The twins, however, resolved to consult one of the magicians of the country relative to the result of their intended enterprise, before they should commit themselves to the care of an absolute stranger who was to convey them so far from home. The account of this consultation—the temple of the magician—his manner of consulting the fates, and the mystical style of his addressing the twins, form by much the most fanciful and readable portion of the book, and would certainly entitle the author to some credit for wild and weird conceptions, were it not for the unfortunate circumstance, that the whole is a palpable imitation of the celebrated incantation scene in Der Freischutz. It is also infested with the besetting sin of the whole poem, prolixity. Mr. Bulwer too plainly shows in this work, that he is a bookmaker by profession, and if the faculty of hammering a given number of ideas into as many words as possible, be a useful branch of the craft, it is one in which he has assuredly few competitors.
The arrival of Hodges and the twins in London, is at length announced in the newspapers, and then begins what the author unquestionably intended should be the principal business of the poem—namely, the quizzing of London life and manners—or to use his own phrase, satirizing the times. The idea of bringing Oriental strangers to Europe in order to exhibit their surprise at witnessing customs and manners totally different from those of their own country, is rather stale, and the humour of it, if there be any humour in it, has been exhausted by much finer writers than Mr. Bulwer has as yet shown himself to be. Various essayists, both of France and England, have had recourse to this method of exposing the vices and absurdities of their respective countries. Turkish spies, Persian envoys, and Chinese philosophers, have all been brought into requisition for this purpose. No novelty, therefore, can be claimed for the employment of our Siamese adventurers on such trodden ground. It is, indeed, sufficiently apparent, that the idea of making them a vehicle for satire upon the English, was suggested by Goldsmith's Citizen of the World. To try his strength with such a writer as Goldsmith, especially in the walks of satire, was at least courageous on the part of Bulwer; and if any circumstance could, in our estimation, atone for his woful failure, it would be the hardihood which induced him to make the attempt. We believe no reader ever became wearied of perusing Goldsmith's Citizen of the World. But how any reader can toil through this Siamese production, without becoming exhausted, we own is beyond our comprehension.
In London, the twins meet with various adventures, which, no doubt, the author intended should be extremely amusing to the reader. To us they appear extremely jejune and silly. For instance, Lady Jersey sends one of them a ticket of admission to Almacks, without recollecting to pay the same compliment to the other. On appearing for entrance, the door-keeper refuses to admit him who had been neglected. This obstacle, of course, prevents the other from availing himself of his right to enter. Lady Cowper, however, very soon sets all right by furnishing them with another ticket. Now what there is either facetious or satirical in this, we confess we cannot conceive. Equally silly is the incident of the one brother being seized by a recruiting sergeant who had enlisted him, while the other is arrested by a bailiff for debt. But as the brothers cannot be separated, they get clear, the recruiting officer not daring to carry off Ching who had not enlisted, and the bailiff being equally afraid of the consequence of imprisoning Chang against whom he had no writ—an old joke.
Now such bungling inventions appear to us insufferable. In the first place, there is no emotion whatever, either of surprise, merriment, or pity, awakened by the narrative, and in the next, the occurrences are so contrary to all probability, that even poetical license, in its fullest range, will not sanction their introduction. The deformity of the twins would render either of them ineligible to be enlisted. The bailiff's writ might, it is true, authorize the arrest of one only; but even that is inconsistent with the statement previously made that their earnings and expenses were all in common. We should suppose, therefore, that no creditor would make such an invidious distinction between partners so closely connected. These inconsistencies, however, might be pardoned, if the stories were told with sufficient sprightliness and vigour to make them interesting. But when an ill-contrived tale is drowsily told, the reader must possess an immense fund of good nature not to scold the author in his heart.
We shall pass over the rest of these dull adventures, which rebuke no vice, and satirize no folly, and shall give a very brief outline of the remainder of the poem. The brothers, unlike the real twins from whom the title of the poem is borrowed, are represented as of entirely different characters. Chang's disposition is grave, contemplative, and sentimental, while Ching is light-hearted, gay, and volatile. Their protector, Hodges, has a handsome daughter, with whom the meditative Chang falls in love; but, without any apparent cause, he imagines that she has given her heart to Ching. He becomes exceedingly jealous, and absurdly enough, considering the nature of their connexion, meditates the murder of his brother. He however discovers his mistake in time to prevent the deed, and feels a reasonable share of remorse. In the meantime, Mary, the lady in question, who commiserates their condition, contrives, while they are asleep, to introduce a surgeon and his assistant, who successfully cut through the connecting bond of flesh, and, to the great joy of Chang, who had long felt much mortification at the unnatural union, they are separated. Chang now cherishes strong hopes of becoming acceptable to Mary, which are destined soon to be blasted for ever. By an incident which detracts much from the sentimental dignity with which he has been hitherto invested, for it represents him as an eavesdropper, he discovers that she is irrevocably engaged to her cousin, who is called Julian Laneham. This discovery arouses him to a certain fit of magnanimity. He understands that Mary's father objects to her union with Laneham, on account of the young man's poverty. He suddenly disappears; and four days afterwards, two letters are received, one by Hodges, and one by Ching, which, as the author says, "shows the last dénouement of the story." The public curiosity had rendered the brothers rich; and in his letter to Hodges, Chang generously bestows on him his share of their property, on condition that he will give his daughter to Laneham.
The old gentlemen agrees to the compact; and if the reader should have patience enough to carry him so far through the book, he will, towards its conclusion, be rewarded with a marriage, according to the old established laws of romance writing. Why did Mr. Bulwer so far forget the "originality of matter and of manner," in other words, the new school of poetry, which he promised us in the preface, as to put us off with so trite a conclusion?
In a passage towards the close of the poem, the indomitable egotism of our author appears, in a curious allusion which he makes to the failure of his efforts to become a member of parliament at the last general election. His hero Laneham, for he is the true hero of the work, had been a more successful candidate for the people's favour. The poet says, without jealousy, we presume,—
"Moreover in the late election He won a certain Burgh's affection. Dined—drank—made love to wife and daughter, Poured ale and money forth like water, And won St. Stephen's Hall to hear This parliament may last a year! The sire's delight you'll fancy fully— He thinks he sees a second Tully; And gravely says he will dispense With Fox's force and Brinsley's wit, So that our member boast the sense Of that great statesmen—Pilot Pitt! For me, my hope lies somewhat deeper; We'll now, they say, be governed cheaper! So Julian, pour your wrath on robbing, And keep a careful eye on jobbing. If you should waver in your choice To whom to pledge your vote and voice, You'll waver only, we presume, Between an Althorpe and a Hume. But mind—one vote—o'er all you hold, And let the Ballot conquer Gold. Don't utterly forget those asses,— Ridden so long,—the lower classes; But waking from sublimer visions, Just see, poor things! to their provisions. Let them for cheap bread be your debtor, Cheap justice, too—that's almost better. And though not bound to either College, Don't clap a turnpike on their knowledge. * * * * * And ne'er forget this simple rule, boy, Time is an everlasting schoolboy, And as his trowsers he outgoes, Be decent, nor begrudge him clothes. * * * * * In these advices towards your policy, Many, dear Julian, will but folly see; Yet what I preach to you to act is But what had been your author's practice, Had the mercurial star that beams Upon elections blessed his dreams, Had—but we ripen with delay, And every dog shall have his day!"
From the last couplet, it appears, that our author has not yet relinquished his expectations of being gratified with a seat in St. Stephens.
In the following concluding lines, which succeed those we have just quoted, the Twins are finally disposed of. We insert them here as a notable instance of long efforts to kindle a blaze, at last dying away in the suffocation of their own smoke.—