ing embellishment; a rhythm possessed of much variety, neither complicated nor sonorous, but easy and flowing 'Like a river's lapse, With not a pebble to obstruct its course a confidence in his resources, without any apparent anxiety to keep the reason constantly excited, but trusting to the ebb and flow, and the gentle undulations of the story, to awaken the requisite interest, and the picturesque or romantic collocation of events to enliven attention. There is an apparent reliance on his theme-it seems as if the fable and action did all for him, as if his strength lay in the choice of his subject; yet the subject is excogitated from his own mind, not given by history, though suggested by it, and (which is the result of much art) apparently growing out of it; and after all, his real power is in the language and the manners. In concealing this, great skill was manifested; it was eloquence losing itself in its own effects, and surrendering its claims in favour of a narrative which had no value, but as it was embellished by its gifts. The very display was, as it were,. the hiding of its power;' for the writer had perfect mastery over the instrument of language, using the faculty as possessing it, not as being possessed by it, which is a mark of a superior and well-disciplined genius. But the demon at length over-mastered the magician; combinations of incident may be exhausted, neither is the variety of action absolutely infinite: and the period accordingly arrived when the mind was thrown back on its own fertility, and compelled to recur to the simplicity of its primitive creations. A writer of less eloquence, whatever his imagination, could then have written no more; his forms of expression being appropriated, and the facility of his execution insufficient. The mind of this author is as a living fountain; what depends upon itself it will always be able to supply:-But (at least as far as regards each man's particular horizon) Nature and Observation are bounded; circumstance merely possible is limited the probable is contracted within still stricter dimensions. We accordingly feel a deficiency of interest in the subject of his later productions, frequently a defect of construction, and always a comparative lassitude in the action of the fable. Still the same hand of power is felt; if not visible, it is palpable. The interest, never violent, is yet there; if it be not awake, it at least lies dreaming before us, and ever and anon it starts in its broken slumbers, and we feel ourselves gently agitated, and a higher animation gradually pervades our curiosity, though, no question, much in : ferior to that energetic thirst of desire with which the reader is hurried on in the perusal of 'The wondrous tale, Where doubt and terror still prevail, Whereof ye wished, yet feared, to guess!' We have rather indicated than expressed our opinion on the diction of this author: the subject, however, deserves a more enlarged consideration. It is one of his greatest advantages, and enables him to write a more readable novel from less interesting materials than almost any other author can produce with the happiest of subjects, and the most poetical of imaginations. Diffuse style is of more kinds than one. In some it is mere verbosity, either pompously inflated or vapidly extended. In him it is neither: he talks on but he has something to talk about; and he is contented to tell it in familiar terms. There are people in society who astound one with their phraseology, words of learned length, and sentences of majestical rotundity; and yet the thought beneath shall be simple enough, perhaps not worth the undoing of the gorgeous wrapper that envelopes it: others again express the most complex ideas in the simplest language and the most conversational tones, so that the hearer is apt to think that nothing can be easier to understand than what they deliver, and to form a higher opinion of his own capacity and wisdom than he had been accustomed to entertain. Thus it is with our great Novelist-the excess of what he has to communicate makes him diffuse; and the consciousness of power to dilate on learned and abstruse discussion with familiar grace and homely energy inspires him with the confidence of ability to engage, without wearying, attention. On the other hand, however desirous to level the tone of his composition to the average intellect of readers, he is careful never to descend from a certain dignity of manner equally bespeaking the gentleman and the scholar. His delineations of rustic or uneducated characters are without coarseness. He appears not to deem it necessary to make them out either by vulgarity or ungrammatical construction. Though Balafré informs us that he could no more write than he could fly,' and leaves us in doubt whether he could read, and indicates all the rudeness and obesity of an uneducated man, yet there is no material difference between his diction and that of Quentin Durward, his nephew, who was possessed of both accomplishments. It is better at all times to distinguish individual character by the matter than the manner of discourse. The latter should never be altogether neglected; neglected; sometimes, perhaps, it alone may be sufficient; but it is less permanent, and less general in its application, than the other, which has to do with intellectual distinctions; and which partaking, therefore, of the qualities of intellect, permanence and universality, is intelligible in all ages, and into whatever language translated. The occasional employment of blank verse in our old comedy had, among other happy effects, a tendency to produce this uniformity of diction. The novelist, on the other hand, has no particular inducement to maintain any pomp of phrase or stateliness of movement: he has, therefore, every facility for the introduction of the inferior modes of marking the rank and education of his fictitious persons; but the prudence of so doing is, even in his case, more than doubtful—at all events the method would only be constantly resorted to by a writer of inferior genius, or unacquainted with the better principles of composition. Where superinduced upon the nobler distinctions, as frequently done by our author in the instance of Scottish character, it adds a charm, which is as much owing to the beauty of the dialect itself, to previous acquaintance with it in the exquisite ballads of the old minstrels, and Robert Burns, and the consequent associations that men connect with its use, as to the facility which it affords of broadly distinguishing the nation and individuality of the character. Indeed, inasmuch as it broadly distinguishes these differences, the effect is injurious. A reader of taste is most interested in tracing the minuter shades, and more delicate lines of distinction, and finds a pleasure in abstracting the spirit of wit from the form of its manifestation. After all, the method is more suited to the display of humour, than of any nobler power, and befits the talents of a Ben Jonson better than the genius of a Shakspeare. It may be found united with much that is better, in theBeggar's Bush' of Beaumont and Fletcher: were it not, however, blended with that more excellent stuff, the reference to the slang glossary would be no pleasant duty, independent of the repugnance which every polished mind feels in condescending to an acquaintance with cant of any kind, and vulgarity of all degrees. -We must not, however, be misunderstood, in thus justifying the principle on which much of the dialogue in the Waverley novels is written. If an imitator were, from such an exemplar, to compose a dialogue remarkable for nothing but its monotony, that would be no argument against the principle we are upholding. Such is the dialogue of the two productions by a Mr. Smith, which we have classed in our title with the later works of the Scottish Novelist. We shall, however, in due course, arrive at a full illustration of this part of our subject. Waverley Waverley is not the best constructed of Sir W. Scott's tales; it is formed, at the commencement, on the historical model; afterwards an air of mystery is thrown over the situations, by leaving unexplained the secret causes and motive-springs till the last volume,where, after all, some of them are not cleared up in a manner entirely satisfactory. His following productions, for the most part, were modelled on the epic form, which is better; and in his later works, the dramatic manner obtained his decided preference. From the first, great dramatic power was displayed in the dialogue, and this did not long escape the eyes of the theatrical managers; it gradually developed itself, and is now the best support and ornament of his writings. His stories are digested into scenes, and they often differ from plays only in that the stage-directions, instead of being degraded to the margin, are wrought into sentences, and the nexus between the scenes and acts, instead of being left to the imagination of the reader, is expressed in continuous narration. Quentin Durward and Woodstock are obviously of this class. To Shakspeare the works of the old romancers and novelists were of particular advantage-they furnished him with incidents, manners, and characters-sometimes with entire plots; and our greatest novelist has repaid to himself the obligation in which our greatest dramatist was indebted to his predecessors. He has not, indeed, gone to the Poet for his plots and persons, but he has modelled much of his dialogue on the Shakspearian standard, particularly that of the prose portion of the historical plays. The historical drama is a distinct species, and may be considered (notwithstanding some previous attempts) as being the proper creation of Shakspeare's individual genius. It admitted a mixture of styles, the elevated and the familiar; the alternation of verse and prose, therefore, if not necessary, was allowable, and perhaps expedient. This assimilated it to the form of the novel more closely than 'gorgeous Tragedy with her sceptred pall' could have admitted. There is, however, this distinction-that the serious part of the historical drama is composed of characters and sentiments essentially dignified and classical, cast in the higher forms of the imagination, such as befit the majesty of the tragic Muse-and not to be distinguished from the solemn measures of that elder sister, who, in uniform state, came 'sweeping by, Presenting Thebes or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine;' —while the higher manners of the novel never require more than the grace of a romantic interest, and the ornament of eloquent imagery. There is this distinction-and it is of sufficient import VOL. XXXV. NO. LXX. 2 M ance ance to justify a remark or two in passing, but will not hinder the developement of the essential principles of both forms of composition, by means of a comparison of their conduct. The historical dramas of Schiller, however, approach nearer to the romantic cast than to the severe construction by which the greater efforts of our own poet are distinguished; they are, therefore, more upon a level with the publications under review, and better suit the purpose of comparison. Of his historical plays, Wallenstein is the most elaborate and the best; it, besides, has the high advantage of having been translated by Mr. Coleridge, and there are special points of resemblance between this tragedy and the novel of Quentin Durward, that induce us to place them in juxta-position. We know that there is a prejudice against the historical novel; but whatever objection obtains against it must equally obtain against the corresponding species of the drama, and with yet greater force against the epopée, of which, as we have seen, the novel is but a popular modification. We are no advocates for the falsification of historical fact, the distortion of character, or the reversion or inversion of events; but we are altogether blind to the evils of embellishing an historical outline with graceful and not improbable fiction;-taking advantage of the doubtful points of history-and giving them the colouring most expedient for the fable, or conducive to the cause of truth and morals. The prejudice, however, is confined to a few; the superior success of this class of fictitious composition in the present day demonstrates the favourable impression that it is calculated to make on the general reader. It is, we must continue to think, not much more difficult to use historical materials rightly (as in Old Mortality, or Waverley,) than to use them wrongly (as in some parts of Kenilworth and Woodstock); nay, it is possible, without affecting higher interests even than mere historical accuracy, to construct a fable from the relation of facts, in which the boldest imagination and the brightest fancy may be freely exercised. What could require more cautious treatment than the subject of the Paradise Lost? Nevertheless the inventions of Milton do not jar upon, but harmonize with, our most religious Some gentleman has lately been so very superfluous as to give another version of Wallenstein in blank verse: we have not met with this courageous essay. It is, however, pleasing to see, that the business of rendering from the German language is now getting in general into competent hands. We would particularly notice the Stories from the German,' by Mr. Gillies (in three vols.); Specimens of German Romance' (four vols.), by the translator of Wilhelm Meister; and Two Tales of Tieck, the Pictures and the Betrothing,' the anonymous translator of which has prefixed a learned and eloquent critical essay of his own.-We may add, that we are glad to hear of more one of these gentlemen being engaged in the scheme of a new journal, entirely devoted to foreign science and literature, about to be published in this metropolis. than feelings. |