The Pastor Chief; or, the Escape of the Vaudois. A Tale of the Seventeenth Century. London: Cunningham and Mortimer. THIS is one of those delightful publications which re-produce historical facts in a new and popular form; and we predict that it will be read with universal interest. Many will be anxious to peruse it for the sake of the cause which it advocates, and others for the entertainment which a well wrought tale, founded on the events of real life, never fails to afford. The hero is Henri Arnaud, the celebrated Vaudois pastor and chieftain, whose "Rentrée Glorieuse des Vaudois" has long been a prohibited book in the Index Expurgatorius of Rome, and of which but few copies are extant. We are glad, therefore, to see the subject of its pages revived at this particular time, when the enmities and artifices of Rome against Protestantism require to be exposed, as being on the increase every day. The heroine is Henri's daughter, and such a heroine has seldom figured in the pages either of romance or history. We wish this book had been sent into the world in the shape of a single volume, like many other productions of its class, and that it had been published at a low price. In that case its sale would ere long have been as great as that of some of the other "religious" tales, which are now found on every table. The actual condition of the Protestant Church of the Vaudois, which is becoming more and more alarming, wants to be brought under public notice; and these historical tales, which, in describing the past dangers of a persecuted community, represent many of its present perils, are vehicles of communication in which the public take delight, and are well calculated to excite attention and sympathy. One extract from the "Pastor Chief" will suffice to exhibit its style and merits. "Marie Arnaud condemned to the rack, to force her to betray the intentions of the Vaudois. "It might, perhaps, be the momentary excitement that enabled. Marie to advance so steadily to the place of torment. Had a longer respite been allowed, there would have been time for reflection, to show the full horrors of her situation, and awaken the weakness which the confusion of the surrounding multitude, and the enthusiastic feelings which fired her bosom, stifled for a time. As it was, with an unfailing step, and a demeanour which awed and astonished the spectators, she approached the fatal spot; and when there, on that dark and awful platform, the prince, who had watched her with involuntary interest, exclaimed to one of the assistant priests, Save, oh, save her! She is of too high a caste to suffer such ignominy in vain. On my own peril, I venture to allow her yet a few moments of hesitation to repent, and escape that unavailing agony-offer her advice, persuade, convince the proud intellect which will not be moved from its high resolve by fear, and induce her to save herself.' 6 "The priest heard and wondered, but yet obeyed." (Vol. ii., p. 258). VOL. XIV.-S "And then once more was she addressed with persuasions, which placed, alas in colours all too bright, the happiness, the freedom, which, but for her own obstinacy, might yet be hers; and, on the other hand, the weight of bitter suffering, and perhaps an ignominious concession, forced from her by irresistible agony, aggravated by her own inward feelings of growing terror and uncertainty. "This was the hour of trial; she felt it, and also that the worst result of a firm resolve had been far easier to endure; and again Marie took refuge in prayer. "It was a deeply interesting moment to the bystanders. There stood the wily priest, like the tempter of old, pouring out joys she had no right now to look back upon, and enlisting even her holiest affections in aid of his solicitations; and there was she, listening, alas! with too willing an ear, her cheek varying with the changing hues of every fleeting emotion; her eye sometimes glistening with the swelling tear, sometimes flashing with indignation. But she was silent; no murmured sound of assent or conviction declared her real sentiments, and the spectators might yet doubt her decision, when pressing yet closer his persuasion, the priest urged her father's claims, her father's life and happiness dependent on her existence.' Then only Marie broke her imperturbable silence, and with a groan amounting almost to a shriek of anguish, exclaimed, My father, oh! my dear father!' But she checked herself, and in an instant after, raising her eyes with a far different expression to the priest, whispered- Old man! if thou hadst a child-but alas, alas! no; if thou hadst, thou couldst not now tempt me to shame my own parent! But forbear, forbear, for the sake of our mutual Creator! and do thou help me, Almighty One!' From that instant she changed not; listened not, but to each reiterated question, replied, The rack, the rack; oh! sooner that than this!" (Vol ii., pp. 259, 260). 6 The Rector's Note-Book: Anah, the Jewess. By Mrs. JANE K. STANFORD, Authoress of "The Stoic," &c. &c. London: Hatchard and Son. 1843. WE have been deeply interested in this narrative, for so we must term it, although it is confessedly a tale. There is a freshness pervading it which rivets the attention from the commencement to the close. The story is a very simple one. A young Jewish lady, by the gentle and persuasive arguments and exemplary life of a "devoted rector," is led, on deliberate conviction, to renounce the errors of Judaism and to embrace Christianity. The development of the plot is natural; and the arguments (which our fair readers must not be deterred from perusing and weighing) are not only well put, but are such as would almost necessarily arise out of the circumstances of the parties who are introduced. This is one of the few works of fiction which we can recommend to our readers, and especially to those who take an interest in the spiritual welfare of the Jews. The Inferno of Dante Alighieri, Translated in the Terza Rima of the original, with Notes and an Appendix. By JOHN DAYMAN, M.A., Rector of Skelton, and late Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. London: Painter. 1843. THE student, who, standing upon the shore of some mighty and farspreading sea, beholds wave after wave dissolving in foam and bubble against the rock, which for many a century of years had braved the battle of the waters-that student, we think, in this spectacle, sees an emblem of the decay and of the duration of literature. Wave after wave of talent and fancy dissolves in froth and vapour, while the majestic creations of genius lift their unshaken heads above the surge and the tempest of time. Age seems only to consolidate their strength, and every year is but another link to bind them still firmer to the very foundations of the world of imagination and beauty. "The stream of time, which is continually washing the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant" of these famous brethren of the intellect. Homer, Virgil, Eschylus, among the ancients-Dante, Shakspeare, Milton, among the moderns-are striking and admirable illustrations of our remark. But of all the poets who have surprised and dazzled the world, Dante has awakened the deepest interest, and called forth the most untiring diligence. The inscriptions upon his wonderful chamber of imagery have worn down the watches of exploring eyes. The interest which the great Florentine excites in our minds is, indeed, different from that which is experienced in regard to Tasso or Ariosto, or our own Shakspeare and Spenser. Of our illustrious poets, Milton seems to bear to Dante the closest resemblance. The interest which Dante kindles is, we think, an interest of awe and wonder, and even of reverence; we do not feel our hearts glow towards him with the yearning of affection, as to Spenser or to Tasso. He is not, like the gentle Shakspeare, a loveable man. He does not seem to have possessed that extraordinary sympathy, uttering itself in "The still sad music of humanity," which won for Shakspeare, from his contemporaries, the touching and expressive epithet of "sweet Shakspeare." How different the humour of Dante and Shakspeare! How the Florentine would have scowled upon Falstaff! But that power which true genius always possesses of awaking correspondent feelings in the minds of others, that feeling Dante undoubtedly possessed in all its vigour ; "like a precious stone that casts its brilliant hues over every object that it approaches," so his imagination diffuses its dark and melancholy splendour in whatsoever direction it turns. We are acquainted with the works of no writer which leave so strong an impression upon the mind of the general power of the writer's intellectual organization: you feel that you are gazing on the lineaments of a statesman, a warrior, or an orator; and it is under this aspect of general power that the genius of Dante ought, we think, to be considered and estimated. What Johnson, in one of his hazardous paradoxes, ascribed of genius collectively, was unquestionably true of Dante in particular; he could have walked to the east, as well as the west, if he had chosen to set out in that direction. The present translation of the "Inferno," by Mr. Dayman, is another evidence of that universal interest which, we have already said, is awakened by Dante. We apprehend, however, that Mr. Dayman is in error, in supposing his own to be the first attempt which has been made to present Dante to the English reader in the terza rima of his own choice; nor can we at all appreciate or approve Mr. Dayman's sense of justice to himself and others, which induced him so rigidly to abstain from any acquaintance with preceding English versions of the Commediæ. Even of Mr. Cary's translation he is obliged to speak from report. This is not the plan which Pope adopted in his translation of the "Iliad," or Dryden of "Virgil," or Gifford of "Juvenal;" and it is equally destitute of expediency and reason. It is desirable to know the faults of our predecessors, that we may escape them. Of the translation now before us the events seem to be considerable; and the rugged and austere dignity of the original is frequently transferred with much success. Take the opening lines of the poem :— "Midway the journey of our life along, I found me in a gloomy woodland dell, How rough and stern and savage showed the wood, Hardly were death more bitter. But the good Whose horrors made my quivering flesh to creep, Displayed the clothing of that planet sphere Which surely guides the feet of other men, And like to him that, struggling late for shore The following passage is extremely well versified :- The successor of Vinus, and the wife; Next her, the self-destroy'd, who paid with life. Me pity vanquished and astounding thought." Mr. Dayman has moved with as much ease as could be expected amid the intricate machinery of the stanza which he has employed -a stanza peculiarly difficult of impression by the sweeter features of poetic thought. We think the translator has succeeded best in the sterner and more familiar portions of his task. His version of the beautiful episode of Frances di Rimini is deficient in grace and beauty. Upon the whole we must confess, that while Mr. Dayman's version reflects more of the marked physiognomy of Dante, the translation of Mr. Cary preserves more of its animation and expression; and while the Italian scholar may admire the first, the general reader will, we imagine, turn with the liveliest interest to the second. Sermons. By JOHN CAWOOD, M.A., of St. Edmund Hall, Oxford; and Perpetual Curate of Bewdley, Worcestershire. Two vols. 8vo. London: Hamilton and Co. MR. CAWOOD has long been known to the public by a very valuable little work, entitled "The Church of England and Dissent," as well as by several very able single sermons, which were preached on particular occasions. In this little work on Dissent, Mr. James's statements are examined and confuted in a manner calculated to arrest the attention, and to expose the weakness of the Dissenting system. We are, therefore, very glad to meet with an old friend in a somewhat new character. The present volumes are of such excellence, that they cannot fail to commend themselves to the judgment of all right-minded and reflective persons. Undoubtedly the present is an age of sermons. The press teems with them, both singly and in volumes; and ordinarily we should discourage their publication. But there are exceptions to every rule. For example, we are always rejoiced to meet with a new volume from Mr. Melvill. There are also others whose publications we hail with pleasure; but no work, we are convinced, will prove more generally useful, or more acceptable to readers of sermons, than these volumes of Mr. Cawood. They are of a very high order. Of course a large variety of subjects is introduced; and it would be impossible, within the compass of this notice, to give extracts. We shall always meet the author with pleasure, and we are quite sure that the readers of the present volumes will welcome his appearance. |