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neither poetry nor prose, neither Greek nor English, but has all the faults of both without the beauties of either.* It would seem that the author

Infelix opere in summo, quia ponere totum

Nescit

was entirely without the power of combining his materials, and hence his work, however rich in scattered gems, wants altogether that character of wholeness, which the most desultory tale ought to possess. This will perhaps explain why it is that the Memoirs of Anastasius do not in a greater degree lay hold of the affections or permanently engage the interest of the reader. Many of the detached pictures are sketched with such a minuteness of touch, and such a fidelity to nature, as would have led us to suppose they must have been the workmanship of a native Greek; -and none perhaps but a native Greek can appreciate all their merit. But the characters and personages incidentally introduced do not connect well with the story; there is no chain of incident, and though the separate links are often worked with great skill, yet all seems taken at random from the author's common-place book, and joined together as it were by accident. In the conduct of his narrative he is fond of attempts to surprise; but these attempts are too often made at the expense of nature and probability. We are continually stumbling against something to remind us that we are reading an account of what could never have existed except in the author's imagination, and thus the illusion of reality is dispelled. There is scarcely a single adventure entirely

The following will serve as a specimen of the bewildered unintelligibility in which Mr. Hope occasionally indulges. But if the different species of noxious principles, physical and moral, too liberally mixed up in our natures, are by most constitutions thrown off at a single crisis, which mortal when too severe, renders life still more secure when it has ended favourably, they find others incapable, either from their weakness or from the strength of the virus, to expel it entirely on the first conflict, however great be the effort, and complete appear the victory. In these, when all the poison is considered as exhaled and the danger as past, there will-at the very moment when every long agonised heart of friend or parent bewails the deceitful vision of an infallible recoverytakes place a relapse:—and this relapse ends in death.’—vol. iii. p. 26. This precious piece of galimatias seems to have been elaborated with peculiar care, for it is only to be found in its present state in the third edition, by a comparison of which with the former, the reader will perceive the additional touches it has received, and form a judg, ment of the perfection to which it may arrive in its further progress through the press. We must also advert cursorily to another evil, which escaped us in its place, and which appears to grow with every edition. We allude to the mode of spelling which Mr. Hope nas adopted, and gives to his foreign phrases a more than usually strange and uncouth appearance. Mussulman is converted into Moslemin; Giaour into Yavor; Circassian nto Tehercassian; and even our old acquaintance Copt, whose name we thought had been long settled by prescription, here appears under the new disguise of Coobd. It would be endless to enumerate the orthographical innovations, which indeed seem to have been so studiously made, that we doubt whether Selim be not the only word of oriental relation which is allowed to appear in its usual form.

free

free from this imperfection. Thus in the episode of Euphrosyne, the interest of the reader is greatly diminished by the difficulties he must encounter in endeavouring to reconcile the facts and the conduct of this eastern Lovelace with the common course of human actions. Improbability is not the author's only fault. He is sometimes vulgar, often flippant, and now and then goes laboriously out of his way to be profane. It is in this taste that the adventure of the caloyer's bones seems to have been constructed, -for the purpose of venting a poor and miserable sarcasm at the resurrection. In conclusion, Anastasius and the volumes which record his memoirs form a paradox of contradiction. The Greek adventurer is acute and dull, generous and niggardly, tenderhearted and cruel :-and the book, in harmony with its hero, is rational and absurd, profound and shallow, amusing and tiresome, to a degree beyond what we should have thought it possible to achieve in the same performance, if we had not seen it exemplified by the author before us.

ART. XI.-Pétrarque et Laure, par Madame la Comtesse de Genlis. Paris, Adorat, Libraire, 1 vol. 8vo. 1819. Londres. 2 vols. 12mo.

PETRARCH, having been endowed with almost all the noble, and with some of the little passions of human nature; and, having never concealed them in his writings, has left materials for the most interesting of histories, a history of the heart of a man of genius: but he still requires-what few have ever had the good fortune to find a man of genius for his historian.

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'Je n'ai épargné,' says Madame de Genlis, 'ni les lectures, ni les recherches pour que cet ouvrage, sous le rapport historique, fût aussi complet qu'il pouvait l'être.'-p. 13. Si quelquefois,' she adds, je suis historien moins fidèle seulement en parlant de la belle Laure, on pardonnera quelques fictions dans le récit des amours d'un poëte,' p. 5. and, as a consequence, she thinks que le style de son ouvrage devait avoir quelque ressemblance avec celui d'un poëme.'—p. 16. edit. de Paris.

A book, which shall be at once a history, a romance, and a poem, is something extraordinary; for it requires, at the same time, the contrary efforts of restraining and exciting the imagination. Such a book will run the risk of being neither a history, a romance, nor a poem; but a non-descript, which possibly will be read as long as it possesses the charm of novelty.

In those parts of her work which may be called historical, Madame de Genlis fulfils the obligation imposed on historians, by citing the authorities at the foot of her pages in these words,

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'Historique,' without referring us to any historian-Ses Lettres,' without pointing out any particular letter, Ses Sonnets,' and sometimes Voyez tous ses Sonnets.' In obedience to this last command we have read over about half the Italian poetry of Petrarch, and have been able to discover in five or six pieces only, the semblance of some facts which Madame de Genlis has expanded. Perhaps they are to be found in the other half which we have not read; but a general recollection of the history of the fourteenth century is sufficient to satisfy us at every page, that the inventive genius of the author has got the better of her good resolutions, and that she has presented us with a most dangerous gift —a series of errors under the name of matters of fact, even while declaring that she has no need of fiction: her narrative opens with the following passage:

Pétrarque recevait le jour en 1304. Au moment de sa naissance, Petracco son père, resté à Florence et de la faction des blancs opposée à celui des noirs, soutenait un sanglant combat. L'issue en fut malheureuse pour celui des blancs dont le parti s'était réuni à celui des Guelphes. Ils furent chassés de Florence.'-(p. 8. édit. de Paris.)

Now no facts are more incontestible than the following: the father of Petrarch was banished in 1302,-he was at Arezzo when his son was born in 1304,—the whites were no other than the Ghibellins under another name, the blacks were the Guelphs,lastly, it was not the Guelphs, but the Ghibellins, who, in 1302, were proscribed from Florence, and not after any bloody combats, but by the influence of calumny and the dark process of an inquisitorial tribunal.

This work cannot fail to produce its effects upon young persons who know Petrarch only by his great reputation, by reading some of his sonnets superficially, or by the romantic traditions of his love. Unfortunately those whose knowledge of him is not quite so vague, cannot drive from their memories certain facts, to make room for fiction; and if we must make our election between the poet who has eloquently and candidly painted his own passion, and the novelist who has coloured it with all the efforts of art,— if we find that this same man wrote, during a long life, volumes of familiar letters in which all his thoughts, all his feelings, all his actions, nay, the most trifling circumstances correspond perfectly with what he expressed in his poetry,-if we acknowledge lastly that he has made us feel strongly, reflect deeply, and admire in him a being of our own species, yet different from every other, and whose originality is real, amiable, and interesting-it is almost impossible that we should not give the preference to him, and that a romance, however well executed, should not appear irrelevant and cold. At the same time, we are willing to admit that Madame

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de Genlis occasionally succeeds in creating a very agreeable illusion; and that we have been much delighted with such passages as the one in which she describes the first interview between Petrarch and Laura.

Un jour Pétrarque, revenant de ses promenades solitaires et après avoir passé la nuit dans une cabane de pêcheurs, se trouva le 6 Avril, le Lundi de la semaine sainte, à six heures du matin, aux portes d'Avignon. Il ne se doutait pas que cette matinée allait former l'époque la plus intéressante de sa vie. Suivant sa pieuse coutume, lorsqu'il rentrait de bonne heure dans la ville, il voulut aller faire ses prières dans une église celle de St. Clair se trouvant sur son chemin, il y rentra. Comme la semaine sainte était commencée, l'église, suivant l'usage du temps, était tendue de noir, et une impression mélancolique fut la première sensation qu'éprouva Pétrarque en avançant dans ce sanctuaire religieux, où son âme ardente et sensible allait voir se dévoiler les mystères les plus intéressans de son avenir.-Notre destinée est tout entière dans les affections de notre cœur. Pétrarque va connaître enfin la sienne, et (triste présage!) tout ce qu'il aperçoit d'abord, tout ce qui l'entoure, ne retrace que des idées solennelles d'un grand sacrifice et de la mort!-Il se mit à genoux, et au bout de quelques minutes, jetant les yeux à sa droite, il aperçoit à dix pas devant lui un objet qui absorbe toute son attention. C'était une jeune personne à genoux, qu'il ne pouvait voir que par derrière, mais il admira, avec une vive emotion, la beauté parfaite de sa taille, de son cou, de ses cheveux blonds, et l'élégance de son habillement. Elle avait une robe verte, sa couleur favorite, parsemée de violettes, la plus humble des fleurs, devenue la plus célèbre et la plus à la mode, depuis l'institution toute récente des Jeux Floraux. Son cou était orné d'un collier de perles et de grenats; ses belles tresses blondes étaient relevées sous une couronne de filigrane, d'or et de pierreries. Pétrarque désirait vivement que le visage de cette jeune inconnue fût digne de sa taille et de sa parure, ou, pour mieux dire, il n'en doutait pas; il attendait avec impatience qu'elle se retournât: ce désir devint bientôt une agitation violente; tous les pressentimens de l'amour semblaient le préparer à à ce qu'il allait éprouver; mais lorsque l'inconnue se leva, et qu'elle s'avança vers lui pour sortir de l'église, il sentit qu'il est des impressions dont l'imagination la plus poëtique et la plus ardente ne sauroit donner l'idée. Immobile, toujours à genoux, les mains jointes encore, et les yeux fixés sur elle, il la contemplait avec un saisissement inexprimable: leurs regards se rencontrèrent: l'inconnue, qui mille fois avait entendu parler de Pétrarque, tressaillit et rougit; elle le reconnaît Elle le nomme dans sa pensée, et ce nom qu'elle devait immortaliser, se grave à jamais dans le fond de son cœur. Elle s'éloignait lentement, quoiqu'elle n'osât pas retourner la tête; mais elle se disait qu'elle le laissait derrière elle. Pétrarque la suivait des yeux, et son imagination la suivait encore dans la rue qu'elle devait traverser. Son frère vint l'arracher à cette douce rêverie.'-p. 31–34.

There is nothing incredible in these details: we may even admit

that,

that, at the time of her first interview with the poet, Laura was still unmarried. But then Madame de Genlis tells us, (p. 40.) how the amiable Isoarde de Roquefeuille, Laura's dearest friend, employed all the arts of a confidante to accomplish the secret wishes of the two lovers, and how the Cardinal Colonna used all his influence, in order that the merit of a young man " sans fortune, sans parens, sans expérience, et d'une famille obscure et roturière,' should be rewarded by a great marriage. To the reluctance and pride of Laura's mother, the friends of Petrarch are made to oppose the hopes of his future glory, that is to say, to propose that Laura should remain single until the poet should have acquired by his rhymes a reputation sufficient to counterbalance the inequality of their fortunes and birth. The aristocratic mother, pretending to give her consent, carries off her daughter to Avignon, and compels her to become Countess de Sade. The Count soon dies. Petrarch receives this intelligence at Naples, and to render himself more worthy in the eyes of Laura, goes to obtain the laurel crown at Rome. On his return to Avignon, he finds Laura's shroud in the church of St. Claire. This last scene is sufficiently well wrought up, and the interest of the catastrophe makes us almost forget the tedious way by which we have arrived at it. There are several other fine descriptions, which compensate, in some measure, for the poverty of invention; but unfortunately, by throwing Petrarch too frequently on his knees before Laura, and by setting him to dance and sing with the ladies, Madame de Genlis soon dissipates the illusion which she has created.

There are, however, some occasions in which it would be too severe to quarrel with a lady for exaggerations in matters of love, Mrs. Dobson herself, whose Life of Petrarch professes to follow the Mémoires pour la Vie de Pétrarque' of the Abbé de Sade, exceeds now and then the plain historical truth.-' Petrarch,' she says, 'had received from nature a very dangerous present; his figure was so distinguished, as to attract universal admiration. He appears in his portrait with large manly features, eyes full of fire, a blooming complexion, and a countenance that bespoke all the genius and fancy that shone forth in his works. In the flower of his youth, the beauties of his person were so very striking, that wherever he appeared he was the object of attraction.'-vol. i. p. 24. Yet Petrarch describes himself rather differently.-Without being handsome, (he says) my countenance had something agreeable in it in my youth; my complexion was a clear and lively brown, my eyes were animated, and my hair was grey before I was twenty-five years old. I consoled myself by thinking that I resembled the great men of antiquity. Like me, Augustus was afraid of thunder; and Cæsar

and

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