinking that the historian of Rome would not compel him to leave the city, until he had had time to study its antiquities as much as he wished. On his first call, he was unable to see the minister, but was treated with great kindness by the Secretary of Legation, and receiv- ed, through his hands, the documents necessary to a residence in Rome, and funds to meet his immediate wants. The next day he renewed his call at the appointed hour, and received an invitation to dine with the Ambassador, the account of which, from its frankness and honesty, is at once amusing and touching. ~C When I went the next morning at the appointed time, as I thought, Mr. Niebuhr met me on the stairs, being on the point 124 Liebers Reminiscences of ~Niebuhr. [July, of going out. He received me with kindness and affability, re- turned with me to his room, made me relate my whole story, and appeared much pleased that I could give him some informa- tion respecting Greece, which seemed to be not void of interest to him. Our conversation lasted several hours, when he broke off, asking me to return to dinner. 1 hesitated in accepting the invitation, which he seemed unable to understand. He probably thought that a person in my situation ought to be glad to receive an invitation of this kind; and, in fact, any one might feel gratified in being asked to dine with him, especially in Rome. When I saw that my motive for declining so flattering an invita- tion was not understood, I said, throwing a glance at my dress, Really, Sir, I am not in a state to dine with an Excellency. He stamped with his foot, and said with some animation) Are diplomatists always believed to be so cold-hearted! I am the same that I was in Berlin, when I delivered my lectures: your rein ark was wrong. * No argument could be urged against such reasons. I recollect that dinner ~vith delight. His conversation, abounding in rich and various knowledge and striking observa- tions; his great kindness; the acquaintance I made with Mrs. Niebuhr; his lovely children, who were so beautiful, that when, at a later period, I used to walk with them, the women would exclaim, iL-i guardate, guardate, cite angeli! a good din- ner (which I had not enjoyed for a long time) in a high vaulted room, the ceilino of which was painted in the style of Italian palaces; a picture by the mild Francia close by; the sound of the murmuring fountain in the garden, and the refreshing bever- ages in coolers, which I had seen, but the day before, represent- ed in some of the most masterly pictures of the Italian schools; in short, my consciousness of being at dinner with Niebuhr in his house in Rome, and all this in so bold relief to my late and not unfrequently disgusting sufferings, would have rendered the moment one of almost perfect enjoyment and happiness, had it not been for an annoyance, xvhich, I have no (loubt, will ap- pear here a mere trifle. However, reality often widely differs from its description on paper. Objects of great effect for the moment become light as air, and others, shadows and vapors in reality, swell into matters of weighty consideration when sub- jected to the recording pen; a truth, by the way, which ap- plies to our daily life, as ~vell as to transactions of powerful effect; amid it is, therefore, the sifting tact which constitutes one of the most necessary, yet difficult requisites for a sound historian. ~ Des war Kicinlicis, were his words.~ 1836.] Liebers Reminiscences of .JVietuhr. 125 My dress consisted as yet of nothing better than a pair of unbiacked shoes, such as are not unfrequently worn in the Le- vant; a pair of socks of coarse Greek wool; the brownish pan- taloons frequently worn by sea-captains in the Mediterranean; and a bloc frock-coat, through which two halls had passed, a fate to ~vhich the blue cloth cap had likewise been exposed. The socks were exceedingly short, hardly covering my andes, and so indeed were the pantaloons; so that, when I was in a sitting position, they refused me the charity of meeting, with an obstinacy xvhich reminded me of the irreconcilable temper of the t~vo brothers in Schillers Bride of Messina. There happen- ed to dine with Mr. Neibuhr another lady 1)esides Mrs. Niebuhr; and my embarrassment was not small ~vhen, towards the conclu- sion of the dinner, the children rose and played about the ground, and I saw my poor extremities exposed to all the frank remarks of quick-sighted childhood; fearing as I did, at the same time, the still more trying moments after dinner, when I should be obliged to take coffee near the ladies, unprotected by the kindly shelter of the table. Mr. Niebuhr observed, perhaps, that something embarrassed me, and he redoubled, if possible, his kindness. After dinner he proposed a walk, and asked the ladies to accompany us. I pitied them; but as a gentleman of their ac- quaintance had dropped in by this time, who gladly accepted the offer to walk with us, they were spared the mortification of taking my arm. Mr. Niebuhr, probably remembering what I had said of my own appearance in the morning, put his arm under mine, and thus walked with me for a long time. After our re- turn, when I intended to take leave, he asked me whether I wished for any thing. I said I should like to borrow his History. lie had but one copy to which he had added notes, and which he did not wish, therefore, to lend out of his hou~e~ but he said he would get a copy for me. As to his other books, he gave me the key of his library to take whatever I liked. He laughed when I returned laden with books, and dismissed me in the kindest manner.pp. 2731. A few days after this incident, Mr. Lieber was invited to be- come an inmate in Mr. Niebuhrs house, and to undertake the instruction of his son, in which situation he remained, until Mr. Niebuhr returned to Prussia. After Mr. Liebers sep- aration from the family of the historian, he kept up a friendly correspondence with him until the time of Mr. Niebuhrs la- mented death, in 1831. Large extracts from Niebuhrs let- ters are given in the remainiug portion of the introduction, 126 Liebers Reminiscences of .Niebulir. [July, which show their authors character in a most favorable point of view. A judgment acute, discriminating, and cool, blend- ed with feelings of the heart as pure and simple as those of childhood itself, is apparent on every page of them. The following is Mr. Liebers description of the personal appear- ance and some of the peculiarities of his friend. Mr. Niehuhr was small in stature, and thin his voice, of a very high pitch. lie 0001(1 not see well at a distance, and made sometinies strange inista kes. Spectacles were indispensable to him and I had once to make a days journey in order to fetch his Dollands ~vhich had been forgotten. lie lived very frugally; wine and water was his usual beverage; he valued good wine, but did not drink it often. lIe frequently shaved while walking up and down the room; and, when I was present, he would even talk during this dangerous operation. He disliked smoking very much but took snuff to such an excess, that he had finally to give it up. He (lid not write, as the ancient scholar, a whole book with one pen; but he used a pen a very long time before he mended it, turning it all round so as to use always its sharp point. Yet he wrote a neat an(l legible hand. his rare memory enabled him to study frequently without a pen ; an(l I fund hini sometimes in a lying l)osture on a sofa, holding the ~vork of an ancient ~vriter over his head. These were not works which he read by way of relaxation; but, not unfrequently, those he studied with the keenest attention. His memory, in(Ieed, was almost inconceivable to others He rerriem bered almost every thing he had read at any period of his life. lie was about t~venty years old when he studied at Edinburgh, and I was preseiit when he conversed at Rome with an English gentleman upon some statistical statement which he had read in the English papers at the time of his residence in that country. The statement was iml)ortant to the stranger, a member of Par- liament, if 1 remember right; and Mr. Niebuhr desired me to take pen and paper, and forthwith dictated to me a considerable col- umn of numbers, to the great surprise of the English visitor. What an immense power such a roan would have in a delibera- tive assembly, merely on accou mit of his unrelaxing memory! He did not undervalue the great importance of this faculty, which, thon~h it be but an instrument, is the most useful and indispensa- ble of all instruments in all pursuits, disregarded by those only who have none. Nor is a retentive memory without its moral value both for individuals and nations; and there was truth in the remark of Goethes friend in Strasbung, that a man with a bad memory was necessarily exposed to the vice of ingratitude. 1836.] Liebers Reminiscences of JViebuhr. 127 Mr. Niebnhr and myself had conversed one day on the great power which a man with a tenacious memory often has over an- other not equally gifted, merely by an array of facts and dates, though the strength of the argument may be decidedly on the other side; and how necessary it therefore becomes to cultivate the memory. He said, Without a strong memory I never should have been able to write my History, for extracts and notes would not have been sufficient; they would again have formed an inaccessible mass, had I not possessed the index in my mind. pp. 4547. The impression made upon the reader by the tone and spirit of this Introduction, is highly favorable to the personal characters of both the gentlemen who are concerned. The frank good nature, with which Mr. Niebuhr received the re- turning Phiihellene, is honorable to his heart, and shows that brilliant success in literattire, and the distinctions of high po- litical station, had left untouched all the natural goodness of his character ; and the directness and honesty, with which the tale is told by Mr. Lieher, manifest a grateful sense of the generous conduct of his friend, and are a pleasing tribtite to the memory of departed worth. The Reminiscences extend over a great variety of subjects. Living, as the historian did, in the central scene where the great events of Roman history had taken place, and surrounded with the mouldering memorials of departed greatness, his con- versation would naturally take a hue from such interesting asso- ciations. We find, therefore, in these records of his conver- sation, Mr. Niebtmhrs opinions on questions of ancient history, on the history of language and philology in general, on l)olitics, ancient an(l modern, on topics of high literary interest, and on the distinguished personages with whom his studies or his politi- cal relations had brought him acquainted. We recognise, in all these opinions, a vigorous and enlarged intellect, enriched with vast and truly Gertnan erudition, and animated by a kindly and philosophical spirit. Though his studies principally lay among the ancients, yet he was fond of illtistrating his pecu- liar views by modern analogies; and his knowledge of modern history, and of the literature contained in the modern langtmages of Europe, furnished him with abundant resotirces, which he used in the happiest manner. The criticisms scattered over this volume are full of good sense and impartiality. The opinions on other subjects are generally sound and weighty; 128 Liebers Reminiscences of .N~iebuhr. [July, and some of them exhibit an extraordinary depth and compre- hensiveness of mind. There are some, to be sure, whose only value consists in the fact that they were the opinions of Mr. Niebuhr ; but we think Mr. Lieber quite right in insert- ing them. There are others, too, which show only some peculiar notion or whim of the historian ; and these have their value, according to the view we stated at the outset. They all go to furnish us with a lively idea of Mr. Niebuhr as a man. The style in which they are written, is generally very correct, idiomatic English. It is probable that the remarks lose some of their point, by the inevitable necessity, under which a trans- lator labors, of varying the expression, and of varying famil- iar expressions more than any others. But notwithstanding this difflctmlty, Mr. Lieber has stated strongly and clearly the sentiments of the historian, and in a manner to excite the interest of the reader to a high degree. The following opinion of the King of the Netherlands has an historical importance when taken in connexion with late political events. It shows both the good sense of the King, and the sagacity of Mr. Niebuhr. I used to know the King of the Netherlands well, when he lived in great retirement in Berlin, after having been driven from Holland by the French. He took great interest in my History, and read and studied a good deal. He is a character of sterling worth: so is the Queen; she is a woman of the purest character, mild and charitable. They are a couple wishing as anxiously the good of their people, as any that ever sat upon a throne. I believe there are very few ~vomen, in whatever rank of life, to be compared in excellence to the Queen of the Netherlands. The King asked my views respecting the union of Ilolland and Belgiumn,* and the constitution. You know he was averse to takiwr Beloium I declared most positively that this would never do : if Belgium must be under the same sceptre with holland, they ought at least to remain separated like Nor- way and Sweden. There is, in fact, much more reason for separation with the Dutch and Belgians. They have nothing in ~ I think t am correct in this statement; quite sure I am, that he said he had communicated his views such as stated above to the Kin.~, which he hardly would have done had he not heen asked so to do. But I think he said distinctly, that the sketch of the constitution had been shown him. I believe, moreover, that he said the King was of his opinion as to separ- ate governments for Holland and Belgium, hut that he was outvoted by his counseltors. The above remark was made in the year J 822. 1836.] Liebers Reminiscences of JViebuhr. 129 common; language, religion, interests, every thing is directly opposed. The Belgians are poor copies of the French. I can- not believe that the present arrangement will end well; I have very serious fears and misgivings. May God grant that my fears are unfounded, and my speculations will be put to nought ! pp. 64, 65. Many readers will agree with the opinion of Popes Homer in the extract that follows. As translators, there is no com- parison between Pope and Cowper, the latter of whom seems to have been unknoxvn to Niebuhr. In fact, the English themselves have never done full justice to the merits of Cowpers version of the Iliad and the Odyssey. The melody of Popes versification so captivates the ear, that Cowper, though immeasurahly superior in all the important requisites of a translator, can scarcely gain a hearing. What wisdom there is in Homer! With a few omissions it is the very book for children. I know of no story, except Robinson Crusoe, which fascinates a child so much as Homer. It is all natural, simple, and capable of being understood by a child. And then, how well does he prepare for all the knowledge of antiquity, without which we cannot now get along! How many thousand things and sayings does the child understand at once by knowing that gi~eat poem! The whole Odyssey is the finest story for a child. Have you ever read Popes Odyssey ? [I answered in the negative.] Well, he replied, you must read some parts of it at least; it is a ridiculous thing, as bad as the French heroes of Greece in periwigs. There is not a breath of antiquity in Popes transla- tion. He might have changed as much as lie liked, and called Jt a reproduction; but to strip it of its spirit of antiquity, was giving us a corpse instead of a living being. It is a small thing. How totally different is the manner in which the German Voss has handled the subject. He shows at once that he knows and feels the poem is antique, and he means to leave it so. Voss s translation might certainly be improved in various parts, but he has made Homer a German work, now read by every one; lie has done a great thiiig. You do not imagine it, yet it is a fact, that Vosss translation of Homer has had a great influence upon your own education. I say it, well considering ~vhat I say, that time influence of the labors of Voss on the whole German nation ~vill be so great that other nations ~vill feel and acknowledge it. pp. 67, 68. VOL. XLiiI. No. 92. 17 130 Liebers Reminiscences of JViebuhr. [July, Mr. Niebuhrs remarks on handwriting are applicable to other manuscripts, as well as letters. A bad handwriting ought never to be forgiven; * it is a shameful indolence; indeed, sending a badly written letter to a fellow creature is as impudent an act as I know of. Can there be any thing more unpleasant, than to open a letter which at once shows that it will require long deciphering? Besides, the effect of the letter is gone, if we must spell it. Strange, we carefully avoid troubling other people even with trifles, or to ap- pear before them in a dress which shows ne~ligence or careless- ness, and yet nothing is thought of giving the disagreeable trouble of reading a badly written letter. In England, good breeding requires writing well and legibly; with us (the Ger- mans) it seems as if the contrary principle was acknowledged .t Although many people may not have made a brilliant career by their fine handwriting, yet II know that not a few have spoiled theirs by a bad one. The most important petitions are frequent-. ly read with no favorable disposition, or entirely thrown aside, merely because they are written so badly. pp. 74 76. A few more extracts, taken almost at random, must con- clude our notice of this book. We cannot, however, take leave of its entertaining and instructive pages, without thanking ~ * Mr. Niebulir wrote a peculiarly legible and fair hand; an accom- plishment of which not many German sevens can boast. t Writing seems to me to be just like dressino; we ought to dress well aud neat; but as we may dress too well, so may a pedantically fine hand show that the writer has thought more of the letters than the sense. It ought to be remembered, however, that it is far more difficult to write German characters well and legibly than Roman letters. Hence names in German manuscripts for printers are generally written with the latter. The English write best of all nations, using this alphabet; the Americans next. The French write in general badly, especially ladies; the Italians very poorly; and Spaniards hardly legibly, to the great confusion of. their foreign commercial correspondents. It is curious to observe how the two last.named nations show by their handwriting that they have re- mained behind the general European civilization. They continue to use the contracted letters, abbreviations, and ornamental lines and flourishes, which were common with all Europeans a century ago. The art of wri- ting has much improved during the latter centuries; compare manu- script letters of the present day with those we have of the time of the Reformation. Nor does the progress of this art show less the general tendency of the times, than so many other branches of human ac- tivity, domestic co,nfort, & c. While the ancient expensive art of writing most beautifully and tastefully on parchment has fallen into dis- use, the common handwriting of every man, for daily practical nse, has vastly improved; the one, expensive, and of an exclusive character, be- longed to an aristocratic age; the other is characteristic of a time of pop- ular tendency. 1836.] Liebers Reminiscences of .Nicbu hr. 131 Mr. Lieber for this valuable and interesting contribution to our means of knowing, familiarly, one of the greatest and most philosophical scholars, that modern times have produced. How just are the following remarks, suggested by the death of Canova. There is one good man less! Canova was an excellent man, liberal in a rare degree, kind, without envy or jealousy, faithful, pious, and of a reflecting mind withal. He felt a true attach- meat to Pius the Seventh, which was probably increased by the misfortunes of the Pope and his dignified demeanor in affliction. Canova would speak of him with a warmth which was truly edifying. I like his idea of making a picture for the church of the little village of his birth. Dont you believe that such a work will of itself give certain moral dams to the whole little Possagno? It will raise the morale of the village; it establishes a visible connexion between the people of that obscure place and a gifted and successful man, which is leaving a great leg- acy. So are public statues of great moral value; they excite, remind, teach. How very superficial are those who think they are but proofs of overwrought gratitude or flattery! To be sure they have been abused; what has not? Canova was ever ready to assist and guide young artists; and his idea of establishing prizes for the most successful among them was excellent. p. 128. There is much truth in the following reflections. There were times, iVir. Niebuhr said, when people would have considered it almost like a degradation of the ancients, had a philologer attemped to explain their history or language by corresponding relations or phenomena of our own. The clas- sical literature was superior to any thing modern nations had at the time of the revival of the sciences; they therefore received every thing coming from the ancients with a reverence, which would not allow a doubt of any thing, and required no recon- cilement of any contradictory statements in them. But you will observe, that, wherever a practical man, a statesman for in- stance, occupied himself with the classics, how differently he treated them from the schoolmaster. The latter treated the classics as if they were something entirely beyond the sphere of reality; and this, indeed, is still the case with many. On the other hand, there is such a thing as flippant, impertinent fam- iliarity, and such has not been very rare with the modern French before the Revolution. Its only object is to divert, from the contrast produced by a sudden comparison between the 132 Lieber s Reminiscences of .JViebuhr. [July, most remote objects and those of our daily and common life. This is merely to amuse, and can amuse the little-minded only. Sometimes, indeed, it may be witty; but that is a different thing. pp. 137, 138. Mr. Niebuhrs opinion on the pronunciation of Latin will be interesting to classical scholars. Many will probably dis- sent from his view of the comparative correctness of the Ital- ian and Spanish modes of pronouncing it. [On my question, which of the (lifferent ways of pronounc- ing Latin he thought best, he said that he had adopted the Ital- ian pronunciation. On my farther question, Why? he said;] I have a number of reasons; but in fact the counter ques- tion, Why should we not adopt the Italian pronunciation? would be a perfectly good answer. As to the pronunciation of the c, it is clear that the Romans did not pronounce it in the German way, Tsitsero; this is altogether an uncouth northern sound. To pronounce it like Sisero, (with hard s,) is equally wrong; no inscription or other trace induces us to believe that the Romans used c as equivalent to s. Besides, if we see that each nation pro- nounces Latin according to the pronunciation of the vernacular tongue, it is preposterous to maintain that one or the other is the correct pronunciation, except the pronunciation of the Italian it- self. That the g was not pronounced hard as the German,* seems clear from the fact, that most nations pronounce it soft. On the whole, Latin reads much better in the Italian way; and I think many passages of the poets require this pronunciation to receive their full value. People ought to agree to adopt this pronuncia- tion; for it is too ridiculous to find the same language pronounc- ed differently in every country, and subjected to all the caprices of the various idioms. The Spaniards sometimes claim to he, by way of tradition, in possession of the true Roman pronunci- ation. It is equally preposterous, that they whose language is so much more mixed, and whose country was never more than a province, should have retained a better pronunciation than the people of the mother country! Italian is still, in a degree, a Latin dialect. pp. 140, 141. ~ The German g is pronounced like the English in give. 1836.1 Writings of Victor Hugo. 133 ART. VI. Hernani, on lHonneur Castillan. 2. Marion de Lorme. 3. Le Roi sarnuse. Drames. Par Vic- TOR HUGO. Paris. 1835. THE public mind, says M. Victor Hugo, in his Preface to .Marion de Lorme, has never been in a better state, never more enlightened and more sober, than at the present mo- ment. We think all but Frenchmen will agree with us, that this passage, written by any but a Frenchman, would naturally be accepted as ironical. M. Hugo is, however, in very pro- found earnest; and we can only regret that we differ from him so entirely. Our reasons for so doing are, simply, the moral and intellectual state of France, as exhibited in the proceedings and condition of governors and governed alike, the want of proper principles of public action on the part of those in power, the total absence of every thing like consistency on the part of the people ; and further, (we regret to draw so different a conclusion, from the very grounds, whence, proba- bly, M. Hugo derived his flattering opinion of the public mind,) the depraved condition of literature in France, and the extreme popularity xvhich works such as those of M. hugo have obtained there. This gentleman appears to us to embody most entirely, in his intellectual being, the vices and virtues by which his country is at this moment possessed. Possessed is the word ; for the very good which struggles and strives, and will ultimately prevail, through the tumultuous tossings of opinions, forms, governments, and creeds in that land, is, in its vehement and inarticulate urgings, more like a possessing, than a guiding, or governing spirit. M. Hugos works are already numerous, and additions to them are daily announced as in the press ; they are full, as we said before, of the virtues and vices of his time and place, yet in some measure he is before his time, and above his place. His popularity and his influence are alike great with his country- men ; and his is decidedly the mind, which exercises the most power at this moment over the French literary world. His writings, which are all conceived in a truly republican spirit, are calculated to increase the breach between old forms and new ideas ; and such of them as are apparently the most purely imaginative, contain sentiments and expressions of ultra-liberalism on all political subjects, which seldom fail

1836.1 Writings of Victor Hugo. 133 ART. VI. Hernani, on lHonneur Castillan. 2. Marion de Lorme. 3. Le Roi sarnuse. Drames. Par Vic- TOR HUGO. Paris. 1835. THE public mind, says M. Victor Hugo, in his Preface to .Marion de Lorme, has never been in a better state, never more enlightened and more sober, than at the present mo- ment. We think all but Frenchmen will agree with us, that this passage, written by any but a Frenchman, would naturally be accepted as ironical. M. Hugo is, however, in very pro- found earnest; and we can only regret that we differ from him so entirely. Our reasons for so doing are, simply, the moral and intellectual state of France, as exhibited in the proceedings and condition of governors and governed alike, the want of proper principles of public action on the part of those in power, the total absence of every thing like consistency on the part of the people ; and further, (we regret to draw so different a conclusion, from the very grounds, whence, proba- bly, M. Hugo derived his flattering opinion of the public mind,) the depraved condition of literature in France, and the extreme popularity xvhich works such as those of M. hugo have obtained there. This gentleman appears to us to embody most entirely, in his intellectual being, the vices and virtues by which his country is at this moment possessed. Possessed is the word ; for the very good which struggles and strives, and will ultimately prevail, through the tumultuous tossings of opinions, forms, governments, and creeds in that land, is, in its vehement and inarticulate urgings, more like a possessing, than a guiding, or governing spirit. M. Hugos works are already numerous, and additions to them are daily announced as in the press ; they are full, as we said before, of the virtues and vices of his time and place, yet in some measure he is before his time, and above his place. His popularity and his influence are alike great with his country- men ; and his is decidedly the mind, which exercises the most power at this moment over the French literary world. His writings, which are all conceived in a truly republican spirit, are calculated to increase the breach between old forms and new ideas ; and such of them as are apparently the most purely imaginative, contain sentiments and expressions of ultra-liberalism on all political subjects, which seldom fail Writings of Victor Hugo. 134 [July, of being aptly applied to existing circumstances. This has rendered him an object of distrust and apprehension to the government, and more than once subjected the exhibition of his plays to vexatious and arbitrary suspension. The French writers of the last years of the revolution derived the more spiritual tone of their works from the infin- ence which the intellectual resurrection of Germany was be- ginning to exercise over the literature of Europe. The French authors of the last twenty years, Chateaubriand, Lamartine, Delavigne, and their imitators, have drawn some portion of their characteristic qualities from the English cotemporary writers, Moore and Byron, whose popularity in France, has had no small share in the formation and growth of the Ecole Romarttique. M. Hugo persuades himself, that he is inspired with some measure of knowledge and feeling of Sbakspeare. This were indeed at once a merit and an infinite rexvard and for M. Hugos sake we heartily wish it may he so but, without wishing to appear skeptical as to the possibility of a Frenchmans understanding Shakspeare, we will only say, that should M. Hugo proceed in his study of that greatest mind, we hope he will hereafter arrive at some perception of the divine and undeviating morality which pervades those wonderful works. Not the cramped and sickly morality of words, or forms, or schools; but the same unerring, unob- scured morality, which lies upon the wide surface of the universe; which is wrought out in every single thread of human existence, which is for ever and for ever multiplying its evidence for our teaching, through the hourly lessons of life which, in the inner and spiritual world, hears witness to the truth and justice of God, our Maker, as, in the outer and visi- ble creation, an all-pervading beauty reveals his mercy and his might. At present, M. Hugo is far indeed from any such knowl- edge ; and the first sin with which we have to charge him, is the moral darkness in which his mental conceptions are en- veloped. There is indeed an occasional struggling after the truth, a groping as it were in search of higher things, devoted love, chivalrous honor, a noble indignation at all oppressions; these plead eloquently, in his impassioned language, his claim to our respect and sympathy. But these are but momentary visitations of his better angel ; his most frequent conceptions are dark, deformed, and painfully destitute of a sane spirit. 1836.] Writings of Victor Hugo. 135 M. Hugos ideas of right and wrong have a decided twist; and he forcibly reminds us of the poor gentleman, who on his death-bed sending for a clergyman, the latter, after spend- ing infinite time and pains in discoursing to him, abruptly took his leave, assuring the dying man that his moral per- ceptions xvere in such a state of inextricable confusion, that he did not know where to hegin with him. Had M. Hugo been a professor of Byronism, all this would have surprised us less ; but, in a man who reads (and under- stands ?) Shakspeare, this blunted and imperfect sense of truth is, to say the least, curious. Our next quarrel with M. Hugo is upon the score of his extravagance ; and here we must complain, not only of his conceptions, but of their execution. He has quite pow- er enough not to be violent ; and, by the by, we do wish somebody would convince the times, that power and vio- lence are not one and the same thing. They are no more so, than the words are synonymous; nobody confounds the two words, but there is a fatal and very general confound- ing of the two things. A powerful book has become a regular hack encomium, bestoxved by every friendly reviewer, upon every other of the modern night-mares with which literature has been adorned ; till of late years it has become like an endless temptation of St. Anthony, or Dance of Death ; each succeeding publication surpassing its prede- cessor in grotesque absurdity and hideous extravagance. Now, a really powerftil book is really an uncommon thing; and as for the majority of those which are so called by courtesy, we should say, that, far from indicating strength, they betrayed evident tokens of such me7ltal weakness, as to render it very doubtful xvhether or not the authors were in possession of their senses at the time of composing them. Such delineations of human character are brought before us daily, by these powerful writers, as remind us of nothing in the world, but the distorted and fantastical imitations of hu- man forms, which might be found on the walls of a mad- mans cell. These good authors all seem to us to be in a phrensy; and we should as soon think of admiring the vig- or of their intellectual lunes, as we should commend, as an exhibition of wholesome strength, the frantic exertions of some feverish wretch, who required three men to hold him. Now M. Lingo has very strong fits occasionally. He Writings of Victor Hugo. 136 [July, betrays a want of intellectual self-possession, an absence of sobriety, a lack of power to govern his own strength, which is by no means like a great master. He appears to excite himself while exciting his reader, and the conse- quence is, that his work is like a real piece of madness, compared with a fine representation of it. lie gets astride upon his fancy, like his own Quasimodo on the great bell of Notre Dame, and swings away, till the whirl, and the din, and the dizziness of his mental belfry bid fair to outvie that of the Hunchback, and to leave its occupant with as few wits at the end of these outrageous intellectual exercises. Up to a certain point, the excitement created by fine and vigorous works of art is good ; not only a pleasurable stimulus in itself, but necessary, as deepening the after un- pression, which their spiritual meaning should make upon us, and in which consists their subtler and more divine es- sence. But these emotions must be kept within some bounds; nor must the higher end be lost sight of, in the means employed to attain it ; or else the work becomes a poisonous fire-draught instead of a wholesome stimulant, creating phrensy instead of renovation, and leaving feeble- ness instead of health and vigor. The invisible guardians of the magic, ring, into which we enter while under the spell of a great master, are truth, the moral sense of good and evil, a sound judgment, and a pure taste. These must encircle alike the magician and those xvho are beholding his incantation. The charmed bounds once l)assed, they both fall under the influence of the spell they have used, and the spirits they have invoked ; and the oracles of genius, instead of coming clear and high and solemn to the ear and heart of the listener, xvill be uttered like the ravings of the Pytho- ness, amid the frantic convulsions of one possessed with an infernal spirit, not possessing a divine one. We have another strong general objection to make against M. Hugos works, his women. What is the reason that he invariably makes such naughty women his hero- ines ? In almost every one of his compositions, we are brought into company with ladies xvhose principles are so very lax, that, in spite of M. Hugos assertion that his plays are moral, we cannot help thinkiiig that they liaxe very little chance of remaining so, unless he cuts out all his 1836.1 Writings of Victor Hugo. 137 female characters ; they are enough to corrupt all the rest of the drctmatis persorae. Such of his heroines, as are the daughters of his fancy, are hy no means so correct as we should like our daughters to he, and his historical selec- tions are yet more unfortunate ; Lucretia Borgia, Marion de Lorme; why not Nell Gwynn, why not Ninon de LEnclos ? The catastrophe which winds up the career of the latter, is altogether a subject after M. Hugos taste we wonder it has hitherto escaped heing made into a moral play hy him. We recommend to him, among the other pe- culiarities of Shakspeare, to meditate upon his female char- acters ; and to learn under what aspects it is, that a woman claims our sympathy, our love, our admiration, and our ven- eration; and he will not then write hooks which no honest man or woman can read without indignation at the libels on female nature, which he has thought fit to perpetrate in them. As no society can be pure, in which the women are not chaste and holy, so no hook can he moral, in which the delineations of female character are vicious. In spite, there- fore, of M. Hugos assertion, and of the precision with which he has squared out the moral of Le Roi samuse, as an illustration of that assertion, we beg to assure him that his hooks are immoral; for his women are worthless, and that is enough. We have less fault to find with the execution of these works, than with the spirit in which they are conceived. M. Hugo has abundance of ability; pity it is so ill em- ployed. His style is vigorous, startling, and effective but his power wants repose, his contrasts are often harsh and unmellow, and his effects are frequently theatrical. We do not now speak of those dramatic situations, which are essentially good, only in proportion as they are theat- rically effective. These M. Hugo conceives powerfully, and introduces skillfully. But his language, his feelings, his spirit, is theatrical, (not dramatic ;) his very thoughts attitu- dinize, and we object to that ; it is however a national de- fect, and to expect him to he entirely free from it, were unjust and unreasonable. It is no small merit, that lie has succeeded in rendering the cramped versification, to which his language condemns him, so natural and so pathetic. Poetical it never can he ; but it is an unspeakable relief to vOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 18 138 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, have got down from the stilts of the dramatic jargon of Louis the Fourteenths time. M. Hugo, to be sure, goes to the other extreme ; and if the muse of Racine and Cor- neille wore high heels, powder, and a hoop, his Melpom ene, on the other hand, runs dishevelled, and slip-shod to boot; which is not altogether so well. It is to be hoped, that the golden mean will be discovered ere long. The prefaces of .llliarion de Lorme, and Le Roi samuse, contain some curious politico-literary facts ; which exhibit in a striking light the want of principle, since more openly manifested, in the tyrannical restraints imposed by the French government upon the freedom of the press ; and also place M. Hugos own character in a favorable point of view, of whuich, we are happy to say, he seems fully aware. If conscientious self-approbation be a blessing, M. Hugo seems highly blessed. We believe him to be an honest man, in spite of his asserting it so energetically himself. The play of .Marion de Lorme was written in 1829, but, submitted to the revision of the censure, was vetoed, and remained a forbidden thing, until the admirable revo- lution (as M. Hugo styles it) of 1830 let loose upon the public, as the first-fruits of its beneficence, the torrent of obnoxious matter, which had been accumulating in the receptacles of the censure. At this juncture, M. Hugo was vehemently solicited to bring out his piece ; but, unwilling to base the popu- larity of his work upon a momentary political excitement, he very prudently declined producing it then. M. Hugo had, it seems, on the accession of Charles the Tenth, in a fit of enthusiasm for a monarch who ex- claimed against literary censorship, indited a royal canton in praise of said liberal monarch. Recollecting this, at the time when the revolution of the Three Days had civilly dispensed with the royal services of Charles, he, from a motive of delicacy, forbore celebrating the triumph of the people by the enacting of his long-forbidden piece ; not choosing, to use his own words, to be one of the vents by which the public anger should exhale itself. Of his merit in this proceeding, as of his merits generally, as we before observed, M. Victor Hugo appears to enjoy a comfortable conviction. A more appropriate occasion, in his opinion, offering, he produced his play, which, like all 1836.1 Writings of Victor Hugo. 139 his other performances, was rapturously received hy his ad- miring countrymen, we will presently see how deservedly. It seems that Jliliarion de Lorme was written hefore Her- nani, although the latter piece, not falling under the dis- approbation of the censure, was represented upwards of a year previous to the production of the other. To these succeeded Le Roi sarnuse, written in 1832, produced at the Th~htre Fran~ais, and, on the day after its first ap- pearance, withdrawn by order of the government on the score of its immorality. The indignation of the author, though very natural, was quite ineffectual in restoring his piece to the honors of public exhibition; and the preface, which he published with it, contained a statement of facts, which hecame his sole mode of appeal to the enlightened public mind. In this preface, we find some curious passages ; the following, for instance ; M. Hugo is speaking of the prohibition of his play ; And who is it that this tyrannical exercise of power has singled out to attack ? an author, [the gentle- man means himself] so situated, that if his talents are doubtful, his character is not ; an honest man; one pro- fessed, demonstrated, and proved to he such; a venerable and rare thing, in these times. There follows a whole page of self-consolation much in the same style ; and we really feel the less hesitation in offering any criticisms upon M. Hugos works, that he seems so cased in proof-panoply of self-esteem, that we should think he was invulnerable to all shafts of censure. A little further on, he assigns as the real reason of the interdiction of his piece, a certain line in the third act, (we are sorry that our knowledge of court scandal does not en- able us to indicate it to the reader,) which it seems may be construed into no very flattering allusion to Louis Philippe. At the same time that the author disclaims all intention of making such allusion, forhearing even now to proclaim the offensive sentence, which, thus quoted, it seems, would im- mediately suggest its own application, he holds the revela- tion in terrorern over the refractory monarch, who, pro- fessing to he a republican peoples king, has thought proper to give himself the despotic airs of a king of the old school. We cannot here forbear remarking, that, hitter as is the disappointment of M. Hugo and his fellow liberals, on 140 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, finding that the leopard has not changed his spots, nor the Ethiop his skin, none but Frenchmen would ever have con- ceived that monstrous anomaly, a republican king ; or have selected a Bourbon to form the head-piece of their politic- al Centaur ; or imagined that the three glorious days, though sufficient to regenerate all France, could also suf- fice to change the blood in the veins of a son of the old dynasty. Let us hear M. Hugos own opinion of this govern- ment and its proceedings ; we quote from the preface of Le Roi sctmuse. After speaking of the apparent indo- lence which has succeeded the great liberty fever of 1830, he says In our opinion, the government is taking unfair advantage of the present prevalent inclination to rest, and apprehension of new revolutions. It is exercising petty tyrannies, and it is to blame, both as regards itself and us. If it imagines that the public mind has become indifferent to the idea of liberty, it is mistaken; the people are merely temporarily exhausted. A severe account will yet be demanded, of all the illegal proceed- ings which we see accumulating from day to day. How far we have retrograded! Two years ago, public order was threatened; now, it is our liberty itself that is in jeopardy. Questions of free thought, of intellect, and of art, are arbitrarily silenced by the viziers of the King of the Barricades. It is in- deed most sad to contemplate the winding-up of the revolution of July; mulierformosa supern~. We should be more inclined to agree with M. Hugo about the sadness of the matter, if any other result could rea- sonably have been anticipated. We xvonder what he thinks of the new laws with regard to the press. But it is time to leave his prefaces, and proceed to the plays. Herrtani, the first-written of this precious trio, is by no means so iniquitous in its plot as its successors. Some rays of humanity yet struggle through the improbability of the fable, and the authors fancy is not yet overrun with those diabolical conceptions, with which some of his other works abound, to the dismay of all good Christians and sober-minded creatures who attempt to read them. The heroine, Donna Sol, is betrothed, according to the not unfrequent practice of Catholic countries, to her uncle Don Jluy de Silva; but, in the mean time, her affections are engaged 1836.] Hernani. 141 by an unknown cavalier, whom she receives in secret, and who is the chief of a horde of brigands. It appears that the King of Spain, Charles the Fifth, is also enamoured of her ; and the difficulties of tbe lady between her three lovers, and the various perils and escapes of Her nani, her favored one, take up the first l)art of the piece. The old Don, however, afraid that he shall die before he gets married, if he does not make haste, carries off his fair niece to one of his strong-holds, and they are on the point of cele- brating their nuptials, when the whole castle is thrown into confusion by the arrival of Hernani, in the disguise of a pil- grim. Finding his mistress, as he conceives, unfaithful, he immediately proclaims himself as the rohber chief, upon whose head a princely price xvas set ; hut the old lord assures him, that if he were the Devil in person, the rights of hospitality would be extended to him, and his life and liberty he secure while under his roof. He leaves the lovers together, not at all suspecting his nieces low-life attachment to the highway- man ; and, presently returning, finds his bride locked in the arms of Hernani. The worthy old gentlemans rage then knows no hounds, and he is about to fight with the traitor on the spot, when news is brought that the King is before the castle, in pursuit of Hernani. Now, though it does not irk Don Ruy to kill the gentleman who kissed his niece, it is quite against his ideas of propriety, to give up a man who has sought shelter under his roof. He therefore conceals the robher, and stands the brunt of the Kings rage unmoved, who, unable either by entreaties, commands, or threats, to obtain the bandit5 at length desires the old lord to give up either Hernani or his niece, Donna Sol; upon which, the poor old man, faithful, as he conceives, to the laws of honor, and ignorant of the Kings passion for his niece, delivers her up to his Majesty, who departs in peace with his prize. No sooner are they gone, than Don Ruy draws Hernani from his place of concealment, and insists upon prosecuting the duel they had begun together when, happening to mention the hostage which the King had bee4 pleased to accept, Hernani, in despair, informs him of the danger in which he has placed his niece, by surrendering her to the monarch. All other thoughts now give way to the desire of both to recover the young lady ; and, putting aside their animosity for a short time, they agree to assist each other in rescuing Donna Sol from her perilous situation; Hernani 142 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, pledging his solemn word to old De Silva, that, that object once accomplished, he will give up his life to his honorable old enemy; and, in token of this, he gives him his own bugle- horn, telling him, at whatever time and in whatever place he pleases, to sound it, when he (Hernani) will at once surren- der himself to his vengeance. This bargain made, they sheathe their swords, shake hands, and set off, the best friends in the world, in pursuit of the lady. The fourth act consists chiefly of the failure of a conspir- acy formed against Charles the Fifth, at that moment elected Emperor, and his magnanimous forgiveness of the conspir- ators, among whose number are Don Ruy de Silva and Hernani, who, upon this occasion, throws off his assumed character of a bandit, and claims the princely privilege of wearing his hat before the King, being no less a personage than his kinsman, John of Arragon. The new-made Emperor, however, has no idea of being hard upon any of them ; forgives them all, restores Hernani to his noble rank and princely possessions, and moreover, with infinite generosity, relinquishes all his pretensions to Donna Sol, whom he places safe and sound in her lovers hands. How she came there just then, it is difficult to itna- gine, the scene being laid before the tomb of Charlemagne in Aix-la-Chapelle. That, however, dont much matter; the public is not apt to be particular in these points, and, when all ends wells, all is well in their sympathetic opinions. All parties are now satisfied; the Emperor, with himself and his new dignity, Hernani with his mistress, and she with him. Old De Silva, however, is by no means well pleased at this transfei of his bride, and the fourth act closes with the general joy of the whole company, exce~)ting him alone. The conclusion is rapid. The fifth act celebrates the mar- riage feast of Don John of Arragon and Donna Sol. His fathers palace has received him again ; and revelry, and mirth, and music fill the scene. At length the gaudier light of pleas- ure dims, the guests withdraw, and the lovers are left alone in their happiness. At this moment, which, in conception and execution, is by far the most striking of the piece, the fatal horn sounds Hernanis summons, from all his full-blown joys, to death. The old lord De Silva appears, and claims the fulfilment of Hernanis oath. In vain the latter, unmanned by the exceeding bitterness of leaving life when crowned with all 1836.] Hernani. 143 its imaginable busses, implores a short delay. The stern old man insists upon his right, and presents a vial of poison to the youth. This, however, Donna Sal seizes, aud drinking the one half, gives the rest to her husband, both of them presently falling, like stricken flowers, at the feet of the obdurate old noble, who ends the piece by killing himself, and going, as he himself de- clares, and the reader easily believes, to hell. The three corpses keep possession of the stage. All the absurdity of this plot, does not of right belong to M. Hugo ; that is to say, that, exaggerated as we may deem such a very nice sense of honor, it is not unnatural, and, if we may believe old chronicles, was not unusual in Spain, where similar absurdities form the plot of some of their best plays. La Estrelici di & vigli a of Lope de Vega, where a man kills the brother of his mistress, and almost drives himself and her mad by so doing, simply because the King commands the deed, is, to our republican apprehensions, far more fantas- tical; yet the play is an immense favorite in Spain, and the plot is there considered a very rational plot. Some of the writing in Hernani would positively be poetry, if it were not French ; and we think M. Hugo always ex- ceedingly happy in the expression of tenderness and pas- sion. We subjoin some passages, which we quote from Lord Francis Egertons translation ; which has the advan- tage of resembling its original in an unusual degree, and is far superior to the miserable imitations of the piece, which have been produced on our stages. The following, spoken by old Don Ruy to Donna Sol, is graceful and touching. When, as I muse my garden glades along, Some shepherd youth disturbs me with his song, Whose sound from the green field can reach my bowers, Thus I apostrophize my crumbling towers; My ducal dungeon-keep, my loop-holed wall, My woods, my harvests, I would give ye all; Would give the fields my s~varm of vassals tills, Would give my flocks upon a thousand hills, Would give the ancestors, who watch intent, Chiding my slowness, for a sons descent Among them, and expect him even now, For that same peasants hut and youthful brow. For round that brow, unscored by ages lines, The dark locks cluster, and beneath it shines 144 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, An eye like thine; and thou mayst well behold, And say, That man is young, and this is old. Thus to myself I speak, and speak it true; All, to be young, and fair, and gay as you, All would I give. I dream I young and gay, Who to the tomb am doomed to lead the way! DONNA sOL. Who knows? DON RUY. Yet trust not that the youthful tribe Can feel the constant love their words describe. Let hut a lady listen and believe, They laugh to see her die, or live to grieve. These birds of amorous note and gaudy wing Can moult their passions like their plumes in spring; The old, whose notes are tuneless, hues less bright, Are steadier to their nest and in their flight. Time on our furrowed brow the gravers part May play; he writes no wrinkles on the heart. Give to the old the mercy which they need, The heart is always young enough to bleed. With all a bridegrooms love, a fathers pride, I love thee, and a hundred ways beside. I love thee as we love the flowers, the skies, Earths breathing perfumes, heavens enchanting dyes; And when thy step, so graceful yet so free, 4 The aspect of that stainless brow, 1 see, That heaven seems opening as I gaze on thee. DONNA SOL. Alas! DON RUY. And mark; the reasoning world approves, When towards an honored grave an old man moves, If woman deign his useless age to tend, And smooth his progress to his journeys end. It is an angels task, and thou shalt be That angel, in a womans form, to me. The old noblemans rebuke of Hernani and the King, is spirited What business brings you here, young cavaliers? Men like the Cid, the knights of by-gone years, 1836.] Hernani. 145 Rode out the battle of the weak to wage, Protecting beauty, and revering age. Their armour sat on them, strong men as true, Much lighter than your velvets sit on you. Not in a ladys room by stealth they knelt; In church, by day, they spoke the love they felt. They kept their houses honor bright from rust, They told no secret, and betrayed no trust; Arid if a wife they wanted, bold and gay, With lance, or axe, or sword-point, and by day, Bravely they won and wore her. As for those Who walk the streets when honest men repose, With eyes turned to the ground, and in nights shade, The rights of trusting husbands to invade; I say the Cid would force such knaves as these To beg the citys pardon on their knees. And with the flat of his all-conquering blade rll~eir rank usurped, and scutcheon, would degrade. Thus would the men of former (lays, I say, rrreat the degenerate minions of to-day. The opening of the fifth act, as the revel closes, and Her- nani and Donna Sol are left alone, is beautiful. DONNA SOL. Dearest! at length they leave us. By yon moon, It should be late. HERNANI. And can it come too soon, The hour that frees us from the listening crowd, To breathe our sighs, so long suppressed, aloud? DONNA SOL. The noise disturbed me. Must we not confess, Rejoicing stuns the sense of happiness? HERNANT. T is true; for happiness is kin to rest, And writes its lessons slowly on the breast. When busy pleasure strews its path with flowers, Or breaks the silence of its quiet bowers, It flies ; and if it smile, its smile appears Far less allied to laughter than to tears. * * * * * * * Why should I bear in mind The tattered garments that I leave behind? VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 19 146 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, In mourning to my palace I repair, An angel of the Lord awaits me there. I hid the fallen columns shaft aspire On my ancestral hearth I light its fire I ope its casements to the wind, which sports Mid the rank herbage of its grass-grown courts; I weed that herbage from the creviced stone, And seat my houses honor on its throne; My King restores me to each ancient right, My seat in council, and my crest in fight. Come, then, in blushing beauty, conic, my bride, Lay the sad memory of the past aside; That past is all unsaid, unseen, undone I start afresh, a glorious course to run. I know not if t is madness fires my breast, I love you, I possess you, and am blest! * * * * * DONNA SOL. One little moment, to indulge the sight With the rich beauty of the summer night. The harp is silent, and the torch is dim, Night and ourselves together. To the brim The cup of our felicity is filled. Each sound is mute, each harsh sensation stilled. Dost thou not think, that, een while nature sleeps, Some power its amorous vigils oer us keeps? No cloud in heaven ; while all around repose, Come taste with me the fragrance of the rose, Which loads the night-air with its musky breath, While all around is still as natures death. Een as you spoke, and gentle words were those Spoken by you, the silver moon uprose; How that mysterious union of her ray, With your impassioned accents, made its way Straight to my heart! I could have wished to die In that pale moonlight, and while thou wert by. HERNANI. Thy words are music, and thy strain of love Is borrowed from the choir of heaven above. DONNA SOL. Night is too silent, darkness too profound. Oh for a star to shine, a voice to sound, 1836.1 Jliariort (le Lorme. 147 To raise some sudden strain of music now, Suited to night! II ERNANI. Capricious girl ! your vow Was poured for silence, and to be released From the thronged tumult of the marriage-feast. DONNA SOL. Yes; but a bird to carol in the field, A nightingale, in moss and shade concealed, A distant flute, for musics stream can roll To soothe the heart, and harmonize the soul, 0 ! t would be bliss to listen (Sound of a horn in the distance.) We now come to M. Hugos next dramatic production, Marion de Lorme ; and here his moral atmosphere is en- veloped in a much thicker mist than before, and we lose sight, in a pitiable manner, of the real bearings and relations of things. Marion de Lorme, the noted courtesan of Louis the Thir- teenths reign, one of the earliest specimens of that tribe of profligate women, whose beauty, talent, and exceeding im- pudence gave them so much influence in the licentious times ihat followed the regency of Anne of Austria, is the per- sonage selected by M. Hugo for his heroine. Having fallen in love with a young man, whom she has met by accident, and who is ignorant of her character, she leaves Paris in disguise, and takes up her abode at Blois, where her lover resides. For a while their intercourse is happy. Didier, her lover, himself an enthusiastic and noble creature, believes her to be all that his idolatrous affection pictures her ; and she, loving for the first time a virtuous nature, is filled at once with admiration and respect for him, horror of her former life, and fear lest he should discover her real name and situation. We will let him give his own account of himself; and through our most prosaic translation, which has no earthly pretension but that of being literally literal, the reader will perceive that M. Hugo has invested his hero with much of the unaccountable gloom and despondency, the hile, in 148 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, short, (for we presume, as there is no other assignable cause, it must be that,) of the Byron school. DIDIER. Hearken to me, Mary. My name is Didier, I have never known Father or mother; naked I was left An infant on the threshold of a church. An old and low-horn woman, in whose soul Some pity lived, took me, and tended me. She was my mother ; gave me Christian nurture, And, dying, left me all her worldly heritage, A yearly stipend of nine hundred livres, On which I live. Alone, at twent.y years, Life seemed both sad and bitter. I went travelling, And grew acquainted with my fellow men. And some of them I hated, more despised, For on that sullied glass, the human face, I read but pain, and pride, and misery; So that I sat me down, youthful in years But old in spirit ; of this life as weary, As they should he who are about to leave it. I struck gainst all things, all things wounded me; The world seemed bad to me, and men yet worse. Thus was I living, gloomy, poor, and lonely, When first I saw you, and felt comforted. And yet I do not know you; in the street One night in Paris I beheld you first; Then once or twice I met you, and still always Your looks were gentle, and your speech most kind. I feared to love you, and I fled; strange destiny Again you meet me here, my guardian angel At length, worn out with love and doubt, I spake, And you with favor heard. Yours is my heart, And yours my life; what may I do for you ? Is there on earth the man or thing you hate? Have you a wish my soul can buy for you ? Oh! do you need one prompt to give his life Joyfully for you ; whose hearts blood poured out Were richly paid, but by one smile of yours? Oh! speak, command, dearest, for here am I! MARION (smiling). You re strange, and yet I love you thus. 1836.1 .Marion de Lorme. 149 DIDIER. You love me! Beware, nor with light lips utter that word. You love me ! know you what it is to love With love that is the life-blood in ones veins, The vital air we breathe, a love long smothered, Sniouldering in silence, kindling, burning, blazing, And puril~ing in its growth the soul. A love, that from the heart eats every passion But its sole self love without hope, or limit, Deep love, that will outlive all happiness Speak, speak, is such the love you bear me? MARION. Truly. DIDIER. Oh! but you do n& know how I love you! The day that first I saw you, the dark world Grew shining, and your eyes lighted my gloom. Since then, all things have changed ; to me you are Some bright and unknown creature from the skies. This irksome life, gainst which my heart rebelled, Seems almost fair and pleasant; for, alas Till I knew you, wandering, alone, oppressed, I wept and struggled, I had never loved. MARION. Poor Didier! It happens, however, that a regiment is stationed at Blois; the officers of which have, one or all, been admirers of Marion. One of these young sparks discovers the fair Layss retreat and disguise, and Marion, to obtain his silence, half confesses the purpose of both. We cannot go into every detail of the piece. Didier and Saverny, the young officer, meet, quarrel, and fight, immediately under a placard, which the Cardinal de Richelieti has had posted up, forbidding dtielling, on pain of death to the parties concerned. The city authorities intervene, Saverny pretends to be dead, and is carried off by his friends ; and Didier is conveyed to prison, whence Mari- on contrives to bribe his escape, and they fly together in dis- guise, among a company of strolling actors. We are now introduced to an old nobleman, the uncle of Saverny, who, in great distress of mind, is about to celebrate his beloved nephews obsequies ; Saverny himself having, with one of 150 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, his brother officers, escorted an empty bier to the chateau, which bier was supposed to contain his body. Of course, he is so disguised as not to be recognised by his worthy uncle, and trusts to time to reconcile the old gentleman to the cheat, when the Cardinals displeasure at the duel shall be over, and the search everywhere making for Didier, the only person concerned who was supposed to survive, has ceased. At this very chateau is staying an emissary of Richelieu, who is on the look out for the fugitive Diclier. Here he meets young Saverny, who knows nothing of him, and, under favor of his disguise, discusses the matter of the duel in all coolness with him ; and hither, as ill luck would have it, come the Thespians, and with them Marion and Didier. Among these strolling players, who are allowed to take up their quarters in one of the out-houses of the chateau, Saverny sees and recognises Marion, and, much puzzled at the circumstance of her appear- ing there, communicates it to Laffemas, Richelieus emissary, who was on the point of leaving the chateau, to pursue his quest of the unfortunate Didier. This, however, fatally alters his purpose. He insists upon seeing the whole troop, and, to the agony of Marion, and the consternation of poor Saverny, who was unaware of the mischief he was causing, pres- ently discovers the sham actor among the real mimes, and claims Didier as his prisoner. But Saverny had inflicted a far deeper wound upon his former rival. in indicating Marion to Laffeinas, the young gallant had shown a l)icture of her, which he wore round his neck, and which Didier, then standing in the hack-ground, had also seen. This leads to a dialogue between them, in which Saverny discloses to Didier the real character of Marion, of which he had supposed him aware. The enthusiast and the lover is at once precipitated from his high and holy faith, and beholds, in the object of his deep and pure affection, a disgraced and degraded being. We will translate the scene. We should premise, that, at the very opening of the play, Didier, in a street affray at night, is the means of saving Savernys life. After a few lines of mere explanation, in which they account to each other, Didier, for not being, as Saverny thought him, in prison ; and Saverny, for not being, as Didier thought him, dead, in con- sequence of their duel ; Saverny, whose quarrel with him was the mere result of high spirits, and a few aristocratic airs on his own part, professes an honest regard for him, rejoices that 1836.1 .Jllariort de Lorme. 151 they have both escaped so well the affair of the duel, and, re- m emberin g only that at their first meeting Didier had saved his life, asks him in return what he can do for him. DIDIER. Give me that womans picture which you wear. (Saverny gives it to him; he looks bitterly at it.) Yes, t is her eye, her brow, her snowy neck, And oh! her heavenly look; t is very like SAVERNY. D ye think so? DIDIER. Tell me, was it then for you She had this picture taken? SAVERNY (nods, then bowing to Didier). Its your turn. You are the loved, the chosen among many, The happy fellow. DIDIER. Am I not most happy! SAVERNY. I wish you joy! faith, she s an honest wench. Her lovers are all men of family. The sort of mistress that one may be proud of. T is a good hoast, too, and tells prettily To have it said of one, lies Marions lover. (Didier offers to return the picture; he declines receiving it.) No, keep the miniature ; she s yours, and so Her picture comes to you of right. DIDIER. I thank you. (He puts the picture in his bosom.) SAVE RNY. That Spanish dress becomes her wonderfully. And so you re my successor ! pretty much As Louis succeeds Pharamond, indeed; For I was jilted for the two Brissacs, 152 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, Yes, faith, the two; why even the Cardinal, And then DEtliat, and then the three St. Memes, And the four Argenteaux; oh, in her heart, You II be in the very best of company; A little crowded,that s a trifle. DIDIER (aside). Horror! SAVERNY. But pray inform me now, to tell you plainly, T is here believed that I am dead. To.uiorrow I m to be buried. As for you, I take it, You found some cunning way to cheat your gaolers; Marion has opened all the gates for you; Why your adventures must make up a history. DIDlER. Yes, a strange history. SAVERNY. For your sake, doubtless, She smiled upon some archer of the guard. DIDIER (with extreme vehemence). Gods thunder! dare you think it! SAVERNY. Well, what then? What, jealous? why the thing s fantastical. Jealous of whom? of Marion de Lorme! Poor wench! pray now read her no homilies. DIDIER. Fear not. (Aside.) Oh God ! this angel was a devil ! We have quoted this scene, in order to give M. Hugos own account of his heroine ; we now proceed with the story. Didier, disgusted alike with his mistress and his life, surren- ders himself at once to Laffernas, and is about to be drag- ged to prison, when Saverny, thinking by that means to rescue him, comes forward, takes off his disguise, and avows himself alive, and not dead, to the infinite ecstasy of his poor old uncle, and the satisfaction of all present. But the malicious agent of the Cardinals sanguinary will, in- stantly arrests him also, as guilty, since not dead ; and both the young men are carried to prison, to await the fulfil- 1~336.] I1iartou de Lorme. 15~3 meat of the sentence, which Richelieus edict had proclaim- ed against duelling, that is, death. The fourth act, which we should imagine tolerably dull on the stage, gives a clever, but rather exaggerated picture of the interior of the palace, and the state of slavery in which Lotus the Thirteenth was kept by the ambitious and cruel Cardinal. Savernys old uncle and Marion de Lorme by turns appear as supplicants for the duellists, and are both refused ; the King not daring to reverse the Cardinals sen- tence, though much inclined to do so. This inclination is carried to a climax, by the information given him by his sis- ter, (who, by the by, is a most lugubrious personage,) that both the young men were expert falconers ; the King, among other graver lamentations, deploring the disuse into which the sport of hawking is falling. The jester takes advantage of his Majestys merciful mood, presses the matter in every point of view, plays by turns upon his pride, his pity, his conscience, and his love of hawking, and finally, after many misgivings, obtains from the King the full pardon of both the young men, which he delivers to Marion. In the fifth act we have the prison, and its inmates, the two young men. Drawn together by their common misfor- tune, their sympathy and tenderness for each other are very touching, and the contrast between the light-hearted kindli- ness of Saverny, and the solemn and sad meditations of the heart-broken Didier, is exceedingly effective and affecting. The old Marquis de Nangis (Savernys uncle) bribes one of the gaolers to assist his nephews escape ; but, when the latter finds that his companion is not to he rescued with him, he rejects the offer, and remains with Didier to abide the issue. At this moment, Marion arrives at the prison gate, and, showing the Kings pass, is refused admittance. At the same instant Laffemas appears, and, showing a pass from the Cardinal, the door flies open to him. Marion eagerly displays to him the pardon which she holds ; and he unrolls before her eyes the revocation of it, signed by the King, a few hours after. Her despair then knows no bounds, and the wretch Laffemas takes advantage of it, to offer her as the terms of her lovers rescue, the same alternative which Angelo proposes to Isabel, in Measure for Measure of course the readers own mind will naturally suggest the wide difference bet~veen the women, as making all the differ VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 20 Writings of Victor Hugo. 154 [July, ence in the transaction. However, it is consented to by Marion, who at length thus obtains access to her lover. She brings him a disguise, and offers him the means of es- cape ; these, however, he rejects, charging her with having deceived and betrayed him. While she entreats and he re- proaches, the gun is fired which announces the arrival of the Cardinal to witness the execution. All flight is of course impossible now. We give the parting of Didier and Marion. DLDIER (to Saverny). My brother, t is for me you re sacrificed, Let us embrace MARION (rushing towards him). He does not embrace me! Didier, embrace me too! DIDIER (pointing to Saverny). This is my friend, Madam. MARION (wringing her hands). Oh! hardly do you deal with the poor woman, Who, on her knees, of King and Judge implored Your pardon, and now begs of you her own. DIDIER (about to leave her, suddenly exclaims). My heart is bursting! No, no, t is impossible With a calm brow to bear this agony. Oh too much loved! thus to be left for ever, Come to my arms! death is at hand, I love thee, T is joy unspeakable once more to tell thee so! MARION. Didier! DIDIER. Come, thou poor lost one! Speak, all of you, Say, is there one amongst you, who could now Shut close his arms from an unfortunate, Whose very soul was given up to him? Oh, I have wronged thee! Shall I die before thee Unpitying, unpardoning? Oh, hear me! Among all women, and all those who hear me, In their own hearts approve of what I say; She whom I love, she with whom dwells my faith, She whom I xvorship, it is thou, dear, thou For thou to inc hast been most kind and gentle. hear me; my knot of life is now untied; I am about to die, an(l all things show 1836.1 .lllarion de Lorme. 155 In their true light and color to my eyes. was thy exceeding love that made4hee blind me, And in this hour thy sin is surely expiated. Ah ! by thy mother, in thy cradle left, Thou wert perchance, like me, a thing forsaken; While yet a child, thy innocence was sold By others ; lift thy forehead from the dust! Bear witness all ; now, in this hour, when life Fades like a shadow, and the lips are true, In this dark hour, my foot upon that scaffold Which innocent blood doth make a holy place, Mary, angel of heaven! lost on earth, My love, my wife, oh hearken to me, Mary! By that great God, towards whom death hurries me, I do forgive thee!~ Upon Marions bitter lamentations, he consoles her by showing her how irrevocably his happiness was already lost; and concludes by requesting this angel of heaven, his love, and wife, to remember him, when some other more fortu- nate lover shall approach her ; and here the tenderness and pathos of the scene are again turned into a mockery, by this allusion to the womans degraded character and situation. We strongly recommend our readers to contrast this scene with the conclusion of Heywoods Woman killed with Kindness ; in which an unfaithful wife, who is dying of the shame and sorrow of her sin, receives her husbands pardon. The old playwrights were not mealy-mouthed in the use of language ; but xve cannot help thinking, that, in matters of mo- rality, they beat the modern dramatists hollow. That a woman, who has been seduced from virtue, and for- feited her honor, should excite our commiseration, our syrn- pathy, and even, under some aspects, our admiration, is not impossible. But that a woman whose whole life has been a course of heartless and shameless profligacy should do so, is totally impossible. For a sin of passion there may be some circumstances, if not of excuse, at least of attenuation, to be found. But from a series of venal prostitutions, committed boldly in the worlds eye, and gloried in with a spirit of the most abandoned levity, our moral sense, our human sympa- thies, our very physical nature, revolts in total disgust. A woman who has led such a life may be a fitting object for the divine and pardoning spirit of Christian charity; but she is not a fitting subject for an artist to present to our senses, our 156 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, judgments, or our hearts, for admiration, approbation, or affection. The woman taken in adultery, and she who was a sinner, found mercy at the feet of the most mer- ciful ; and surely they should meet forbearance in the judgments of their fellow sinners. But, ~vhen the latter is brought before us, tricked up in all the vile and unchaste adornments of a courtesan of the most licentious court of Europe, our insulted sense of right at once turns from such an appeal, and points to the only aspect under which such an one can claim our sympathy. Again, to have made this woman the object of the love of such a man as Didier, is what we will not forgive M. Hugo for. Such things have been, it is true; but they were occasions for wise mens wonder, and good mens sorrow; strange mysteries of infatu- ation, showing too painfully the weakness of human nature, and casting down from its high altar that holy worship, pure and deep affection. We now come to the last of this series of M. Hugos plays, Le Roi samuse ; and what shall we say to that ? That, in our opinion, it is alike unfit to be exhibited or read an absurd, immoral, and indecent composition. We hardly know by what part to take up this monstrosity, so as best to display it to our readers, and least to offend them by the sight. M. Hugo is a radical ; and truly he delineates kings with the spirit of one. Francis the First, the hero of the cloth of gold, the conqueror of Marignan, the knight of Bayards dub- bing, the patron of Marot and Ronsard, the friend of Leonardo da Vinci, the rival of Charles of Spain, is brought before us, not in any of the finer aspects of his reign and character, but a heartless, worthless, witless debauchee. His jester, Tn- boulet, the hero of the piece, is a species of hump-backed Mephistophiles, who passes his life in eating his heart, (a right bitter bit, we should think,) insulting the nobles of the court, and pandering to the King. The first act is a mere sketch of the court, and consists of the dissolute discourses of the cour- tiers, mixed with the all-pervading gall of Triboulets satire, whom they all hate and fear. It terminates, however, by the appearance of one M. de St. Vallier, father of the Kings celebrated mistress, Diane de Poictiers, who comes to re- proach Francis with the seduction of his daughter, and, being scoffed at by the King and the Kings fool, curses them both most emphatically, and departs. Besides, however, a very bad 1836.] Le Roi samuse. 157 temper, Triboulet has a very pretty daughter, whom he keeps hermetically sealed from sight and speech of man, as he sup- poses ; yet who, nevertheless, is seen by the King, who visits her in the disguise of a student, and, without suspecting her relationship to the jester, obtains her affections. Some of the courtiers have detected Trihoulet in his stolen evening visits to his daughter, and, supposing them paid to a mistress, determine, in order to torment him, to carry her off; which they effect, and hear Blanche, (the name of the girl,) to the palace, where she finds herself in the presence of the King, in whom she recognises her lowly lover, and who basely takes advantage of her terror, and the circumstances which have thus delivered her into his hands. At this time, Trihou- let, phrensied with the loss of his child, which he has just discovered, reaches the palace, where his vain attempts to conceal his agony afford much mirth to the courtiers by whom he is surrounded. His attention is directed to the Kings apartment, where he becomes convinced Blanche is detained, and, rushing in despair against the door, he calls aloud upon his child. The amazement of the nobles at this discovery is extreme ; and, while they in vain endeavour to oppose the frantic father, Blanche herself escapes from the inner room, and falls into his arms. A scene of infinite anguish follows between the father and the child, which will remind the Ger- man scholar of the scene between Verrina and his daughter in Schillers noble play of Fiesco. From this time, the jesters soul is filled but with one desire, that of revenge. For a long while he is withheld from his purpose, by the love which he finds Blanche bears to her betrayer; but, at length, he deter- mines to hring her to his views by awakening her jealousy. He conveys her to the vicinity of a house inhabited by a ruf- fian street-stabber, and an abandoned woman, his sister. To this resort of infamy comes Francis ; and Blanche is at once tortured and disgusted, by beholding her lover lavish upon another, and such an one, the caresses and terms of endearment which he had bestowed upon her. With a withered heart, the poor girl turns from her post of observa- tion, and tells her father, who himself has brought her there, to do his pleasure. He immediately sends her away, bidding her to disguise herself in boys clothes, and leave the town. As soon as she is gone, he calls out of the hovel the assas- sin, and, tendering him the usnal reward, bids him murder Writings of Victor Hugo. 158 [July, Francis, who of course is there incognito. He promises to return himself and fetch the body, which he directs should be tied up in a sack. lie then retires, to leave the cut-throat to his work ; the King falls asleep in an upper room of the house, and the girl and her brother remain alone, the latter sharpen- ing his knife methodically for his job, and the former suppli- cating a reprieve for her visitor, whose good looks and gal- lantry have won her heart. A dismal storm rages without; night is fallen, and poor Blanche, in her boys clothes, comes stealing back to see what has become of her perfidious lover. She resumes the situation from which she before bad observed what was passing in the house, and overhears the horrible dialogue between the murderer and his sister. The knife is sharpened, aud he is about to ascend to the garret, (for it is nothing else,) where Francis lies asleep. Maguelonne un- plores him to have mercy ; upon which he tells her that he expects a man back, xvho is to pay him for the mur- der, and also fetch away the body, and that therefore the deed must be done. All the mitigation which the girls en- treaties obtain of this sentence is, that if, before the appointed time, any one else should come to the house, a thing rendered improbable by the late hour and fearful night, he shall he substituted for the King ; the bravo taking it for granted, that one dead body is just us good as another, and that it cannot matter much whom he delivers, tied up in a sack, to Tribou- let when he returns. Poor Blanche hears all this ; she sees the horrid face and form of the ruffian, the dismal hole where these atrocities are perpetrated, the keen and glittering knife ready for its bloody task ; but, urged on by her love for Francis, she devotes herself, and strikes upon the door. The details of the scene are here terrible. She sees the murderer pass his knife over the whet-stone, and conceal himself behind the door, ready to strike her as she enters. Her youth, her love, her father, her God, by turns seize hold of her mind, and half draw her from her purpose. Chilled through with the bitter cold rain, and the fearful anticipation of being mangled and hacked to death, she falters, yet again strikes the door; she falls on her knees, forgiving and imploring forgiveness, and knocks again ; the door is opened, and the curtain falls as the knife is lifted over her. The end is short; we wish it had been shorter; the bloody bombast of Titus Andronicus is a joke to it. Triboulet returns, pays the price, and receives 1836.] Le Roi samuse. 159 the sack ; and, sending away the cut-throat, remains alone in the storm and the night, to enjoy the consciousness of his revenge. He apostrophizes the dead body with every insult and reproach, treads upon it, buffets it, and having exhausted his rage and hatred, is dragging it to the river ; when the door of the hovel opens, Francis escapes from it, crosses the stage, singing his famous distich, Souvent femme vane, Bieri fol est qui sy fie, and disappears in the darkness among the streets. Triboulet, terrified and enraged, drags the sack again from the brink of the river, and tears it open. But the darkness of the night prevents his seeing the face; he sits down on the ground be- side the body, and waits for the next flash of lightning. It glares upon the corpse, and he recognises his child. We have neither leisure nor inclination to make more than one extract from this bloody farce without salt or savor. We take it from one of Triboulets scenes with his daughter, the only ones that are not positively offensive in the piece. ~C TRIBOULET. My child! Oh, clasp thy arms about my neck! Lie on my heart! once more with thee life smiles, My burthen s gone, I m blest, I breathe again. rrhou rt fairer every day! say, lackst thou aught? Say, art thou happy here? kiss me once more. BLANCHE. How good you are, dear father! TRIBOULET. No, I love thee, That s all. Oh, art thou not my life, my blood? Oh God! what ~vould become of rae without thee! BLANCHE. You sigh, you have some heavy secret sorrows; Tell them to your poor child, father; alas! I do not even know my family. TRIHOULET. You have none. BLANCHE. But I do not know your name. What matters it? TRIBOIJLET. 160 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, BLANCHE. Our neighbours in the village, Where I was living when you came to fetch me, Thought that I was an orphan, ere they saw you. TB IBOULET. I should have left you there; it had been wiser; But t was impossible longer to live Without one human heart to feel for me. BLANChE. Since you will tell me nothing of yourself TRIBOULET. You never go abroad? BLANCHE. T is now two months I have been here, and in that space eight times liave I been out to church, no oftener. TRIBOULET. good. BLANCHE. Father, tell me something of my mother! TRIBOULET. Oh, waken not that bitter recollection, Nor to my thoughts recall, that once I found A woman, to all women most unlike; Who, in this world, where spirits never mate, Seeing me lonely, helpless, poor, and hated, Een for my misery pitied me, and loved me. She died, and carried to her grave with her The holy secret of her faithful love That love which flashed like lightning over me, A ray of heaven, that shone down to my hell. 0, may the earth, still ready to receive us, Lie gently on that breast, which was my pillow. Thou rt all I have, thank God that I have thee! BLANCHE. Oh, how you weep, how cruelly you suffer! I cannot bear to see you weep thus, father. TRIBOULET. What wouldst thou say, if thou couldst hear me laugh? BLANCHE. Oh, father, let me know at least your name, Pour all your sorrows in my bosom. 1836.] Le Roi sarnuse. 161 TRTBOTJLET. No; Why should I speak my name? I am thy father. Hear me; away from here I may be hated, Despised, accursed; ~vhat is my name to thee? here, and to thee, in this one holy spot, I will be nothing but a father, Blanche, A dear and honored father. BLANCHE. And so you are. TRIBOULET. Beats there elsewhere one heart that answers mine? I love thee as I hate all things beside. Sit by me; come, come, let us speak of that. Say, dost thou love thy father? Wherefore should we, When thus together hand in hand we sit, Speak, think, of any other earthly thing? My child! oh, only blessing Heaven allows me! Others have parents, brothers, kinsmen, friends, A wife, a husband, vassals, followers, Ancestors, and allies, or many children; I have but thee, thee only. Some are rich; Thou art my tieasure, thou art all my riches. And some believe in God; and I believe In nothing but thy soul. Others have youth, And womans love, and pride, and grace, and health; Others are beautiful; thou art my beauty, Thou art my home, my country, and my kin, My wife, my mother, sister, friend, and child, My bliss, my wealth, my ~vorship, and my law, My Universe !Oh, by all othcr things My soul is tortured. If I should ever lose thee Horrible thought! I cannot utter it. Smile, for thy smile is like thy mothers smiling. She, too, was fair; you have a trick like her, Of passing oft your hand athwart your brow As though to wipe it. Innocence still loves A brow unclouded and an azure eve. To me thou seemst clothed in a holy halo; My soul beholds thy soul through thy fair body; Een when my eyes are shut, I see thee still; Thou art my daylight, and sometimes I wish That Heaven had made me blind, that thou mightst be The sun, that lighted up the world for me. VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. 21 162 Writings of Victor Hugo. [July, Blanche is a very beautiful flower in the middle of all these rank weeds ; but M. Hugo sins as much in bringing her into contact with such a thing as he makes Francis, as in linking Didier to Marion de Lorme. These are things, M. Hugo, that Shakspeare never did. Imogen, in her holy sleep, though looked upon by the unholiest eyes, remains pure as unspotted snow; and Desdemona, though spoken of in words of coarse ribaldry, that make one shudder, presents no image to our heart hut that of immaculate innocence. But then, Shakspeare never drew their heavenly spirits into compan- ionship with that which was base; their devoted affections were nobly bestowed upon noble objects, and, however sur- rounded by vile accidents their mortal frames might be, their souls held fellowship with that which was chaste and holy alone ; the very spirit of purity dwelt within them, and their perfect and divine modesty and dignity of nature encircle them as with a spell, round which all foul things fall harmless. If we were Sancho Panza, we should say to M. Hugo, touching these unnatural alliances of excellence and infamy, Like will to like ; Birds of a feather flock togeth- er ; ~ There is no touching pitch without being defiled, & c. Le Roi samuse has been followed by several other dra- matic compositions, some yet more abhorrent to good taste, as La Tour de .A~sle, and Lucr~ce Borgia ; others, again, of less revolting detail and incident, as Jkfarie Tudor, and the last, angelo, Tyran de Padouc; but all alike devoid of moral truth and sane feeling. It is with infinite regret that we be- hold talents, such as those of M. Hugo, exerted to scatter baneful influences as far as his works are known. It is some- times lamented, that, in translations, some measure of the original spirit of a work must evaporate. Far from deploring that his compositions connot reach these shores in all their pristine power of evil, we wish, that, instead of modified, they might be utterly lost, in the transmutation from French to our own language. We desire no such additions to our libraries. If we must borrow from foreign sources, we will draw from those that are pure ; and we devoutly hope, that, far from ob- taining imitators on this side the Atlantic, M. Hugos works may he held as models to be avoided by all our younger broth- ers of the pen. If we have yet no literature, God forbid, that any that we may hereafter own should rise upon so rotten a foundation. 1836.] Heines Letters on German Literature. 163 VVe are heartily sorry for the effect, which M. Hugos works have produced on the minds of his own countrymen. The French stage has become a disgrace to any Christian and civilized people ; and, as for those glorious dreams of liberty in which M. Hugo and his fellow-radicals indulge for France, they are utterly fantastical, and must remain so, while the spirit of their country is such as to produce and applaud works like his. The noble growth of free institutions does not spring from a licentious and immoral soil. They are not the result of idle declamation, but the fruit of steadfast purpose. They are not the sudden offspring of public paroxysms, hut the slowly ripened and widely gathered harvest of individual principle. ART. VII. Letters auxiliary to the History of .Miodern Polite Literature in Germany. By HEINRICH HEINE. Translated from the German by G. W. HAVEN. Boston: James Munroe and Company. 1836. WHATEVER we may think of the moral character, motives, and intentions of the author of this book, it claims attention as exhibiting the views and opinions of a man of uncommon talent on a subject, which cannot but be interesting to every person of liberal education, the condition of German litera- ture during the last forty or fifty years. The literature of Germany of this period, like that of France, England, and Italy, is one of the causes as well as effects of the momentous changes wrought, within that short time, in the condition of Europe, and, in fact, of the civilized world. Indeed, if we wished to mention one of the most characteristic features of this time, it would he the immediate and reciprocal relation between literature and literary men on the one hand, and the political changes of the time on the other ; and this not ocly in those departments of literature, which, being of a more prac- tical character, are nearly connected with, and immediately affected by political changes, but even in those which might be, and for ages have been, considered independent of these external influences. Nor ought we to be surprised at this. The tremendous blows, which, from the commencement of

1836.] Heines Letters on German Literature. 163 VVe are heartily sorry for the effect, which M. Hugos works have produced on the minds of his own countrymen. The French stage has become a disgrace to any Christian and civilized people ; and, as for those glorious dreams of liberty in which M. Hugo and his fellow-radicals indulge for France, they are utterly fantastical, and must remain so, while the spirit of their country is such as to produce and applaud works like his. The noble growth of free institutions does not spring from a licentious and immoral soil. They are not the result of idle declamation, but the fruit of steadfast purpose. They are not the sudden offspring of public paroxysms, hut the slowly ripened and widely gathered harvest of individual principle. ART. VII. Letters auxiliary to the History of .Miodern Polite Literature in Germany. By HEINRICH HEINE. Translated from the German by G. W. HAVEN. Boston: James Munroe and Company. 1836. WHATEVER we may think of the moral character, motives, and intentions of the author of this book, it claims attention as exhibiting the views and opinions of a man of uncommon talent on a subject, which cannot but be interesting to every person of liberal education, the condition of German litera- ture during the last forty or fifty years. The literature of Germany of this period, like that of France, England, and Italy, is one of the causes as well as effects of the momentous changes wrought, within that short time, in the condition of Europe, and, in fact, of the civilized world. Indeed, if we wished to mention one of the most characteristic features of this time, it would he the immediate and reciprocal relation between literature and literary men on the one hand, and the political changes of the time on the other ; and this not ocly in those departments of literature, which, being of a more prac- tical character, are nearly connected with, and immediately affected by political changes, but even in those which might be, and for ages have been, considered independent of these external influences. Nor ought we to be surprised at this. The tremendous blows, which, from the commencement of 164 Heines Letters on German Literature. [July, the French Revolution, were levelled, in quick succession, at the very foundation of all social institutions, and which were, in their turn, in part at least, the effect of the literary efforts of some of the leading minds immediately preceding and contem- porary with that event, reached even the retired student, and roused him to a perception of the condition of the world about him. A conscientious man, however fond of quiet, could then no longer shut his eyes to the changes which were rapidly going on; and if he thought, spoke, or wrote, the events, whose current carried him along with the rest, could not hut become the subject of his meditations, words, and writings. The natural consequence was, that most writers were influ- enced by these external circumstances to an extent never before witnessed in literature, and their works, in proportion as they gained in liveliness and spirit, lost in dignity and im- partiality. This observation applies in a greater degree, than com- mon, to Mr. Heine. He is emphatically the child of his time. He grew up at a period when the minds of men, especially in France and Germany, were in a state of fermen- tation; when old and new doctrines on almost every subject, and old and new prejudices, were floating about in chaotic confusion; when there was every thing to stimulate and excite a young, active mind, and little to guide and check it. All those passions, which such a state naturally fosters, found, in the writer whom we are considering, a most congenial soil, and grew up luxuriantly. His very powers, which are of the first order, served to pamper these passions; by the facility with which they furnished the means of gratification. He is an enemy of superstition, bigotry~ and tyranny, without being a friend of religion and true liberty ; and he hates the vices of others without loving virtue. His perception of others faults and foibles is as quick and sure, as his ridicule is point- ed and his sarcasm withering. If his object be to depreciate the literary rank of an author, he does not hesitate to expose his personal character, and draw largely from the reservoir of private scandal to accomplish his end. He is like some char- acters whom we meet in society, gifted with a peculiar power of discovering the foibles and defects of others with a pene- tration, and exposing them with a malice and cleverness, which make them at once hateful and entertaining, nay, instruc- tive. Even when he acknowledges the injustice of opinions 1836.] Heines Letters on German Literature. 165 previously entertained, be does it in so ungracious or frivo- lous a manner as to deprive his recantation of much, if not all, of its merit. To expect impartiality and fairness of mind from an individual of this description would be unreasouable. Does any one ask, Of what use, then, is the perusal of the writings of such a man ? Of very little, indeed, if xve look solely for lessons of virtue ; but of great importance, if we want the testimony of a man of talent concerning his own time and its literature, and of still greater importance, when we consider that this same man is not only a witness testifying to what he has seen and what he knows, but to some extent himself an actor in the great drama which is going on, and surely no despicable actor in a state of society where books are the most powerful engines for good or evil.* Men of Mr. Heines stamp may be opposed, their opinions refuted, and their influence counteracted ; but they cannot be silenced. Any attempt to conceal their influence only enhances the dan- ger. They are, and are active ; and it is impossible to form a complete and correct idea of the present social condition of Germany, and its prospect, of which they constitute an ele- inent, without being acquainted with them and their agency. Besides, Mr. Heine has excellences as well as faults; and, although we are far from considering them as amends for his errors, we are equally far from denying or concealing their existence. His natural powers are indisputably of a high order, and have been carefully ci.iltivated. His information, although it partakes on some subjects too much of the charac- ter of smattering, is by no means despicable on others. This is the case with regard to the whole range of German litera- ture. As a literary man, and more particularly as a critic, he deserves the attention of every German student, because he exhibits a penetration and clearness of perception, a strength and distinctness of delineation, an ahundance and happiness of illustration, an appropriateness of comparison, and a liveliness, ease, and vigor of style, rarely united in one man. his control of the language is remarkable; we doubt whether he is surpassed or even equalled in this respect, by * We saw lately in a newspaper the foltowing article; The German Diet have denounced by a formal decree, as tending to overihrow the social order of religion, a school of literature and philosophy known under the name of Young Germany, at the head of which is Henry Heine, a writer of much ability and celebrity. 166 Heine s Letters on German Literature. [July, any writer of the present time. He combines the volatile, effervescent spirit of the French with the philosophical depth of the German. He evidently writes with an ease which some- times approaches too nearly to carelessness. The bad habit of using foreign, especially French words, when a German one would answer as well, is perhaps excusable, being account- ed for by the fact that he originally wrote this work in French and for tbe French. His poetical talent, even if he had not evinced it by particular productions which rank him high among the living poets of Germany, is apparent both from his appreciation of the same power in others, and from the beauty of many passa~es in the xvork under consideration, passages which have all that constitutes true poetry except versifica- tion. The account of the girl in the vicinity of G6ttingen, who fell a victim to her misplaced affection and ill-regulated reading, with the exception, indeed, of a few eruptions of the authors inveterate frivolity ; the comparison of the heroes of the JV~iebelungenlied to an assembly of the Gothic cathedrals of Europe; the description of the muse of Tieck, readily present themselves to us as examples. From this short and hasty sketch of Mr. Heine as a liter- ary man, it is at once apparent that he presents a strange mixture of good and bad qualities, and that it were equally in- compatible with justice wholly to condemn or unconditionally to praise him. He is a phenomenon, and a very interesting one, of the time; and as such we present him to our readers. We are far from advocating or even excusing his political, theological, and philosophical opinions; but we would in fair- ness acknowledge the correctness, justice, and originality of many of his criticisms. As the substance of the Letters has appeared in sev- eral different forms, we would state, for the purpose of guard- ing against misapprehension, that it formed, originally, a part of a larger work, written and published in French with the title Sur l.~l1emagne, arid that Heirie, having reason to expect a translation into German, executed, perhaps, by an unfriendly hand, resolved to undertake this task himself. From fear of the censorship established in most of the German States, as well as from a due regard for the feelings of his countrymen, he omitted not only the political, but also the most oflensive portion of the theological and philosophical parts. This modified work is the original of Mr. Havens translation, 1836.] German Romantic School. 167 with the contents of which we shall now proceed to make our readers acquainted. In doing this we shall use, as far as possible, Mr. Heines own words, in order to give not merely an account of his opinions, hut also, with the least possible sacrifice of space, some specimens of his manner. Mentioning Madame de Sta~ls work on Germany, as the occasion of his own, and the influence which A. W. Schlegel exercised upon her views, Heine is at once led to speak of tl]at school in German literature, to the examination of which the larger portion of this work is devoted. He considers the two Schlegels as the leaders of the Romantic School, which he defines as the re-awakening of the poetry of the middle ages, as it manifested itself in the songs, the paintings, the architecture, the arts and manners of that period ; which poetry was the offspring of Catholicism, then the only form of Christianity in Western Europe. Of this he says, that it was necessary as a wholesome reaction against the fearfully colossal materialism which had developed itself in the Roman Empire, and threatened with annihilation the whole spiritual supremacy of man. Sensuality had so usurped control in the Roman world that the discipline of Christianity was fully needed for its subjection. After the banquet of a Trim alkion, must nee(ls follow a rigid fast like Christianity. The too full-blooded frames of the barbarians were spiritualized by Christianity. It originated the civilization of Europe. This is the praiseworthy, the holy aspect of Christianity. The Catholic church in this respect won for itself the greatest claims to our veneration, to our as- tonishment. By the grandeur and genius of her institutions she knew how to tame the bestiality of the northern barbarians, and to overpower their brutal materialism. pp. 10 12. This supremacy of the mind, this spiritualism, is the char- acteristic of all the productions of art in the Middle Ages, whether in poetry, music, or architecture. The poetry of all these productions of the Middle Ages bears a decided character, by which it is distinguished from the poetry of the Greeks and Romans. In regard to this distinction, we entitle the former the Romantic, the latter the Classic School of poetry. . . . . . The Classic art had but to represent the finite, and its forms were identical with the idea of the artist. The Ro- mantic art had to present, or rather to intimate, the infinite and purely spiritual relations, and hence took refuge in a system of 168 Heine s Letters on German Literature. [July, traditional symbols, or rather parables, even as Christ had sought to make clear his spiritual ideas by every species of parable. pp. 16 18. When tbe power of Catholicism waned, its influence upon the arts, also, naturally declined. A reaction took place, which, though the concomitant or effect of Protestantism, was yet by no means confined to the productions of Pro- testants, but appeared, as Heine ingeniously shows, quite as plainly in Catholic countries and the works of Catholic wri- ters and artists. The period of the new Classic School com- menced. This new school developed itself most completely in France, and thence spread over the whole of Europe. In Germany, however, where Godsched was one of its most distinguished leaders, its reign was not of long duration. Lessing was the literary Arminius, who freed our theatre from such foreign thraldom. lie showed us the nothing- ness, the ridiculousness, the tastelessness of such an imita- tion of the French stage, in turn an imitation of the Gre- cian. But not only by means of his criticism, but also by his own productions, was he the founder of the new school of original German literature. Every tendency of the mind, every form of life, did he follow out with enthusiasm, arid with impar- tiality. The arts, theology, antiquities, poetry, theatricals, his- tory, he pursued them all with the same zeal and to the same object. In all his works there breathes the same great social view, the same progressive humanity, the same rational faith, of which he was the Messenger in the Wilderness, and whose Mightier than he we still await. This religion did he ever teach, though, alas! but too often in solitude and the desert. And then he lacked the power of converting stones to bread, and spent the greater portion of his days in penury and afflic- tion. That is the curse that lights upon almost every German intellect, and which, perhaps, can be dissipated only by political liberty. More than men suspect, was Lessings interest in polk. ical changes; a peculiarity in which he stands apart from almost all of his contemporaries, and in this view we first com- prehend aright his description of the petty despotism in Emilia Galotti. He was, at that time, regarded only in the light of a champion for freedom of spirit, and an assailer of clerical intol- erance; for his theological writings were better understood. He was, in truth, a man ; and while in his polemics he struggled to overthrow the ancient, he at the same time created a something new and of greater worth. He resembled, says an 1536.] German Romantic School. 169 old German author, those pious Israelites, who, at the building of the second temple, were oft interrupted by incursions of the foc; with one hand they drove back the assailant, with the other, still labored on the house of God. pp. 24, 26. It is while speaking of Lessing and Herder, that Heine makes the following bea u~ifnl observation on liternry history. Literary history It is a vast morgue, where each seeks out the friend whom he most loved, with whom he was most famil- iar. When, amid so many unknown, unhonored forms, I gaze upon a Lessing, or a Herder, upon those faces stamped with the proudest impress of humanity, my heart beats within me. How can I pass away, without a fleeting kiss upon those pallid lips? p. 27. Although Lessing did much by opposing the French school and its second-hand imitations of the Greeks, he occasion- ed a similar error, even if he did not err himself, by encour- aging, unintentionally, a race of feeble and insipid imitators of the genuine works of ancient Grecian nrt. And, in the same manner, while he opposed religious superstition, be favored, though unconsciously, that sickly spirit of enlighten- ment that characterized his time, and shone particularly in Berlin under the direction of Nicolni. In opposition to these pseudo-disciples of the great Lessing, the new Romantic School arose, at the head of which were the two Seblegels. Heine acknowledges the merits of these txvo distinguished men as critics ; but, with regard to their efforts to 1)roduce a new literature by means of a well-founded theory, he objects to them, as he does to Lessing, only in a much higher degree, the want of a philosophical system, a want which the philosophemes of Fiebte and Schelling could not provide for, and which they themselves endeavoured prac- tically to supply by recommending as models, and rendering accessible by means of translations, the best productions of the poetry of the middle ages, especially Shakspeare and Calderon. Ileine ridicules this attempt of resorting to the fountains of the na~ve and simple poetry of the middle ages, and, we think, to some extent, with justice. It happened to them [the disciples of the new Romantic School], as to the saperannuated maid of honor, of whom the following tale is told: She had observed that her lady owned a wonderful elixir, which possessed the power of renewing youth; in the absence of her lady she took from her toilet the flask VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 22 170 Heines Letters on German Literature. [July, containing this elixir; but in place of drinking a few drops only, she made so long and potent a draught, that, by reason of the increasing wondrous poxver of the youth-renewing drink, she became not only young, but, in truth, a very little child. And verily such was also the effect upon our excellent Tieck, the best poet of the school; he had quaffed so deeply from the popular legends and poems of the middle ages, that he became almost an infant, and bloomed downward to that lisping simpli- city which Madame de Sta~l has been at so much trouble to admire. pp. 33, 34. Besides the spirit of opposition to the insipid literature of the time immediately after Lessing, the political condition of Germany, groaning as it was under the yoke of Napoleon, fostered this admiration of the middle ages and their arts. The want of a more distinctly national element in German literature was felt, and the Romantic School appeared to be able and ready to supply it. The manner in which Heine speaks of the influence of the political condition of the coun- try, of the efforts of the governments, especially that of Prussia, to awaken a spirit of nationality, and the consequen- ces of these efforts, is one of the many instances of his ex- travagance and frivolity ; yet it cannot be denied that there is good ground for the charges implied in his irony, consid- cling that the governments abused the noble sentiment of patriotism for their selfish ends, corrupted its very nature, and changed its legitimate objects; they commanded us, as Heine says, to become patriots, and patriots we be- came. The tendency towards the spirit of the middle ages was not limited to art and literature, but naturally extended to religion ; it strengthened those who were already Catholics in their attachment to their church, and caused others, both literary men and artists, to join it. Such a state of things could not but excite the attention of the friends of Protestant- ism, and cause a reaction. Truly, it was without aught of partiality that I named spir- itual freedom and Protestantism conjointly; in fact, a most friendly relation subsists between them there [in Germany]. At all events they are related to each other as mother and daughter; and if we object to the many nupleasing peculiarities of Protest- antisin, still to her everlasting honor be it said, that, because she has permitted free inquiry into the Christian faith, and liberated 1836.] John henry Voss. 171 the spirit of man from the authoritative yoke, therefore free inquiry has struck deep its roots in the soil of Germany, and the sciences have obtained an independent developement. The German philosophy, although it now ranges heside the Protest- ant church, nay, even strives to exalt itself above her, is still but her daughter; as such she is ever bound to a regardful piety toward her mother; and their allied interest demanded that they should league together, when both were threatened by Jesuitism, their common foe. All the friends of spiritual freedom and of the Protestant church, skeptic as well as orthodox, roused them- selves simultaneously against the restoration of Catholicism; and, as might naturally be supposed, the liberals stood forth equally in the ranks of this opposition; not, indeed, that they were peculiarly interested, either in philosophy, or the Protestant church, but because they were alarmed for the welfare of civic freedom. Up to this period, however, the liberals of Germany had ever been both school-philosophers and theologians; and it was ever the same idea of freedom for which they fought, it mattered not whether they treated of a theme purely political, or philosophical, or theological. This is most plainly manifest in the life of that individual who undermined the Romantic School at its very outset, and has now most effectually contrib- uted to its overthrow. This individual is Johann Heinrich Voss. pp. 4~44. What Heine says of France with regard to Voss, that in that country he is wholly unknown, might with equal justice be said of America. And yet the fervent eulogy of the man, as a scholar and a friend of spiritual and political liberty, as one of the pillars of German literature, to whose merits such a man as Niebuhr ~ has borne testimony, is fully sustained by facts ; and if there be any thing to be added, it is that he was possessed of a private character of great worth, and spotless purity, which rendered him an object of veneration and re- spect to all who knew him. His contest with Friedrich von Stollberg was more than a personal dispute, it was the encounter of the spirit of liberty and aristocratic privileges Voss and Stollberg were the representatives of the two great parties. ~C The German democracy and the German aristocracy, which, previously to the [first French] Revolution, when the * I say it, well considering what I say, that the influence of the lahors of Voss on the whole German nation, will he so great, that other nations will feel and acknowledge it. Liehers Reminisccnccs of JVie1~ukr. 172 Heines Letters on German Literature. [July, one had nothing to hope and the other nothing to fear, had join- ed in such free and youthful brotherhood, now stood as old men, face to face, to fight the fight of death.p. 49. Heine introduces another opponent of the Romantic School, no less a personage than Goethe; hut we are inclin- ed to consider his opposition of a negative kind rather than a positive, and call it aversion rather than opposition. For the purpose of supporting his opinions, Heine refers to an article Upon the Christian Patriotic New-German Art, in his periodical work, Art and Antiquity. In this article, Goethe made, as it were, his eighteenth Bin- maire in German literature; for, while he drove the Schlegels so harshly from the temple and attached to his own person many of their most zealous disciples, and was hailed with aeclamations by a public to which the Directory of the Schlegels had long since become a scourge, he at the same time laid the foundation of his own monarchical sway over German literature. From that mo- ment no one spake of the Schlegels more, excepting when their names were, perchance, mentioned, as are those of Barras and Gohier. p. 55. But Goethe was not suffered to finish his career without opposition. He lived long enough to see opponents and enemies rise tip on all sides, and advance the most diverse charges, the principal of which were, that his poems were without moral tendency, and that he presented no noble forms, but only vulgar figures; while Schiller, on the contrary, had exhibited ideal characters of the noblest order, and was, therefore, the greater poet. Others went even further, and, like Meuzel, denying his genius, allowed him only talent. The advocates of Goethe endeavoured strenuously to defend him, especially against the first charge, by asserting that art, like the world, remains eternally the same (however the views of men in regard to it may be subject to ceaseless change), and independent of the temporal views of men, and especially in- dependent of morality, which is ever changing upon earth with every new religion. Schiller attached himself much more strongly than Goethe to this world of reality, and, as the poet, that second creator, resembles his great ori6inal in this also, that he forms men in his own image, Schiller created a Carl Moor and Marquis Posa, while Goethe produ- ced his Werther, Wilhelm Meister, and Faust. This portion 1836.] Goethe. of Heines book is one of the most characteristic specimens of our authors style of criticism. We extract a few periods. Nothing is more ridiculous than to depreciate Goethe in favor of Schiller, toward whom the intent was not honorable, and whom men have ever lauded in order to diminish the praise of Goethe. Or were men verily ignorant, that those highly painted, those purely ideal forms, those altar-images of virtue and morality, which Schiller has erected, are far easier to pro- duce than those frail, every-day, contaminated beings that Goethe reveals to us in his works? Know ye not, then, that in- different painters ever present the full-length picture of some holy saint upon the canvass, but that it requires a consummate master to paint a Spanish beggar, or a Dutch peasant suffering a tooth to be extracted, or hideous old women, as we see them in the little Dutch cabinet pictures, true to life, arid perfect in art? The Egyptian sorcerers could imitate many of the acts of Moses, as the snakes, the blood, the frogs even; but when he did acts, much more seemingly easy for the magicians, namely, brought vermin upon the land, then they confessed their ina- bility, and said That is the finger of God. pp. 70, 71. Mentioning the personal appearance of Goethe, and his re- semblance to the antique representations of Jupiter, Heine relates his own interview with him. Verily, when I visited him in Weimar, and stood in his presence, I involuntarily turned my eyes aside, to see if the eagle, with the thunderbolts in his beak, were not attendant up- on him. I was just on the point of addressing him in Greek, but when I perceived that he spoke German, I told him in that language, that the plums, upon the road between Jena and Weimar, had an excellent relish. Many a long winter night had I thought with myself how much that was lofty and profound I should say to Goethe, if ever I should see him; and when at last I saw him, I told him that the Saxon plums were excellent. p. 8~. Heine concludes his rerriarks ou Goethe with the following words; Was it out of respect, or was it out of insolence, that death spared all kings, during the year that is gone? Out of pastime he struck senseless the King of Spain, hut opportunely bethought himselg and let him live. In the year that has flown, not one single king has died. Les dicux sen vont; as for the kings, we retain them still. p. 83. The part of the book, which immediately follows the criti 174 Heines Letters on German Literature. [July, cism on Goethe, is devoted to the Schlegels, and is, upon the whole, the most exceptionable portion, indicating a relent- less, atrocious hostility, for xvhich there is, upon Heines own showing, no sort of ground. We are naturally led to sus- pect some private grudge ; but of what kind, we are not able to divine, nor disposed to inquire. To the younger of the two brothers, Friedrich, Heine alloxvs the precedence as to talent and ability. He does justice to Schlegels merits in his Wisdom and Language of the Indians, by which he became to Germany what Sir William Jones is to England, and his Lectures upon the History of Literature. He closes his remarks upon the latter work thus Yet, notwithstanding this defect, I know of no abler hook upon this subject. It is only by a union of all Herders labors upon this branch, that one can gain a better general view of the literature of all nations. For Herder sat not in judgment upon the nations, like a high-inquisitor of literature, to condemn or absolve them, according to their degrees of faith. No! Herder regarded the human race as a mighty harp in the hand of a mighty master; every people appeared to him a string, tuned to a peculiar measure, and he comprehended the universal harmo- ny of its diverse sounds. p. 89. More space, and more venom too, is bestowed upon A. W. Schlegel, the elder brother, interspersed, however, as is indeed the whole hook, with correct opinions and shrewd re- marks. The very manner in which be introduces him, is a specimen of his bitterness of feeling towards him. Were I in Germany, and should attempt to speak of him, men would look upon me with amazement. Who is there in Paris that now speaks of the Giraffe? A. W. Schlegel was born in Hanover, the 5th of Septeniber, 1767. I do not know the date by his own confession. I was never so ungallant as to in- quire of him his age. This date I found, if I am not mistaken, in Spindlers Lexicon of German Authoresses. Hence A. W. Schiegel is now sixty-four years old. Alexander von Humboldt and other natural philosophers affirm that he is older. Chain- pollion was also of the same opinion. p. 90. Notwithstanding his great and violent hatred of Schlegel, he acknowledges fully his merits as a translator, admitting that his translation of Shakspeare is masterly and never to be surpass- ed, and that he possesses the greatest metrical talent of any Qerman, with the exception, perhaps, of Gries and Platen. 1836.] augustus William Schiegel. 175 In the study of the ancient German, he places Jacob Grimm, and in that of the Sanscrit, Franz Bopp far above him ; and as a historian, he says, he cannot be compared with Niebuhr, Johannes von Mueller, Heeren, or Schiosser. The follow- ing anecdote illustrates what he thinks of him as a poet. The violin-player Solornons, who gave lessons to George the Third of England, once said to his noble scholar, Violin-play- ers are divided into three classes; to the first belong those who cannot play at all; to the second belong those who play very miserably; and to the third, those who play finely; your Majes- ty has already elevated yourself to the rank of the second class. Does August Wilhelm Schlegel I)elong to the first class or to the second class? Some say he is no poet at all; others, that he is a very miserable one. Thus much I know for certain, he is no Paganini. p. 92. But he is most dissatisfied with Seblegel as a critic; and he ascribes his inefficiency in this respect chiefly, if not solely, to his want of a philosophical foundation, and his inability to comprehend his own time, however fully he has comprehend- ed the spirit of the past, especially of the middle ages, and however successful be is in pointing out this spirit as it exists in the ancient monuments of art, and in demonstrating their beauties in this point of view. By this he accounts particularly for his opposition to the French Drama, and his declaration that the French were the most prosaic people in the world, and that there was no such thing as poetry in France. All this did the man say at a period, when so many leaders of the Convention of the great ~ritan-tragedy wandered in bodily form before his eyes; at a period when Napoleon daily improvisa- ted an excellent epic, and Paris ~as thronged with heroes, kings, and gods. Who knows how many deeds have bloom- ed forth from the verses of Racine! The French heroes who lie entombed by the Pyramids, by Mareugo, Austerlitz, Moscow, and Waterloo, they all had once listened to the measures of Ra- cine, and their Emperor had heard them from the lips of Talma. Who knows how many tons of fame in the Vend~me column belong peculiarly to Racine ! Whether Euripides were a greater poet than Racine, I know not; but I do know that the latter was a living fountain of enthusiasm, whose draughts intoxicated, enchanted, and inflamed an entire nation. What more would you ask of an individual poet? pp. 95, 97. 176 Heines Letters on German Literature. [July, The description of the personal appearance of A. W. Schie- gel, and the allusions to his private affhirs, are so evidently in bad taste and proofs of a rancorous and implacable malice, that we best consult our feelings, and, we think, those of our readers, by passing them by in silent contempt. Justice re- quires us to state that Heine himself seems to be aware of the impropriety of his conduct ; for, xvhen speaking of Goer- res he says In the judgment I have passed upon his friends, the two Schiegels, I have perhaps overstepped the bounds proper to be observed in the biographies of these men. p. 1~31. Tieck, who naturally presents himself, being one of the more distinguished, perhaps the most distinguished, of the Romantic School, is, after Schlegel, submitted to a close scrutiny, the result of which, though by no means indicating a friendly spirit, is upon the xvhole correct, and acknowledges his unquestionable genius. And, in truth, he was a poet, a name to which neither of the Schlegels could advance a claim. He was, indeed, the son of Plvzebus Apollo, arid, like his ever-youthful father, he bore not only the lyre, but also the quiver full of rattling arrows. He was intoxicated with lyrical delight and critical severity, as was the Delphian god. And when, like Apollo, he had pitilessly flayed some literary Marsyas, then, with blood.stained fingers, did lie joyously seize again his golden-stringed lyre, and sing a jovial love-song. The poetical polemics which Tieck sustained, under a dramatic form, against the opponents of this school, must rank with the most extraordinary productions of our liter- ature. pp. 106, 107. A remarkable circumstance in the literary career of Tieck is presented in his several manners. When he made his first ap- pearance, it was, under the banner of Nicolai, as one of the Ber- lin advocates of enlightenment and reason, and enemies of su- perstiti on and mysticism. He then displayed little of that poe- tical genius which afterwards astonished and delighted Germany by its brilliancy and abundance. What Heine says of him is very true ; it was as if he needed to come into contact with some one who was to open and draw out the hidden treasures; and this was done by the Schlegels. From the time of his connexion with them commences his second manner, of which the most remarkable specimens are several dramas and 1836.1 Louis Tieck. 177 novels, as Der Kaiser Octavian, Die Heilige Genoveva, Der Fortunat, Der blonde Eckbert, and Der Runen- berg. We cannot xvithstand the temptation to give Heine s description of the character of the novels. In these romances there reigns a mysterious accordance, a wonderful intelligence with nature, particularly with the vegeta- ble and mineral kingdoms. The reader feels as if traversing an enchanted forest ; be hears the subterranean fountains gushing in melody, and oft believes his own name is lisped forth amid the rustling foliage; the broad-leaved plants that trail along the ground twine fearfully around his feet; wildly strange and won- drous flowers glare upon him with party-colored and longing eyes; invisible lips kiss his cheeks with playful tenderness lofty mushrooms, like golden bells, ring as they spring np beneath the spreading trees; vast, yet silent birds rock themselves upon the branches, and nod downwards with long and knowing bills; all breathes, all listens, fills us with terror, and awakens the most eager curiosity. Then the soft notes of a hunters horn suddenly break upon the ear, and on her white palfrey, flits along the beauteous image of a lady, the feathers waving from her cap, and the falcon perched upon her wrist. And this beauteous lady is even as beautiful, as blond, as violet-eyed, as smiling and yet as serious, as true and yet as ironical, as chaste aiid yet as languishing, as the fantasy of our admirable Ludwig Tieck. Yes! his fantasy is a graceful dame of knighthood, chasing the fabulous beasts of an enchanted forest, perchance the most wonderful unicorn, that none, save the chastest maiden, may ever [flake captive. pp. 114116. Tieck appeared next in his third manner, not a little sur- prising to those, xvho, having lately known him as the admirer of the middle ages, saw him now oppose mysticism, insist upon perfect clearness and reasonableness in the productions of art, and represent, in his own productions, life in its most modern forms. Heine, frequently too prone to looking abroad for motives and causes, ascribes this change in Tiecks manner to the influence of Goethe; as he accounts for his second manner by that of the Seblegels. Without denying the influence of one mind upon others, it seems to us, that these three manners of Tieck are the principal stages of a perfectly natural and spontaneous process of the inner man and what strikes Heine as a strange discrepancy between the understanding and imagination, appears to us as perfect VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 23 178 De Tocquevilles Democracy irt .firnerica. [July, harmony; the absence of extremes ; in a word, the result of a natural and complete developement. The remarks on Schelling, Hegel, Steffens, and Goerres are full of interest and humor, but by no means free from prej- udice. Heines charge against the philosophers of the day, that they are state -philosophers, devising a philosophical justi- fication of all interests of the governments to which they owe their patronage, seeking out grounds to justify the existing order of things, and being vindicators of all that is, is the same which was brought agai rist Hegel twenty years ago by many clear-headed and liberal-minded men, and he owed pro- bably his call to Berlin, in 1818, to this faculty of adaptation. A series of short but graphic sketches of the principal re- maining authors of the Romantic School, Hoffmann, Novalis, Brentano, and Arnim, closes this volume, from which we Iong to extract many passages, especially those relating to German popular poetry and the Niebelungenlied, but our limits oblige us to forbear. We should, however, be deficient in our duty, if we did not add a few words of testimony to the great merits of Mr. Havens translation. His is indeed a translation, not only of the letter, hut of the spirit also ; and every one, who is ac- quainted with the original, and has been struck by the pecu- liar power of Mr. Heines style, will at once acknowledge this to be no small praise. We cannot express our admiration of Mr. Haven s talent as a translator in a more convincing manner, than by requesting him to pursue this career, and gratify us with many similar proofs of his acquirements and ability. ART. VIII. Dc let DSmocratie en .Iin~rique. Par ALEXIS DE TOcQUEVILLE, Lun des Auteurs du Livre intituV~, Du Syst~me p~nitentiare aux Etats-Unis. On the Democracy of ~Irnerica. By ALEXIS DE TOcQUE- VILLE, One of the authors of The Penitentiary System of the United States. In Two Volumes. 8vo. Second Edition. Paris. 1835. IN a former Number of our journal, we reviewed The Pen- itentiary kSystern of the United EStates, the joint production of

178 De Tocquevilles Democracy irt .firnerica. [July, harmony; the absence of extremes ; in a word, the result of a natural and complete developement. The remarks on Schelling, Hegel, Steffens, and Goerres are full of interest and humor, but by no means free from prej- udice. Heines charge against the philosophers of the day, that they are state -philosophers, devising a philosophical justi- fication of all interests of the governments to which they owe their patronage, seeking out grounds to justify the existing order of things, and being vindicators of all that is, is the same which was brought agai rist Hegel twenty years ago by many clear-headed and liberal-minded men, and he owed pro- bably his call to Berlin, in 1818, to this faculty of adaptation. A series of short but graphic sketches of the principal re- maining authors of the Romantic School, Hoffmann, Novalis, Brentano, and Arnim, closes this volume, from which we Iong to extract many passages, especially those relating to German popular poetry and the Niebelungenlied, but our limits oblige us to forbear. We should, however, be deficient in our duty, if we did not add a few words of testimony to the great merits of Mr. Havens translation. His is indeed a translation, not only of the letter, hut of the spirit also ; and every one, who is ac- quainted with the original, and has been struck by the pecu- liar power of Mr. Heines style, will at once acknowledge this to be no small praise. We cannot express our admiration of Mr. Haven s talent as a translator in a more convincing manner, than by requesting him to pursue this career, and gratify us with many similar proofs of his acquirements and ability. ART. VIII. Dc let DSmocratie en .Iin~rique. Par ALEXIS DE TOcQUEVILLE, Lun des Auteurs du Livre intituV~, Du Syst~me p~nitentiare aux Etats-Unis. On the Democracy of ~Irnerica. By ALEXIS DE TOcQUE- VILLE, One of the authors of The Penitentiary System of the United States. In Two Volumes. 8vo. Second Edition. Paris. 1835. IN a former Number of our journal, we reviewed The Pen- itentiary kSystern of the United EStates, the joint production of 1836.] Travellers in .Jlmericc. 1?9 M. de Tocqueville and the companion of his journey, M. de Beaumont. That work has been translated, and has obtained a pretty extensive circulation in this country. It has prepared those who have read it to expect the present publication with some eagerness. We feel no hesitation in saying, that this expectation will not be disappointed. M. de Tocqueville shows himself to be an original thinker, an acute observer, and an eloquent writer. We regard his work now before us, as by far the most philosophical, ingenious, and instructive, which has been produced in Europe on the subject of America. In the wide range of its topics, treated as they all are with bold- ness, there are, as might be anticipated, many things to which, as speculations, we cannot give our assent ; there are several mistakes, as to matters of fact, some of considerable impor- tance ; there is occasionally a disposition shown, almost universal among intelligent Qriginal thinkers, to constru~t a theory, and then find the facts to support it. These, however, are slight derects in an excellent work. M. de Tocqueville shows, that he came to this country to study with impartiality its institutions, to ascertain its condition, and to trace the ex- isting phenomena to their principles. There is no eulogy in it, and no detraction ; but, throughout, a manly love of truth. M. de Tocquevilles observations uniformly discover a high degree of acuteness and discrimination. They show, that to observe accurately and profoundly requires a vigor of mind, as rarely perhaps to be met with, as the power of original invention. rrhe number of men, who are able to lay aside the paltry prej- udices of party, who are not misled by superficial appear- ances, who can separate what is permanent and essential from what is momentary, xvho can discern great principles under a thousand varying forms of developement, is exceed- ingly small ; and in no one effort perhaps is their talent more severely put to the test, than in writing a book of travels. We take the greater satisfaction in the work of M. de Tocqueville, from a deep conviction that much mischief has been produced by works of a different character on the sub- ject of America, which have of late years issued in great numbers from the European press. M. de Tocqueville speaks of the bitter hatred entertained by the Americans to- ward England. We consider that expression as too strong. The angry feelings excited by the wars between the two countries have yielded to time and other healing influences; 180 De Tocquevilles Democracy in ilmerica. [July, and there is nothing to keep up the sort of animosity, which prevails, for instance, between the Turks and the Greeks, the Irish and English, the Russians and Poles, the Spaniards and Portuguese. Still, however, if not ha- tred, there is a very considerable soreness and sense of injury, existing on the part of America towards Great Britain, and almost exclusively iroduced by the publications of a portion of the British tourists in this country, and the coun- tenance unadvisedly given to these publications by the most respectable literary journals in England. It is idle to talk of the peculiar irritability of the Americans. M. de Tocqueville, who falls into the vulgar error oC foreigners, in imputing such an irritability to the people of this country, (or rather who, on this point, abandons his excellent habit of observing for him- self, and adopts, without reflection, one of the stale, stereo- typed sneers of the tourists,) explains himself the only cir- cumstance, that gives a semblance of truth to the charge. A vastly greater portion of the community in this, thdn in any other country, are readers; and the novelties of the day, thrown into circulation, at a rate of almost incredible cheapness, may be said to be read by everybody. The scandal and gossip of the travellers in our oxvn country, give their works an instanta- neous circulation, on the same principle that gives zest to the columns of the most worthless journal, which deals in personalities and the abuse of contemporary characters. They are immediately read by almost all persons who read any thing; and those who escape the book itself, must encounter it, at second hand, in the reviews, magazines, and newspapers. These considerations account for the universality of the feel- ing, which the works in question excite. An American tourist in England might publish an equally offensive book, and not one in ten would hear of it of that class, which in America devours all the trash of every kind that issues from the press. But that the individual, in the two countries re- spectively, is differently affected by the perusal of works of this class, we have yet to learn. If an English gentleman, who had hospitably entertained an American, should find the confidence of his fire-side violated, and what was done and said in the unsuspicious frankness of the social board duly embalmed in the journal, and blazoned to the world, we are inclined to think he would express himself on the occasion, very much as an American gentleman does, when similarly 1836.] British Travellers in Jmerica. 181 situated. We did not observe, that the tone of the British critical press toward Prince PUckler Muscan was particularly characterized by a philosophical indifference toward the indi- vidual or personal detraction charged upon the pages of that eccentric writer and the more recent instance of a countryman of our own furnishes an edifving comment on the atrocious vio- lation of the decencies of life, which has marked the publications of many of the British tourists in America, and the unscrupu- lous countenance extended to them by the most respectable journals. John Bulls tremendous horn, long, hooked, and crumpled, has been for forty years buried deep in Jonathans flank ; and if the poor sufferer hut winks under the discipline, Europe rings from side to side with his tetchiness. But when Jonathan, the other day, in a moment of indiscretion, showed a disposition, in a slight degree, to take a turn at the sport, all Albemarle Street was in commotion. Foi~ ourselves, we wholly reprobate this license, on whichever side of the water it is taken ; and how gentlemen and ladies, English or Arner- ican, can find in the mere fact, that they are foreign tourists, (in other words, that in the account of friendly offices, they must almost of necessity stand on the debtors side,) a reason for liberating themselves from those restraints of good breeding, which would operate on a person travelling from city to city in his own country, we never have been able to conceive. Much, however, as the violations of confidence and the ungrateful return for hospitality, to which we allude, are to be rebuked, there is a sin of a deeper dye at the door of some of the tourists. We mean that of undertaking the voyage expressly and for fhe avowed purpose of political effect at home, and consequently to find, and (what is the same thing, with such a purpose,) to make the materials for vilifying this country. These writers have done the greatest mischief; and have mainly contributed to l)roduce that feeling, which M. de Tocqueville, overrating, we trust, its intensity, character- izes as hatred toward England. In the reign of Louis the Four- teenth, when the King was the State, an offensive device on a medal of doubtful authenticity was among the causes of the war with which he desolated Holland. human nature is the same, in all a bes, and on both sides of the Atlantic ; and it would be underrating the vigor and efficiency of the British press to suppose, that, if its conductors and contributors, of all de- scriptions, desire to excite a bad temper between the two countries, they will fail of their object. 182 De Tocquevilles Democracy in flmerica. [July, We have already intimated the opinion, that M. de Tocque- yules work exhibits more insight into our system than any European publication xvhich we have seen, and we consider this circumstance as somexvhat remarkable. Our institutions (to use a word which our English brethren profess not to un- derstand, though in what its obscurity consists we do not perceive,) are modelled, to a considerable extent, on those of England. Our law in its frame-work, substance, and phrase- ology is English, and our constitutional forms generally are bor- rowed from those of the mother country. Between our legal and political system and that of France, there is, on the con- trary, the greatest possible dissimilarity. And yet, while M. de Tocqueville has seized, with great accuracy and acuteness, the prominent points of our policy, both in matter of theory and practical operation, we do not recollect any English writer, who has comprehended either; certainly not Captain Hall or Colonel Hamilton, from whom, if from any of the Brit- ish tourists, it might have been expected. No English writer on this country has discerned the important part sustained by our town and county organization in carrying on the govern- tnent; or evinced any accurate knowledge of the relative limits of the National and State jurisdictions. We could al- most think that the resemblance, which exists between the two countries, prevents a more accurate perception of the state of things, in points where the resemblance ceases, and the peculiarities and novelties commence. England lives un- der an organization, which may be compared to the solar system; every thing proceeds from or tends to the focus of central attraction. America possesses a much more compli- cated organization; like that of which the sun, with all its subject planets, is supposed to form a part in the heavens. The twenty-four independent States, each constituted substan- tially according to the political type of the mother country, compose a general system of government variously complicat- ed with the separate systems, perpetually acting into them and reacted upon by them, both organically and sympathetical- ly, forming in the general result, a highly artificial plan, whose main workings have been long ascertained by experience, but of which incidental properties and functions are continually unfolding themselves, beyond the range of any thing contem- plated even by its founders. Now it is perhaps natural, that the Frenchman who approaches the subject as new in all its 1836.] Equality of Conditions. 183 parts, and studies it in the existing phenomena, without being misled by previous associations, may attain a more accurate knowledge of it, than an Englishman who comes to America, expecting to find nothing but the English system, mutatis mu- tctndis. The latter is not likely fully to comprehend to what extent the old names import new things ; how far that which is wholly nexv, varies the action of that which is borrowed, and how far the absence of that which was not borrowed fiom England, changes the character of what was. Besides this, it is not to be disguised, that, with Englishmen of almost all classes, the American constitutions are regarded as the British, in a state of degeneracy. No man can comprehend a system against which he is prejudiced ; the passions are on all subjects the great disturbers of perception and obstruct- ers of knowledge. A Frenchman of the liberal school like M. de Tocqueville, is disposed to regard the representative republics of America, as a fair and natural attempt to carry the principles of the British constitution into their consequences. If he has no partiality for the experiment, he has at least no prejudice against it. It would he underrating the imJ)ortance of M. de Tocque- villes work to regard it merely as a book on America. It is a work of deep significance and startling import for Europe and for the modern civilized xvorld. Let the first sentences of the introduction attest the truth of this remark. Among the new objects, which attracted my attention, du- ring my residence in the United States, nothing struck me more powerfully, than the equality of conditions. I easily discovered the prodigious influence, which it exercises on the march of society. It gives a certain direction to the public mind, a cer- tain character to the laws; new maxims to rulers, and peculiar habits to the ruled. I soon found that this principle extends its influence far be- yond politics and laws; that it exerts the same sway over society as over the government. It creates opinions, gives rise to feel- ings, suggests usages, and modifies what it does not produce. Thus, then, in proportion as I studied American society, I saw more and more, in the equality of conditions, the parent fact from which every other fact seemed to proceed; and I contin- ually met it as a central point, in which all my observations terminated. I then directed my mind toward our own hemisphere. It seemed to me that I distinguished there something analo 184 De Trocquevilles Democracy iu .Ilmerica. [July, gous to the spectacle presented in the new world. I saw the equality of conditions, which, without having reached its ex- treme limits, as in the United States, was daily approaching them; and that same democracy, which bore sway in the Amer- ican communities, seemed to me to advance rapidly toward power in Europe. From this moment the idea of my work was conceived. A great democratic revolution is going on among us; all see it, but all do not estimate it alike. Some, considering it as a novelty, as an accident, hope to be able to arrest it; xvhile others judge it to be irresistible, because it seems to them the fact the most constant, the most ancient, and the most permanent, known in Our readers perceive from these sentences, that our au- thors work is no childs play. Well may M. de Tocque- ville remark, as he presently does, that his mind is solemnized at the statement of the subject. lie regards the government of this country, as founded on great ultimate principles, which lie deep in the nature of man ; as a bold and noble experiment to develope and apply those principles, lie farther considers the civilized world, which looks on, the spectator of the experiment, as itself profoundly interested in the result ; nay more, that a similar experiment, in earlier stages and under other conditions, is proceeding at the same time in Europe and that between the great experiments, going on in the two hemispheres, there is a constant action and reaction. We conceive it of great importance to take these enlarged views of our politics. They elevate and purify the mind. They lift it out of the narrow sphere of contemporary in- trigues ; and they show the incalculable importance of the part which Providence has assigned us on the stage of life. In nothing has M. de Tocqueville more approved his sagacity, than in placing at the very head of his work, as the parent principle of our institutions, the Equality of Conditions ;and it will be found, hy a careful study of the genius of the various forms of government, at different times established in the world, that they differ mainly in this respect. This is essen- tial, every thing else is accidental, in the constitution of po- litical societies. The fact of the equality of men is most curiously arranged in the providential order of human affairs ; and it seems to us that the manner, in which the allotments of a Higher Wisdom 1836.1 Equality and Diversity. 185 have been obeyed and respected in the contrivances of our constitution, affords, more than any thing else, the proof of the almost inspired sagacity of our fathers. Religion teaches the moral equality of men, as the great foundation principle of our nature, which admits of no respect of persons with God. By the side of this moral equality, we perceive, nevertheless, the most extraordinary diversity of physical gifts and intellect- ual capacities ; in the result of which, in every form of soci- ety that has ever been practically tried among men, from the most ancient patriarchal government, to the rudest simplicity of savage life on the one hand, and the most complicated and artificial constitution on the other, vast disparities of condi- tion among individuals are continually presenting themselves. These inequalities of gifts and capacities are the hasis, first, of wealth, influence, and power. The robust, healthy, intelli- gent, brave savage is found in the possession of a larger and more commodious wigwam, of a buffalos skin more tasteful- ly ornamented, of a finer horse, of a comelier squaw, and of superior influence, perhaps of a commanding lead in the tribe. The same elements, concentrated into. military prowess, in a more artificial constitution of society, led to the formation of the various monarchical and aristocratical governments, which have at different times existed in the world, and which were so many political contrivances, devised by the self-perpetuating instinct of power, not to give effect to the moral equality, but to perpetuate the physical and intellectual inequality of men. This, in itself, was an abuse, because in a frame of govern- ment, organized on the true principles of the nature of man, the moral ~quality, which is eternal and universal, should have been the end, and the physical and intellectual diversity the modification of the system. But the evil did not stop here ; the ancient governments, in seeking to perpetuate and organize the diversity principle, adopted institutions, which had the direct effect of still further impairing the equality principle. From this moment, the beautiful equilibrium of nature was disturbed, and enduring mischief was perpetrated. The fortunate general sought to transmit to his son that l)Ie- dominance in the state, which he had himself acquired by his valor. He was entitled to it for his personal qualities, and he wished to bequeath it to his son, who did not possess those personal qualities. Now and then the egregious absurdity, as well as injustice, of such a bequest peeps out. When VOL. XLIII. NO. 92. 24 186 De Tocquevilles Democracy in flmerica. [July, Richard Cromwell, the good-natured, timid, smooth-visaged, English gentleman, tries to take up the mighty battle-axe with which his father Oliver, with a reeking hand and a brow ploughed and blackened by the thunder-bolts which staggered, but could not prostrate him, had hewed his way to power, the world looks on with derision, laughs awhile, and permits Richard, greatly bissed for his pains, to sink away to his hid- ing place. But the line of monarchs, from Nimrod doxvn, has been principally the alternation of Oliver and Richard. Oliver gives an impulse to the system, which often lasts through a succession of Richards. And when mankind, dis- daining at length the ignominious yoke of a feeble despotism, conspires to throw it off, and affairs fall into confusion, up starts Oliver again in the old line or a new one, and plies his iron flail, till they cry for mercy, and all again is quiet. This rationale of political history was well understood by the an- cients, and happily illustrated in the annals of their sacred Majesties, King Log and King Stork. As, in the transmission of power, the personal superiority strives to perpetuate itself at the expense of the general equal- ity, so with the transmission of fortune. The very idea of property, that xvhich makes it to be what it is, namely, ones own, authorizes the possessor to dispose of it at his pleasure, while lie lives and at bis death. Experience showed the con- venience of strengthening transmitted power by an alliance with transmitted wealth. Hence tbe various devices, the entails, the substitutions, and the trusts, by which, in tbe lan- guage of the law, the accumulations of one generation are committed to the faith of the next, to be used, kept together, and banded down. But, as it is plain that the equality, on which all stood as candidates for power, in the first genera- tion, is greatly disturbed in the second by the organization of society into permanent divisions of rank ; so, for the acquisi- tion of wealth, the equality principle is still more fatally im- paired by all devices calculated to keep great accumulations together. In the first generation, all stand fairly in the com- petition, with no other inequality than that of the natural en- endowments. In the second, some start with great accumu- lations of inherited capital locked up against the vicissitudes of fortune. In this way, the natural constitution of society is subverted. The principle of equal rights is entirely lost sight of, a common interest ceases to exist, and every thing is 1836.1 Equality irt ~iThwrica. 187 reduced to force ; with some considerable assistance from habit, patriotic pride, and superstition. In this state the American Revolution found the world and from this political and social condition the American con- stitutions seek to restore mankind. The plan was not excogi- tated in the philosophers cell, nor proclaimed by the sound of the trumpet. It offered itself, as all mighty improve- ments must offer themselves, spontaneously, to men nearly unconscious of the great work of which they were the chosen instruments. Wise men proposed it ; but they did not invent it, or create it. It grexv out of the providential constitution of our race, and the heaven-controlled juncture of affairs. A child can drop an acorn into the ground, which xvill grow np into an oak ; and all the academies in the universe, with all their chemistry, cannot compouud a blade of grass. The time had come, the circumstances were favorable, the soil was mellow. The natural equality of man is embalmed in an elective system. Detur digrtiori. The impossibility of the actual intervention of each individual of a large nation is re- lieved by a representative government. The system in a moment is complete. It is an elective representative republic. As transmitted power sought the alliance of transmitted wealth, transmitted political equality demands a healthy circulation of property. This is effected by the statute of distrihutions, in virtue of which, at the end of the second generation in most cases, and invariably at the end of the third, the accumula- tion vanishes, and natures noble upstarts are found at the head of affairs. No violence, no plunder, no invasion of the right of property. All is gradual, salutary, and life-giving, because all is done in conformity with the dictates of nature. In this way, as far as theory goes, the individual diversity principle and the general equality principle are thoroughly har- monized; and the experiment of two hundred years (for the system in all its great features dates rather from the settlement of the country than the revolution) has fully tried it in prac- tice. To say, that in no single instance it has failed ; that no bad man has been raised to office ; that no good man has lived in undervalued obscurity; that there has been no profligate wealth, and no wronged, heart-broken poverty, would, of course, be idle. But this may be truly said, that all the evils which disfigure our system equally exist in all others. There are, and have been in all time, as many bad and incom 188 De Tocquevilles Democracy in .Llrnerica. [July, petent rulers, as many worthless persons clothed with influence and fortune, in other countries as in this, and many monstrous oppressions elsewhere existing are here wholly unknown. This, also, may be said, that the evils which manifest them- selves in the working of our system, are entirely analogous with those which are exhibited in the whole moral constitution of the universe, as far as we can comprehend it; which presents to our observation, alike in the intellectual and the physical world, the perpetual antithesis of a perfect theory and con- stantly recurring exceptions to its operation, an absolute na- ture thwarted in individual cases of developement, a bene- ficent system struggling under the abuse of its most genial provisions. But it is time to return from these speculations to the mat- tet more immediately before us. No part of M. de rrocque villes work has struck us as more masterly, than the manner in which, in his lutroduction, he has traced the growth of the democratic principle in Europe. I look back, says he, a moment, on what Europe was seven hundred years ago. I find it divided among a small num- ber of families, who possess the earth and govern the inhabitants. The right of commanding descends from generation to genera- tion with the inheritances. Men have but a single instrument of acting upon each other, and that is force; and there is but one source of po~ver, landed property. In this state of things, the power of the clergy is founded and extends itself. The clergy opens its ranks to all, the poor and the rich, the nobleman and the commoner. Equality be- gins to penetrate through the avenues of the church to the bo- som of the government; and he who would have vegetated like a serf, in a constant slavery, places himself as a priest in the midst of nobles, and not seldom sits down above kings. Society becoming in time more civilized and more stable, the different relations among men become more complicated and numerous. The necessity of civil laws is strongly felt. From this necessity the legal profession springs up. Its members go forth from the dark enclosure of tribunals, from the dusty re- treats of the registry, and take their places in the court of the prince, by the side of feudal barons covered with ermine and steel. Kings ruin themselves by vast enterprises; nobles are ex- hausted by private wars; commoners grow rich by trade. The influence of money begins to be felt in the affairs of the state. 1836.] Rise of the European Democracy. 189 Commerce opens a new path to influence, and financiers consti- tute a power in the state, at once despised and courted. By degrees, knowledge is diffused; taste for literature and the arts awakens; talent becomes an element of success; sci- ence is a means of government, and intelligence becomes a social power. The learned attain political station. Meantime, in proportion as new avenues to power are open- ed, the importance of birth declines. In the eleventh century, in France, nobility was of inestimable value. It could be had for money in the thirteenth century. The first patent of nobility was conferred in 1170, and equality was at last introduced into the government by the aristocracy itself. Durincr the last seven hundred years, it has sometimes hap- pened, that, in order to struggle against the royal authority or to divest rivals of power, the nobles have given political importance to the people. Much more frequently, kings have been seen to introduce the lower classes into the government, in order to abase the aristocracy. In France, the kings have shown themselves the most ac~ tive and constant of levellers. When they have been ambitious and strong, they have labored to elevate the people to the level of the nobles ; when they have been moderate and feeble, they have permitted the people to rise above the throne itself. Some have aided the democracy by their talents, others by their vices. Louis the Eleventh and Louis the Fourteenth took care to reduce every thing to a level beneath the throne. Louis the Fifteenth, with all his court, descended himself into the dust. From the time that the soil began to be possessed by the citizens on any other than a feudal tenure, and personal prop- erty began to create influence and give power, every discovery made in the arts, every improvement in commerce and industry, created so many new elements of equality among men. From this moment, the processes found out, the wants occasioned, the desires awaked, are so many steps toward a general levelling. The taste for luxury, the love of war, the empire of fashion, the passions of the human heart, alike the most superficial and the most profound, seem to work together to impoverish the rich and to enrich the poor. From the time that the labors of the mind became the source of strength and wealth, every scientific developement, every new branch of knowledge, every original idea became a germ of power accessible to the people. Poetry, eloquence, memory, the graces of the mind, the fires of the imagination, depth of thought, all the gifts which Heaven scatters at a venture, 190 De Tocquevilles Democracy in .flrnerica. [July, profited the democracy; and even when those gifts were found in the possession of their adversaries, they still promoted the democratic interest, by bringing out in hold relief the natural greatness of man. Its conquests accordingly extended with those of civilization, and knowledge and literature became an arsenal, common to all, where the weak and the poor daily resorted for arms. in running over the pages of our history for seven hundred years, you meet no great events, which have not promoted equality. The crusades and the English wars decimate our nobility, and produce a division of their estates; the municipal incorpora- tions introduce democratic liberty into the bosom of the feudal monarchy; the discovery of fire-arms equalizes the vassal and his lord, on the field of battle; the art of printing offers equal resources to their intelligence; the post-office brings knowledge alike to the cottage and the palace; Protestantism maintains, that the road to Heaven is equally open to all men; and the discovery of America presents a thousand roads to fortune, and conducts obscure adventurers to wealth and power. Ig starting from the eleventh century, you scrutinize what takes place in France from half to half-century, you will not fail to perceive, at the end of each period, that a double rev- olution has taken place in the social condition. The noble will have sunk in the social srale, the commoner will have risen; the one descends, the other mounts. With each age they approach each other, and they will soon meet together. Nor is this peculiar to France. On whatever side we cast our eyes, we perceive the same revolution throughout the Chris- tian world.pp. 4S. Views like these are equally sotind and cheering; they rec- oncile us to the fortunes of our race. When we contemplate tl)e unsatisfactory progress of freedom ; when we witness rev- olutions commencing tinder the most promising auspices, hut soon plunging into seas of blood; xvhen we see symptoms of degeneracy in the practical operation of the wisest systems of government; when we contemplate the leaden apathy of that ignorance and servittide, into which many of the nations have settled down, our hearts are apt to sink within us. We are ready to despair of the progress of man toward any substantial improvement of his condition, as a member of civil society. But a survey of broad tracts of 1)istory is sufficient to correct the impression. The dark annals of the middle ages furnish a source of cheerftil hope. It is ground enough of consolation, 1836.] Progress of Society. 191 that we do not live in the time of the crusades. The baronial castles, masses of tasteless ruins that lie in heaps on the bill-tops of Europe, and whisper from their crumbled battle- ments the tale of the private wars that desolated the nations for three centuries, are eloquent of encouraaement. Arbitra- ry forms of government still subsist ; but civilization, if not constitutions, has broken down much of their rigor. The fangs of the Inquisition are extracted, and nation after nation has risen up with their once enslaved children into the light of knowledge and Christianity. The crew of the ship may fall into unhappy (lissensions, but she is ploughing her way on- ward before the breeze, and will yet reach the port. No doubt there is a mournful waste of energy, in the struggles of party against party and nation against nation, of those who have the same interests at stake aud the same object at heart. No doubt there is a deplorable waste of innocent blood. Thousands and tens of thousands of intelligent men, in our own happy country, are constantly straining all their energies in worthless contests with each other for worthless objects and hundreds of thousands throughout the civilized world annually fall a prey to the sword, to the diseases of the camp, and to the horrid reverses of fortune, that follow in the train of war. These evils we witness and feel, and they make us, perhaps, despond over the progress of man- kind. But the age of Peter the Hermit, of the Guelfs and Ghibellines, of Louis the Eleventh and Henry the Eighth were worse. All the now existing evils existed in a tenfold degree. Abuses now unknown bore sway; and the great mass of men were actually brutalized in the depths of their ignorance and subjection. No brighter prospect need be de- sired for mankind than that religion, morals, government, liter- ature, and the arts, in a word civilization and liberty, may, for ten centuries to come, make a progress equal to that, which has been made in the ten centuries past; and if we are author- ized to hope, as we may without extravagance, that each new- ly discovered art, truth, and right will furnish in itself not merely a new blessing, but a new instrument of other discover- ies and improvements in morals, government, and social ex- istence, imagination itself must fail in the attempt to estimate the inheritance, which is in store for our children. There is great power and sublimity in the manner in which NI. de Tocqueville, having sketched the past, glances at the future fortunes of Europe. 192 De Tocquevilles Democracy in .Jlmerica. [July, Whither, then, are we tending? No one can say; for the terms of the comparison already fail us. The conditions of men among Christians are already more equal than they ever were among men at any previous time, in any country; thus the mag- nitude of what has already been done prevents our measuring that which remains to he accomplished. The work which is now submitted to the reader, has heen written under the impression of a sort of religious terror, pro- duced in the mind of the author by the view of that irresistible revolution, which for so many ages has advanced against every obstacle, and which is still advancing in the midst of the ruins it has caused. It is not necessary that God should speak himself, in order that we may discover the certain signs of his will. It is enough to ascertain what is the habitual march of nature and the contin- nal tendency of events. I know, without an audible voice from the Creator, that the planets perform their courses on the curves, which he has marked out. If long observations and meditations, pursued in good faith, should convince the men of this day, that the gradual and pro- gressiv e developement of equality is at once the past and the future of their history, this single discovery would give to this developement the sacred character of the will of the Sovereign Master. To wish to arrest democracy would then appear to be a struggle against Heaven itself; and nothing would remain to the nations but to accommodate themselves to the social state, imposed on them by Providence. The Christian nations appear to me, at the present day, to exhibit even a terrific spectacle. The movement which impels them is already so strong, that it cannot be suspended; it is not yet so rapid, that it is hopeless to attempt to direct it. Their fate is still in their hands, hut soon it will escape them. To instruct the democracy; to renovate, if possible, its religious belief; to purify its manners; regulate its movements; substitute hy de- grees the knowledge of affairs for its inexperience; an acquaint- ance with its true interests for its blind instincts; to adapt its government to time and place; to modify it according to cir- cumstances and men; such is the first of the duties imposed in our day on those who direct society. pp.9, 10. We have made these extracts as presenting favorable speci- mens of our authors manner. It would take us greatly be- yond our limits, to engage in an analysis of his work. Some general account of the plan, with some additional extracts, and a few remarks, by way of comment, will fully suffice to 1836.] Characters of the ,Settlers. 19~ give our readers an idea of its value, and to induce them to acquaint themselves with its contents. The first chapter treats of the physical configuration, (geog~ raphy) of North America. The second is devoted to what the author calls the point of departure of the first settlers, namely, their character, previous opinions, and motives in emigrating. This portion of the work contains very profound observations on the original germ of democratic liherty, as developed in the municipal organization of the mother country. We have already made a remark as to the superior insight possessed by M. de Tocqueville into American affairs, compared with that evinced by some of the ahlest English tourists and writers. The present chapter affords a confirmation of this remark. It so happened, that in the early periods of the American settle~ ments, it was the practice of the British government to trans~ port felons to some of the plantations. On this notable fact, and for the worthy purpose of complimenting the present generation, it has been deemed a most valuable doctrine to propose on the subject of the colonization of the United States, that their Adam and Eve came out of Newgate. This reflection was historically so correct; it was so flattering to Great Britain, considering certain passages in the interna- tional relations of the two countries ; it was so pleasing and philosophical a solution of the American problem; and its first propounder (Mr. Cobhett) was, in all respects, so worthy a guide of public sentiment, that it is not wonderful, that it was, on several occasions, adopted by writers of great con- sideration and weight, among others by our learned brother of the English Quarterly Review. * The following is the most recent form in which we have seen the sentiment stated; it is quoted from Frazers Magazine.~~ Any one initiated into the secrets of the book-trade must be aware, that copies of the Newgate Calendar are in constant and steady request throughout President Jacksons dominions; most families heing anxious to possess that work from motive connected with heraldry and genealogical science. Noxv let us hear what M. de Tocqueville has to say of the first settlement of New England, and the character of those, who led the way in its colonization. After having thus taken a rapid survey of American society VOL. XLIII.NO. 92. * For January, 1828. 25 194 De Tocquevilles Democracy in .flmerica. [July, in 1650, if we examine the state of Europe, and particularly that of the continent toward the same period, we feel ourselves penetrated with profound surprise. On the continent of Europe, at the commencement of the seventeenth century, absolute roy- alty everywhere triumphed over tbe ruins of the oligarchical and feudal liberty of the middle age. In the bosom of this brilliant and accomplished Europe, the idea of the rights of the people was more misconceived, than perhaps even at any other period. Never did the people possess less of the political life; never had notions of true liberty less engaged the minds of men ; and yet at this very period these ideas of liberty, unknown to the Euro- pean nations, or despised by them, were proclaimed in the de- serts of the Ne~v World, and became the future symbol of a great people. The boldest theories of the human understanding were reduced to practice in this society, apparently so humble, and of ~vhich assuredly at that time, no statesman had deigned to take notice. Inspired by the originality of nature, the imagi- nation of man there struck out a legislation not founded on pre- cedents. Irs the bosom of this obscure democracy, which had as yet produced neither generals, nor philosophers, nor great writers, there could arise a man in the presence of a free people, and give, amidst the general acclamation, this beautiful definition of liberty. The questions which have troubled the country of late, and from which these disturbances in the State have risen, have been about the authority of the magistrate and the liberty of the people. Ma5 istracy is certainly an appointment from God. We take an oath to govern you according to Cods law and our own; and if ~ve commit errors, not willingly, but for want of skill, you ought to bear with us, hecause, being chosen from among yourselves, we are but men and subject to the like pas- sions as yourselves. Nor would I have you mistake your own liberty. There is a freedom of doing what we list, without re~ gard to reason and justice. This liberty is indeed inconsistent with authority. But civil, moral, and federal liberty consists in every mans enjoying his property and having the bcnefit of the laws of his country, which is very consistent with his duty to the civil magistrate. And for this you ought to contend, with the hazard of your lives. * I have already said enough to place in its true light the ~C * Matbers JIIagnalia. This discourse was pronounced by Winthrop. He had been accused of arbitrary acts of power. After having pronounced the discourse of which the above is a fragment, he was triumphantly ac- quitted, and from that time regularly re-elected Governor. See Marshalls Was/tingtomm, Vol. I 1836.] Religious Toleration. 195 character of the Anglo-American civilization. It is the product (and this point of departure must be constantly borne in mind) of two elements entirely distinct, and elsewhere often found in opposition to each other, but which the Americans have suc- ceeded in incorporating with each other and bringing into mar- vellous combination ; I mean the spirit of religion and the spirit of liberty. pp. 6769. Though we have disclaimed the purpose to institute a minute criticism of the details of M. de Tocquevilles work, we cannot pass from the chapter before us, without pointing out an inadvertence, capable of leading to a very injurious conclusion. A note to page sixty-second sets forth that, By the penal law of Massachusetts, the Catholic priest who sets foot in the colony, after having been driven from it, is punished with death. This statement, without any thing to make the reader regard it as expressed in the historical style, the present for the preterite, might betray him into a singular misconception of the state, of toleration, which now exists under the law of Massachusetts. His Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of Bordeaux, for thirty years a most re- spected citizen of Boston, must guard our friends in France against the mistake. The severe legislation against Catholic priests borrowed by the colonies from the mother country, was the enactment of a very early period (1647), and has long since passed away. It may be proper also to remark by way of explaining to a portion of our foreign readers the true charac- ter of the legislation of the colonies, as well as of England on the subject of the Roman Catholic religion, that it must by no means be ascribed purely to ecclesiastical considerations. It rested on such considerations in the colonies, no doubt, to a greater extent than it did in the mother country. Our fore- fathers entertained an unaffected dread of the peculiarities of the Roman Catholic church, and it was their chief ground of dissent from the church of England, that it had, as they thought, stopped short in its career of reform. But, in both countries, political causes of hostility lay deep in the minds of the people. The dispute between the two churches was inti- mately connected with political questions, which, from Henry the Eighth, to William and Mary, came home to the organ- ization of the hierarchy as a great element in the government, the composition of the House of Lords, the pecuniary condi~ tion of a large body of the priesthood of both communions, 193 De TocquevilJes Democracy iu america. [July, and the titles to no small amount of secularized church pro- perty. Besides the interests involved in these questions, an abiding irritation had sprung from the relations of Elizabeth and Mary, and the gunpowder plot under James. After William and Mary, to all the previous causes of an irrita- ble sensibility on this subject, was added the paramount question of a disputed succession to the crown. The colo- nies could not hut sympathize in the excitement of the mother country on these questions ; and if their immediate interest in some of them was inconsiderable, it was still a matter of the highest state policy, that they should atone for their non- conformity, at least by a zealous anti-Romanism, to which their feelings guided them, not less than their interest.* The third chapter treats of the social state of the Amer- icans in a general way, of which the author regards the main characteristic to be an essential democracy. He finds in the provisions of our laws relative to the admission to bail, an aristocratic distinction, which favors the rich more than the poor, in matters of criminal j~istice. This conception, how- * As the terms of the old law confirm the view we have taken of its policy, and the volume, in which it is contained, is rarely met with, we give it entire from the earliest Revised Laws, Edition of 1672. JESYITES. This Court taking into consideration the great Wars, Combustions, and Divisions, which are this day in Europe, and that the same are ob- served to be raised and fomented chiefly by the secret underminings and solicitations of those of the Jesuitical Order, Men brought up and devoted to the Religion and Court of Room, which bath occasioned divers States to expel them their Territories, for prevention whereof among ourselves; It is Ordered and Enacted by authority of this Court, That no Jesuite or Spiritual or Ecclesiastical person (as they are termed), ordained by the authority of the Pope or See of Room, shall henceforth at any time repair to, or come within this Jurisdiction: And if any person shall give just cause of suspition, that he is one of such Society or Oder, he shall be brought before some of the Magistrates, and if he cannot free himself of such suspition, he shall he committed to Prison, or bound over to the next Court of Assistants, to be tried and proceeded with, by Banishment or otherwise as the Court shall see cause. And if any person so banished be taken the second time within this Jurisdiction, upon lawful trial and conviction, he shall be put to death. Provided this law shall not extend to any such Jesuite, Spiritual or Eccle- siastical person, as shall be cast upon our Shores by Ship-wrack or other Accident, so as he continue no longer then till he may have opportunity of Passage for his departure; nor to any such as shall come in company with any Messenger hither upon publick occasions, or Merchant, or Master of any Ship belonging to any place, not in enmity with the State of Eng- land, or ourselves, so as they depart again with the same Messenger, Master, or Merchant, and behave themselves inoffensively during their abode here. (1647.) 1836.1 Universal kSuffrage. 197 ever, is founded rather in theory, than in any accurate obser- tion of the practical injustice of our law in that respect. The fourth chapter treats of the sovereignty of the people, as the acknowledged principle of the American constitutions, and its inevitable tendency to universal suffrage. M. de Toc- queville justly describes this principle as coeval with the set- tlement of the colonies, owing not its origin hut its enthusi- astic developement to the Revolution. It is unquestionably the master-principle of our politics ; that from which the highest duties of the citizen flow. The great mass of men are virtuous, patriotic, and single-hearted in reference to public affairs ; hut the great mass of men are also absorbed in their private concerns, and, looking individually neither for the hon- ors nor emoluments of office, are too apt, in common times, to sink into a profound apathy and a criminal indifference rela- tive to the concerns of the country. Thus the field is too often left open to the demagogue, who enters it with those forces, which the law of universal suffrage enables him to enlist among the uninformed and the unprincipled. The solid por- tion of society are at home ahout their husiness; the intriguer, with his deluded instruments, at the polls. Hence the almost unvarying fate of free states ; seasons of prosperous degen- eracy, and of political revival in difficult times. Affairs are brought into a bad train, by the incompetent or dishonest men, who from the causes stated have found their way to power ; a crisis comes on, great public dangers supervene, the patri- otism of the country is awakened, and better men are called to the helm. Circumstances, too numerous to be indicated determine the laws of this fluctuation, both as to duration and extent. Wholly to obviate it, is perhaps more than can be hoped for, in the imperfection of human affairs. The nature of the evil indicates the exercise of the elective franchise as the highest duty of all good citizens; but the most effectual remedy must he sought in universal education. With a uni- versal diffusion of knowledge, universal suffrage may be strip~ ped of its accompanying evils, and rendered, in practice as in theory, a source of strength and happiness to the state. The possession of the elements of useful knowledge and the cheap multiplication of good books would render the mere party press comparatively powerless, and wrest from the demagogue the wand of his power. M. de Tocqueville, as we have already intimated, has per.. 198 Do Tocquevilles Democracy in flmerica. [July, ceived, more distinctly than other writers on this country, the necessity of commencing his inquiries with the separate States ; and that not only in reference to their constitutions of State government, but their municipal corporations. He has made New England the basis of his investigations in this re- spect, justly deeming the municipal organization of this part of the country to he much more systematically developed, than that of the rest of the Union. This remark was emphatically made hyMr. Jefferson, who deemed the towns in New Eng- land to he the cause of a good part of its prosperity. It should, however, he home in mind, that the counties in Virginia and other States formed on her model are multiplied greatly be- yond the proportion of their population, as compared for instance with Massachusetts, in order to supply, in some degree, hy the machinery of county organization, the want of that of the towns. Massachusetts with a population, in 1830, of ahout six hundred thousand, has fourteen counties ; and Virginia, with a population ahcut douhle that of Massachusetts, has one hundred and five counties. Still, however, the county organization is vastly less penetrating and efficient than that of the towns ; and all those interests, which are under the peculiar guardianship of the towns in New England, the ~ the high-ways, and, above all, the schools, are comparatively neglected, where the municipal organization is wanting. M. de Tocqueville has penetrated, upon the whole, with great accuracy, the municipal system of New England. Cer- tain suggestions would however mislead a foreign reader. Thus it is said, that there are nineteen principal toxvn- offices. Each citizen is compelled, under penalty of a fine, to accept these several offices ; hut at the same time the greater part of them are paid, in order that the poorer citizens may devote their time to theni without injury.,~ The most important municipal offices are discharged gra- tuitously; and of none of them perhaps can it be said, that the salaries amount to a compensation sufficient to enahle the poor to accept them, did they impose duties requiring a large appropriation of time. They are, however, usually filled by the suhstantial citizens of the towns. Again ; You see, accordingly, the towns in New England buy and sell, bring and defend suits hefore the courts, make what appropriations, and raise what sums of money they please, without any check from a stiperior administrative authority. Although it may 1836.] .Municipal Corporations. 199 be correctly stated, that all this can be done, without an ad- mirtistrettive check, the expenditures of the towns are not wholly uncontrolled. The courts of justice will hold the towns to a bond fide interpretation of the law, which author- izes them to raise money to defray the reasonable charges of the town. All conceivable objects of expenditure are not reasonable charges. Besides this, the money is to be raised by the vote of those who are to pay it, among whom a great equality of taxability prevails ; and where peculiar circum- stances favor a surcharge on individuals of the burden of tax- ation, a change of residence to some other town is easily cifected. This last remedy against oppression xvill be less easily appreciated in Europe, where family estates are of such vast importance, and their proprietors are rendered by them fixtures on the soil, scarcely more movable, than the massy walls they inhabit. But this locomotive quality of the American population has not escaped M. de Tocquevilles observation in another connexion. On the whole, no element of Ameri- can liberty is more essential than this unobtrusive, humble, do- mestic, municipal organization. Every thing is done by the neighbours ; by the people, whose interest and comfort are to be promoted. It is the curse of centralization, that it puts power into the hands of those wbo know not Joseph. They cannot exercise it so xvell ; and if they could, and if they did, they would not have the credit of it. There is always an air about a commissioner, who comes down from a distance. How can he tell where to build the district school? Who taught him to thread his way through the barberry-bush lanes, and across the beaver-meadows, to find out the true centre of population for their sun-burnt and flaxen-headed little ten- antry? Does he, the supercilious stranger, know how much that steep hill will bear levelling, with a view to the Squires convenience at the summit, without subverting the doctors underpinning on the side ? Can all his town-learned wisdom teach him how much longer that poor old crone may be safely indulged in her preference of every thing but starvation and freezing at home, rather than be made comfortable in the alms- house ? To give a foreigner an adequate idea of the importance of the town system of New England, as a school of legislation and politics, would be wholly impossible. It is enough to say, that the great contest of principle between Great Britain and 200 De Tocquevilles Democracy in .1/merica. [July, her colonies was, as far as New England is concerned, mainly carried on in the towns. The principles were discussed in town-meeting. The representatives, as the crisis drew on, came up to the seat of government with their instructions adopted in town-meeting, often argumentative, pertinent, and eloquent in no common degree. And from that time to this, the same assemblies furnish a constantly renewed discipline in the manly arts of popular government. We do not wonder at the tenacity with xvhich the towns adhere to all their im- munities ; and no better illustration could be offered of the estimation in which they are held by the people of Massachu- setts, than the enormous tax, which is borne for the sake of keeping up a house of representatives in this State, whose great size is occasioned by the resolute adherence of the towns to their right of separate representation. The sixth chapter discusses the topic of the judiciary; the seventh that of impeachmnents, the terrors of which are greatly exaggerated by M. de Tocqueville. Out of the hun- dreds of thousands of functionaries of the States and of the United States, who, since the adoption of their constitutions, have been amenable to the impeaching power, we cannot re- call half a dozen cases of its successful exercise. No elec- tive officer is likely to be impeached. If there is strength in the impeaching body to vote his accusation, and in the judging body to convict him, there will be power in the party opposed to him in a year or two to deprive him of office, and this contents them. Judicial functionaries, by the tenure of their office, invite to a more frequent exercise of the im- peaching power ; but experience has shown, that, in this case also, it is for different causes nearly nugatory. Judicial mal- versations are infrequent, slight, unprompted by political pas- sions. The judge can scarce ever have a motive to do the only great evil he is competent to do, to corrupt the fountains of private justice ; and could he be so depraved as to inedi- tate it, public opinion so hems him in on every side, inofficial checks so constantly beset him, the press is so observant and so formidable, the bar so powerful, the path of judicial trans. gression so unfashionable, so unprofitable, so uncomfortable, that impeachment rests like an unused sword in its scabbard, hard to draw when perchance it is wanted. With this preparation, M. de Tocqueville passes, in the eighth chapter, to the federal constitution, which is treated in 1836.] De Tocquevilles Democracy in .flmerica. 201 the latter half of the first volume. The second volume is devoted to a series of discussions, of which we can in no other way furnish so adequate an idea, as by transcribing the table of contents. It is as follows CHAPTER 1. How it may be said, with rigorous propriety, that the people govern in the United States. CHAPTER II. Of the parties in the United States; remains of the aristocratic party. CHAPTER ill. Of the liberty of the press in the United States. ChAPTER IV. Of political associations in the United States. ChAPTER V. Of the government of the democracyuni- versal suffrage the choices of the people and the instincts of the American democracy in its choices of the causes, which correct these instimicts in part influence which the American democracy has exercised over electoral lawspublic function- aries under the American democracy of discretionary power assumed by Magistrates under the American democracy in- stability of administration in the United States public charges under the American democracyits instincts relative to salaries difficulty of perceiving the causes which lead the American government to economy can the public expenses in America be compared to those in France ? of the corruption and the vices of rulers in the democracy, and their effects on the public morality of ~vhat efforts the democracy is capable of the power exercised in general by the American democracy over itselfof the manner in which the American democracy con- ducts the foreign affairs of the State. CHAPTER VI. What are the real advantages which the American society derives from the government of the democracy of the general tendency of the laws under the empire of the American democracy, and the instincts of those who apply them of the public sentiment of the United States of the idea of rights in the United States of respect for the law in the United States activity which reigns in all parts of the body politic in the United States, and its influence on society. CHAPTER VII. The omnipotence of the majority in the United States, and its effects how the omnipotence of the majority increases in America the legislative and administrative instability, which is natural to democracies tyranny of the majority effects of the omnipotence of the majority over the discretionary power of the public functionaries in America of the power which the majority in America exercises over thought effects of the tyranny of the majority over the na VOL. XLIiI.NO. 92. 26 202 De Tocquevilles Democracy ir& .~merica. [July, tional character of the Americans courtier spirit in the United States that the greatest danger of the American republics pro- ceeds from the omnil)otence of the majority. CHAPTER VIL[. The circumstances which qualify the tyran- ny of the majority absence of centralization in the ad minis- tration of the spirit of the lawyer in the United States, and its operation as a counterpoise to the democracy of the Jury considered as a political institution. CHAPTER IX. Of the principal causes which tend to main- tain a democratic republic in the United Statesof the acci- dental or providential causes, which contribute to maintain a democratic republic in the United States of the influence of laws and manners to the same end of religion as a political institution and its powerful agency in the maintenance of a democratic republic in A merica indirect influence exercised by religious belief on political society in the United States the principal causes which render religion powerful in America how knowledge, habit, and the practical experience of the Americans, contribute to the success of democratic institutions that the laws contribute more to this end in the United States than physical causes, and manners more than laws would laws and manners suffice for the support of a democratic republic any- where but in America? importance of these views in reference to Europe. CHAPTER X. Some considerations on the actual state and probable future condition of the three races, which inhabit the territory of the United States actual and probable future con- dition of the Indian tribes, who inhabit the territory possessed by the Union position of the black race in the United States dangers with which its presence menaces the whites what are the chances of the duration of the American Union what dangers threaten it some considerations on the causes of the commercial greatness of the United States conclusion.~, We have thus laid before our readers the contents of the second volume of M. de Tocquevilles work, as the best in- ducement we could hold out to them to make themselves acquainted with it, and as an apology for not entering more generally into a discussion of the topics which it treats. They are too numerous and various, and cover too wide a field, to receive justice within the limits of an article. The views which are taken by the intelligent foreigner on all the subjects touched by him, are ingenious, often strongly stamped by originality, frequently both profound and correct. He is some- times, as we have already observed, led away by a desire to 1836.] Religion in .Llmerica. 203 generalize, and, occasionally, takes too readily for granted, that the existing phenomena justify theories, which he has formed rather in the exercise of his own power of combination and inference, than on the basis of previously collected facts. These however are by no means the characteristics of the work, which, as a whole, cannot be read either in Europe or America, without awaking new and profitable trains of thought. To the European it is replete with instruction. There is one subject, which M. de Tocqueville has placed in an entirely new light. A favorite topic of reproachful comment with the British tourists and journalists has been the subject of religion in America. Some exaggerated pictures of the state of religious observances in the thinly settled fron- tier portions of the country, taken in connexion with the European prejudice, that religion can have no substantial foot- hold, where it is not supported by law, have produced among the class of writers to which we allude, an impression, which they take great pains to propagate in the reading world, that the people of the United States are an irreligious people. The testimony of a French traveller, so intelligent as M. de Tocqueville, of the liberal school of politics, but far from being a blind and indiscriminate admirer of America, and a professed Roman Catholic, will be beard with attentioii and re- spect on this subject. We pass over a section, in which the author discusses, with an ingenuity which has not carried con- viction to our minds, the proposition that the Roman Catholic religion is not unfriendly to the