Love needs no counsel in his little realm.
“Anne Boleyn” is not only a fine dramatic poem, considered in respect to character and situations, but it is as interesting as a novel, and continually excites those emotions which exact attention, even in the least cultivated reader. Taken in connection with the author’s previous work, it evinces not only genius, but a genius which grows. The perusal of it has strongly impressed us with the feeling that the country, in him, has a new poet, and one whose present productions are even richer in promise than performance. We cordially wish him an appreciating public, and trust that he will not lack stimulants to renewed exertion.
Saint Leger, or the Threads of Life. Second Edition. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.
“Saint Leger” has been considered by some critics to be of German origin; it has been thought to bear a striking family likeness to a class of books of which “Wilhelm Meister” is the type and paragon. This erroneous opinion must have arisen either from an imperfect acquaintance with German literature, or from not giving to “Saint Leger” that careful analysis which it certainly deserves. The class of German novels, to which “Saint Leger” has been compared, cannot, strictly speaking, be said to possess any plot. There is no regular sequence of events—no relation of parts to a whole—no dramatic bearing of character upon character, to produce an ultimate result—no apparent effort to close the story at the very start, which an influx of conflicting circumstances alone prevents, and toward which it ever struggles, overcoming obstacles and softening down discordances, until the end is gained by an unforced blending into one harmonious mass of all the opposing elements of the plot. But these very qualities, for which we look in vain through “Wilhelm Meister” and its fellows, “Saint Leger” possesses to a degree beyond any work of a semblable character with which we are acquainted; and from the crowning result of its plot arises what has been called, from the days of Æsop to those of Walter Scott, the moral of the story. Without such a moral, expressed or implied, any fable, however well told in detail, is a crude, lifeless mass, wanting altogether that vital principle which alone can give fiction endurance. It is to this fact that posterity will owe its safety from the pernicious influences of the thousand well written immoralities that crowd their betters from our modern book-shelves, while the downfall of these literary falsehoods must as surely make way for the continued popularity of such books as “Saint Leger.”
That “Wilhelm Meister” and kindred works are entirely without moral, we will not attempt to say; but that they want the directness of purpose which everywhere characterizes “Saint Leger,” and the consequent dependence of action upon action, in order to work out a clear and significant result, we may say, without fear of controvertion. A lie, written or spoken, is always a bungling thing. The straggling, touch-and-go manner of hinting out a story—admitting the author not to be thoroughly depraved, and willing, like the George Sand School, to blazon his vices, and glory in his iniquities—seldom fails to betray the false and shallow principles upon which it is founded. Truth seeks the light; the author of “Saint Leger” does not shun it. There is a zealousness of purpose, and a lucidness of style and exposition upon every page of his book, which at least proves our author’s conscience to be in his work, and must forever free him from the imputation of endeavoring to hide falsehood, either under the covering of silence or of sophistry.
The object of the author of “Saint Leger,” if we understand him aright, is to trace the career of an individual soul in search of a faith. The innumerable external trials, temptations and dangers through which the hero passes, forms one of the most interesting stories we have read for many a day. To this moving narrative another, and entirely original interest is superadded, by exhibiting to us, not only the immediate effects of surrounding events on the hero’s feelings and actions, but in tracing up their consequences, first, to the changes in his character and moral nature, and last, to the ultimate results produced on his religious faith. Our author appears to be a sturdy opponent of all forms of intellectual faith. The hero is accordingly taken through the whole round of modern metaphysics; and issues from them weary and dispirited, having learned only to doubt, not to believe. In the latter pages of the book, the instructive lesson of the whole is taught, viz., that faith is founded, not on the intellectual, but on the moral nature; that all strivings after faith, through the intellect, can but end in doubt and pain; that the elements for the formation of a perfect faith lie around us on every hand, as much within the reach of the illiterate as of the learned, which
“——justifies the ways of God to man;”
that faith is not to be encompassed in creeds, or laid down in philosophies, but is the simple language of the heart appealing to the will for support.
These are bold thoughts, boldly spoken. The sectarian may base his faith upon other and far different grounds, or may think the opinions of other men sufficient foundation for his own belief; he cannot, however, arrive at a higher or a purer state of hopefulness than that reached by “Saint Leger” through his fiery martyrdom of thought and feeling.