The Sun.
London, England, 1848-02-02 00:00:00

LITERATURE

LF.TTERS TilE DA A ÜBE. By the
Author of" Gistlla" ai.d" Scrond Love." 2 Yob.
By far the most interesting of these interesting
letters are those which relate to Hungary, and tell of
the dawning of the spirit of Hungarian nationality.
The theme is one of peculiar fascination—a similar
feeling to that which bade the poet pour forth, in
strains of alternate tenderness and indignation, his
sublime lament over the fallen glories of Greece—

" Greece! but living Greece no more!"
A similar feeling, a feeling of sympathetic patriotism
prompts us to regard with extreme interest, and with
profound exultation, the early efforts of a people
struggling to achieve their independence and to assert
their nationality ; a similar feeling, but perhaps a
stronger.. one, for much as we may treasure the re-
rill n eiezole o cres of the Ie the)
past,future ; we rn
we. areaybestow s
toN a sigh naturallyN, proneh o
ton
ft
uhe
ll
)f:ade d
to welcome leaves of autumn,the
buds
of
spring; but always
mren aturn
sorrowjoy
over the infirmities of age, but our warmest sympa-
thies are elicited by the aspirations of youth ; the in-
terest with which we peruse the glorious chronicles of
ancient Rome is far inferior to the eager anxiety with
which we watch the progress of events in modern
Italy. Some such sentiments stirred the heart of the
author of "Gisella" as he steamed along the Danube,
and gave utterance to such hopeful aspirations as the
following :
" But even in the vast tracts of wilderness there is%
charm, as I have said ; and if there be, in all this, but
little evidence of life, and less of cultivation, there is
still the augury of what is yet to come, may come, and,
I should say, must come; and that thought is full of its
poetic feeling. The question, which the traveller who
steams down this part of the Danube cannot fail of ask-
ing; himself—the question, namely, what may be the
future destinies, in the progress of civilisation, of the
wastes and solitudes of this bold and abounding river—
is the same which many an inquiring mind may formerly
have made, when floating down the great wilderness
rivers of America, that are now teeming with life and
commerce, where villages, and towns, and manufactories,
and dock-yards have thrust back the aboriginal woods,
as the European has driven away the savage. It is the
question that the man who keeps a daily journal of his
life naturally puts to himself, when he sees the many
white pages in the book before him, and wonders how
they missy be filled—what the events, good or bad, for
weal or woe, that may be inscribed upon them. The
pages of the book of man's life, however, may remain
blank and unwritten,—death may stay the haad that
proposed to fill them. But the book of the future
fortunes of the great river must and will be written as
the world rolls on. The how' is a riddle, the solution
of which is yet in the hands of fate.
" But Hungary is a rising and progressing country;
and, sooner or later, in the advance of that civilisation
which the Turk so long has hemmed, but can now hem
no longer, and under the influence of the present
national spirit that pervades the country, there can be
little doubt that the banks of the Danube will tell
another tale of progress and prosperity than they have
been able to tell as yet.
" How beautifully, how sublimely has our poet Mar-
lowe said, The use of time is fate!' How will that
time be used, how that fate accomplished, by the Hun-
gariaa? Not only as a well-wisher to the country, but
with the strongest conviction in the future results of its
energies, I have drawn for the Danube, in my mind, the
brightest, grandest horoscope."

In another place he speaks of the national spirit of
Hungary as of a " feeling which now throbs, as its
very life's blood, in every vein of the land, so long
asleep in lethargy, and but lately awakened to new life
and strength." And after disclaiming any intention of
entering on a political dissertation, he goes on—
" It is impossible, however, for a foreigner to mix,
even in a slight degree, and for a ♦ery short time, with
the Hungarians of the present day, without being struck
by the national spirit which pervades almost every
thought, as well as action, of their lives; and the letters
I address you, although only intended to vindicate my
predilection for this country in its picturesque aspect,
would exclude one of the brightest lights that gleam
across it, did they not contain a word or two about the
colouring with which this spirit tinges the whole moral
being of the country.
"'Phis feeling of nationality, avant tout, has sprung
up, at least in its present flourishing luxuriance, only
within the last few years ; but after progressing with a
marvellous rapidity of growth among men of all ages
for the spirit of Young Hungary,' if so it muy be
called, is by no means confined to the young, hot•hesded,
and inexperienced,—it has evidently taken a deep, firm,
and widely-spreading root. It appears so woven into
every part of the Hungarian existence, like some
brightly-coloured thread into a tissue, that, turn the
stuff which way you will—examine it in its whole
breadth, or in every little portion—the colour is visible,
indelible, never to be mistaken. It may be compared,
perhaps, to that universal peculiar smell of Russia
leather, that seems to the traveller to pervade the whole
empire of the Czar : go where you will in Hungary,
your every sense must be struck with the penetrating
odour of this spirit. Every detail of daily life among
the Hungarians, however insignificant it may be, seems,
somehow or other, stamped with the impress of this
national feeling ; and nothing can be done, no word
spoken, that is not in some degree marked with it.
Among the better results of this patriotic impulse, little-
nesses and affectations, to be sure, spring up like weeds
i❑ a crop of rich grain.
" Some of these thorough-going nationality-sup-
porters, for instance, although well acquainted with the
German language, which under the rule of the House of
Austria is iedispensable to (livery young man of any edu-
cation, will affect a foreign accent in speaking German,
and au ignorance, now and then, of German words, in
order to evince their complete attachment to their
renovated native tongue, which only latterly has become
of constant use."

Be adds that the " little affectations of exclusive na-
tional pride" have sometimes excited him to smile,
but certainly, if they be akin to the ridiculous,
it is the ridiculous which borders on the
sublime, and, like straws on the surface, they
are valuable, as showing the direction of the
current—the strong current of national feeling.
The details about Hungary, brief though they be,
form about the most interesting portion of this work,
but the remaining contents are not deficient in attrac-
tion. The letters form a sort of descriptive diorama of
the Danube, and its banks, and the cities and villages
situated thereon, extending from Ratisbon to the
southern boundary of Hungary. The noble river has
certainly found a most enthusiastic eulogist in the
writer of these letters, who discards all matter-of-
fact rules, and avows his strong predilection for the
poetical and romantic. He invariably speaks of the
Danube with the utmost admiration, and even ten-
derness, constantly styling it "my beautiful
Danube"—" my beloved Danube," and even "my
love." Yet the romance of his affection for his
river love is considerably diminished by his inform-
ing us that it holds the same place in his heart that the
Rhine once occupied; it seems lie has a predilection
for " second love." Be this as it may be, he was
certainly " off with the old love" before he began
with " the new," as is evidenced by his animated and
almost indignant comparison between the Danube and
the Rhine. " Can a comparison exist," he asks,
" between the stiff physiognomy and melodramatic
airs which characterise the celebrated stream of the
middle ages, and all that there is of grandeur and
simplicity, of magnificence and kindliness, combined
in the varied course of the Danube ?" After pro-
ceeding in the same strain, he sums all up by declar-
ing, that " where all is dry and harsh on the Rhine,
on the Danube all is living, vigorous, abounding."
All is dry and harsh on the Rhine ! Yet Byron, who
perhaps could appreciate the beautiful as correctly as
can the author of " Gisella," found only one fault
with the " exulting and abounding river," namely,
that it was not Lethe. Hence it was that he apos-
trophised the abounding luxuriance of Nature :

" maternal Nature! for who teems like thee,

Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
There Harold gazes on a work divine,
A blending of all beautiex ; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn•field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,
From gray but leafy walk where Ruin greenly dwells."
And when bidding a reluctant farewell to the " lovely
Rhine," he beautifully enumerates its attractions :--
"More mighty spots may rise, more glaring shine,

~ .
i . . .
But none unite n one attaching maze L
The brilliant, fair, and soft—the glories of old days,
The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom

Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,
The forest's growth."

And yet, says the author of " Gisella," "all h dry and
harsh on the Rhine." His most severe and unjust
remarks respecting his former favourite is only an-
other proof of how often estranged love turns to
hatred—

" How hard to reconcile the foes who once were friends."
On this head we are inclined to find fault with our
author. Granted that he wished to eulogise one
river, was that only to be effected by disparaging an-
other ? The world is large enough to contain many
glorious !treams, and there is room in our hearts foradmiration for them all. We may apply to him his
own sentiment when, speaking of magnificent
cities, he exclaims, " Naples, Constantinople,
Prague, Edinburgh, Pest : who shall say which shall
bear off the palm of beauty ? You will be tempted
to give the preference to each in turn, as you look on
each ; and is it not: the true philosophy of life to
prefer that which for the moment you possess ?" As
some sort of justification fbr his exceeding love for the
Danube he thus describes what he terms the " arti-
fices" by which it gained his affection :
"The Danube—or as least the Danube, as it is sub-
divided by cities, and, consequently, by the day's
voyages of the steamers—is the inost treacherously
coquettish of rivers. At first it always looks so still
and dull, and sleepy and demure, as if it had no mis-
chief in its mind, and never had the slightest intention
of laying siege to your heart : but gradually it com-
mences to put forward one allurement after another;
and you begin to feel some commotion in the region
attacked: it bursts forth at last in the plenitude of its
mighty charms—the spell of the enchantress is woven—
your heart is
woe. So it attacks the voyager from
Ratisbon to Linz; it performs the same manoeuvre from
Lint to Vienna, and with like success. In leaving
Vienna, ou the day's yoyage to Pest, the arch coquette