THE FOSTER-BROTHER.
IN a pleasant and unaffected preface, Mr. Leigh Hunt informs the reader that The Foster-Brother is the production of his son, Thornton Hunt ; and, with manly openness, gives a good word and bespeaks a kind reception for the book, in some remarks where the critic is almost as visible as the father. The notice which the name of the editor, and his graceful preface, will attract to the work, may answer the objects of the writer and the bookseller by serving "to procure it the speedier attention " ; but it scarcely needed any factitious aid. Deficient in the display of that high imagination which is requisite to realize fiction, and occasionally indulging too much in exuberant ex- aggeration among the wild and wonderful of romance, the author exhibits qualities which raise The Foster-Brother considerably above the large majority of historical romances. Mr. Thornton Hunt is versed in the knowledge of the times he undertakes to delineate, and is penetrated with the spirit of the Italian character, of a bygone age—so much so that he frequently appears as if he were almost translating. His descriptions have a clear and well-defined character, as if they were drawn from pictures ; and his work is full of matter. There is none of the mere wordiness and sound of the fine writer in The Foster-Brother: all is real in image or sentiment, though in each case there may be too much of elaboration. The author's father considers " that the antique colour- ing occasionally given to its phraseology seems too little of a piece with the rest of it ; that the introduction in English words of Italian idioms, however confined to colloquial occasions, and true to the fact in one re- spect, defeats its own purpose in another, being not the simple presenta- tion of one language, but the confusion of two; and that I (he continues) would rather have had less of the history and politics of Venice, and more of its private life." To us these objections seem rather theoretical than practical. As a mere romance, less of the history of Venice might be desirable; but the historical incidents and characters are the most strik- ing and interesting parts of the work. The antique style and Italian idioms appear to us to give an air of truth, and to assist in conveying that national cast of which we have spoken. The true objection is, that the style is not maintained throughout ; we pass backwards and forwards from the Italian to the English. The scene of The Foster-Brother, a Tale of the War of Chiozza, is chiefly laid in Venice ; and its leading incidents relate to that disastrous period of the conflict against Genoa and Francesco da Carrara when the allied forces besieged Venice, and Peter Doria, the Genoese commander, refused all terms, declaring that there should be no peace till he bad bridled the bronze horses of St. Mark with his own hand. The striking incidents of war in the fourteenth century, the varied fortunes of the siege, with the popular feelings and public events to which they gave rise, form a very considerable part of Mr. Thornton Hunt's book; and much of the romance is connected with the leading political persons, and indeed interwoven with political events. Marco Morosini, a man * "Enough has been said of that detestable transaction which ended in the death of Mr. Yorke. I cannot speak of it without horror and compassion. To excuse yourself, you publicly impeach your accomplice; and to his mind, perhaps, the accusation may be flattery. But in murder you are both principals. It was once a question of emulation; and if the event had not disappointed the immediate schemes of the closet, it might still have been a hopeful subject of jest and merri- ment between you."—Letter XLVIII. To the Duke of Grafton. of narrow intellect but excessive pride both of country and family, is opposed in policy to the, party of Contarini the Doge, and would gladly overthrow him if he knew but how. Alessandro Padovano, the Foster- brother of the titlepage, and supposed to be the son of Morosini's father as well as of his nurse, governs his brother under the appearance of submission ; and but for the Venetian pride of Marco, which takes the form of patriotism, would quickly effect a revolution, and instal his bro- ther as Doge by the aid of Ferrara and some Venetian conspirators. As the scruples of the head of the house of Morosini prevent this sum- mary method, Alessandro is driven to more occult and riskful proceed- ings, and engages in a series of conspiracies against the state, to baffle the Venetian generals and assist the enemy. Marco Morosini' however, is not the only object of the wiles of the Foster-brother. Notwithstanding the Senator's age and pride, he is addicted to gallantry. Teresa, a lady of very reduced fortunes but of good family, is rescued from his attempts by a youthful noble, who turns out to be his own son. This rescue naturally gives rise to a pas- sion; and the loves, risks, and dangers of Teresa .Arduino and Sebastian Morosini, form the true romance of the piece : for the love between Edward, an English adventurer in the service of the state, and Angiolina Morosini, has but slender importance ; and though it terminates naturally under the given circumstances and characters, those circumstances are not perhaps judiciously conceived, as the conclusion will disappoint the novel-reader. The former tale of true love is more interesting, from its continued story, as well as its greater strength of character and deepening fortunes. These last spring from the misfortunes of Teresa's family, the wandering mind of her father, (an admirable conception, admirably executed,) the suspicious character of the Venetian policy, and the arts of Alessandro, who strives to gain Sebastian Morosini to his side by acting upon his love for Teresa. Alessandro himself is also engaged in a clan- destine love-affair with Rosa, a peasant-girl. The last character is Mr. Leigh Hunt's "favourite." But, though well-conceived and well. sustained, we do not think her equal to some of the other persons; and though her position is delicately managed, and would not carry that moral stigma in Italy which it would here, we suspect that many readers will consider it rather a blot upon the book, especially in the conclusion. The critical defect of the work is the character or rather the wonder-working power of Alessandro on the side of the conspirators, and Raneiri, a brother of Teresa, on the part of the Venetian com- mander. It is true, the author may plead the example of Scott, and point to Christian in Peveril of the Peak, Varney in Kenilroorth, and others : but a fault is a fault whoever commits it. If he look to Shakspere's Historical Plays, he will find that the historical characters do the historical business without prompters. Even Iago never thinks of an interference with military or public matters, but works upon a per• sonal weakness for private ends.
Through the scenes of history, and in the more level or more touching scenes of romance, Mr. Thornton Hunt sustains an unflagging interest, by the thorough Italian nature of his style and characters, a force yet a minute delicacy of painting in his descriptions, and a spirit of wide humanity, which he has inherited from his father with other qualities. In the closing sections, where he has less support from history and man- ners, the interest rather flags. The scenes are somewhat disjointed, or at least independent, and somewhat too much of mere scenes, besides partaking of a theatrical character. The last scene, especially, would have been better away; for its incidents are unnatural, or have the dul- ness of rvinding-vp ; and the tale would have closed with dramatic effect at the end of the previous chapter. This fault, and some objections that might be urged to the structure, may arise from the circumstances under which Mr. Leigh Hunt says that the work was written: but haste should only be permitted to influence details. I confess I think so well of The Foster-Brother, that I do not hesitate to mention a circumstance which might otherwise have told against it, at least with such as are accustomed to confound rapidity of execution with badness of it; and this is, that it was composed at hasty though earnest intervals, during a pressure of work already too much for the wnter's health, and only carried to that extreme from a sense of duty."
As we think Mr. Thornton Hunt appears to better advantage where he has some extraneous support, we will chiefly take our extracts from the parts which, if not exactly history, belong to it. The following inci- dent occurs during the blockade of Venice.
A GALLEY-FIGHT.
A ship belonging to Aluise dalle Foniasi, laden with cotton, approached the port of Malamocco, from Syria- and a crowd of people, swelled by those engaged in completing the works of barrier and fortification, and others who had come to the shore to see their progress, stood to witness the entry of one among the many ships that used to bring riches to the city; now, in times of war and trouble, a rare sight. But the ship was not alone: behind it were three others; they were Genoese war-galleys. 'Me bold and fiery Aluise stood to see his ship chased. Two galleys that had been so hastily prepared were now all but unmanned, and were at a distant part of the lagune. Shouts arose to summon them ; men ran hither and thither with loud cries; everybody urged others to do something, as if helplessness were a mere weakness of his own. Amid the noise and tumult, the vessels neared the shore. Those in the cotton-ship were evidently on the alert: it suddenly turned, and awaited the approach of its pursuers: Giacomo Vendra- mini was preparing to fight. A loud shout arose on the shore; but the wind beat it back, and in the crash against the first of the Genoese galleys, Vendramini and his men heard it not. The watery joust was not in favour of the Venetian: the beak of his galley missed his foeman while the Genoese came against his side with such force that the timbers crackled and started, and in an instant a stream of fighting men ran along the flat though narrow bridge of the beak. Six of them fell dead as they leaped on to the deck, but some behind succeeded in en- gaging the foremost of the Venetians hand to hand: a little space was made be- hind the boarders—more rushed in; and though one fell now and then under the shower of arrows which swept the prow of the galley, the number of the Genoese on board soon equalled that of the Venetians. Vendramini burned to signalize his Toung prowess, no less than to save the treasure of his friend and patron Aluise; and the Genoese felt all the force of his desires. But suddenly a about arose behind him—the second galley had approached unobserved on his other Ind wark, and already were a crowd of fresh swordsmen making havoc in his rear. Inch by inch he fought, as he was driven to the stern: some of his men wen treed into the water by the press, which he in front could not resist; until, sinking wiTh a mortal wound, he could no more head the resisters, and the crew yielded. A short time sufficed to carry their treasure, the profits of their voyage, into the Genoesegalleyis with part of their cargo; a smoke rising from the hold spoke the fate to which the rest was doomed, as the Genoese, with shouts of scorn and triumph, rowed off from the burning ship. With desperate energy the disabled crew manned a few of their oars and pulled for the land. Black smoke and lurid flames rose from the wreck, as the bleeding mariners bore their dead captain on shore among the angered and shame-stricken multitude who had witnessed the fight in helpless impatience. Many and deep were the murmurs heard, that Vittor Plasm was in prison, because he had been conquered by the weather, while the citizens were left to be conquered by the more terrible Genoese. The report that Pietro Doria had dragged in the water at his galley's stern the flag of St. Mark, taken from Pisani, less shamed them than that rout before their eyes.
The continued imprisonment of Pisani almost induces a revolt, and the politic Senate order his release: which is told effectively. " Contarini again came forth, and raising his voice, cried, 'Venetians, the Senate desires to pleasure you in these times of our common trouble: Messer Vittor Pisani will lead you. He is free.' "Long and loud was the shout that burst upwards; a solid mass of sound, in which the words that made it= Viva Pisani, Viva Contarini'—could scarcely be heard. As the Doge again retired within the palace, a rush was made to it; and habitual respect for the abode of power could scarcely restrain the people from forcing their way up the great stairs. The loud buzz of voices was hushed. A man appeared on the stairs alone; a square-built man, in clothes of soberest hue, carelessly put on. He wore a grave and thoughtful countenance, like one who could bear all things with equal mind—triumph to the full as well as defeat. He came slowly and steadily down the stairs: but at the first glimpse of him the shouting renewed; it glanced hither and thither in the multitude, as those at a distance in the piazza knew what it was those in front saw : others filled up the intervals, until at last the whole city seemed shouting in chorus Vittor Pisani.' "Pisani stopped before he descended the last few steps, and stretching forward his hand, with the broad palm towards the people, be hushed the storm of wel- come. As it died away towards the skirts of the multitude, his well-known ample voice came forth—' Venetians, you have mistaken: the only cry for Ve- netians is Viva San Marco!
The following is a pretty piece of painting, in the paternal style. "Boss had just finished her net. A large part of it lay in a heap, while a portion was spread out upon the floor, and raised by two chairs, so as to show the girl the work of her hands. She had spread out all that she had done since Alessandro had visited her after his so long absence. For some hours she had worked hard, that she might complete her task before dark; and as the last gleam of daylight shone upon the fruit of her industry, her grave face was not devoid of satisfaction. The symmetry of the lines as they crossed in forming the meshes, the newness and stoutness of the cord, the pleasure that it would give to old Pierotto, the use that he would make of it, were thoughts that pleased her. How the green and blue waters would dance and play in and out of the supple trellis! How the silvery scales of the fish would glisten! Poor things! their captivity would be fatal; yet are there worse sorrows than fatal thraldom. Thus much work, she bethought her, had been done in her solitude: the time might have been worse employed. Even life that is not as we wish it, need not be fruit- less of good; and if not fruitless of good, it is not without a happiness."
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