The Press. — London, England, 1854-01-28 00:00:00

history, and as we may sometimes get instruc tion of another kind from a good historical romance, perhaps the reader expects us now to specify which of these two advantages_ " Castellamonte " principally furnishes. We must honestly answer that the book escapes the apparent dilemma altogether—by furnish ing neither. For, where a book professes to run on a fictitious design, whatever of truth it may over and above comprise is so much out of the fire : that which is ideal in it may serve its own purpose—may delight, improve, and exalt—but cannot practically mislead. But a book may practically mislead which, profess ing the fidelity of a real narrative—not, ob serve, of what might easily occur in the author's vievi of human nature and of the cir cumstances of the scene and epoch, but of what actually did occur there and then—fulfils this pledge, by putting an ecstatic imagination into the witness-box in the counterfeit garb of a retentive memory. There is an " ori " ginal sin," for which no purifying lavatory has.been reserved, in the very design, marrow, spirit, and essence of all such misconceived productions. It is not a defect, it is not a blemish—it is the ineffaceable primordial taint, the breaking of the first of all literary covenants. Of course a book is not bound to be a biography, nor an autobiography, any more than the person who entertains us with his conversation is bound to volunteer to relate to us the history of some selected portion of his life. But if he volunteers this, and if he then occupies us with a morbid and rhapsodical medley of sketches, in order that we may see how Titanic are the powers—how antique, pristine, heroic, the aspirations—how wise, serene, and vast the plans—of one whom we can perceive to have been a rather ordinary youth intellectually; turbulent, giddy, hair brained ; of a peculiarly visionary disposition where many were visionaries ; hating the con trol of others, though not able to control himself; and not eminent in anything save that in which the whole class of these regene rators are eminent—we mean their exceedingly curious estimate of themselves, early formed and never rectified—if, we say, he gave us some frothy romance on this basis, we might ask, " Didou tell us that this was the sketch of a novel' . " and when he reminded us that he was merely fulfilling the promise which he had volunteered, and but favouring us with a few passages of his true and faithful auto biography, are we required to exhibit gratitude? We do not mean that many of the facts narrated in this book are not real. The public facts we knew already,—and knew and know where to find them—we were about to be so uncivil as to say—better told, much better told. The private facts may, many of them, also be related truly, in so far as the occurrence of such incidents is concerned. But the statement that an encounter or a catastrophe happened may be false or it may be true ; and then, further, the statement how it happened may be false or it may be true, and the account given of actions may be exact and the character given of the actors may be flagrantly mendacious, But we need not waste time on these points. We may observe, in reference to this " autobiographical sketch," that while, for example, it is no de preciation of a book to describe it as a his torical romance, or a biographical romance, it is justly a disparagement of a book to have to say that it is a romantic history or a romantic biography, and we fear that the readers of " Castellamonte " will be able to discover no milder censure to pass upon it than that it is an extravagantly romantic and a most gaudily and floridly coloured autobiography, indeed, if autobiography (so far as it extends) is to be its name. Let us leave it to the verdict we have just implied, and, to spare time, give as animated an account as we can of its plan, materials, and literary merits. These are, in one sense, by no means contemptible. The style is ex ceedingly vivacious throughout: here and there, vvere it not for a certain affectation of s marta.sss," it almost rises into brilliancy. There it a continual play or skimmer of fancy. And i !you add to this that the incidents are numero as, and sometimes both picturesque and exciting, it will easily be conceived that amusement at least is obtained. More, THE PRESS. doubtless, than amusement may be acquired by a discriminating reader from these rapid but profusely-charged pictures of Italian life and manners. The spirit and temper of an author once thoroughly understood, every thing, or almost everything, casts some stray or transverse flash of suggested information. And even this most melodramatic exaggera tion of prosaic incidents and of an infructuous series of ill-contrived efforts—even this most melodramatic congeries—for that is the true name for such a medley—may yield its modicum of enlightenment. Castellamonte (who, we suspect, must be some cousin-german of " Lorenzo Benoni") begins with his boyhood. A sublime passion, of course, and a grandiose quarrel, opening with " three mighty strides " into the middle of a room where many ladies were present (his beloved among them), and then an invective, somewhat in the, style of Smithfield on market day, thundered against his enemy, whom "he hated" on account of a squint, these insinuating incidents introduce us into the story. We are then presented with a fiery picture of the hero's schoolday frolics, which (we ask his forgiveness) most vividly reveal, or rather betray, the man. We must here take leave to make a remark, to which we solicit Castellamonte's particular attention ; it is this—that when we read such works as the present, as " Lorenzo Benoni," and some other self-pictures of the modern Italian, we feel that we could dispense with all high political considerations, and still fully ac count for the failure of recent Italian attempts at regeneration. The " primate, "in a worldly sense, is gone from the beautiful land, or ex ists there only in the nuking title of Vincenzo Gioberti's famous appeal. We deny not—who would hesitate toacknowledge ?—the thorough bred stock from which this fallen race is sprung. But, by some mysterious law of ge neration, whether the virtue be worn out, or whatever else be the reason, the descendants of the matchless nation are now essentially different, we say not inferior merely in degree. We observe that fatal symptom, so contrary to the sublime and conscious serenity of strength always found in the morally indomitable septs, families, or communities of mankind—the symptom of touchy, testy, irritability, seeking a morbid vent in all sorts of quarrelsome promptitude on small occasions, barren of re sult. It is the sign of the " cocktail "or the mongrel. The great heart has lost its con quering patience, and has become fretful at last, pitifully fretful. For instance, think for a moment of Camillus about to deliver ancient Rome from the Gauls, and endeavour to recal him as he was when proceeding to weigh the iron or steel of his sword against the gold in the treasonous scales, and compare the calm old image with the following picture of patriotic enthusiasm : I started up from my chair, wrenched from my friend's hand the dagger he was holding up to my admiration with as much eagerness as Macbeth would have clutched the " air-drawn " weapon that was to help him to a kingdom, and held it up with its point turned to my eye. It was a masterpiece of workmanship ; such a weapon as only love could forge. It was a short stilletto-blade, keen on both edges as a razor. The handle was made of precious stones, set mosaic-wise. Galli had been at work upon it for several months, and intended it as au agreeable surprise to me, hardly expecting that his gift would come at so sea sonable a moment. I brandished it aloft, flourished it right and left ; all at once, by a spasmoaic fit, my hand fell, and I hit myself a smart blow on my thigh. That keen greedy steel sunk into the flesh full two fingers' width. The next moment tay nether garment and boot were filled with blood. From this point all proceeds regularly—we mean fitfully—through the bootless outbreak of the Italian struggles of 1831, consequent on, and stimulated by, the advent of the " King of the Barricades " in Paris. We really have no more to say about the work; but for the faults we have been con scientiously obliged to indicate it would be a pleasant old tale to tell under a tree in spring, or summer, or autumn, and by the winter fire side. Remarks on the Three Proposals for Reforming the Constitution of the University of Oxford. By Henry Boothby Barry, M.A., Michel Fellow of Queen's College, Oxford. London : Ridgway. MR. BOOTHBY BARRY 118$, within the compass of a small pamphlet, clearly and concisely stated the SATURDAY, three proposals that are before the public for the re. form of the constitution of the University of Oxford " One ha.been presented by her Majesty' s commis: sioners ; another proceeds from a committee of the " present governing body of the University ; th e " third conveys the collective opinion of an associa.. " tion composed of a certain number of resident " members of convocation." A foot-note explain s that the last, the so-called " Tutors' Association," i s not correctly described by that designation ; for, as a body, the tutors " have taken no part in its proc ee d. " ings ; and some of the most influential of them " have been absent on principle." The second and. last of the proposals Mr. Barry examines and rejects ; whilst the first, that of her Majesty's commissioners, he approves of, because the " counter schemes . " are all exposed to greater objections than the plan " they are put forward to supplant" Without identi fying ourselves with Mr. Barry's opinions, but with a disposition to combat them when a practi ca l occasion shall arise, it is due to him to state that he has discussed this difficult subject calmly and fairly; and, though many will question his conclusion, all will derive from his remarks assistance in forming one for themselves. The Commercial Products of the Vegetable Kingdos. By I'. L. Simmonds. London :F. A. Day. THIS is a large book, but not large enough for its subject, which is a description of " the cultivation, pre " paration for shipment, and commercial value, la., " of the various substances obtained from trees and " plants, entering into the husbandry of tropical and " sub -tropical regions, &c.," so as to form " a practical " treatise and handbook of reference for the colonist, " manufacturer, merchant, and consumer." The omission of some sections for which there was not room will prevent the present volume from bearing that comprehensive character. Gums, resins, cotton, flax are not in it. These omissions Mr. Simmonds proposes to fill up in a supplemental volume, and when that is finished the whole work will be of great use and importance to commerce and the public generally. The author expresses apprehensions that some typographical errors may be discovered ; but, on the first publication of a large book full of techni• cal and scientific words, this is scarcely to be avoided. One great merit in a work of reference this possesses, and that is a copious index. Poor Paddy's Cabin; or, Slavery in Ireland. 13y an Irishman. London : Wertheim and Mackin- tosh. IRISH fiction is the most overworked field in popular 1 terature. Edgeworth, Morgan, Banim, Griffin, Carleton, Lever, S. C. Hall, have loaded our shelves, and we are rather tired of the coarse contrasts and polemic spirit of the Irish novelists. " Poor Paddy's Cabin" wants novelty of subject, for the whole ern• pire has been talking and reading about " Poor Paddy" for the last twenty years. The intentions of this miter are to depict the tyranny of the priests, a subject not very suitable for a pleasant fiction. We suspect that the author could do better upon plain facts, treating them as an essayist. He has not given us enough of the pathos or the humour of his countrymen ; and his dialogues are deficient in the Hibernian vivacity demanded by his subject We have read, however, many worse first attempts at fiction than "Poor Piddy's Cabin." The following is the mode in which " Poor Paddy " is described as putting down a priest at argument upon the value of the Bible : " I tell you, Paddy, you can't understand a word of it," said the priest in a loud tone. " Why, then, can't 1, your reverence? I thought I could till now." " Oh, Paddy, how could you understand it, when even I myself couldn't understand it except by the tinantion!ia consent of the Fathers, as our fine creed by our Pope Pius says?" The Fathers, your reverence! Wisha, then, who are they? I never heer'd of 'em in my life." " You never heard of them," said the priest, "and yet you expect to understand that book !" " Will your reverence tell me -who are they sia Paddy. " Why, Paddy, there is St. Jerome , an d St. Crysostora, and St. Gregory, and St. Basil, and St. Bernard, and good many others." " And will your reverence tell me, did they live with f our ore or after the Apostles that used to go out Lord ?" " Oh, Paddy, they all lived several hundreds of year' after our Lord and his Apostles, but " " Oh, I understand, your reverence,—l sees how it is; there are all them Fathers ;—and sure 'tie hard to fia .em all, to ask the'r consent to read the Bible : but I'll tell . you reverence what's rannin in my head all this time, said Paddy, opening his Bible and glancing from gospel t o gospel. " Here I have the Grandfathers , Matthew , Mar k ' Luke, and John, awl they rest of 'em: they are milder, and I know where to find 'em. And now your reverence will pardon me for asking you, why was the Bible written al all, if it isn't to be read by the people?" s, re it 1; IL \