Part 25

Mr. John Morley's estimate of Burke is known to us all, and it is what might be expected. As a philosophical politician, and as a speculative writer in general, Burke, of course, pleases Mr. Morley by the positive tendencies of his mind. We are pleased to see that he assigns its due rank to the too often underrated Inquiry about the Sublime and Beautiful. But Mr. Morley has perhaps the fault which Sterne told his friend the Count belonged especially to the French; he is "too serious." Of course, Burke is a great man, and one must not cut jokes in a memoir of him--at least one must not if one can't. But it is quite certain Sydney Smith would have done it; and there are many ways in which a page may be lit up. Well worth notice, as an amusing touch, was that passage in the Inquiry in which Burke speaks deprecatingly of Bunyan, because he did not write like Virgil, and though the present work "is biographical rather than critical," we miss a number of amusing anecdotes. This may be the result of literary fastidiousness on Mr. Morley's part, but, if so, we submit that the fastidiousness is carried too far. There is a little story that some one (we forget the name at the moment) who had lost largely by investing in some West Indian property, alleged that he had been induced to invest by Burke's glowing descriptions of the country, and that Burke replied, "Ods boddikins! must one swear to the truth of a song?"--or in very similar language. Now this is really illustrative. We can by no means agree with Mr. Morley that Burke was free from the vicious tendencies of the rhetorician, not to say the rhetorical Celt. He had the Celtic leaning towards forlorn hopes, and the Celtic want of truthfulness. Of course, the Dr. Richard Price, who is so contemptuously treated in the "Reflections," was a much smaller man than Burke, but he had more love of truth and more capacity of adhering to principle in his little finger than Burke had in his whole nature. Mr. John Morley does his friendly and ingeniously reticent best for him; but students who reject the "positive" method (except as an auxiliary or a check) will persist in thinking that the painful tangles of the great man's life, and the blind alleys and other faults of his writings, were the result of his deficiency on the side of truthfulness. It will be doing anything but injustice to Burke, Mr. Morley, or the reader, if we call particular attention to p. 173 and so on to p. 177 inclusive. They give a bird's-eye view of the most important part of the subject; they contain instructive comparisons between Burke, Sir Thomas More, and Turgot: and they seem to us to contain large proof in small compass of what Mr. Morley will of course not admit--namely, Burke's want of love for the truth, and his incapacity for abstract speculation.

As a reasoned account of the life and writings of the subject of the book, Professor Huxley's _Hume_ is one of the very best of the series--we were going to pronounce it the best, but remembered in good time that we had not seen them all. In any case it is excellent. It does not seem to us that Hume's "Description of the Will" is grammatically open to the criticism on p. 181. But comment like this would be useless unless we gave the reader an opportunity of judging. This is Hume's "description of the Will," as quoted by Professor Huxley:--

"Of all the immediate effects of pain and pleasure there is none more remarkable than the _will_; and though, properly speaking, it be not comprehended among the passions, yet as the full understanding of its nature and properties is necessary to the explanation of them, we shall here make it the subject of our inquiry. I desire it may be observed that, by the _will_, I mean nothing but _the internal impression we feel and are conscious of, when we knowingly give rise to any new motion of our body, or new perception of our mind_. This impression, like the preceding ones of pride and humility, love and hatred, it is impossible to define, and needless to describe any further."--(ii. p. 150.)

And this is Professor Huxley's comment:--

"This description of a volition may be criticized on various grounds. More especially does it seem defective in restricting the term "will" to that feeling which arises when we act, or appear to act, as causes: for one may will to strike, without striking; or to think of something which we have forgotten."

But is not this met by the last six of the words which Professor Huxley has italicised? They are certainly very wide, and one might ask, in addition, what word of absolute "restriction" is employed by Hume in this passage? He indicates what he means by the word "Will," by saying that it is what we are conscious of upon certain occasions, and this gives a clue to the quality of the sensation; but it was obvious, and did not need saying, that the quality of the sensation might remain, though its complete outcome were baulked.

In presenting and criticizing Hume's views upon such topics as Theism, Immortality and Miracles, Necessary Truth, &c., Professor Huxley is, so far as we have discovered, both accurate and candid. It is only necessary to suggest that the reader should keep his eyes open--for there is really not one new word to be written upon these matters.

It is not often that you are told what a man died of. You are put off with some such phrase as "a painful malady," or a "family complaint." Yet, it is often just what we desire to know, because the illness from which a man suffers stands in direct relation to his power of work and his capacity of endurance. Consumption, except in its later stage, is not usually painful. Nor does it necessarily make work difficult. The same may be said of maladies which come on paroxysmally, and leave those blessed intervals of ease of which Paley, himself a sufferer, writes with such unaccustomed tenderness. In the _Gibbon_ of this series, Mr. Morison slurred over the very curious, perhaps unexampled fact, that Gibbon had long concealed a bad hernia and had done nothing for it. It finally killed him, but that with his amazing corpulence he could live a long time with a serious rupture, and keep his general health and his placidity, is very interesting. Professor Huxley tells us point-blank what Hume died of, and it is quite as well for biographers to be specific in such matters. We may just inquire, in passing, where the Professor got his "_solid_ certainty of waking bliss"? It seems pedantic to notice every trifle of this sort, but if small errors in quotation were, so to speak, nipped in the bud, many logomachics would be saved. How much discussion, in pulpits and out of them, has been wasted upon the supposition that Pope wrote that "an honest man's the _noblest_ work of God." Whereas Pope wrote "noble," and it was Burns, in the "Cotter's Saturday Night," who started the error. Now "solid" is as good sense as "sober," but the latter is what suits the verse best, and it is what Milton made Comus say.

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The "run" upon Dante continues. Here is _Dante: Six Sermons_, by Philip H. Wicksteed, M.A. (C. Kegan Paul & Co.) "In allowing," says Mr. Wicksteed--

"the publication of this little volume, my only thought is to let it take its chance with other fugitive productions of the pulpit that appeal to the press as a means of widening the possible area rather than extending the period over which the preacher's voice may extend; and my only justification is the hope that it may here and there reach hands to which no more adequate treatment of the subject was likely to find its way."

The sermons were delivered first at Little Portland Street Chapel, where Mr. Wicksteed succeeded Dr. Martineau, and afterwards at the Free Christian Church at Croydon, where the Rev. Rodolph R. Suffield formerly preached, but where the Rev. E. M. Geldart is now (we believe) the minister. The book contains only about 160 pages, and gives a very readable and complete account both of Dante and his poetry. The style is that of the pulpit, iterative, florid, and full of amplifications; but that was natural. It is a serious matter, however, that the author keeps up his strain of eulogy from end to end at a pitch which has an almost _falsetto_ sound with it. It seems hardly fair to leave unnoticed the charges of artificiality and worse which have been abundantly made against Dante and his poetry, especially as this book is intended for popular use; and it is a pity that Mr. Wicksteed should go out of his way to settle difficult questions in this off-hand way:--

"It is often held and taught, that a strong and definite didactic purpose must inevitably be fatal to the highest forms of art, must clip the wings of poetic imagination, distort the symmetry of poetic sympathy, and substitute hard and angular contrasts for the melting grace of those curved lines of beauty which pass one into the other. Had Dante never lived, I know not where we should turn for the decisive refutation of this thought; but in Dante it is the very combination said to be impossible that inspires and enthrals us. A perfect artist guided in the exercise of his art by an unflagging intensity of moral purpose; a prophet, submitting his inspirations"--

and so forth, in the same strained and insistent key. But no wise critic has ever said that "a strong and definite didactic purpose must inevitably be fatal to the highest forms of art." What is maintained on _that_ side of the debate is that the "purpose" must not be permitted to shape the poem; that the poem itself must be moulded upon lines of beauty and not of "moral purpose"--though the "moral purpose" may be immanent in the work. But who is bound to take Mr. Wicksteed's word for the statement that Dante's great poem is not the very strongest confirmation in all literature of the truth that a _controlling_ and _interfering_ moral purpose injures a poem, Milton's "Paradise Lost" being the next strongest?

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A well-known, and also imperfectly known, "nook in the Apennines" is the Republic of San Marino, about which there is a good deal of information in _A Freak of Freedom; or, The Republic of San Marino_, by J. Theodore Bent (Longman, Green & Co.) It appears to be partly the record of a visit paid by the author to the spot in 1877, and is illustrated by fifteen woodcuts from the author's own drawings, to say nothing of a map. Mr. Bent was presented with the freedom of the Republic, and we do not know that any one, except another citizen of it, or some near neighbour, could criticize his little book to much advantage. But we trust he will permit us to remark that he might have made his work more amusing and instructive. There is a good deal about the place in Addison, and this is referred to (among other interesting matters) in an article in Knight's "Penny Magazine" for May 31st, 1834. But, though we have not time to make references, we have a strong impression that there are many descriptions, new and old, of San Marino, which it would have been refreshing to quote. We know, however, of no work which gives so much information as Mr. Bent's.

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It might be the subject of a very plausible doubt whether French novels of a high order ought to be translated into English, since those who are really capable of understanding and enjoying them will be certain to understand French, and since, moreover, the finest qualities of the writing must disappear in the process of translation. Then, with regard to French novels of a much lower class, they are not worth the trouble of turning into English; are more likely in themselves to do harm than good; and their reproduction in our language cannot tend to encourage "native talent." We have before us, from Messrs. Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington, _The Cat and Battledore, and other Tales_, by Honoré de Balzac, translated into English by Philip Kent, B.A. (3 vols.) Perhaps it was not a bad idea to give the merely English reader some chance of appreciating the extraordinary qualities of the author of "Le Père Goriot," "Le Peau de Chagrin," and "La Recherche de l'Absolu" (neither of which is, the general reader may be told, in this collection): but Balzac is not a writer with a soul in him, and the experiment need not be carried any further. Those who know nothing of Balzac, and who read novels simply for excitement, will be glad of these three volumes, and the glimpse they give of an unique writer; but to studious readers Balzac's novels have an interest which is mainly psychological. The preface (here translated) to the "Comédie Humaine" is a strange presumptuous medley, which raises, like all the author's most characteristic works, the question of perfect sanity--a question which Mr. Leslie Stephen once opened very acutely, and dismissed too curtly. To have read through a story of Balzac's is to have passed through one of those wonderfully vivid dreams which leave you puzzled and lost at the moment of awaking. It seems to be generally admitted that his writings do not tend to make his readers "immoral" in the usual sense of the adjective, but there is something ineffably droll in his patronage of "Christianity, especially Catholic Christianity," and that defence of his own writings which the reader may amuse himself by studying in the preface. He is not only conservative, he is monarchical, and objects to representative Government, if it "hands us over to the rule of the masses." But what chiefly concerns those who buy novels, or send for them to the libraries, is the quality of the stories, and they may depend upon getting a full measure of excitement, with some instruction, out of "La Maison du Chat qui pelote" and the companion stories.