THE METROPOLITAN. AUGUST, 1843. LITERATURE. NOTICES OF NEW WORKS. Rome, as it was under Paganism, and as it became under the Popes. The more we appreciate the talents of our author, the more are we constrained to regret that he has enlisted them under different banners: divided, and in so doing weakened himself. In this work he has marshalled two arrays, and instead of the strength of their com bination and coalition, it seems to us that they stand with not only less than a moiety of their own strength, but with even those severed portions opposed to each other. With ourselves it is an axiom that fact and fiction can never amalgamate. There is no chemical affinity between them. Truth is ever immutable, unchangeable, firm-rooted, and must survive the universe: Imagination ever varying, flashing her prismatic lights with dazzling, lustrous, confusing splendour. She may, indeed, sometimes succeed in casting a momentary halo round the brow of the vicegerent of the Deity, but even this transient corruscation, so far from proving a crown of glory, may do little more than hide the imperial front from recognition. Better, far better is it that Truth should be left to her own lofty throne, her own evenhanded sway. Truth, to observe the slightest infringement of her own laws would be a suicide, and who therefore cannot trench beyond the boundary line of her own monarchy by the fraction of a single hair's breadth; and that Imagination, to whom the same fixedness would be as a dungeon's doom of extinction, should still flash her iris wing wherever uncreated light casts a beam over the broad bosom of immensity. August 1843.-VOL. XXXVII.—NO. CXLVIII. So then, had the choice been left us, we would not have had our author study to serve two masters. The history of Imperial Rome, the World's Empress, the Queen of Cities, was enough and to spare, to command our interest. The world's wonder needed no artificial colouring to render her more striking-it could not enhance her claims; while toiling after her, Imagination seems dull and spiritless, like a captive in her chains. Had the author contented himself with the putting forth a purely historical work, he would have done well— well for his own credit, for his own fame; for he has proved himself master of real capabilities. His capacious mind has grasped his subject; his comprehension is expansive; his conceptions warm, rich, and glowing; his research extensive. These are admirable qualities; they are the metal from which imperishable history is made: nevertheless, we detect the alloy, and the true chink is wanting. We cannot rest upon the work as authority, because fiction mingles with its fact. Without a previous knowledge, the reader cannot find out the landmarks of verity, overspread as they continually are by the swelling surges of a billowy imagination. Had the author chosen to make his work one of grave history, it would have been rich and valuable, and in his survey of truth he would have stood upon higher ground: on the other hand, had he devoted his powers to fiction, the scenes into which he would so have carried us would have been gorgeous and costly; and in thus speaking we are anxious to do full and fair justice to our author's powers, for the test of criticism ought ever to prove and exalt merit, whilst it witnesses against the fictitious, the honest critic's labour being simply that preparatory to garnering in the grain-the separating the wheat from the chaff-too often, indeed, an ungainful and unprofitable process. Perhaps neither in the range of the world's history, nor in the divisions of the world's surface, no era of time, and no section of its expansiveness, could be found so full of interest as that whereon Rome grew from infancy to meridian glory. The world's masters held in their grasp the world's riches. The seven-hilled city reared her majestic head as the right regal queen of the whole earth, and even now her breathless, pulseless, soulless body retains a loveliness greater than the living beauty of other reigning cities. Our author has drunk deeply of the enthusiasm which the contemplation excited. In saying that his descriptions are worthy of what he describes, we offer the highest commendation. To do this well and fitly proves something like correspondence of mind. We give a sample. "Absorbed in thought upon these occurrences, he (St. Peter) turned aside from the great Appian thoroughfare, close to the tombs of the Horatii, and crossed the Via Latina,' in order to reach the Asinarian gate, which was comparatively unfrequented. Immediately within the walls, to the left, there stood a palace upon that gentle eminence called Coeli Montana,' of extent and aspect so imposing that it might have been mistaken for the abode of Cæsar; yet, it was to this edifice the lowly wayfarer directed his steps, without a moment's hesitation, for it was the first he met. The gates of bronze were flung wide open, and looked as burnished and stately as the portals of Olympus. The pilgrim ascended the marble flight which led to the platform in front of the portico, entered the vestibule meekly, but still with the unhesitating tread of one who is conscious that his errand deserves a welcome; nor was he barred of entrance by the 'ostiarii,' or porters, who lounged about, nor did he pause himself until he came to the first atrium,' or graud reception hall. "A hundred columns of jasper sustained its roof-a dome covered with lamina, or valves of gold inlaid with diamonds, and enamelled paintings, in the most exquisite manner of the Greeks. The frieze, rivalling that of the Parthenon in beauty, represented a triumph during the Marsic war. The wainscot round the walls-consisting of rare and beauteous marbles, the undulated Thasian, or Carystian, the vermiculated Phrygian, spotted with the blood of Atys-was trimmed with ivory and decorated with beautiful medallions and arabesques. In arcades behind the peristyle, were ranged, in chronological order, and in their official costumes, the images of consuls, ediles, tribunes of the people, censors-the long line of statesmen, patriots, and great captains, who had shed lustre on a house renowned, even in Rome, for its ancestral laurels. The tablinum was hung with portraits, some of them as old as the times of Fabius Pictor. For the most part, the images were inshrined in costly tabernacles overshadowed with trophies, and the lamps of purest gold that burned before them were tended as religiously as the fire of Vesta. In the centre of the hall, which was of a circular form, there was an altar to Jupiter Hospitalis, with no canopy above it but the heavens, expanding over the orifice in the dome like an awning of transparent azure; and from this there descended a flood of splendour that inundated the entire atrium-tinging its furniture and ornaments with the radiance of enchantment. "The pilgrims continued to advance through galleries, saloons, and suites of stately apartments without end-a labyrinth of ever-increasing splendour, but they paused not to gaze or wonder at the strange magnificence. The entire palace was lighted up and decorated for some grand festivity, as if for the reception of a bride. Yet, there was no one to be seen, save now and then a slave, gliding, like a melancholy vision, over the noiseless pavement, to tend the lamps or scatter perfumes and sweetscented leaves. The song of one handmaid, as she adjusted a lily in a garland, startled the venerable pilgrim as if it had been a parable: Thou, too, for thy bloom art cherished; Thou, too, shalt be flung away.' At last, the voluptuous swell of music came from a distance upon the ear; and, directed by the sound, the pilgrims came to the interior recesses of the palace, where lay the triclinium,' or hall of feast. "It was a sumptuous hall, oblong in form, and divided, as to style of decoration and arrangement, into two unequal parts. The greater division was occupied by the guests, disposed upon couches, on that side only of the tables next the colonnades, so that the various attendants and ministers of the feast were free to move about on the centre space, extending from the cross table at the head, between the two lateral ones, down to the second or lesser division of the hall, occupied by the orchestra and the stage for jugglers, dancers, and pantomimes, who exhibited during the intervals of the long-protracted banquet. Taste the most refined directing the arts, then in the meridian of perfection, and ministered to by unbounded opulence, had exhausted every resource upon this sanctuary of indulgence. The ceilings that beamed with the effulgence of a golden firmament, glittering with starlike gems, were so contrived as to vary in aspect with the successive courses, and from them showers, as it were, of the most exhilarating and aromatic dews were made to distil upon the languishing voluptuaries. The hangings were of Tyrian purple. Flowers, in festoons, were suspended from the arcades and niches, where stood Apollo, the Muses, Venus, Psyche, the Graces, and the quiver-armed god. Endless, in short, was the variety of scenes and emblems that had been conceived by poetic fancy to revel in that temple of delights; and triumphant art, as with a wand, had given them the very air and breath of life. "The mosaic pavement, figured with the most grotesque devices, was scattered over with the soft powder of odorous wood, damped with saffron, vermilion, and other brilliant dyes. It glittered with filings of gold and the dust of the sparkling stone. The board of the feast, made of citron wood from the furthest confines of Mauritania, was supported on feet of ivory, and covered with a leaf or plateau of silver elegantly enchased. The couches, each of which accommodated three, were made of bronze overlaid with silver, gold, and tortoiseshell; the mattresses were of Gallic wool, dyed purple; the pillows and cushions of the softest down were covered with the priceless embroidery of Babylon. "Abandoned to every effeminacy as they lolled upon these beds like so many deities on sun-lit clouds, the lordly voluptuaries were regaled with every dainty of air, earth, and ocean, while nymphlike and obsequious forms were stationed with fans and vases of perfume, or moved round the couches to sounds of soft melody with goblets of racy wine. Others burned incense, or placed fresh viands and flowers on the altars of the household deities, or fed with fragrant oil the lamps and candelabra that cast a mellow splendour over the entire scene. "The strains of enchanting music which had guided the pilgrims from a distance, seemed to faint away and die in swanlike agonies, and all was still and breathless, as in a dream, when that venerable stranger and his disciple appeared upon the threshold of that hall of pleasure. Their eyes were downcast-and it was well-for ill would they have brooked to look upon mysteries of wantonness and unshadowed sin. The apostle lifted his hand as if in act to bless, saying, 'Peace be to this house?'-' And to all who dwell within it,' responded his disciple. "Like the summer-sea when the tornado breathes upon it, the lord of the feast sprang up. He shook his hands, he shrieked in transports of fury at the messengers who had come with a great blessing to his house; and they seized them and they cast them forth. "O my divine Master! it is just!' said the venerable man, as he was lifted by his disciple from where they had left him for dead; it is meet and congruous, for thou, also, didst come to thy own, and thy own received thee not, but disowned and rejected thee with ignominious injuries. Why, therefore, should not thy unworthy vicegerent, on entering his own city, for the first time, be treated like thee with insult? But suffer not, O Lord, that our first benediction in this predestinated see and metropolis of thy kingdom, shall prove abortive! Yes, they have rejected thy peace,' he continued, after a moment's ecstasy, as he gazed upon the palace of Lateranus, (for Platius Lateranus was the lord of the palace and the feast,) and, therefore, that proud pile shall fall; but, upon its ruins shall rise the mother and the queen of a regenerated world!' "St. Peter, the prince of the apostles, shook the dust from his feet,' and, with his meek disciple and amanuensis, St. Mark, pursued his way rejoicing." All this is finely told; but there is in it that admixture of imagination with its truthfulness, which, whilst it is impossible to separate, makes it unsafe for dependence. We have already spoken of this combination as an error of judgment, but we are not without suspicion of a deeper meaning involved within its purposes. We imagine the work to have been written not only to trace the history of the Popes, but to advance their rule. It is not so much a glowing and energetic history of Rome under its two great dominations, nor of an imaginative conception; it is rather an endeavour to advance Roman Catholic supremacy. Thus we have St. Peter founding the see of Rome, accompanied by St. Mark. We pause over the bold idea of bringing apostles down to the common walks of life, and making them figure in fiction. We would not, however, for a moment accuse our author of irreverence, because we at once feel that nothing could be further from his thoughts; on the contrary, he approaches the holy ground on which he has the temerity to tread with unshodden feet: all that we say is, that he should have bent his footsteps elsewhere. We object to hearing St. Peter talking like other men-engaging in conversation in which he is not distinguished from his every-day companions. In these our pages, we advisedly keep clear of all disputed ground; we leave these as open questions; but, as a matter of critical taste, we object to seeing the twice-ordained apostle brought into familiar contact with the crowd. We do not even speak of traditionary miracles doubtless there were many puttings forth of power, innumerable energies of the Divine will for ever accompanying the paths of the apostles; and thus, though we have the most ardent of the servants of his Master raising the dead and doing wondrous things, we make no protest against their verity. We enter not into the dispute as to whether or not the most time-honoured of the twelve did or did not tread the great Appian Way. One doctrine was fulminated by all; no matter, then, who preached it at Rome. Protestant as well Roman Catholic may gaze with reverent love and soul-subduing pity on the faith and sufferings of the early fathers and martyrs of the church. Their memory is our common heritage, bequeathed to universal Christianity; but-and ah! for the pity of that but-that by this union of feeling we should be carried down a stream where we must needs struggle to divide. In our author's portraiture of Christianity in the first ages we might all agree, but as he brings down his history, we have no choice but to part company. : After all, the book is a strange one. Sometimes historical, sometimes ecclesiastical, sometimes theological, sometimes the history of Rome, sometimes the history of the Popes, sometimes a novel, sometimes an account of the martyrs. Good in every part, and only liable to censure for the admixture. Admirable abilities have been called into exercise for its production, and much pains and labour; and after every drawback has been allowed, there yet remains amply enough merit to recommend it to the world: we detract not from it. The Earl of Leicester; a Tragedy, in Five Acts. By SAMUEL HEATH. The romances of Sir Walter Scott are so essentially and powerfully dramatic in themselves, that scenes might be cut out with a pair of scissors from any one of them, and an effective piece for the stage be produced without the aid of a line from the playwright. An author, therefore, who founds his play on any of the productions of the great wizard of the north, exposes himself to what Mrs. Malaprop was wont to call "odorous comparisons;" and, whatever may be his dramatic |