The Sun.
London, England, 1839-11-01 00:00:00

FRAZER'S MAGAZINE.

The character of " Rabelais," as am- an and as
an author, forms the subject of the first article in
the present Number. On perusing this article,
we see that a well-stored mind has been at work
upon it. The introductory portion, however, is of
rather too irrelevant a nature, being only linked to
the subject-matter of the essay by a❑ extract from
Chateaubriand, which, as usual, combines truth
with exaggeration, and ingenuity with common-
place. Why, too, does the writer quote four
Greek lines from one of the Orphic hymns, for the
purpose of telling us that they are " the grandest
which have ever been addressed to the cradle and

the grave of all things ?" After an attentive pe-
rusal of the lines in question, we can detect no-
thing of grandeur or sublimity in them. They are
merely a bald, literal apostrophe to Ocean as being
uncorrupted—immortal—the generating principle
of both Gods and men—the circumfluent of the
earth—and the origin of all seas and rivers ! Now
where is the poetic grandeur here ? In Hesiod
and Homer, we have brief allusions to the ocean a
thousand times more sublime in point of imagina-
tion. But in one respect the passage is curious,
for it is at variance with the old mythological doc-
trine which held that " Chronos," not " Oceanus,"
was the first great generating principle. The au-
thor's cursory remarks on Dante are admirable, and
are penned in an earnest, profound, and—we
might also say—impassioned spirit. Neither do
we demur to the general justice of his comments on
Rabelais. But why slur over his gross, revolting
indecencies in such gentle terms as, " buffoonery
he was obliged to use, from the circumstances of
the age. Indelicacy belonged to it ; language was
then stark-naked ?" We do not object to Rabe-
lais's " buffoonery," for even in his apparently
absurdest flights, there is always a method in his
madness ; neither do we quarrel with his occa-
sional indecencies ; but what we complain of is, that
he absolutely revels in filth—lies joyously
wallowing in it like a sow in the mire. He even
racks invention for disgusting images. Assuredly
there was no occasion for all this parade of inde-
cency. The humour of Rabelais—that quality in
which he has surpassed all the writers that ever
existed—is dwelt on in a worthy spirit. Were it
only for his glorious creation of the lean liar Pan-
urge, he would deserve all the glory that attaches,
and will ever attach, to his name. " In Rabelais,"
says the writer, " there is nothing affected, nothing
maudlin, nothing morbid ; a healthy, hearty, manly
feeling pervades all." This is well said ; but
not so the observation that the Frenchman pos-
sessed " pathos." He had not an atom of it. He
knew not what it was. Rabelais pathetic ! We
should as soon expect to see tears roll down the
brazen face of Achilles in Hyde Park, as to meet
with a touching sentiment in Maitre Alcofribas !
The writer speaks justly and eloquently of this great
man's various learning, and consummate knowledge
of human nature ; and, in fact has shown so much
ripe and ready scholarship in his article, that we
hope he will be induced to continue it. He will
find abundant food for critical remark in Rabelais'
characters, and especially in his immortal romance
of the " Voyage to the Holy Bottle." " Cathe-
rine, a Story," contains some clever points ; but it
is wanting in general interest. The " Legend of
Beckett" is a spirited prose version of the well-
known tradition of the Saracen girl following
Beckett to London, having no other clue to guide
her, than that the truant's name was Gilbert. The
" Opium Trade with China" is a well-timed ar-
ticle, reasoned in a just and enlightened manner.
From a " Newspaper Editor's Reminiscences," we
quote an amusing sketch of old Jerry Bent ham,
the Constitution-monger :
Having mentioned the name of Bentham, in con-
nexion with that of 'Falleyrand, I must be permitted
to refer more particularly to my acquaintance with that
singular man. I bad locg felt a wish to know him inti-
mately, but had despaired of success, for his habits had
become very retired, when in the year 182,1, one of my
friends,
w
brought
me1;o had been an Cl a
n invitation i
tftilocmhe
iv
me
company.
tof o nioenredr.Brougham,
roAu philosopher,gthtahmat
time Bentham saw very
Lord Nugent, Mr. Buckingham, Dr. Bowring, Colonel
Thompson, Mr. Waiter Coulson, and two or three
inure, formed the whole circle of his acquaintance. It
was very unusual for him to receive more than one
person to dinner on the same day : and he would have
found it. difficult to receive more than two, for his li-
brary was his dining-room, and the table was not cal-
culated to accommodate more than four or five per-
sons, of whom himse:f and his two secretaries made
three. This table was placed on a platform, consider-
ably elevated above the flooring ; so that one saw little
more of the female who attended at dinner than her
head and shoulders. When Bentham had one guest,
he placed him opposite to himself, his secretaries facing
each other. Port and sherry, in decanters, were on
the table ; and by the side of the guest was placed a
bottle of good French,avine, the growth of vineyards
belonging to his family.- Before sitting down to dinner
one of his secretaries, now a barrister of considerable
talent, played an air upon an organ which was placed in
the library. As soon as the dinner was over, and the
secretaries had each taken a glass or two of sherry or
port, they withdrew, and left the philosopher and his
guest tete-a-tete. Bentham himself drank very little
wine ; and having, or affecting to have, nearly lost his
taste, he seldom ate of any other dish than a sweet
pudding, which was served with the first course.
I had been told of his eccentricity, and was therefore
fully prepared for what I should meet with. Amongst
other things I was told that if his guest did not retire
at about eleven o'clock (the dinner was rarely served
before nine), Bentham would not hesitate to give him
warning, by drawing on his nightcap without ceremony.
This, however, was never done to me, for I was in the
habit of going to bed early ; and instead of being sig-
nalised out ofßenthatn's house, the old gentleman always
urged me to stay later than I did. Oa my first visit, I
found him walking in his garden, with all the activity of
a young man : indeed his pace was so rapid, that poor
Lord Nugent used to complain of the ante-dinner walk.
Bentham, who seldom rose from his bed until nearly
twelve o'clock in the day—his coffee and gingerbread, of
which he was immoderately fond, being served to him
there—found the exercise of his garden of great value
to his health. When he performed the circle of the
garden, be called it circumgyrating : when he kept to a
straight line he called it elongating : and in this way of
elongating and circumgyrating, he would frequently walk
a distance equal to four or five miles. A portion of
this garden had been cleared for the erection of an ap-
paratus for gymnastic exercises, which he was very fond
of witnessing in his young friends, for whom he bad
erected it, although his age did not permit him to take
part in them himself. His dress was sufficiently anti•
quated to have been antedeluvian. He;wore his worsted
stockings over his knees ; and under an enormous straw-
, hat, his white locks flowed uncontrolled by riband or
comb. His dinners were modest as to quantity, but ex-