The Press. — London, England, 1855-09-15 00:00:00

yittraturt. The War : From the Landing at Gallipoli to the Death of Lord Raglan. By W. H. Russell, Correspondent of the Times. London : Routledge. AWARE that considerable diversity of opinion exists as to the value of these letters, we turned to them with much interest to see how far upon a reperusal they justified either the ex travagant praise, or the derisive criticism which has been bestowed on them. In some quarters their author was disparaged ap parently because he was " a mero journalist," and elsewhere he was lauded from strong sym pathy with the literary calling. In giving our opinion, we shall not be influenced by per sonal considerations of any kind. Never before had one of the correspondents of the public press so prominent a station as Mr. Russell. At the time of the Peninsular war journalism had not the strong organisa tion of the present time, nor had any newspaper then such resources as the Times can now place within the reach of its special correspondent. Whoever narrated in its columns the daily proceedings of our Crimean army was sure to know that he had readers by the million, and that Courts and Cabinets would scrutinise his statements. Unlike the unknown persons who are behind the customary " we " of the poli tical writer, Mr. Russell had the advantage of a distinct recognition of his individualism. He was ex officio a most important person, and at least in prasenti his functions made him a most interesting literary character. He had resources confessedly superior to those of the representatives of the other daily organs, and he had abundant means for procuring a variety of knowledge. Such being the case, the question now arises how far these letters can be accepted as fulfilling what the reading and political public might not unreasonably expect from the representative of so great an organ as the Times In answering that question we shall state what Mr. Russell did, and we shall also indicate what he has not done. The first thing that strikes us on critically examining his performance is the literary tour de force which he has exhibited. This thick and closely-printed volume contains five hun dred pages, with an average of fifty-two lines to the page, and an allowance of eleven words to each line ; and, on a fair computation, the quantity of manuscript which the writer furnished within fifteen months (March 6, 1854, to June 29, 1845) may be set down, in round numbers, as three hundred thousand words, which would make about four octavo volumes, containing three hundred and ten pages each, and averaging twenty-six lines to the page. He had to perform this work in all kinds of weather, and under most disagreeable circumstances ; and the fact that he has writ ten with unfailing vivacity, and that his com position has shown such elasticity and hearti ness, is perhaps the most brilliant feat he has performed. He had also to transact no ordi nary amount of affairs, and what has come before the public, is far from being all the labour that he performed. it In saying this, however, we do not forget that his subject was ready made. He had only to keep his eyes and ears open, and what journalists technically call " topic " was end lessly before him. He had not to cram, and "get up " his matter ; and we think his suc cess as a recorder of the war would have been more satisfactory if he had trusted less to his facility of description, and taken more pains to attain a really circumspective view of things as they occurred. If to present a striking literary panorama of the most showy events of the campaign—if to show uncommon skill in producing the wordy picturesque, and in using the arts of a sensuous style in a subject of dreadful reality—if to give a vivid sense to the distant reader of the external appearances of the Crimea—if these were all that were to be expected from the correspondent of so great a journal as the Times, then Mr. Russell has brilliantly succeeded. His pictorial power is stamped on every page. His photographic facility is beyond all dispute, and the uncom- THE PRESS. mon brilliancy of eome of his pictures— Gallipoli, the Bosphorus, the Balaklava charge, and the hurricane—could only be disputed by some purblind professor of " the cant of criti cism." We cordially admire the realisation of external nature seen in Mr. Russell's descrip tions. He is a Stanfield of the pen. His tossing waves, his fleecy mists, his louring clouds—all the tints of the distant landscape— the broken foreground of the camp—the con trasts of the allied armies—the long lines of the tents—the clang of arms and tramp of troops—all that sort of subject finds in Mr. Russell's style most vivid and effective deli neation. In his peculiar qualities he displays a power which in some departments of letters would confer on him considerable fame. _ But such results, and the exhibition of such vivid qualities, are not what might be properly expected from the war correspondent of the Times. Did its representative show keen power in scenting what was coining in the distance? Did he attend enough to what journalists call " the actuality " of passing events? Did he judge characters well, and wa3 his mind suited for grasping a political, as distinct from a picturesque, view of a great occasion ? Could he balance eventualities, and had he tact in indicating probabilities ? Or, in briefer terms, was he sufficiently matter of fact in the discharge of his important duties ? . . _ We must frankly say that in our opinion these questions can be only answered in the negative. Mr. Russell looked upon the cam paign more with the eye of a painter than the mind of a political observer. He wrote to amuse, to interest, to excite, rather than to inform and minutely record. From first to last there was wanting that anticipation of likely consequences which a journalist might have shown, though military lips could not con vey them to the public. He had unequalled facilities for procuring knowledge, and he was furnished with an abundance of pecuniary and social resources; and we do not think that he ever kept his readers sufficiently " up " in the daily life of the army. Description, and not discussion, was his forte. " Will it print well?" seems to have been his constant question. Such qualities of mind would not be adequate to the discharge of the duties of one of the Paris correspondents of the press during a period of revolution. Literary pho• tographs of the striking scenes on the boule vards in 1830 or 1848 would not have answered the public desire for knowledge, facts, specu lations, political secrets, and curious gossip. It is plain to anyone that in these functions of a correspondent's duty Mr. Russell has often been surpassed by journalists connected with the Times and others of its contemporaries. Mr. Russell, it seems to us, should be classed with retrospective describers rather than accurate narrators ; and to us it appears that the public during the progress of a cam paign would be better served by journalists eminent rather for their discerning sagacity than for their descriptive powers. In the long run, also, the picturesque style becomes mo notonously fanciful, and readers become suspicious of the spells of a brilliant rhetori cian. It was often a pleasant relief to turn from the scenic effects of Mr. Russell's letters, and contrast their panoramic arts with the detailed touches and unpretending, yet in teresting, style of Mr. Wood of the Morning Herald. We shall not make any comparison between the writers, for their merits were of the most opposite kind ; but if Mr. Russell has in some quarters been praised too much, we do not think that adequate recognition has yet been given of the qualities by which Mr. Wood's letters were distinguished. We know that in the clubs of Pall-mall they were read with sustained interest, and also in high political circles. The Times, also, on one occasion most handsomely acknowledged the literary abilities displayed by Mr. Wood, who is comparatively young in the profession of a journalist. Turning from these points to the peculiar qualities of Mr. Russell as a proficient in graphic description, we must heartily praise his mingled facility and power. His contrasts are rapid, varied, and dramatic ; his sentences roll along with the impetuous energy of an oratorical nature; his point of view is artisti- SATURDAY, tally chosen ; the outlines of his design, if careless, have the vigour of conscious strength, and his colouring is rich and deep. Many parts of his descriptions remind us of the writings of Mr. Macaulay, General Napier, and Mr. Ruskin. His picture of Gallipoli ad vertised his descriptive talents to the whole world, and at once rivetted attention on his letters. Yet there is a tone of humorous exaggeration in it, and the artifices of the professed word-painter place ajudicious reader on his guard. We prefer to quote here, as a sample of his special powers, the following description of the Bosphorus : No voyager or artist has yet done justice to the beautiful scenery of the Bosphorus. It has much the character of a Norwegian fiord. Perhaps the rounded outline of the hills, the light rich green of the vegetation, the luxuriance of tree and flower and herbage, resemble more closely the banks of Killarney or Windermere. For thirteen miles the waters escaping from the Black Sea, now compresaed by swelling hillocks to a breadth of little more than a mile, then expanding into sheets of four times that breadth, gush along in a blue flood, like the Rhone as it issues from the lake of Geneva, till they mingle with the Sea of Marmon, passing in their course by a succession of wood and dale, ravine and hillside, covered with the profusest carpeting of leaf and blade, while kiosk and plesaure ground, bastion and loopholed curtain, gay garden, villa, mosque, and noble mansion stud the banks in unbroken lines from the very foot of the forts which command the entrance up to the crowning glory of the scene, where the imperial city of Constantine, nsing in many-coloured terraces from the verge of the Golden Horn, confuses the eye with its masses of foliage, of red roofs, divers-hued walls, gables, and fretwork, surmounted by a frieze of snow-white minarets with golden summits, and by the symmetrical sweep of St. Sophia. The hills strike abruptly upwards to a height varying from 200 feet to 600 feet, and are bounded at the foot by a line of quays, which run along the European side, almost without interruption, from Pera to Bujukdere, about five miles from the Black Sea. These quays are very numerous on the Asiatic side also. The villages by the waterside are so close together that Pera may be said to extend from Tophane to the forts beyond Bujukdere. The kiosks and residences of the pachas, the imperial palaces of the Sultan and the re treats of opulence, line these favored shores; and as the stranger passes on, in steamer or calque, he may catch a view of some successful plunderer of a province, some hoary pacha, or unscrupulous ex-governor, sitting cross• legged in his garden or verandah, smoking away, and each looking so like the other, that they might all pass for brothers. The windows of one portion of these houses are mostly closely latticed and fastened, but here and there a bright flash of a yellow or red robe shows the harem is not untenanted. T hese dwellings succeed each other the whole length of the Bosphorus, quite as nume rously as the houses on the road from Hyde-park Corner to Hammersmith; and at places such as Therapia and Bujukdere they are dense enough to form large villages, provided with hotels, shops, cafes, and lodging-houses. The Turks delight in going up in their caiques to some of these places, and sitting out on the pletfoams over the water, while the chiboque or narghile confers on them a zoophytic happiness; and the greatest object of Turkish ambition is to enjoy the pleasures of a kiosk on the Bos- phorus. The waters abound in fish, and droves of por poises and dolphins disport in myriads on its surface, plashing and playing about, as with easy roll they cleave their way against its rapid flood, or gambling about in the plenitude of their strength and security, till a sword-fish takes a dig at them, and sets them off curvetting and snorting like sea-horses. Hawks, kites, buzzards, and sea eagles are numerous, and large flocks of a kind of gregarious petrel (I imagine), called by the French `• times damnees," and which are said never to rest on land, keep constantly flying up and down close to the water. That vivid passage was evidently dashed off currente ealamo, yet its effect is decisive. He raises expectation at the start by saying that the scenery has never been done justice to, and be then produces an extraordinary sense of teeming variety and many-tinted colours. But he does not stop there. Towards the close he peoples it with life, and his introduc tion of the birds and fishes is a masterly stroke. A pen capable of such intensely vivid delineation must be wielded by no common powers of mind. Several of Mr. Russell's descriptions were written with that sonorous power which pro duces much effect when read aloud, as many of them were, to anxious and excited listeners. The commanding tone of the style, while it imposed upon one class of readers, grated upon the prejudices of others, who did not like the dictatorial tone of the writer. There was not that judicial balancing of pros and cons which is one of the first qualities of a political correspondent. On the most serious conjuncture at the commencement of Decem ber, when there was such grievous ladies, the following passage reads weakly, and the even tualities are not indicated : The army is suffering greatly : worn out by night - work , by vigil in rain and stout), by hard labour in the trerallesb