subject, however, that might be pursued to great length, and constituting, as it does at present, the matter of a warm dispute between opposing schools of criticism, further notice of it may be hereafter taken. What we were saying, with reference to this new translation from -the German, was,-that ghosts, seers, phantoms, and evil spirits, may, as it appears to us, be fashioned and introduced into a work, in a way to afford to the imagination of the reader an appropriate and lively feeling of their natural consistency and vigorous -power of action. Ariel gives this assurance of itself, and Caliban:-but, to effect this, the genius of the author must be so identified with nature herself, as to be gifted with a share of her privileges, and have the power of varying the combination of her principles, without violating or contradicting their immutable and essential indications. When this is the case, we have on our minds an impression of reality, vigour, and healthiness in reading a composition: ́otherwise, it seems fantastical, sickly, and glimmering, even though it may be interesting in its story, and distinguished by a rapid and poetical fancy. The author of Sintram, we must confess, seems to us to belong to the latter division. A straining after effect, a theatrical taste, a style of language which we cannot otherwise characterize than by calling it soft and greasy, give us offence in it. It appears to us to be quite chargeable with the common German fault, of pushing the types of the feeling so much into display as to throw doubts on its reality. At the same time, there is a sort of night-mare sublimity about the characters, scenery, and events. Nothing is distinctly made out, but the shadows roll about so as frequently to produce grand and awful pictures. It is often childish and often impotent; but the very signs of these qualities are marked with an earnestness and gravity, that give them the air of such monsters as infants with old men's countenances! We have observed very generally about the physiognomy of German heads, a certain character of age mingling with the assurances of youth. Their fair hair and eyebrows, with their sedate carriage, melancholy looking mouths, and studied indications of sensibility and enthusiasm, produce on us precisely the effect of many of their romances:-in these, constitutional weakness seems mingled with habitual fanaticism,--and fantastical vivacity, with a sort of sorrowful, dreary cast of feeling.-Yet for the German literature, and the German character generally, we have the highest respect,-and the above observations must only be understood as intended to point out some of their peculiarities-not by any means as pretending to convey a full idea of that to which they apply. We sus`pect. that German philosophy is at present the noblest in Europe; and we are sure that German criticism is at present the best. A high-minded sincerity characterizes the labours of the Germans in these departments; also a zeal for the honour of human nature; and a determined resolution to believe in the truth of no system, leading to degrading conclusions either as to its present condition, or future destiny. These are fine qualitiesparticularly in the present age, when the corrupting effects of civilization have, in some countries, almost withered and dried-up the roots of magnanimity and disinterestedness. The opening of the romance of Sintram is characteristic and fine : Norwegian knights sat assembled, and, havAt Drontheim, in the high castle, many ing held counsel concerning the kingdom's weal, drank, until the midnight, merrily with one another, in the sounding, vaulted hall, about the round massy stone table. is A fearful storm howls suddenly in the air, and the "snow-dust forcibly beaten against the rattling windows. The Castle clock strikes one, and at this instant a boy rushes into the hall, uttering a scream,-his eyes being closed, and his face of a deadly paleness. Father and knight! knight and father! Death and his mate are again horribly close behind me! These were the fearful words uttered by the poor child, as, in his fit of somnambulism, he clung round Sir Biorn Flame-eye, the Lord of the Castle of Drontheim, and in the mystery of these words lies the interest and developement of the tale. The night is that of Christmas, and it appears that Sintram, now about twelve years old, has been subject to this horrible dream ever since his fifth year-that it troubles him, however, only at this particular season, leaving him unmolested during the rest of the twelvemonth. The boy is borne to his chamber by an old domestic, and Sir Biorn is importuned by the Chaplain of the castle,-to "relate right explicitly what he knows of his son's strange goings-on." Without, the storm still raged;-within, the company had been reduced to a gloomy silence by the strange incident that had just occurred. They sat quite silent, and almost motionless in the lofty hall: the lamp flared gloomily in the dome: the whole assembly of heroes was like lifeless, somewhat pale statues, which had been stuck into gigantic harness. doing-for, after all, we wish to have more of his translations from the German. He is full of enthusiastic admiration of his author, and this is sufficient to give interest to his production. Sir Biorn Flame-eye is by no means pleased with this interference of his chaplain; but his fierce northern cha racter, which seems still to retain a relish of the days of the old Golden Boar, that heathen relic, bends and yields under the spiritual power of the holy man, and he commences a story, at almost the very first words of which he is interrupted by a fit of frenzy, which causes him to rush from the hall, deliriously shouting. "The pious Rolf," the servant who had carried the boy to his chamber, relates, by his bed-side, to the chaplain, the cause of his annual nocturnal sys The above extract affords a slight example of the peculiarities of the tem which the translator,-evidently a man of talent,-has thought fit to adopt in rendering the German into English. We certainly think it entirely a mistaken one,-but we greatly respect the motive of its adoption, which was an anxiety to transfuse faithfully the spirit of the original. We are by no means friends to the liberties which translators usually take; but where a language, like the German and Italian, is crowded with words that become useless expletives, if translated by their nearest synonymes,—disjointing the sentences, and diluting to nothing their meaning,-it would be good policy in a translator to leave them out. When the turn of the original idiom too, if closely retained, would give stiffness or quaintness to the translation, surely it ought to be varied into agreement with the genius of the language into which it is to be conveyed. And, lastly, we do not think that a translator has a right to re-construct his language, by attaching new meanings to its words according to their usage in a foreign tongue, or by combining words together in a way inconsistent with its practice and spirit. Into all these three faults the translator of Sintram falls in every page: but it is clear that he acts intentionally, and that it is not by ignorance but conviction, that he is actuated. We would recommend him, however, to reconsider his system, and we hope he will have many opportunities of so agony. It is now seven years ago, that on the Christmas-feast there was much discourse between my lord and his warriors concerning the German merchants, and how one might repress the pride of the ever mightier seaport-towns. Then Sir Biorn stretched forth his hands towards the evil boar-image of pure gold, and vowed, without any pity, to put to death the German merchants, whom their destiny, in whatsoever manner it might be, let fall alive into his power. in vain to interrupt this bloody oath, The gracious lady Verena sought and, at the very instant that it was made, two citizens of Hamburgh, an old man and his son, claimed the hospitality of the castle, having been shipwrecked on its rocks. They were treaties of Verena, and the expostuladoomed to death, in spite of the ention of Rolf. When the wretched men were in the court, ready to be slaughtered, the lady of the fierce Sir Biorn Cried as with a flute's tones through the wild night: Dear lord and husband of my soul, for your only child's sake have pity upon these pious men! Save them from death, and resist the temptations of the evil spirit!'-The knight answered let me not say what. upon the cast, he called upon Death and The boy shudders now again. the Devil, if he held not his word.-Hush! Let me bring the dark tale speedily to a close. He set his child Two fearful strangers,-one "long and large, pale, and very gaunt," the other a little mannikin with quite hideous features and mien,” were seen amongst the crowd of servants in the court, instigating the destruction of the two poor Hamburghers. The lady Verena prayed "with piercing agony, Lord my Redeemer, help!" And both the forms of dread had vanished; and wildly, as if blinded, the knight and his castle-crew tossed against one another, without injuring themselves, but also without being able to strike the endangered merchants. The latter bowed reverently to Verena, and walked silently praying out of the castle gates, which just then, struck by a snowy whirlwind, were suddenly driven out of their fastenings, and left the way into the mountains free. From this time, the child of Sir Biorn Flame-eye is agonized, at every anniversary of this terrible scene, with the tremendous dream; and his mother, "seeing the visible punishment and admonition of the heavenly powers in this event," retired within the walls of a convent, to pray for the forgiveness of heaven. The boy Sintram awakens in the morning, still staggering under the weight of his vision; but it is gone, and his naturally wilful, and fierce disposition manifests itself. It He was regarded with awe, wherever he showed himself with his pale, sharp face, his dark, rolling eyes, his tall, nervy, somewhat spare form; and yet nobody hated him, not even such as in his wildest humours he had affronted or injured. might also proceed from the friendly neighbourhood of the old Rolf, who always retained a softening influence over him; but most of those, who had known the lady Verena, while she yet lived in the world, asserted that over Sintram's altogether dissimilar features, there yet hovered a soft gleam of his mother's gentleness, which won their hearts towards the youth. 66 a A wild story is told of his encountering, amongst the mountains, tall deadly-pale man, like a pilgrim," who bore "a multitude of bones loosely attached to his broad garment, which rattled with strange sound against one another :"-the length of this, however, forbids our detailing it. In short, Sintram seems entirely subjected to supernatural influence-yet feuds, rapine, and slaughter are his delight, while his old father becomes fiercer and fiercer every day, and, though always deploring the retire ment of his wife, to whose saintlike virtues he does homage, he seems to pride himself that he and his son are as unlike her as it is possible to be. For society, of an evening, he was accustomed to arrange the armour-suits of his ancestors, so as that they might stand and sit round the table ! One day, on a hunting excursion, Sintram became animated by even a more ravenous desire than usual for hard blows and blood; and a vessel having been seen to approach the shore, he and his companions resolve, without more ado, to attack the persons whom it contains. The latter have landed, and are led on by a knight, the description of whose person and dress, by the author, is in very dandy-taste, and whose character, when we afterwards become acquainted with him, turns out to be composed of the union of the qualities of Sir Percy Shafton, and of Sir Charles Grandison. Folko of Montfaucon, is the name of this knight, who walks bearing a golden helmet under his arm, and whose face "was curled round with dark brown hair, with gracefully pointed whiskers." His "beautiful housewife" is Gabrielle of Gascony; and they have come over the sea to pay a visit to the knight's kinsman,-who is no other than Sir Biorn Flame-eye, himself, by whose rude son they are attacked, without cause or warning, on the instant of their arrival. "Hurled spears whizzed on every side:” and knocked Sintram down with its the knight caught them with his sword, hilt! A most affected, and unnatural intervention of the figure and petition of the fair Gabrielle, is employed, by the author, to save Sintram's life, whose dastardly attack on strangers certainly merited death,-but whom the lady thus complaisantly consoles. Gabrielle, beautiful as the morning, came on the shore followed by her women, and being informed by Folko, in a few words, who his late opponent was, she took the whole fight as a prize-combat, saying: "You must not let yourself be cast down, noble sir, that my wedded lord has won the prize, for know, that upon the whole earth there lives unto this hour only one single hero, from whom the Baron of Montfaucon has not borne away the victory." Nothing can be more whimsical than the style of Sir Folko's gallantry to his wife or his housewife, as the translator chooses to term her through the greater part of the rest of the romance. It is in Amadis de Gaul, we believe, that a bridegroom is made to faint away, under the influence of awe, as he is about to enter the bridal chamber; but, even in these chivalrous compositions, the excess of the gentleman's respect is suffered to subside under the frankness of the lady's permissions, and the formula of phrase prescribed to the lover, is not, we believe, enjoined on the husband. But the German author has made of Folko the stiffest of gallants, long after he has become the most fortunate of spouses: the tip of his lady's little finger seems quite enough to put him into ecstasies,and the consequence is, that all that is over seems to be thrown away on such a husband. The contrast which these two curious characters present to the rugged inmates of the Castle of Drontheim, has a powerful effect in the work; and we are pleased with them, in spite of the false, cold, artificial, and affected style in which they are delineated. They have no more of the heartiness of nature about them, than if they were wax-work figures; but in their own pompous, masquerading manner they are cleverly done,-being true to themselves, though false to all the principles of natural truth. In this respect they bear a resemblance to the heroes and heroines of Gomberville, Calprenéde, and Mademoiselle Scuderi,-in whose works we are almost reconciled to hearing old Horatius Cocles singing to Echo the praises of his Clelie, and Cyrus groaning at the feet of his Mandane, like a Celadon or Silvander of pastoral. The distortion is so great in these, that we accept its very extravagance as the principle of its justification, and drop all reference to natural models as totally out of the question. We do the same thing at the Opera House, when Tamerlane warbles to his soldiers in a falsetto voice, or Julius Cæsar dances a passeul before the senate of Rome. The effect of the lady's charms on the wild northern mind of Sintram, is represented with a more masterly hand: the novelty of her beauty and of her manners fills his soul with an influence of a passionate, impetuous, yet not impure nature,-and here it struggles with those dark supernatural possessions to which the hero of the romance is subject. The fierce Sir Biorn, too, is subdued by the as cendancy of the graceful knight; who, on his part, scrutinizes the pro priety of the old chieftain's conduct, with a severity that seems scarcely allowable in a guest. In consequence of finding out the trick formerly attempted to be played on the two Hamburghers, Sir Folko thought it necessary to treat his entertainer with great coldness: The two lofty and friendly beings, Folko and Gabrielle, were almost always in their apartments, and when they appeared, it was with calm dignity and with silent seriousness, and Biorn and Sintram stood before them in timid humility. Yet the castle-lord could not support the thought that his guests should depart unto the hearth of another knight. When Folko one day spake thereof, something like a sank his head and said in a low voice: tear came into the wild man's eye. He 66 As you will:-but I think, I shall on the day after fly down the rock." The knight's powers of pleasing were employed, in all their variety, to keep the sense of tedium from his "housewife," during her long abode in the gloomy castle:-the enumera◄ tion of his accomplishments, and occupations, however, bears evidence of a very fantastical taste. Folko meanwhile summoned every thing pleasing in his spirit, every grace of his now ble courtesy, to make Gabrielle forget that she was living in this wild castle, and that the stark Norwegian winter was already, mounting up to freeze her in here for whole moons. At one time he related blooming tales, at another he played mirthful tunes, and desired Gabrielle to lead off a dance thereto with her women; then again, resigning his lute unto one of the damsels, he himself mingled in the dance, and always knew how to show his devotion unto his mistress therein in an ever novel manner; then he appointed trials of bravery amongst his armed men in the spacious castle-halls, and Gabrielle had some pretty trinket or other to offer unto the conqueror; often too he himself engaged in the circle of fighters, but so that he only met their assaults on the defensive, and deprived no one of the prize. The cause of their long stay at Drontheim, and the delay of their return to their own country, is to be ascribed to Sintram. "Death and the Devil," as our readers already know, assume peculiar privileges in regard to our hero; and the latter, in particular, not being so certain as the former of ultimately possessing him, gives him a great deal of trouble. "The little Master," is always at hand to take advantage of any accidental temptation, or to supply allure ments to sin, when Sintram is placed in critical circumstances. His love for the fair Gabrielle offered an opportunity too favourable to be neglected; and every art was practised by the fiend, to induce the hapless child of the flame-eyed Baron, to commit himself irretrievably to perdition by accepting the means offered him of gratifying his passion. These interferences on the part of the demon, furnish the subjects of several very striking scenes in the Romance, of the actual contents of which this slight sketch of the narrative can afford no idea. The night interview "where the sea-coast rises highest,' and beneath three half decayed oaks," in which Sintram is persuaded to raise the storms by magic, that the return of the guests at Drontheim may be prevented, is amongst the most impressive of these. But our limits hinder us from pursuing further, even in this slight way, the continued thread of the narrative. The interesting account of the boar hunting; of the battle with "old Earl Erik;" the story of "Sir Weigand the Slim," who afterwards became "the mad pilgrim," we must totally omit; although these are precisely the most characteristic parts of the Romance, and the most illustrative of the author's talents. Hurrying towards the conclusion, we find Sintram, a prey to remorse and despairing love, retiring to "the stone castle on the moon rock." This is a dreary retreat amongst the snow-covered mountains, to which the pious Rolfe accompanies him, and where they are received by the Warder, "a wild, dark man,' whom very few persons knew how to call by name, Which besides seemed the less needful, inasmuch as he entered into discourse with nobody. He was only just the warder of the stone tower upon the Moon-rock, and nothing further. The draw-bridge having been lowered, Silently did they greet one another, sijently did Sintram enter, and the joyless gates closed with a crash behind the future hermit. The events that took place here, in which Death, the Evil One, the Mad Pilgrim, the Warder, and the Chaplain, are actively engaged, are connected with incidents and narra tives that we have been obliged to omit: suffice it to say, that the period of Sintram's seclusion was fully occu pied, and that appearances indicated that his fate was now rapidly approaching to a crisis. The tempter redoubles his activity; but Sintram, strengthened by the chaplain's exhortations, maintains his resistance; triumphs even over his love for Gabrielle; and visits the convent where his pious mother has for years prayed for his deliverance. Her, as yet however, he does not see; for one fearful trial the last-is yet reserved for him. The description of this forms the ob ject and completion of the Romance; and the author states, that an engrav ing of Albert Durer, representing such a scene as he has here attempts ed to delineate, excited him to under take the tale. We are sorry that we cannot transcribe the pages in which Sintram's last peril is forcibly painted; but we must content ourselves with referring the admirers of this wild style, to the book itself, which we venture to affirm will interest the feelings and arrest the attention even of those who are most struck by its faults. In a fearful valley, Sintram is accosted by Death, and assailed by "the Little Master"-" a loathsome form, horned, half a boar, half a bear in face; * striding upright upon horse's hoofs, with a marvellously hideous, hooked, or sickle-like weapon in its hand." His resigned preference of Death, notwithstanding the temptations of the fiend, who offers him life and Gabrielle, constitutes our hero's ultimate victory, and vanishes on an adjuration by Sintram, a hardly-gained one it is. The demon in the name of the Saviour, that he would cease his enticing prate,” as the translator strangely renders the words! "He will not come again; said Death friendly. "So then I am now become altogether thine, my solemn companion ? These are nice distinctions!--Ed. |