The Press. — London, England, 1856-12-27 00:00:00

I DECEMBER 27, 1856. excellent dispositions, was never able to main" tain the good resolutions he was perpetually forming when beset by temptation. The letters also contain many amusing anecdotes of that society and age which Boswell seemed b o rn to illustrate. It is curious that he died so soon after completing his great work. .He lived only just long enough to enjoy the success of its publication, and make some additions to it. No edition of Boswell's opus magnum will in future be complete without this correspondence be added to it. This volume is not less amusing than the Life itself, arid will meet, we doubt not, with crowds of eager readers wherever the English tongue is spoken. Biranger's Songs of the Empire, the Peace, and the Restoration. Translated into English Verse by Robert B. Brough. London : Added•. AMONGST modern lyric poets Beranger unques tionably stands proudly prominent. He has all the merits which we look for in a first-rate song-writer, freshness of tone, viva'ity of utter ance, and subtlety in style. He has wit and humour, along with considerable pathos and scathing powers of invective. Orel' French verse he has absolute mastery, and his writings must always be highly characteristic of the spirit of his times. In nothing does Beranger excel more than in his faculty of addressing high and low ex tremes of society,—a gift which belongs only to genius, and which marks the first class of song-writers. There are phases in his poetry which gratify the philosopher in his study ; and the same pieces are chanted with enthu sioism by the cab drivers of Paris, as by the peasants ; in the vineyards of Touraine. In tellectual in his aspirations, he is intensely social in his sympathies. In his wide range of metrical accomplishments Beranger has something for every nature. There is much of the enthusiasm for life and its inspirations which characterised Rousseau and Chateau briand, without the morbid extravagance of the first, and the maudlin sentimentalism of the last. Kotzebue finely said, " Happy the " man who perished in the early stages of the " French Revolution, for he died. with le beau " rive du matin in his brain." In Beranger we are always made to think of the fine airy dreams which float through the first years of manhood's existence. His vigour is untamed, his heart is unbroken, before the sorrows and trials of life; and the ebansonnier (as he modestly calls himself) presents to us the charming spectacle of a noble old man, with the experience of a sage, and the ardour of youth. Above all his other characteristics Beranger is distinctively F r ench. His vehemence, though Gaelic - and volcanic, is graceful and spirituel. There is a delicatesse both in his irony and arch allusions which might have been learned long ago in the Hotel de Ram bouillet, and which is not easily found out of France. It is the national and thoroughly French qualities of his mind which make it so difficult to translate him into English. Mr. Robert B. Brough appears to feel some of the difficulties which are in the way of a translator of Beranger. In examining his translations we think that Mr. Brough shows that lie appreciates the strength rather than the sweetness and subtlety of his original. The songs of " The Empire, the Peace, and the Restoration," are selected; and for our own part we do not feel much sympathy with the politics of Beranger. Indeed, in our eyes and ears, not the least of his merits is that his chansons make us forget his politics. Mr. Brough, however, is an ardent admirer of Beranger in his civic character. He says have long believed that a complete edition of the songs of Beranger, conscientiously rendered into passable English verse, with careful editing and annotation, would be accep table to this country, if on no higher grounds than as a more complete history of France during the early part of the present century than can be found elsewhere. One of the few literary ambitions 1 have ever permitted myself to indulge in ( I mean since I began to darken paper for a livelihood) has been one day to test the attractions of such a work practically . Though by no means an orthodox hero worshipper—at any rate, not having yet learnt to admire warts and red-noses because Cromwell was a groat warrior and statesman, or to consider club-feet symmetrical because Byron was a wonderful poet—nevertheless, for the character i'fiE PRESS. of Beranger, as a moral and intellectual whole, I am free to confess to an admiration rather exceeding the ordinary bounds of enthusiasm. 1 believe his genius to he more comprehensive in its range of perception than that of any man who, for many centuries past, has devoted a life to literary expression. When to this is added the recognition of unswerving and incorruptible honesty of purpose (which his political opponents even have never sought to deny him), and the fortunate discovery of, and adherence to, a form of utterance eminently suited to his poetical nature, it will be admitted, that to familiarise the writings of such a man in a community, where he has been previously a comparative ati anger, would be au achievement to be looked back to with excusable pride. And he observes elsewhere : As the standard of public virtue is certainly not high in this country just at present, I think a little attention to the life and works of a man who has displayed so much honesty and self-sacrifice in the cause of the human race would nut be thrown away. When it is considered that most of the following songs were written nearly half a century ago, and that most of the prophecies shadowed forth in them have been literally fulfilled, people who, at a very similar pass in European affairs, are deceived by a specious appearance of permanent tranquillity on the surface, may find cause in them for a little reflection. There is it tone of manliness in Mr. Brough's preface which we like (although not con curring with his sympathies) ; but there is something of exaggeration in linking Beranger " with the cause of the human race "—a phrase savouring of political cant La France, ramour, le yin, la :leanness°, and last, not least, Lisette, are the inspiring sources of Beranger's unpremeditated bursts of lyric power. Mr. Brough should have given the original French songs in his edition, in the same way as they are presented is Mr. William Young's " One Hundred Songs of Beranger" (Chap man and Hall, 1847). " A Political Treatise ' (May, 1815) is tolerably well done by Mr. Brough ; but the verse is stiff, and wants the easy simplicity of the original : Lisette, who reignest by the grace Of Love, that makes us equals all, Thy peerless charms of form and face A thousand rivals hold in thrall. But be their list howe'er immense, Thy swains are Frenchmen—that confess : So let them laugh at thine expense,— 'Tis for thy subjects' happiness. Yon kings and beauties ! how you all Delight in boundless pow'r's abuse ; What smiling lands and lovers tall To blank despairing you reduce! Yet rebel troops (or have a care) To thy boudoir may find access: Lisette, all tyranny forswear,— Tis for thy subjects' happiness. In arch coquetry's mortal sin Belles are as bad as conquerors, Who, countless victories to win, Neglect their homes for distant wars. 0, terrible coquettes are these ! All taste for their pursuits repress : Lisette, make no more conquests, please,— 'Tis for thy subjects' happiness. "The Dead Alive" (Le mort vivant) is versified in the following strain, which is not above doggrel, written stans pede in uno ; When a bore gets hold of me, Dull and overbearing, Be so kind as pray for me, I'm as dead as herring. When the thrusts of Pleasure glib In my sides are sticking, Poking fun at ev'ry rib, I'm alive and kicking. When a snob his L.S.D. Jingles in his breeches, Be so kind as pray for me, I'm as (lead as ditches. When a birthday's champagne corks Bound my ears are clicking, Marking time with works, I'm alive and kicking. But there are better things in the volume. " Judas " is well done—par exemple : Judas vows, with his hand on his heart, Never a colour but one he's worn ; Swears that he plays an unchanging part From morn to night, and from night to morn. Still, as of folks we've a rational dread, White to-day, and to•morrow red, Hush ! be shy, Quibble or lie ; Give your opinion in whispering sly. Hush! hush! Judas is nigh. Given to gossip curiously, Oft this moral observer.says One of the public press is he, Leaning rather to liberal ways. Still, if we wish to disc•tss a hint On the right, whatever we think, to print, Hush ! be shy, Quibble or lie ; Give your opinion in whispering sly. Hush ! hush! Judas is nigh.. • 1239 Mr. Brough, in the preface, records that the refrain of the foregoing piece (we have not room for ail the stanzas) is taken from " an " imitation of the original song, written by the " late Dr. Maginn, and applied to a deceased " statesman." The; translator thus commences his version of " The Seal": THE SE ; Or, a Letter to Sophia. IP2i. • To the Right Hon. Sir JAMES GRAHAM, Bart., formerly her Majesty's Secretary of State for the Home Department, In consideration of valuable services to the State, long sines performed, but by no means obliterated from the public me mory—as a cheering proof that the entente cordiale happily existing between England and France is not without founda tion in a sympathy between the principles of government in both nations—(and also to perpetuate the memory of a truly great man, which, in an ingrate age, might run a risk of being forgotten ten years liance)—tilis ballad is respectfully inscribed by his most obedient servant, THE Taanst.wroz. 'Tis thou, I know, this charming seal has sent, Where mystic symbol-leaves of ivy twine Round a young Love, on secrecy intent, Kissing his finger as a cautions sign. Sacred the gift ! but, vainly, dearest maid, It proffers succour to my written vow. My rien from such frail surety shrinks afraid. Cupid himself may boast no secrets now. " What?" thou dost ask, " far from thy darling's sight, Knowing a letter would her exile cheer, Why fear an envious hand, in wanton spite, Would break the god who guards our secrets dear ?" I fear no madman of the jealous tribe Would even fray our waxen idol's brow ; What I do fear I tremble to transcribe. Cupid himself may boast no secrets now. Mr. Brough has talents and considerable variety of accomplishments. He has fresh ness, and writes with a spirit of literary enjoy ment. With more distinct choice of subjects, he would be able to do more justice to his special abilities, which are decidedly of a promising kind. Cambridge Essays, 1856. Contributed by Members of the University. London : J. W. Parker and Son. IT is questionable how far the present rage for periodical writing is conducive to the interests of literature. We are told, indeed, that it is highly serviceable to the public that concise epitomes of all the various questions of the day—literary, political, or religious— should be from time to time placed before them ; and that the preparation of such is a task below neither the dignity of the scholar nor the aims of practical philosophy. This, however, is simply begging the question. That which injures literature cannot benefit education. It may be a good thing for the public to be informed on certain questions ; but it is a Lad thing if effected by deteriorating the quality of their whole intellectual sus tenance. Periodical writing seems injurious to litera ture in three ways :—First, in the case of the ripe and genuine scholar, his mind is broken into fragments, and his force wasted in many desultory efforts, which, duly husbanded and concentrated, might have produced some great result. Secondly, the student is tempted by the promise of early fame, and the immunity from public disgrace which is afforded by this system, to hurry his speculations into print before they are properly matured, and to prefer the applause of a few admiring asso ciates to both the improvement of his own mind and the lasting verdict of posterity. Thirdly, are to be counted the greater facilities hereby afforded for the dispersion of such weak and trashy effusions as are year ty year corrupt ing our style, diluting our wit, and debasing our ancestral English. In proportion as our leading Reviews have wandered from their original purpose, and have substituted original dissertations for pure criticism, have these dangers increased. As we observed in our review of the " Oxford Essays," we are glad to see the disguise thrown off, and the practice of prefixing the titles of books to articles, in which they are scarcely once mentioned, dis pensed with. But that does not prove that the system itself is unobjectionable. It is better to call the present volume " Cambridge Essays " than " The Cambridge Review ;" but for all that a " Cambridge Review " might be a better thing. All the nine essays contained in the present volume strike us as remarkably able ; yet all, except perhaps the last, would gain greatly by being converted into separate MI