Chapter V: Book III: Chapters xiii. to xxvii. 542 (4)

Grisi, like Parodi, is always uniform and accurate in her representations, and upon the whole should be regarded as the queen of song; but with these exceptions we know of no person who deserves a higher rank as a true artist than Parodi. As yet she is not sufficiently understood. She electrifies her hearers, and secures their entire sympathies, but they have still to learn that silvery and melodious tones, and cool mechanical execution, do not alone constitute a genuine artist or a faultless prima donna. When the public understand how perfectly Parodi identifies herself with the emotions and passions she has to portray,--when they appreciate the immense variety of intonations with which she illustrates her characters, and the earnestness and intensity with which she throws her whole nature into all she does--then she will be hailed as the greatest artist ever on this continent, and one of the greatest in the world.

* * * * *

Mrs. E. Oakes Smith's new tragedy called "The Roman Tribute," has been produced in Philadelphia for several nights in succession, with very decided success. The leading character in this play, a noble old Roman, is quite an original creation. He is represented as a mixture of antique patriotism, heroic valor, sublime fidelity, and stern resolution, tinged with a beautiful coloring of romance which softens and relieves his more commanding virtues. Several feminine characters of singular loveliness are introduced. The play abounds in scenes of deep passion and thrilling pathos, while its chaste elegance of language equally adapts it for the closet or the stage. It was brought out with great splendor of costume, scenery, proscenium, and the other usual accessories of stage effect, and presented one of the most gorgeous spectacles of the season. We are gratified to learn that the dramatic talent of this richly-gifted lady, concerning which we have before expressed ourselves in terms of high encomium, has received such a brilliant illustration from the test of stage experiment. Mrs. Oakes Smith's admirable play of "Jacob Leisler" will probably be acted in New York during the season.

* * * * *

LEIGH HUNT UPON G.P.R. JAMES.

I hail every fresh publication of James, though I half know what he is going to do with his lady, and his gentleman, and his landscape, and his mystery, and his orthodoxy, and his criminal trial. But I am charmed with the new amusement which he brings out of old materials. I look on him as I look on a musician famous for "variations." I am grateful for his vein of cheerfulness, for his singularly varied and vivid landscapes, for his power of painting women at once lady-like and loving (a rare talent,) for making lovers to match, at once beautiful and well-bred, and for the solace which all this has afforded me, sometimes over and over again, in illness and in convalescence, when I required interest without violence, and entertainment at once animated and mild.

* * * * *

HERR HECKER DESCRIBED BY MADAME BLAZE DE BURY.

We have heretofore given in the _International_ some account of Madame Blaze de Bury, and have made some extracts from her piquant and otherwise remarkable book, "Germania."[2] Looking it over we find considerable information respecting Herr Hecker, who, since his unfortunate attempt to revolutionize Germany, has lived in the United States, being now, we believe, a farmer somewhere in the West. According to the adventurous Baroness, Hecker was the first man in Germany to declare for revolution. He was born, near Mannheim, in 1811; he took a doctor's degree in the University of Heidelberg, followed the profession of the law, and was elected a member of the Lower House in his 31st year. Thenceforth he was active in opposition. He possessed all the chief attributes of a popular leader, and his person was graceful and commanding, his temperament ardent, his eloquence impassioned. Although the Grand Duke Leopold was the "gentlest and most paternal of sovereigns," according to Madame de Bury, still there were many radical defects in the constitution of Baden. Against these defects Hecker waged war, and with some success, which instigated him to further efforts against the government. At length he was beaten on a motion to stop the supplies, and he retired into France disgusted with his countrymen. After some time he returned impregnated with the reddest republicanism. He found sympathy in Baden, and when the revolution broke out in Paris, he resolved to raise the standard of Republicism in Germany. In April, 1848, he set out for Constance, with four drummers and eight hundred Badeners. He and they, extravagantly dressed and armed, proceeded unopposed, singing "Hecker-songs," and comparing their progress to the march of the French over the Simplon! They arrived at Constance, and called the people to arms, but the people would not come. The slouched hats and huge sabers of the patriots did not produce the desired impression, and then _it rained_. In short, the movement failed. Finally, having beaten up all the most disaffected parts of the country for recruits, Hecker arrived at Kandern with twelve hundred men. Here Gagern met him with a few hundred regular troops. Hecker attempted to gain them over with the cry of "German brotherhood," but Gagern kept them steady until he fell, mortally wounded, on the bridge. Then there was a slight skirmish; both parties retreated, and act the first of the drama closed. Meanwhile the _Vor Parlament_ had been summoned, and the National Assembly of Frankfort had met in the Paulskircke, to the number of four hundred deputies; their self-constituted task was simply to reform all Germany. Frankfort was stirring and joyous upon this occasion, as it had used to be in former days, when within its walls was elected the Head of the Holy Roman Empire. Bells were rung, cannon fired, triumphal arches raised, green boughs and rainbow-colored banners waved, flowers strewn in the streets, tapestries hung from windows and balconies, hands stretched forth in greeting, voices strained to call down blessings; all that popular enthusiasm could invent was there, and one immense cry of rejoicing saluted what was fondly termed the "Regeneration of Germany." The tumults, the misery, the bloodshed, and the disappointment that followed, until the Rump of this "magniloquent Parliament" sought shelter at Stuttgardt, are fresh in our memory.

[2: Germania: its Courts, Camps, and People. By the Baroness Blaze
de Bury. London: Colburn.]

Hecker, having done his utmost to "agitate" his country, and having failed "to inspire a dastard populace with the spirit of the ancient Roman people," as Madame expresses it, he fled to America. But his name was still a tower of strength to his Red brethren and the _Freicorps_ of the Schwartzwald and the Rhine. In Western Germany a year ago last summer his return was enthusiastically expected by the revolutionary army. "When Hecker comes," said they, "we shall be invincible." He came: his followers crowded round him and implored him at once to lead them on to victory! "Victory be d--d," was the reply of the returned exile; "go home to your plows and your vines and your wives and children, and leave me to attend to mine." Hecker had only come to Europe for his family, and he returned almost immediately to America. Meanwhile the war blazed up for a little while and then expired, leaving behind it the _Deutsche Verwirrung_[3] as it now presents itself in Germania.[4]

[3: Literally, the _German entanglement_.]

[4: Hecker seems to have been a sincere enthusiast; and it is
always observed by his friends that he renounced ease and comfort
for the cause that he espoused. We append a single verse from one
of the "Hecker songs" that were in 1849 in the mouth of every
Badish republican:--

"Look at Hecker wealth-renouncing,
O'er his head the red plume waves,
Th' awakening people's will announcing,
For the tyrant's blood he craves!
Mud boots thick and solid wears he,
All round Hecker's banner come,
And march at sound of Hecker's drum."]

Original Poetry.

THE GRIEF OF THE WEEPING WILLOW.

Round my cottage porch are wreathing
Creeping vines, their perfume breathing
To the balmy breeze of Spring.
Near it is a streamlet flowing,
Where old shady trees are growing;
But of _one alone_ I sing.

O'er the water sadly bending,
With the wave its leaflets blending,
Stands a lonely willow tree.
And the shadow seems e'erlasting,
That its boughs are always casting
O'er the tiny wavelets' glee.

Oft I've wondered what the sorrow,
That ne'er know a gladsome morrow,
In the mourner's heart was sealed;
But no bitter wail of sadness,
Nor low tone of chastened gladness,
Had the willow tree revealed.

When the breeze its leaves was lifting;
When the snows were round it drifting,
Seemed it still to grieve the same.
Round its trunk a vine is twining,
But its tendrils too seem pining
For a hand to tend and claim.

Type of love that bears life's testing,
They earth's rudest storms are breasting;
Harmed not--so together borne;
And like girl to lover clinging,
Passing time is only bringing
Strength for every coming morn.

Of one summer eve I ponder,
When I musing chanced to wander
By the streamlet's margin bright.
Moonbeams thro' the leaves were streaming,
And each leaping wave was gleaming
With a paly, astral light.

O'er me hung the weeping willow;
Mossy bank was balmy pillow,
And in slumber sweet I dreamed:
Dreamed of music round me gushing,
That as winds o'er harp-strings rushing,
E'er like angel's whisper seemed.

Oh, those low-breathed tones of sorrow;
Would that mortal tongue could borrow
Power to sing their sweetness o'er;
Here and there a sentence gleaming,
Soon my spirit caught the meaning
That the mournful numbers bore.

Sleeper, who beneath my shade,
Hath thy couch of dreaming made;
Listen as I breathe to thee
All my mournful history.
Childhood, youth, and womanhood,
Have beneath my branches stood;
And of each as pass thy slumbers,
Speak my melancholy numbers.

Of a fair-haired child I tell,
Who, one evening shadows fell,
Many a bright and gladsome hour
Passed mid haunt of bird and flower;
O'er the grassy meadow straying,
By the streamlet's margin playing,
Free from thoughts of care and sadness,
Full of life, and joy, and gladness.
Where my branches lowly hung
Oft her fairy form hath swung,
And methinks her laugh I hear,
Gaily ringing sweet and clear,
As with fading light of day,
Tripped her dancing feet away,
With many smiles and fewer tears,
Thus flew childhood's sunny years.
Soon she in my shadow stood,
On the verge of womanhood:
O'er her pale and thoughtful brow
Sunny tress was braided now;
Softer tones her lips were breathing,
Calmer smiles around them wreathing,
Than in childhood's gayer day,
Sported from those lips away.
Often with her came another;
But more tender than a brother
Seemed he in the care of her
Who was his perfect worshiper.
His the hand that trained the vine
Round my mossy trunk to twine;
'Twas the parting gift of one,
Whom no more I looked upon.
Memories of bygone hours
Seemed to her its fragile flowers.
And each bursting, fragrant blossom
Wore she on her gentle bosom,
'Till like them in sad decay,
Passed her maiden life away.
Once, and only once again,
To the trysting place she came:
Sad and tearful was her eye,
And I heard a mournful sigh,
Breathed from out the parted lips,
Whose smile seemed quenched by grief's eclipse.
Leaf and flower were fading fast,
'Neath the autumn's chilling blast.
And all nature seemed to be
Kindred with her misery.
Winter passed--but spring's warm sun
Brought not back the long-missed one.
And though vainly, still I yearn
For that stricken one's return.

HERMANN

_Riverside, Nov. 10, 1850._

A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.[5]

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY

G.P.R. JAMES, ESQ.

[5: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
G.P.R. James, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the
United States, for the Southern District of New York.]