But, it is time that we should enter into some examination of the character of this work, and show our reasons for the disapprobation of it as a poem and a satire, which we have so freely expressed.
It will be admitted, we presume, that, when an author does not succeed in accomplishing his design, his work is a failure. The design of the author of this poem was, as we are informed by the title-page, to write a satire, has he done so? Those who are loudest in commendation of the poem, have acknowledged its satirical portions to be feeble, and without point. But they contend that it contains a sufficiency of good poetry of another description, to atone for this defect. We confess that we have not been fortunate enough, after a careful perusal, to discover this redeeming poetry. Whether it be of the sentimental, descriptive, or ethical species, we therefore cannot tell. Perhaps it is an ingenious mingling of them in one mass, in which the beauties of each, conceal those of the others from view? If so, how many disinterested readers will submit to the trouble of extricating them from the confusion in which they lie, so as to see them distinctly, and become fully aware of their latent splendour? We attempted, as in duty bound, to hunt for these gems. We discovered a few that sparkled a little,—but they were indeed so few, and their lustre so faint, that we could not consider them worth the labour of exploring one moiety of the abundance of rubbish in which they are buried. We believe that the generality of readers will be equally disappointed; and that the book will be almost invariably laid down with a feeling that it is tedious, awkward, and dull,—in short, in respect to its poetical as well as its satirical character, a failure without redemption.
But the author calls it a satire. It is therefore as a satire, that it ought to be judged. In our opinion, it is no more a satire than a sermon; nay, we have read sermons in which the satiric thong is wielded with much more effect against wickedness and folly, than in this production. We need not enter into a philological explanation of the term satire,—the word is common enough, and we presume that every reader who understands plain English, knows its meaning. To render vice disgusting, and folly ridiculous, is the legitimate office of the satirist. Sarcasm and wit are his most usual and effectual weapons. Ridicule and reprobation are also used; the former when the intention is to excite derision, and the latter when the arousing of indignation is the object. The great aim of the satirist ought always to be the reformation of depraved morals, corrupt institutions, absurd customs, or offensive manners. The contemporary prevalence of such, is what excites his indignation, or provokes his ridicule; and, if he possesses power and dexterity to apply the lash, he performs a real service to society, and acquires a deserved and enviable name among the useful and agreeable writers of the day.
Has Mr. Bulwer applied the lash in this manner? Against what vice does he awaken the indignation of his readers, or what folly does he expose to their contempt? We ask for information, for we have not, with our best efforts, been able ourselves to make the discovery. It is true, that, in the perusal of his work, we met with some awkward attempts to be witty at the expense of Basil Hall, the Duke of Wellington, Thomas Moore, Joseph Hume, and two or three others of the conspicuous characters of the times. But, if satire never launches keener arrows against these men, than are to be found in this book, we fear that, whatever may be their faults or foibles, no dread of her power will induce them to reform. The only feelings they can experience from the harmless missiles of Mr. Bulwer, are pity for his vanity, and contempt for his weakness.
There is but one passage in this long poem which contains upwards of eight thousand lines, that deserves to be called satirical. It is in relation to the missionary Hodges. In this some tolerable hits are made at the union of selfishness and prejudice which too frequently characterize the religious missionaries of all sects, who are employed by the zeal of the wealthy and pious at home, to convert to Christianity the heathen inhabitants of foreign countries. The missionary in question, who is the only character in the work drawn with any power of dramatic conception, is represented as haranguing the people of Siam on the inferiority of their institutions to those of England, (in which, by the by, neither Americans nor Englishmen will be apt to discover much satire,) and threatening, in language as coarse as that of the canting Maworm, to reform them, whether they will or not, from the evil ways of their ancestors. We shall quote part of the passage, and as it is unquestionably the cleverest satirical portion of the whole poem, the friends of Mr. Bulwer cannot accuse us of doing him injustice by the selection.—
"Accordingly our saint one day, Into the market took his way, Climbed on an empty tub, that o'er Their heads he might declaim at ease, And to the rout began to roar In wretched Siamese. 'Brethren! (for every one's my fellow, Tho' I am white, and you are yellow,) Brethren! I came from lands afar To tell you all—what fools you are! Is slavery, pray, so soft, and glib a tie, That you prefer the chain to liberty? Is Christian faith a melancholy tree, That you will only sow idolatry? Just see to what good laws can bring lands, And hear an outline of old England's. Now, say if here a lord should hurt you, Are you made whole by legal virtue? For ills by battery or detraction, Say, can you bring at once your action? And are the rich not much more sure To gain a verdict than the poor? With us alike the poor or rich, Peasant or prince, no matter which— Justice to all the law dispenses, And all it costs—are the expenses! Here if an elephant you slay, Your very lives the forfeit pay: Now that's a quid pro quo—too seri- Ous much for beasts naturæ feræ. * * * * * * * * * * These are the thing's that best distinguish men— These make the glorious boast of Englishmen! More could I tell you were there leisure, But I have said enough to please, sure: Now then if you the resolution Take for a British constitution, A British king, church, commons, peers— I'll be your guide! dismiss your fears. With Hampden's name and memory warm you! And, d—n you all—but I'll reform you! As for the dogs that wont be free, We'll give it them most handsomely; To church with scourge and halter lead 'em, And thrash the rascals into freedom."
This fine speech, it appears, had much the same effect on its auditors, that we believe Mr. Bulwer's poem will have on nine-tenths of his readers;—it produced a sensation of disdain for the understanding as well as the principles of its author. Under the influence of this feeling, the men of Siam could not forbear executing a practical joke on the orator. They elevated him in a palanquin, raised by means of tall poles, to a great height above their heads; from which altitude, after parading him in mock triumph through the streets of their chief city, they, with little regard to consequences, tossed him into the air. The poem says—
"So high he went, with such celerity, It seemed as for some god-like merit he Carried from earth, like great Alcides, To Jupiter's ambrosial side is. But, oh! as maiden speakers break Down when their highest flight they take; Ev'n so, (while fearing to be crushed Each idler from beneath him dodges), Swift, heavy—like an avalanche—rushed To earth the astonished form of Hodges. He lay so flat, he lay so still, He seemed beyond all farther ill. They pinched his side, they shook his head, And then they cried, 'The man is dead!' On this, each felt no pleasing chill; For ev'n among the Bancockeans, A gentleman for fun to kill, Is mostly punished—in plebeians. They stare—look serious—mutter—cough— And then, without delay, sneak off; Nor at a house for succour knocked, or Thought once of sending for the doctor."
The twins, Chang and Ching, remain behind, and taking pity on the maltreated missionary, convey him to their father's house, which was convenient. Here he is treated with kindness, and soon recovers of the contusions and a broken leg, occasioned by his fall.
A notable scheme now seized the fertile brain of the money loving missionary. The lusus naturæ which connected the bodies of the twins, he conceived would render their exhibition profitable in England. He obtained the consent of their father to carry them to Europe, by stipulating to allow them one-half of the earnings of their exhibition. The acquiescence of the youths themselves he easily procured by inflaming their curiosity to witness the glory and happiness of England, which he described in the most glowing terms of national panegyric.