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a peculiar species, and it would be a libel on human nature to rank them with the race of man."
Here I could not refrain from saying to the strange man, having by this time well finished my dinner, that I thought he had a sour heart towards the sons and daughters of success and prosperity. "No," says he, “ you misunderstand me. I was only speaking of the Effigies, a species of the same genus as man, but widely different in the generalities of their nature." I could not say that this story left any satisfaction with me, which the
rehearser observing, said, "But the Effigies are perhaps not so remarkable as another class, of a very opposite description.-I do not well know by what epithet to distinguish them; but if you will join me in a bottle of wine, I will give you some account of one of them, and the tale may be called The Broken heart."" This was a very agreeable proposal to me, who had no other end in view at the time but my own recreation; so we ordered in one of the landlord's old bottles; during the drinking of which my companion proceeded to the following effect.
THE BROKEN HEART.
"THERE are but two kinds of adventurers who succeed in London; those who, like Joe Brianson, come to it pennyless, with industrious propensities, and those who have friends of power and influence. Young men, brought up as gentlemen in the country, rarely prosper in London; and it is of one of these I would now speak. The person I allude to was the son of a clergyman. He was known among his companions by the nickname of Buskin; and his unhappy fate makes me remember him by no other.
"He was one of a large family.His father, however, had a good living, but it was unfortunately in a genteel neighbourhood, and the sons and daughters in consequence acquired notions of elegance inconsistent with their fortune. While the old man lived, this produced no evil. At his death, the whole family was plunged into poverty. By that time, however, Buskin, who had come to London as a clerk, was settled in a business, which, while there was no other drain on it than his own expences, was adequate, it appeared, to all his wants, notwithstanding his extra-gentility.— But, from the time that he was necessitated to contribute to the support of his brothers and sisters, his efforts were unavailing to make it sufficiently productive, and a change was soon perceptible in his appearance. Previously he had been rather a sedate character-something given to reflection and sentiment. He wrote poetry, and played on the flute. But soon after the arrival of his friends in town, he became remarkably gay-forswore, it would seem, the Muses-and enter
ed with something of an inordinate keenness into every species of cheerful amusement. He was praised for this. It was thought he had the interests of his sisters in view,—and courted society, to give the gentlemen of his acquaintance an opportunity of knowing their worth and beauty; for they were lovely, amiable, and accomplished to an uncommon degree. This, however, was but the first stage of the mortal malady with which poor Buskin was seized.
"The symptoms of gaiety and good humour continued about a year, when others began to appear. his dress and manners, the patient still seemed the same individual, but his temper became sharp and irritable. He was satisfied with nothing; the sun itself never shone properly; when he went into the fields, the west wind had lost its genial freshness, and the blossoms, that garlanded the boughs in spring, seemed to him tawdry. The song of the lark was harsh in his ears; and he was heard often to repine at the lot of the day-labourer, whose anxieties terminated with the hours of his task, and who had none beyond the daily period of his toil.
"At first this attracted no particular notice, or when it was noticed, it only seemed to provoke the banter of his friends; but the misanthropic humour continued to grow, and at last it began to be surmised, that his affairs were not thriving. I never obtrude my advice; but one day, when he was unusually petulant, I could not refrain from remarking to him the alteration I have mentioned, and to express my fears.
"You are right,' replied he, in some respects; my affairs are, indeed, not thriving, or rather they are not adequate to supply the demands of duty and affection. In other respects I have no reason to complain.'-Then why don't you abridge your expence? you do not want resolution on other Occasions-why would you go with your eyes open over the precipice?' I do not like,' said he, to lose the footing I possess in society; and I hope that something may come round to help me.'
"There was an accent of sorrow in the use of that word help, that rung upon my heart. I could say no more; I had it not in my power to assist the unfortunate man; I could only pity, and fac. mark the progress of his consuming sanguish, as one friend contemplates another dying of a consumption.
"But the period of irritation and bitterness also passed, and was succeeded the by another more deplorable. He became again singularly animated-his whole mind seemed to be endowed with preternatural energy. In amusement and in business, he was equally inexhaustible; all with whom he took a part in either, admired his vigour, and complained of that amazing activity which left their utmost exertions and efforts so far behind. I was awed and alarmed-I looked at him with astonishment. His voice, in conversation, when any thing like argument was started, became irresistibly eloquent. There was a haste in the movements of his mind, as if some great countervailing weight had been taken away. One evening, in returning with him from a party where this had been remarkably the case, I said to him familiarly, Buskin, what the devil's the matter with you? you seem as if your thoughts were in a hurry.'-'They are so,' he replied, and they have cause, for they are hunted by a fiend.'
"I was horror-struck; but what could I say? I attempted to remonstrate, but he shut my mouth. It is now too late to reason withme-the struggle will soon be over. I feel that I am left to myself; that the protection of Pro
vidence is withdrawn, and hope is extinguished. Wherever I move, I am, as it were, in a magical circle. I never come any more into contact with humanity.-I am excommunicated.'
"Although I was grieved and terrified by this rapsody, I yet thought it advisable to ridicule it-when, in a moment, he struck me violently in the face. My blood was ever inflammable at the slightest insult, but this blow smote my heart with indescribable pain, and so far from feeling any thing like resentment at the insult, I could not refrain from bursting into tears, and taking the irritated young man by the hand. It was too dark for me to see his face, but when I pressed his hand, I felt that his whole frame shuddered. Nothing more passed that night. I accompanied him home to his own door, and we parted without speaking, but shook hands in a way that said more to the spirit than the tongue could have uttered. On reaching my lodgings, I sat down, and my thick arising fancies would not allow me to go to bed. At last they got so far the better of me that I went again out, and walked to Buskin's house.-All was silent and repose there. I passed two or three times in front, and then went home; but the night-mare was upon me, and the interval till morning was hideous. At an earlier hour than usual, I rose and dressed myself, and again went into the street, where my unhappy friend resided; and as I approached towards his door, I was startled by a medical gentleman, one of our mutual friends, coming out.'
At this point of his story, the hardfavoured stranger's voice faltered, and drawing his hand hastily over his face, he abruptly rose, and went to the door. In the course of a few minutes, during the which I was in a state of rumination, he returned, and calling the waiter, asked what was to pay for the wine; and, throwing down his half of the reckoning, bade me good afternoon, and went away, leaving me to guess and ponder anent the sad and mournful issue of his tale.
ON FELDBERG'S DENMARK."
Who is there in Edinburgh or Copenhagen that knows not Feldberg, the Dane?-The gay, the jolly, the vivacious, the witty, the convivial Feldberg!-the sage of the boudoir, the Adonis of the tea-table, the dulce decus of the punch-bowl! Feldberg, the companion of Oehlenschlager, the beloved of Thorvaldsen, the bosom friend of Baggesen and Rhamdor! When he comes forward to vindicate the literature of his country from the neglect under which it is the reproach of the European nations that it should so long have laboured, who is there that will not " lend him his ears?" Who would not gladly participate in revelations which boast so distinguished an hierophant? We, at least, are not of that number; and we gladly seize this early opportunity to welcome the arrival of the Feldberg first-rate in comfortable moorings, to send our bumboat along-side with salutations and refreshments, and to express our warmest hopes, that the same ardour, talent, and generous enthusiasm which have enabled him, hitherto with success, to buffet the billows in a tempestuous navigation, will at length conduct this literary Columbus to the consummation of his voyage, nor forsake him
"Till his anchor be cast
bination of the qualities always to be desired in a writer of this description, but, alas! how seldom to be found!
With respect to the world at large, the literary offspring of Denmark may be said to have been hitherto confined in the womb in which it was originally engendered. A healthy bantling, indeed, full formed, and of robust proportions, performing vigorously all its natural offices and secretions, and waiting only for so accomplished an accoucheur as Mr Feldberg, to breathe a purer atmosphere, and to become the grace and ornament of a more extended region. In the present number of his work, it is true, he does little more than brandish his forceps, and adjust his patient; but the skill with which these necessary preliminaries are performed, is enough to stamp him a master of his art. He has attempted little, but even in that little, the " coup de maître," is sufficiently visible. Astley Cooper may be distinguished from a cow-doctor by the very handling of his instruments; and a lady of the bed-chamber from a more vulgar chamber-maid by the mere
Des Hayes, even in quiescence, is still the grace and ornament of the ballet; and had Dr Scott adorned the ceremonial of the coronation, in the habiliments of a Knight of
In some cliff-girdled haven of beauty at the Garter, we question whether the most ignorant of the spectators would have mistaken him for Lord Londonderry.t
In truth, the task of introducing us to the literature of Denmark could not have fallen into better hands than those of Mr Feldberg. Connected with many of the great men of his own country by the ties of friendship, and with all, by that communion of genius and feeling which links together the masterspirits of the earth, however varied their opinions and pursuits,-with a mind enlarged by travel,-and a comprehensive knowledge of European literature, he exhibits a felicitous com
But we should ill consult the enjoyment of our readers if we detained them longer by any observations of our own from the banquet prepared for them by Mr Feldberg. Of Thorvaldsen, the Phidias of Denmark, it is creditable to our national taste, that nothing requires to be said to enlighten
us as to his merits. His name has been long familiar to our ears as a household word, and his works have not claimed from us in vain that tribute of
* Denmark Delineated; or, Sketches of the present State of that Country: illustrated with Portraits, Views, and other engravings, from Drawings by eminent Danish Artists. Edinburgh, Oliver & Boyd.
+We understand the Doctor has lately been appointed "Dentist to his Majesty for Scotland," and, in this capacity, claimed the privilege of carrying at the coronation, in one hand the tusk of a Hippopotamus or River Horse, and in the other, a silver basin and ewer, and to have the two latter as his fee. The claim was disallowed, which, we regret the more, as we understand he had purchased the cast off black velvet suit of a Glasgow provost, to adorn his ample person on the occasion.
admiration to which they are entitled, both from the purity and grandeur of their conception, and the felicity of their execution. For ourselves, we do not hesitate to say, that we look upon the Jason as the finest piece of sculpture which the present age has produced. There is a noble and grand simplicity in the attitude of the principal figure in the groupe, worthy of the antique. The head is fine and commanding, full of beauty and of vigour; the arm is extended bearing the fleece, and is executed with the greatest muscular precision. It is indeed the beau ideal of a heroic warrior, full of life and grace, and shews altogether an elevation of conception in the artist, worthy of the best æra of Athenian sculpture. In his basso relievo of Night flying over the world, there is an embodying of ideal beauty, inferior to none, perhaps superior to any modern creation of the chisel. There is in it a beautiful alternation of rest and motion exquisítely blended into each other; it dis plays also a lightness and animation of which it would have been difficult to have conceived the marble to be susceptible. His Psyche, Bacchus, and Cupid, his Priam bearing Hector from the field, his Ganimede present ing drink to the eagle of Jove, are all masterpieces, and it is pleasing to reflect that it is to the patronage afforded by our countrymen to this foreign artist that we indebted for them. They are all to be found in English collec
outline, and a skill in the distribution of his lights which mark him a supe rior artist. Of the living Danish painters we shall say nothing, being quite destitute of materials for forming any judgment of their merits. According to Mr Feldberg, Professor Eckersberg, Mr Dahl, and Mr Moller, are the most eminent.
Having discussed the fine arts, we now turn to the subject of Danish literature and Danish literati, one more consonant to our talents and pursuits. We regret that this subject occupies so small a portion of Mr Feldberg's work, and trust that in the future numbers of his work, this cause of complaint will be obviated.
Those of our readers who have had the good fortune to meet with a small volume of admirable translations from the Danish, published in 1808, will agree with us, we think, in forming a very high estimate of the poetical talent now existing in Denmark. Who the translator is, we know not; but he is embued with the very spirit of his originals, and eminently quali fied by his talents to do them ample justice;-and we trust, for their sakes as well as ours, he will not stop short in his career. Of the Danish poets, we are inclined to rank none before Mr Foersom, the translator of Shakespeare. The boldness of this attempt has been equalled only by its success, and it is bestowing the very highest praise on Mr Foersom to say that in his hands Shakespeare has not been debased. Much of Shakespeare is untranslateable. Many, very many, of his beauties are so embodied in the language in which he wrote, so entwined with its idiom, so essentially English, as to be altogether unconvertible into another tongue. No one knew this better than Foersom, and no one was more sensi ble of the difficulties of his underta king. He has failed, it is true, where success was impossible, but he is often eminently successful, and the whole work is Shakespearian to a degree not attained by any other translator. The following extract will shew the difficulties which Mr Foersom had to encounter in the progress of his work, while its conclusion proves that he at least possessed the enjoyment, "Laudari a viro laudato."
"With this view he projected a translation of Shakespeare, beginning, as was natural to a Dane, with Hamlet. Julius Cæsar was
added; and both tragedies appeared in the year 1807. With that refined delicacy and sense of propriety which characterised all Mr Foersom's words and actions, he inscribed the translation to an exalted personage who was most intimately connected with the poet's country-the princess whom, it will be recollected, Mr Southey so feelingly mentions, while describing the sufferings of her mother, Queen Carolina Matilda. He prefixed the following dedicatory lines to her Royal Highness Princess Louisa Augusta, Princess Royal of Denmark:
• Snatch'd from the scenic monarch's glorious
A few stray gems I bring. Before thy feet, Exalted fair, in every charm complete, With reverence and delight I lay them down. Their home was ever in the princely breast:
That crowned vestal, western sun of fame, She loved them; and in their unfading flame The image of her brightness shines confess'd. As when the flow'rets of the spring unfold Their censers, with the pearls of morn replete, Nature's sweet sacrifice, the lordly sun Joys to illume them; on my offering bold, Sun of the north, from thy resplendent seat,
Of all thy countless rays, oh! shed but one!'
"Foersom had previously submitted his translation of Julius Cæsar to the Royal Board of Theatrical Managers, in the hope that it might be brought upon the stage ;but the royal managers did not consider the tragedy fit for representation. They expressed, however, their high sense of the merits of the translation, and presented Mr Foersom with a gratuity of fifty rix-dollars, which then amounted to about £10. This he acknowledges in his preface, with the feelings of Samuel Johnson, when he ad. dressed his famous letter to Lord Chesterfield.
"The public received the translations of Hamlet and Julius Cæsar with unqualified approbation. They were reviewed with great spirit in the 19th Number of the Literary Intelligencer of Copenhagen, for 1807, by the late Captain Abrahamson, a most distinguished veteran in literature. He took occasion to remark, that the Danish translator possessed the most intimate know. ledge of the writings of the British bard, and would therefore naturally feel a desire to transfer them into his own language. He stated, that Foersom had given the text of his author with the fidelity which the admirers of Shakespeare were entitled to require; and, in fact, that he had executed his task quite con amore; at the same time expressing his conviction, that the happiest results might be anticipated from Mr Foersom's translations of Shakespeare's other plays.
"The testimony of a man so competent to sit in judgment upon the subject as Captain Abrahamson, was the more gratifying to Foersom, as he had experienced considerable difficulties in bringing the translation before the public. He, indeed,
complains in his preface, that he had for years sought a publisher, even on terms unfairly fair.' The value of money in Denmark has varied so much of late years, that it is not possible to state precisely what the booksellers may have paid. But in a letter now before me, dated 6th July, 1816, Foersom observes, The pen frequently drops from my hand, when I reflect that I do not earn dry bread by the translation of Shakespeare, and that I must even think myself well paid if a bookseller gives me 200 rix-bank-dollars (then about £7) for translating two of Shakespeare's tragedies, and reading the proofs for the press.'
"It redounds so much the more to his honour that he persevered in the undertaking which he had so successfully begun. A second edition of Hamlet and Julius Cæsar was called for; and, in 1810, his translations of King Lear and Romeo and Juliet were published.
"About this time, the writer of these lines became acquainted with Mr Foersom. He had in the preceding year read the translations of Hamlet and Julius Cæsar, and, in consequence, formed a wish to see the translator. Through a common friend, Mr Nathansson, of whom honourable mention has already been made, this object was attained. He saw Mr Foersom, for the first time, at the Theatre-Royal of Copenhagen, where he performed the part of Charles Surface, in the School for Scandal, which was acted for the benefit of Mr Schwartz, one of the best actors in Denmark, who had travelled in England, and was well known to Garrick, George Keate, and other distinguished characters. The part of the gay and thoughtless Charles was evidently unsuited to the translator of Shakespeare; in fact, he had undertaken it at a moment's notice, the person who usually performed it having been taken ill. After the play, Mr Foersom came into Mr Nathansson's box, and soon, by his engaging and unassuming manner, raised as high an opinion of his personal character as I had long since formed of his mental endowments.
"Will you allow me, Mr Foersom, to account for the wonderful success with which you have translated Shakespeare?' said I. He bowed assent, and I proceeded :- In my boyhood, I read in Professor Abraham Kall's history about the Pythagorean doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and I must beg to express my belief, that the spirit of Shakespeare animates the Danish form now standing before me,' Mr Foersom modestly remarked, that a Dane enjoyed peculiar facilities in translating from the English.
“An intimacy ensued. Indeed the moments I passed with Mr Foersom at Copenhagen, in 1810, were of singular yalue in the wretched state of the world at that juncture."