The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1852-09-18
Literary Notices.

vile. New York; Harper Brothers, lS52.-Ambi-
guities, indeed! One long brain muddling, soul
bcwildering ambiguity Ito borrow Mr.. Melville's
style) Like Melchsedeck, without beginning or end
"A labyrinth without clue-an Irish bog without
20 much as Jack. o. tn lantern to guide the wan
derer's footeteps-the dream Of q distempercd sto-
mach, discrdered by hasty supper ON hall. cooked
pork chops. Verify, books spring into life, now
days, by strange Cnsarian process Our ancestors,
simple folks, used to fancy it incumbent on an
author to nurse the germ in his fecundated brain
tall the foctus assumed q definite shape, and could
be narshsled into existence, safe from the brand Of
monstrosity. Modern writers miscarry ERE the ON
bryo hath shapen limb nerve, or blood, and mid
wives and doctors in droves pledge their willing
faith that it will live Potent elxirs and cordals
elicit some reluctant spark Of animation but re-
action follows, and mid the feigned sstonish-
ment Of foster mothers and wetnurses, the emascu-
lated bantling expires miserable death.
What can be more conclusive evidence of imma-
ture conception than the planting on the social
stage of this nineteenth century, Of man like
Piene-brimful of noble passions-silly weaknesses
-lordly power of mind and warmth of heart-the
petted child of a tender mother, who, yielding to
her sons craving after sistcry love- calls him bro
discriminating him into contact with timid,
fragile girl who turns out to be an illegitmate
daughter of his fathers, and firing him with such
chvalrcus devotion for this found sister, par Ia
main gauchc, that he resigns, without pang, home,
mother, betrothed rank and even the necessaries
of life, to roam the world, knigh.errant like, in
her company; reversing, with less show of reason,
Abraham " bite lie aud proclaimng publicly that
the daughter of his father s his wife! Where did
MIR. Melville find an original for the portrait Of
Isabel! Where for Mrs Glendinning? or whore for
the fond, but uuwomanly Lucy! Alas! those pork
chops. Sore must have been the grapple between
the monster indigestion and the poor suffering ep-
gastrium Frantic the struggle between the fend
nightmare and our unfortunate friend the author.
We do not object to canvas well laid with weird
horrors fantastic sprites gushing from out some
misty cloud, and playful imps dancing and chatter
ing in the foreground to the ruin Of the composition
OF the picture, and to the speechess agony Of the
severe classic, But, good Mr. Melville, your dream
has oyerstepped the bounds OF our impressibility
We long to give you one good shake, to have you
rub your eyes, and favor us with the common sense
word Of the enigma Is Pierre really candidate
for the distinguished honor Of atticed chamber ut
the marlborough asylum Would mild infusion
of heuebore, ana judieious course Of treatment in
some sunny vale. calm his phrenzy, and cool his cal
cined brain or are his cratic habitshis wondrous
epanchement for full blown sisterhis reckless dis
regard of flial duty, pGghted love- and public es-
teem-mcre forms of eccentricity, outward symptoms
Of the genius latent within2 We confess that we
should like to be correctly informed on these points
We own TO sneaking partiality for Pierre, rough
and unnatural as he is, and share his fiery rebellion
against the yoke of conventional proprietes and the
worlds cold rules of esteem. Weep we, too, with
gentle Isabel poor bud, blighted by hereditary
canker. And, need we blush to avow that our pulse
beat faster than our physician in ordinary would
have sanctioned, when the heartless Stanly dis
claimed his poverty stricken cousin, and strove to
wrest bis reluctant bird from the Of her chosen
lover? But that shot-was il manly was it hon
orable /? was it fair? to requite a hasty blow well
warranted 0sl y.eHe--for who wauli mt NV IN
the earth who passed for the seducer of his mis-
tress?-with pistol ball, fred from arms length
on u defenceess man This. Mr.. Melville, is muir
der. For murderer IN cold blood-a wretch who
coolly loads his arms, rams the charge home, and
saes forth with the set purpose of taking the life
Of his rival-we have no thrill Of sympathy, no
bowels Of compassion Let him hang like dog! A
harmless madman in the first chapter, he is danger
GUS pest in the last. Let him hang And those i'll
starred girls! LII became it theirpur madenhoodto
drench the fatal phia and drown the spark Of hea.
vsnly virtue and earthly sense in one corroding
draught Of poisonous passion. Sadly, too sadly
but, as we said, we cannot wholly eradicate every
trace Of compassion for the ering impulse Of con-
fiding girlhood-do we see Lucy relax her hold Of
the flask, and Keeling forward fall heavily across
the prortrate form OF her lover. These three-the
murderer, the child of fractions within and I'M
governable passion, the self denying woman, to
whom infamy is pleasant SO it pc the price Of her
to the only nand that has casped hers in friend
ly grasp- stifening horribly in the rack Of death,
and clenching, in the last throe. the hem Of each
others garment-oh' tbs mournfui, a sickeniug
Why did Mr.. Melville desert :. that bright little
isle OF hisown," in the blue waters of the Pacific
Is Polynesia used up? BIAS the vulgar herd Of au-
th0rs penetrated the Businesses of those primitive
tribes whose taboo has become naturalized among
US, and whose aquatic nymphs have fired the imag-
nation Of many future Bouganvile or Cook ! Is
there not solitary whale left, whose cetaceous
biography might have added another stone to the
monumental fame of the author of Moby. Dick!
II our senses do not deceive us, Mr. Melville will
his desertion Of the forecaste and the virgin forest
for the drawing room and the modest boarding house
chamber. The former the scene Of victories
of which NO young author need be ashamed the
latter we fear, has some defeats to witness Social
life Is not perhaps, more difficult to paint than
pleasant excursions into Mahomet's paradise but
1t requires different order of talent Mere analyt-
cal description of sentiment, mere wordy anatomy
OF the heart is not enough for novel to-day.
Modern readers wish to exercise some little judy
ment Of their own deeds they will have, not cha
racters painted in Geld coors, to hairbreadth q
shade. We are past the age when an artist super
scrbed bis chef dGurrc with the judicous explans-
ton, "thjs is horse" Mr.. Melville longs for the
good old times when the chorus filed the gaps be-
tween the acts with well-timcd commentary on
the past. and shrewd guess a. the future.
But we have heavier charge than this to ad
vance. Mr.. Herman Melville, the author Of ssTypee''
and "Omoo, we know; but who is NJ Hern IN Mel
vile, the copyist of Carlylcl Most men begin
by treading in the wake Of a known author, and
SeekluR JOT UIueT tue cover VI nus
costume. Mr. Melville ventured his first fight on
his own unaided pinions, and now that their
strength has been fully tested voluntarily descends
to the nursery, and catches at leading. strings No
book was ever such n compendium OF Carlyles
faults, with SO few of his redeeming qualities. as
this Pierre. We have the same German English
the same transcendental fghts of fancy-the
same abrupt stalts-the same incohercnt rawlings,
and unearthly visions. The depth Of thought-the
unerripg accuracy Of oyethe infexible honesty Of
purpose are wanting; at least, nothing outwardly
reveals their presence Like many otherpeople, Mr..
Melville seems to have attributed a large share of |
Cerlyles popularity TO his bad English; whereas, in
point Of fact his defects Of form have always proved
drawback TO his success, and nothing short Of his
matchless excellence OF matter, would have intro
would have been he ID to- day by the author Of "Sar
tor Resartus had he clad bis striking and brilliant
ideas ia q less barbarous garb. The fault was ORR