The Sun.
London, England, 1834-09-10 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. A Dramatic Romance.
2 Vols. London, 1834. 2loxon.
The close of the 14th century was distinguished
beyond almost any other period of which modern his-
tory makes mention, by a fierce, revolutionary spirit,
which spread like wild-fire through a considerable por-
tion of Europe. In France, the army with Mallets--
in England, Wat Tyler and his mob—in the Nether-
lands, Van Artevelde and his White-hoods—for a
time menaced the privileged classes, and indeed the
whole fabric of the feudal system, with annihilation.
But it was in Flanders that the democratic influenza
raged with the greatest virulence. And the reason is
obvious. The principal Flemish towns had come from
small degrees, and after many years of assiduous per-
severance, to monopolize a great portion of the com-
merce of Europe ; but so far from reaping the full
benefits of such enterprise, found themselves thwarted
at every step of their progress, by the oppressive exac-
tions of the Earl who claimed the sovereignty over
them. The consequences were, first, distrust, then
remonstrance, and then a war between the two parties,
which, though carried on for many years with unceas-
ing energy on both sides, led to no decided results,
until, at length, a stern, intelligent, intrepid spirit rose
in the person of Philip Van Artevelde, who, putting
himself at the head of the Flemish democrats, then
banded together under the name of " White-hoods,"
overthrew the feudal power of the Earl, achieved the
independence of Flanders, and in return was raised to

the Regency.
It is of this tempestuous epoch, and more especially
of its presiding genius, Van Artevelde, on whose
slightest movement the eyes of all Europe were
riveted, that the play before us professes to treat. A
more impressive subject could scarcely have been se-
lected. The materiel of tragedy--its sternness and
its pathos—its strange alternations of passion—its fit-

Cul gleams of light and shade—its varieties of charac-
er, incident, and description—all may here be found
n profusion. But, then, just in proportion to the ex-
.

cellence of the theme, is the genius required to do it
justice. Now Mr. Taylor, we fear, has not brought
the right order of intellect to it. Neither by nature,
nor the habits of education, is he fitted to be the
chronicler of a stern, revolutionary period—to exhibit
its " age and body, its form and pressure"—or the
characters that are drawn forth and moulded by it.
His intellect is calm and meditative, not stirring or im-
passioned. It does not come out enough into, or mix
familiarly with the world, but for the most part keeps
itself at home, nursing its ease in the quiet realms of
fancy and philosophy. Thus of Van Artevelde as the
ambitious, successful—and therefore, to• a consider-
able degree, practical man of the world, who
" wielded at will the fierce democracy" of Flanders,
we have but a few vague glimpses, though this was
the portion of his character that should have been
most insisted on; while of Van Artevelde as the lover,

the sentimentalist—and more especially as the dreamy
philosopher—we have a full-length—just as if these
were the qualities by which he is best known in

history, or which raised him to—and kept him in—
the Regency of Flanders. In a word, Mr. Taylor
has pourtrayed him, as Coleridge pourtrayed Alvar
in the " Remorse," as a being almost wholly made
up of the ideal and the sentimental. When we look
for the practical, he puts us off with the abstract ; and
for action and decision, substitutes sentiment and me-
ditation. We will give an instance of what we mean.
In the Fifth Act, when the affairs of Van Artevelde

are fast. hurrying to a crisis.---when disaffection has

crept in among his Flemish subjects_when his French
foes are on the Lis in overwhelming masses—when,
in fact, there is not a moment to be lost—Mr. Taylor
introduces his hero talking to his mistress in this

fashion :
" My meditations in their outset wore
The braveries of ignorance and youth,
But cast them, and were innocent thenceforth;
For they were followed with a humble heart,
Though an inquisitive ; and humbler still
In spirit waxed they as they further went.
The elements I left to contemplate.
Then I considered life in all its forme,
Of vegetables first, next zoophytes,
The tribe that dwells upon the confine strange
Twixt plants and fish : some are there from their mouth
Spit out their progeny, and some that breed
By suckers from their base or tubercles,
Sea-hedgehog, madrepore, sea-ruff, or pad,
Fungus, or sponge, or that gelatinous fish
That taken from its element at once
Stinks, melts, and dies a fluid; so from these
Through many a tribe of less equivocal life,
Dividual or insect, up I ranged,
From sentient to precipient—small advance—
Next to intelligent—to rational next,
So to half-spiritual human-kind,
And what is more, is more than man may know.
Last came the troublesome question—what am I ?
A blade, a seedling of this growth of life
Wherewith the outside of the earth is covered ;
A comprehensive atom, all the world
In act of thought embracing; in the world
A grain scarce filling a particular place !
Thus travelled I the region up and down
Wherein the soul is circumscribed below."
Now, can it be supposed that at a moment like this,
when life or death hung on the issue of an hour, a
statesman like Van Artevelde, made up of energy, and
whose life, from his entering on the Regency, must
necessarily have been all action, could find time or
inclination to bandy metaphysics with his mistress, or
indulge her with speculations about vegetables and
zoophytes ? The idea is absurd, and jars with all
we know and feel of the truth of character. With
reluctance then we must pronounce Van Artevelde a
failure : first, because he is rather an idealism than a
dramatic creation ; secondly, because, though he holds
the destinies of kingdoms in his hands, he does not move
under a sufficient consciousness of the peculiarities of his
position. His intellect is retrospective, not prospective,
and had such been really the case with him,he never would
have come down to us as one of the first statesmen
and warriors of his time. To attain eminence in
either of these capacities a man should be all action—
all energy—all decision,, and such requisites arc sel-
dom found in company with a musing, metaphysical
turn of mind. We repeat, therefore, that " Van Ar-
tevelde" is a failure, because he is at variance with the
twill of history, which Mr. Taylor professes to illus-
trate. Yet he has evidently taken great pains with
the character—we see, indeed, that it is quite a pet
with him—and in the development of its gentler traits
has been successful.
Of the remaining personages little need be said, for,
with the exception of " Elena,"—an impressive day-
dream of the imagination, but somewhat incoherent
and fragmentary, as such dreams are apt to be—they
are but so many distinctions without a difference.
The poetry of the play, however, is exquisite—full of
richness and melody, and studded with sunny, grace-
ful images, like Cleopatra's tiara with gems. Mr.
Taylor is invariably the most successful when he con-
fines himself to depicting the tenderer emotions of our
nature. He turns too watchful and trembling
an ear to " the still, sad music of humanity,"
to be at home on a theme so stern and im-
passioned as that which he has here selected. The
boldest passage in his drama is the personification of
Danger
Make fast the doors ; heap wood upon the fire ;
Draw in your stools and pass the goblet round,
And be the prattling voice of children heard.
Now let us make good cheer—but what is this?
Do I not see, or do I dream I see
A form that midmost in the circle sits
Half visible, his face deformed with scars,
And foul with blood—Oh yes—l know it—there
Sits Danger with his feet upon the hearth."
We prefer this to Collins's Fuseli-like personification :
" Danger, whose limbs of giant mould,
What mortal eye can fixed behold ?
Who throws him on the ridgy steep
Of some loose, hanging rock to sleep ;"
for it has equal force and earnestness, and, being more