Hazlitt never mistook his powers more than when he aspired to write history and biography. As a critic and essayist his brilliancy and acuteness compensate, in a considerable degree, for his bitterness and prejudice; but as a historian, his faults of mind and disposition are too glaringly evident to pass without rebuke. He could not have selected a subject where his unfitness was more apparent than that of Napoleon. His admiration of the “child and champion of the Revolution,” and his hatred of the established governments of Europe, amounted to a disease. His production, therefore, though containing many striking thoughts, and some splendid composition, reads more like a vigorous party pamphlet than an impartial history. Every thing is seen through a distorting medium of rage and prejudice. The political sins of the monarchs he condemns and inveighs against, were of the same kind which Napoleon himself had no scruple in committing, and we see no reason why an usurper of superior power and abilities, should be puffed for the same crimes for which his adversaries are hooted at. Falsehood and perfidy should be especially branded when they are committed by apostate patriots, and champions of the rights of man. It is well known that Napoleon, among the many “infirmities” of his genius, was one of the greatest liars that ever existed. He not only disregarded truth, but had a contempt for it. One would suppose that such a quality as this ought to give a slightly dark shade to his character, even as delineated by a servile biographer. But Hazlitt’s faith in his hero is proof against all sense and propriety; and, in the name of democracy, he baptizes the most tyrannical and infamous acts committed by the most despotic of modern sovereigns.
This book resembles Carlyle’s Cromwell in its object—and its object is detestable. If history is to be written to any good purpose, the historian must not adopt the passions of the time he describes as the principles by which he judges of persons and events. History, written on the model of Hazlitt or Carlyle, would become more corrupting than the most licentious novels. Men of great abilities, loaded though they be with offences against human nature, would be held up as appropriate examples; and every ambitious politician would be practically told, that the way to win the gratitude of posterity was to trample on the rights of the governed, and violate every principle of legislation and morals. No historian of any acuteness can be at a loss for plausible excuses for crimes if his love for the criminal exceeds his love for justice and truth. The course by which Carlyle makes Cromwell out the wisest and most religious of men, and reconciles morality with massacre, might be advantageously employed to extenuate the offences of many an unfortunate gentleman whom society exhibits on a gallows, or employs in the business of pounding stone in its prisons. There are already too many temptations in the way of selfish ambition to make it desirable that historians should add another.
American Comedies. By James K. Paulding and William Irving Paulding. Phila.: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 12mo.
This volume contains four comedies, the first of which, entitled “The Bucktails, or Americans in England,” is the production of James K. Paulding, and the remaining three of W. I. Paulding, a young man scarcely one-and-twenty. “The Bucktails” was written shortly after the last war with England. The sentiment of the play, and a good portion of the humor, are somewhat old. The ignorance of the English characters is somewhat overcharged, and the nationality of the American too obtrusively impertinent. The fun of the piece is apt to run either into mere caricature or jokes “which no young lady should read.” There is, however, with many defects in plot and characterization, considerable merit in the dialogue, which is sharp, brisk, and terse, and explodes at times, like a series of percussion caps. The last act is very clumsy, and the patches of blank verse put into the mouths of Frank and Jane, positively ridiculous. We are surprised that Mr. Paulding did not re-write the play, and prune it of many obvious absurdities. It contains a great deal that is excellent.
The remaining comedies are “The Noble Exile,” “Madmen All,” and “Antipathies, or The Enthusiasts by the Ears.” They are the production of a young man of evident talent, and give promise of much excellence in the department of literature to which he has devoted his powers; but they are crude in their present shape, and many of the faults and follies they satirize have been repeatedly ridiculed in the same way. We should judge, also, that the writer’s favorite author was Ben Jonson—a bad model, though a man of great talents and remarkable character. The most laughable piece of comic writing in the plays, is the second scene in the second act of Madmen All, in which Phil, assuming the character of a Vicksburg “screamer,” bamboozles an Englishman with stories of the character and manners of the South and West. Phil is asked what were his sensations on being blown up in a Mississippi steamer, and he replies—“Why, sir, it is the pleasantest and most elevating feeling you can imagine. May I be scalped, sir, if it is not just like being kicked into chaos. No man, sir, knows what the sublimity of life is until he has had a biler burst under him.” The whole scene is exceedingly spirited and effective. Indeed, Mr. Paulding wants but culture and practice to make a good dramatist. The present volume is rather an indication than an exponent of his capacity. He does individual scenes well, and here and there hits off a character happily; but he does not so combine his plot and personages as to produce an artistical effect upon the mind.
History of the Roman Republic. By J. Michelet. Translated by William Hazlitt. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.
In this work Michelet displays his usual qualities of style, with, perhaps, more condensation of remark and peremptoriness of judgment. He never writes without having studied his subject thoroughly, and he seems to conceive that this elaborate preparation qualifies him to decide all debateable points. His intellect has some vices of system, and he is too apt to run his facts into the forms of his theories, and generalize where he ought to narrate. He states an event in language which also contains an opinion of the event. He also bothers the unlearned reader by narrating occasionally by allusion and implication, and thus is condensed at the expense of simplicity and clearness. The present work, though very able and interesting, requires a previous knowledge of Roman history to be appreciated, as much almost as Carlyle’s “French Revolution” demands a previous acquaintance with French history. It is rather an addition to the other histories of the republic, by a man of original and splendid powers, than a work embodying a complete history in itself.
Michelet’s power of picturesque description and delineation of character, and his faculty of applying principles to events, are displayed prominently in this work. His sympathy with the Roman people and their objects, is also strikingly manifested. Nothing but an extended review of the book could do justice to its mingled wisdom and extravagance. The chief defect in this, as in every work of the author, is the obtrusion of his own peculiar personality into every picture and reflection. We cannot get a view of Hannibal, Scipio, Cæsar, Brutus, or Anthony, without seeing Michelet by his side, doing the honors of introduction, and warning us that his is the only shop where the true article may be obtained.