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Art. VII.—The Story of Rimini, a Poem,
by Leigh Hunt. fc. 8vo. pp. 111 London, 1816.
* See p. 43.considerable part of this poem was
written in Newgate, where the author was some time confined, we believe for a libel which
appeared in a
The poem is not destitute of merit; but—and this, we confess, was our main
inducement to notice it—it is written on certain pretended principles, and put forth as a pattern for imitation, with a degree of arrogance
which imposes on us the duty of making some observations on this new theory, which
These canons
first canon is that
there should be a great freedom of versification—this is a
proposition to which we should have readily assented; but when freedom of versification he means something which
neither
License he means, when he cries liberty.’
modern versification; but he, in the next few sentences,
leads us to suspect that he really does not think much more reverently of these great names
than of
artificial in his style; or, in other words, he has
improved the harmony of our language from the rudeness of learnedly so.’ Being
learned in music, is intelligible, and, of
learnedly a musical ear?’ ‘animal spirits gave a frank and exquisite tone to all he said’—what does this
mean?—a fine ear may, perhaps, be said to give, as it contributes
to, an exquisite tone; but what have animal spirits to do here? and
what, in the matter of tones and sounds, is the
effect of frankness? We shrewdly suspect that over-informed it with knowledge and sentiment,’ by which it appears, (as well,
indeed, as by his own verses,) that this new too
much meaning included in its lines.
To wind up the whole of this admirable, precise, and useful criticism by a
recapitulation as useful and precise, he says, ‘all these are about as different from
Now we own that what there is so indecorous in the first
comparison, or so especially decorous in the second, we cannot discover;
neither can we make out whether nightingale, but we never heard cuckoos; or, if the comparison is to be taken the other way, we
apprehend that, though church organ, church bell.
But all this theory, absurd and ignorant as it is, is really nothing to the practice of which it affects to be the defence.
Hear the warblings of
A horseman is described—
‘The patting hand, that best persuades the check, And makes the quarrel up with a proud neck,The thigh broad pressed, the spanning palm upon it, And the jerked feather swalingin thebonnet.’—p. 15.
Knights wear ladies' favours—
‘Some tied about their arm, some at the breast, Some, with a drag, dangling from the cap's crest.’—p. 14.
‘And paid them with an air so frank and bright, As to a friend appreciated at sight;That air, in short, which sets you at your ease, Without implyingyour perplexities,That what with the surprize in every way,The hurry of the time, the appointed day,— She knew not how to objectin her confusion.’—p. 29.
The meeting of the brothers, on which the catastrophe turns, is excellent: the
politeness with which the challenge is given would have delighted the heart of old
‘May I request, Sir, said the prince, and frowned, Your ear a moment in the tilting ground? There, brother? answered Paulo with anairSurprized and shocked. Yes,brother, cried he,there.The word smote crushingly.’—p. 92.
Before the duel, the following spirited explanation takes place.
‘The prince spoke low, And said: Before you answer what you can,I wish to tell you, as a gentleman,That what you may confess————— Will implicate no person known to you, More than disquiet in itssleep may do.’—p. 93.
‘Her agednurse—Who, shaking her oldhead, and pressing closeHer withered lipstokeep the tearsthat rose’— p. 101.
‘By the way,’ does
‘With that, a keenandquivering glanceof tearsScarce moves her patient mouth, and disappears.’
But to the nurse.—She introduces the messenger of death to the princess, who communicates his story, in pursuance of her command—
‘Something, I'm sure, has happened—tell me what— I can bear all, though you may fancy not.Madam, replied the squire, you are, I know, All sweetness— pardon me for saying so.My Master bade me say then, resumed he,That hespoke firmly, when he told itme,—That I was also, madam, to your ear Firmly to speak, and you firmly to hear,— That he was forced this day, whether or no,To combat with the prince;—————’—p. 103.
The second of
‘With the endeavour to recur to a freer spirit of
versification, I have joined one of still greater importance,—that of having a free and idiomatic cast of language. There is a cant of art as well as
of nature, though the former is not so unpleasant as the latter, which affects
non-affectation.’—(What does all this mean?)—‘But the proper language of poetry is in fact nothing different from that of real life,
and depends for its dignity upon the strength and sentiment of what it speaks. It is only
adding musical modulation to what a fine
understanding might actually utter in the midst of its griefs or enjoyments. The poet
therefore should do as actual, existing language,—omitting of course mere vulgarisms and fugitive phrases, which are the
cant of ordinary discourse, just as tragedy phrases, dead idioms, and
exaggerations of dignity, are of the artificial style, and yeas, verilys, and exaggerations of
simplicity, are of the natural.’—p. xvi.
This passage, compared with the verses to which it preludes, affords a more
extraordinary instance of self-delusion than even mere vulgarisms and fugitive phrases, and
that in every page the language is—not only not the actual, existing
language, but an ungrammatical, unauthorised, chaotic jargon, such as we believe was
never before spoken, much less written.
In what vernacular tongue, for instance, does clipsome, (p.
10.)—or the shout of a mob ‘enormous,’ (p. 9.)—or a fit, lightsome;—or that a hero's nose is "'lightsomely' brought down
from a forehead of clear-spirited thought," (p. 46.)—or that his back ‘drops’
lightsomely in, (p. 20.) Where has he heard of a quoit-like drop—of swaling a jerked feather—of unbedinned music, (p. 1l.)—of the death of leaping accents, (p. 32.)—of the thick reckoning of a
hoof, (p. 33.)—of a pin-drop silence, (p. 17.)—a readable look, (p. 20.)—a half indifferent
wonderment, (p. 37.)—or of
of Boy-storied trees and passion-plighted spots,’—p. 38.
or of self-knowledge being scattery light,’—p.
4.
Cored, after all, in our
complacencies’?—p. 38.
We shall now produce a few instances of what ‘a fine
understanding might utter,’ with ‘the addition of musical modulation,’ and of the dignity and strength of
A crowd, which divided itself into groups, is—
‘——————————the multitude, Who gotin clumps—————’—p. 26.
The impression made on these ‘clumps’ by the sight of the Princess, is thus ‘musically’ described:
‘There's not in all that croud one gallantbeing,Whom, if his heart were whole, and rank agreeing,It would not firetotwice of what he is.’—p. 10.
‘Dignity and strength’—
‘First came the trumpeters— And as they sit alongtheir easy way,Stately and heavingto the croud below.’—p. 12.
This word is deservedly a great favourite with the poet; he heaves it in upon all occasions.
‘The deep talk heaves.’—p. 5.‘With heav'dout tapestry the windows glow.’—p. 6.‘Then heavethe croud.’—id.‘And after a rude heavefrom side to side.’—p. 7.‘The marble bridge comes heavingforth below.’—p. 38.
‘Fine understanding’—
‘The youth smiles up, and with alowlygrace,Bendinghisliftedeyes’—p. 22.
This is very neat:
‘No peevishness there was— But a mutegush ofhidingtears from one,Clasped to the coreof him who yet shed none.’—p. 83.
The heroine is suspected of wishing to have some share in the choice of her own husband, which is thus elegantly expressed:
‘She had stout notions on the marrying score.’—p. 27.
This noble use of the word score is afterwards carefully
repeated in speaking of the Prince, her husband—
‘——no suspicion could have touched him more, Than that of wanting on the generous score:’—p. 48.
But though thus punctilious on the generous score, his
Highness had but a bad temper,
‘And kept no reckoning with his sweets and sours.’—p. 47.
This, indeed, is somewhat qualified by a previous observation, that—
‘ The worst of, as his bridePrince Giovanni Too quickly found, was an ill-tempered pride.’
How nobly does
‘ The two divinest things this worldhas got,A lovely woman in a rural spot!’—p. 58.
A rural spot, indeed, seems to inspire
‘For welcome grace, there rode not such another, Nor yetfor strength, except his lordly brother.Was there a court day, or a sparkling feast, Or better still— to my ideas, at least!—A summer party in the green wood shade.’—p. 50.
So much for this new invented strength and dignity: we shall add a specimen of his syntax:
‘But fears like these he never entertain'd, And had they crossed him, would have been disdain'd.’—p. 50.
But that we may not be suspected of making malicious extracts, we shall quote,
in extenso
‘’Twas Launcelot of the Lake , a bright romance,That like a trumpet, made young pulses dance, Yet had a softer note that shook still more She had begun it but the night before, And read with a full heart, half sweet half sad, How old King Ban was spoiled of all he hadBut one fair castle: how one summer's day, With his fair queen and child he went away To ask the great King Arthur for assistance:How reaching by himself a hill at distance He turned to give his castle a last look, And saw its far white face: and how a smoke, As he was looking, burst in volumes forth, And good King Ban saw all that he was worth,And his fair castle, burning to the ground, So that his wearied pulse felt over-wound And he lay down, and said a prayer apart For those he loved, and broke his poor old heart. Then read she of the queen with her young child, How she came up, and nearly had gone wild, And how in journeying on in her despair, She reached a lake and met a lady there, Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet She sprang up all at once like bird from brake, And vanished with him underneath the lake. The mother's feelings we as well may pass The fairy of the place that lady was, And Launcelot (so the boy was called) becameHer inmate, till in search of knightly fame He went to Arthur's court, and played his partSo rarely, and displayed so frank a heart, That what with all his charms of look and limb, The Queen Geneura fell in love with him:—And here, with growing interest in her reading, The princess, doubly fixed, was now proceeding.’—p. 74, 76.
The other is the speech of the injured husband over the dead body of his brother, whom he has just slain in a duel, for incest and adultery.
‘But noble passion touch'd Giovanni's soul;He seemed to feel the clouds of habit roll Away from him at once, with all their scorning;And out he spokein the clear air of morning:—“By heaven, by heaven, and all the better part Of us poor creatures with a human heart, I trust we reap at last, as well as plough;— But there, meantime, my brother, liest thou; And, Paulo , thou wert the completest knightThat ever rode with banner to the fight; And thou wert the most beautiful to see, That ever came in press of chivalry; And of a sinful man, thou wert the best, That ever for his friend put spear in rest; And thou wert the most meek and cordial, That ever among ladies eat in hall And thou wert still, for all that bosom gored, The kindest man, that ever struck with sword.”’—p. 99, 100.
This passage, however, like that which precedes it, are
mere—versifications—we were about to say, but—metrical adjustments of what
‘And now, I dare say,’ (it is
After these extracts, we have but one word more to say of Mr. Galt's
fellow-dignity’ and independence: what fellow-dignity
may mean, we know not; perhaps the dignity of a fellow; but this we will say, that proper spirit, as he calls it, and fellow-dignity; for we never, in so few lines, saw so many clear marks
of the vulgar impatience of a low man, conscious and ashamed of his wretched vanity, and
labouring, with coarse flippancy, to scramble over the bounds of birth and education, and
fidget himself into the stout-heartedness of being familiar with a lord.