20 MAY 1837, Page 16

VENETIA.

THERE are a certain set of modern writers who think, with the self-complacent KancsLest, that if they hadleen consulted at the Creation many things would have been made better. With this comfortable conviction of the optimism of their conceptions, they fancy their own dreams fur superior to any thing a watchful obser- vation would furnish; and whether they are occupied with the past or the present, with the specific occurrences of history or the universal truths of fiction, m ith ancient story or modern lin,. they always figure as improvers of Nature or the Classics. If the author of Vivian Grey is not the sole monarch of this band, at least he shares the throne. And though he may have displayed more flippancy, and, as regards taste limited to manners, more vulgarity than in Venetia, yet he never exhibited a more • decided incapacity for comprehending the true. The purpose of the writer, as he tells Lord LYNDHURsT in a dedication, is to "attempt to shadow forth, though as 'in a glass darkly,' two of the most renowned and refined spirits that have adorned these our latter days." The spirits alluded to are BYRON and SHELLEY; the most painful incidents in whose lives are jumbled together, and applied indiscriminately to the one or the other at the pleasure of the author. The more questionable, absurd, or even criminal points of their characters, at least of BYRON'S, are obtrusively pa- raded in all their nakedness; even the present Lady BYRON and her daughter are somee hat more than "shadowed forth" in these pages ; and the most delicate and inward thoughts and feelings upon the most delicate subjects boldly written down, with all that refitted sense of propriety which may be supposed to characterize DISRAELI the Younger. The mother of the lordly poet is also introduced ; and her reported violence and vulgarity suffer no- thing in the author's hands. To cap the business, he has imitated the verses written by the two poets on some personal occasions, as in the parody headed "On the Night our Daughter was born." And the moral deducible from the whole appears to be, that if Lady BYRON had resembled the Lady Annabel of Mr. DISRAELI'S imaginings, and if Lord BYRON had not been Lord Biracial, but a beau ideal of Mr. SHELLEY, then a reconciliation could have taken place between my lord and my lady. In other words, the three volumes give a syllogism without a minor, which may be stated thus—

If the case bad been different, Then the case wouldshave been different.

The manner in which these critical and moral monstrosities are

embodied, does not remedy their original defsets. SHELLEY is turned into the father of Venetia, but play s the part of the BYRON of real life ; his wife separating herself from him without assigned cause—immuring herself' and daughter in close retirement—yet, such is still her affection for her Atheistical and Republican husband, fitting up a wing of the house with an apartment exactly similar to her bridal chamber, which she locks like the haunted TWIT of the old romances, and retires thither nightly when the household is at rest. Whilst this takes place at home, Lady Anna- bet's husband has gone to Italy, to keep a mistress and write poetry ; and after some years he embarks for America, (the opening of the book is thrown back into the period immediately preceding the Revolution,) joins the colonists in the war of Inde- pendence, and becomes, unlike poor BYRON in Greece, a great man and a successful general. In the mean time, Lord Cadurcis (13vacoN) and his mother have taken up their abode near Lady Annabel's residence ; and, by a curious felicity in the art of libel, Mr. DISRAELI deprives the " refined spirit" .of the only excuse for the irregularity of his opinions and the profligacy of his life, by malting Lady Annabel neutralize in a measure the effects of Pars Cadurcis's alternate indulgence and violence. Of course a love offal; is got up between Lord Cadurcis and Venetia ; but it is broken off in consequence of the character of her father which the suitor gi'ves to his lady-love--for he is then a deep Tory and Churchman. A few years pass on, and all parties meet in London ; Cadurcis having "awoke and found himself famous," turned from his old creed of' Church and State to Infidelity and Liberality, and being en- gaged in all those scenes of folly and intrigue which are told or indicated in Mooste's Life. Venetia having attracted the notice of the King and court, is again pursued by the noble poet ; but the match is this time broken off by Lady Annabel, who truly enough reads, not the characterof Cadurcis, but of BYRON. Cadui cis fiolas a duel with a nobleman whose wife he has intrigued wit h, and ants him through the body ; which drives him, la BYRON, from Lon- don, but with some absurd exaggerations by way of improvements. Venetia, the paragon, who has only begun to care about him since he achieved a poetical reputation and a profligate notoriety, droops after his departure, and is ordered to Italy fur her failing health. Here a reconciliation takes place between Lady Au- nabel and her husband ; another is brought about with Ca- durcis ; and all is going on swimmingly to the conclusion, when unluckily, the two poets are drowned. Not to miss a wedding, however, Venetia is finally married to the poet's cousin and heir, the present Lord BYRON; who is buttered according to the recom- mendation of the doggrel,

" Lay it on thick,

And some of it will stick."

Of the outrage against decorum in parading all these things be- fore the world, it is unnecessary to speak; not that we sympathize with the false delicacy which would slur over the private circum- stances of public persons, who must take the consequences of their publicity, but because we believe a serious novel—where, from the nature of the production, the most secret thoughts of the actors must be unfolded, all their motives assigned, and every thing, how- ever uncertain, broadly represented as of undoubted truth—an en, fair and dastardly mode of begging a mooted question, and enabling the writer to evade responsibility by slinking back upon the nature of fictitious writings Equally unnecessary is it to dwell at length upon the critical error of treating in a fiction real events and characters, whose circumstances are too exactly known to every body to admit of the changes this kind of writing requires, and which are therefore only adapted to the graver nature of biogra- phy or disquisition. Nor is this rottenness at the foundation set off by the display of much skill or elegance in the superstruc- ture. There are sortie passages of a rhetorical brilliancy, and an occasional sentence of vigorous thought and expression. The character of Marmion Ilerbert, (SHELLEY,) when he is at last introduced in action, is rather a delicate and refitted caution; and there are touches of the pathos of situation, in a scene or two between him and Lady Annabel previous to their reconcilement. But the original incongruities of the subject, the falsehoods of fact, the inconsistencies in the character of' Cadurcis, and the

manner in which the author contrives to heighten the affectation, selfishness, heartlessness, and profligacy of his prototype, disgust the reader, and weary him by incredibility though not by dulness. The book, however, will answer the purpose for which it was written—that of furnishing a mysterious topic for paid parai,raphs. The style of the work is less florid than is usual with this writer, and is so lltr improved ; but he has only become distinct by becoming literal. The following description of Lady Anna-

bel's seat is an example of this, and a ludicrous instance more- over of injudicious imitation. Mr. DISRAELI has probably read, in some historian, a minute account of' a field of battle, which might be necessary to the understanding of :the circumstances at- tending the fight and the judgment to be passed upon it ; but

that was no reason for garnishing, what ought to have been Is poetical picture, with the technical terms and describing it with the specific exactness of a house-builder or an auctioneer.

There was situate in one of our midland counties, on the borders aim ex- tensive forest, an ancient hall that belonged to the Herbert', but which, though ever well preserved, had not until that period been visited by any member. of the family since the exile of the Smarts. It was an edifice of considerable size, built of gray stone, much covered with ivy, and placed upon the last gentle ele- vation of a long ridge of hills, in the centre of a crescent of woods, that far overtopped its clusters of tall chinanies and turreted gables. Although the principal chambers were on the first story, you could nevertheless stit forth from their windows on a very broad terrace, whence you descended into the gardens by a double flight of broad stone steps, exactly in the middle of its length. These guldens were of some extent, and filled with evergreen shrub- beries of remarkable overgrowth, while occasionally turfy visras cut in the distant woods, came sloping down to the south, as if tiny opened to receive the sunbeam that greeted the genial aspect of the row000n. 1 he ground-flourwas principally occupied by the hall itself, whiai was of course of great duneuseeis, hung round with many a family portrait and rural picture, furnished with long oaken seats covered with scarlet cushions, and ornamented with a party-coloured floor of alternate Xemonds of back and white marble. From the centre of the roof el the mansion, which was always covered with pigeons, ruse. the cluck-tuner of the chapel, surmounted by a vane ; and before the mansion itself was a large plot of grass, with a fountain in its middle surrounded by a hedge of honeysuckle.

This plot of grass was separated from an extensive park that opened in front of the hall, by %cry tall iron gates, on each of the pillars of which wata lion rampant supporting the escutcheon of the family. The deer wandered to flus

enclosed and well-wooded demesne; and about a mile from the mansion, in a direct line with the iron-gates, was an old-fashioned lodge, which marked. the limit of the park, and from which you emerged into a ye' y fine avenue of hints bounded on both sides by the fields.

Iii matters of a more living nature, there is still the same de feet. For example-- -• .•. MY LORIS, .MTAT 12, IN A SCENE.

Lady Annabel tounded her silver hand-bell, and the butler brought some cam and the mountain. Mrs. Cadureis revived by virtue of her single glass, aad the providential cooperation of a few subsequent ones. Even the cakes and the mountain, however, would not tempt her on to open his mouth ; and this uPpite of her returning composure, &ewe her to desperation. A c

me on- * tion that the mountain and the cakes were deliciou that the an amiable desire at the palate of her spoiled child ahould be gratified, some reasonable maternal

iinve

ty that after so long and fatiguing a drive he in fact needed so:ne refresh- ment, and the agonizing consciousness that all her own physical pleasure at the moment win destroyed by the mental sufferings she endured at haying quarrelled with her son, and that be was depriving himself of what was so agreeable only to pique her, quite overwhelmed the ill-regulated mind of this fond mother. Between each sip and each mouthful she appealed to him to follow her exam- ple, now with cajolery, now with menace, till at length, worked up by the united stimulus if her copious draughts of mountain aud her DWII ungovernable rage, she dashed down the glass and unfinished sliee of cake, and, before the astonished Lady Annabel, rushed forward to give him what she had long threatened, and what she in general ultimately had recourse to—a good shake

Her agile eon, experienced in these stuttne, escaped in time, and pushed bit chair befime him infuriated mother : 3Ire. Cadurcis, however, rallied, and chased him round the room ; once more she fluttered herself she had cap. tured him, once mole he evaded her : ire her despair she took up Venetia s " Seven Champions," and threw the volume at his head ; he laughed a lieuslish laugh, ae. duckiug his bead, the book flew on, and dashed through a pane of glass : Mrs. Cadureie made a desperate charge ; and her son, a little frightsned It her almost maniacal passion, saved himself by suddenly seizing Lady Anna. bel's work-table, and widtling it before her ; Mrs. Cadureis fell over the leg of the table, and went into violent hysteries; while the blood-hound, who had long started from his repose, looked at Ids mistress for instructions, and in the mean time continued barking.

Sly LORD IN ECSTASY.

The moment be had quitted Venetia, Lord Cadurcis returned home. Ile could not endure the routine of gayety after her society ; and his coachman, often waiting until five o'clock in the morning at Monteagle House, could scarcely assure himself of his good for tune in this exception to his accustomed trial of patience. The vis-a-vis stopped, and Lord Cadureis bounded out with light step and a lighter heart. His table was covered with letters. The first one that caught his eye was a missive from Lady Monteagle. Cadureis seized it like a wild animal darting on its prey, tore it in halt without opening it, and, grasping the poker, crammed it with great energy into the tire. This exploit being achieved, Cadurcis began walking up and down the room ; and i indeed he paced it for nearly a couple of hours n a deep reverie, and evidently under a considerabIe degree of excitement, for his gestwes were violent and his voice often audible. At length, about an hour after midnight, he rang for his valet, tore off his cravat, and hurled it to one corner of the apartment, called for his robe de chatu'ire, soda-water, and more lights, seated himself, and began pouriug forth, tinter almost than his pen could trace the words, the poem thet he had been meditating; ever since he bad quitted the roof whew he had met Venetia. She had expressed a wish to read his poems ; he had re. solved instantly to compose one for her solitary perusal. Titus he relieved his heart.

MY LOUD ENRAGED.

Oar solitaty equestrian, however, was nu Sooner mounted than he put his horse to its speed, and never drew in Ids sein until he reached Ilyde Pink Corner. The tapid Inotiou accolded with his tumultuous mood. Ile was soon at home, gave his horse to a servant, (Gm he had left his groom behind, ) fuelled into his library, tore up a letter of Lady Monteagle's with .t demoniac glance, and rang his bell with such force that it broke. His valet, not unused to such chid. litions, immediately appeared. " Hair any thing happened, Spalding?" said his lordship.

" Nothing partienlar, my lord. Her ladyship sent every day, and called her- Self twice; but I teld her your lordship was ia Yorkshire. '

" That was right : I saw a letter front her. When did it conic?"

"it has been here several days' my lord."

" Mimi, I am at home to nobody : I ant not in town."

The valet bowed and disappeared. Cadurcis threw himself into an easy chair, stretched his legs, sighed, and then swore ; then suddenly slanting up, he seized a mass if letters that were lying on the table, and hutted them to the other end of the apartment, dashed several books to the ground, kicked down several chairs that were in his way, nnd began peeing the room with his usual troubled step; and so he continued until the shades of twilight entered his apartment. Then he pulled down the other bell-rope, and Mr. Spalding again appeared.

MT LORD ON LITERATURE, ESPECIALLY ON HOMER, SHLToN, AND SIIAKSPEAKE.

" The Greeks excelled in every species of poetry. In some we do not even attempt to rival them. We have not a single modern ode, or a single modern pastoral. We have no one to place by Pindar, or the exquisite Theocritus. As for the epic I confess myself a heretic as to Homer : 1 look upon the Iliad as I remnant of national songs ; the wise ones agree that the Odyssey is a work of a later age. My instinct agrees with the result of their researches. I credit their conclusion. The Paradise Lost is, doubtless, a great production but the subject is monkish. Dante is national, but he has all the faults of Zbar- barous age. In general, the modern epic is framed upon the assumption that the Iliad is an coded,' composition. They are indebted for this fallacy to VITO, who called order out of chaos; but the -Eueid, all the same, appears to me an insipid creation. And now fur the drama. You will adduce Shalt- speare?"

" There are passages in Dante," said Herbert, " not inferior, in say opinion, to any existing I:terary composition ; but, as a whole, I will nut make my stand on him. I am not no clear that, as a lyric poet, Tetrarch may not rival the Greeks. Shakspeare I esteem of ineffable unlit." " And who is Shakspeare?" said Cadurcia. " We know of him as much as we do of Homer. Did he write half the plays attributed to him ? did be ever write a single whole play ? I doubt it. Ile appears to me to have been an inspired adapter for the theatres, which were then not as good as banns. I take him to have been a botcher up of old plays. His popularity is of modern date, and it may not hot ; it would have surprised hint marvellously. Heaven knows, at present, all that bears his name is alike admired ; and a regular Shakspearlan falls into ecetueies with trash which deserves a niche in the Dunned.

From a passage in the dedication, it appears that " the itLa of the work was mentioned to Lord Lvsnatteeer in happier hours ;" and it is to be surmised that his Lord-hip, as in the case of the Vindication of the English Constitution, expressed a " wish" for its publication. If so, it displayed his characteristic craft ; but we cannot blame him for escaping from a living infliction of three thick volumes, though it has been accomplished at the expense of ourselves, and of many an unhappy reader. The classical taste Of Lord LYNDHURST is well known ; his powers of perusal we be- lieve surpass even ours; but, deprived of the stimulus of duty and necessity, we suspect he will find Venetia a tougher job than " the great cause of SMALL versus ATrwoon." Nothing shall shake us in this opinion—not even the virtual contradiction which DISRAELI the Younger will doubtless be able to show under the hand of his friend. "1 had rather praise it than read it, Sir," is a maxim wisely and extensively acted upon where possible. Such possibility exists not, alas! for the conscientious reviewer.