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and solidity of the Scottish phalanx of spearmen, either for attack or resistance, is on many occasions commemorated. If it be considered that a thrusting weapon is far more formidable than one calculated for striking, and that where troops use the former, they must close and serry their ranks, while, to have room to employ the latter, they must keep close order, it is not assuming any superior strength or courage in the Scots, to say, that in small skirmishes and battles of a secondary class, they asserted a cogsiderable advantage over the English.

• But, besides the mode of fighting hand to hand, it must be remembered that the Scots were natives of a severe climate and poor soil, brought up to endure rigour of weather, and accustomed to scantiness of food, while at the same time they waged their wars chiefly in their own country, a mountainous and barren region, with whose recesses they were familiar; and it will not be surprising that, endowed with a peculiar obstinacy of temper, they should have succeeded, against all other disadvantages, in maintaining such an equality with their powerful neighbours as enabled them repeatedly, by a series of skirmishes, ambuscades, and constant attacks on the invaders, to regain what the nation lost in great general actions.'—pp. 347–349.

Upon the whole, it is very evident that we yet want a history of Scotland very different from this dry abridgment, to which even the high literary name of Sir Walter Scott cannot insure more than a transitory popularity, if it even do so much. Had he, however, been allowed adequate space for spirited narrative and an accurate and erudite coadjutor, like Mr. Tytler, to take care of the correctness of the facts, we should have had a work very different—very superior to the present.

Art. II.-Anekdoten aus dem Leben des Fürsten Italinsky Grafen

Suworoff Rymniksky, Russisch Kaiserlichen Feldmarschalls aus dem Russischen. 1829. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus. London: Black and

Young. The old Russian here stands before us in all his eccentricity. Brave and collected in the field as in the cabinet, in private he sought to distinguish himself by all the extraordinary freaks that civilized men or barbarians could devise. That his eccentricities were assumed appears to us evident; as to the attentive observer of his character, as depicted in the different anecdotes recorded of him, it is evident that, under the veil of coarseness and disgusting ribaldry, he concealed a fineness of tact and delicacy of perception for which few have given him credit. But Suworoff was a keen observer, and had studied well his mistress and his country. He wanted the dignity of form to rival the accomplished courtiers, and the state of his fortune would not allow him to attempt to outshine them in magnificence; nothing remained but to strike out his own path, and he chose one that would lull the suspicions of the courtiers, and was eminently calculated to ingratiate him with his soldiery. That

his humour was low and vulgar, suited well his aim, and furthered the objects that he wished to accomplish. Refinement and delicacy of wit, even if he had always been capable of them, would have been like Almack's in St. Giles's. It must, indeed, be owned, that his observations were frequently singular, and he always made a point of selecting such, in conversing with those who were introduced to him for the first time, so that few saw him on such occasions without voting him a madman, and vowing never to see him again. Yet his power over his associates was extraordinary, and those who had indulged in the bitterest reproaches against the man, soon became his most attached adherents.

Amongst these is the author of the volume before us, Counsellor Fuchs. He was one of the warmest admirers and intimate friends of this celebrated General, who died in his arms. Another was Dr. Weikhard, who had been appointed to attend Suworoff in his campaigns. This latter offended the Doctor in a tender point, by asserting that his surgeon, Naum, was the first physician in Eutope. Yet a friend found the Doctor, at Wilna, on his knees, in tears, before a crucifix. To the inquiries whether he had received unpleasant news from his family in Petersburgh, he replied “No, but I see that our art has its limits, and I pray to God that he may restore the health of our father.' We are not informed whether a similar change of feeling was experienced by a long-nosed friend of the author's, whom he had persuaded to accompany him to the General. As soon as the latter saw his new acquaintance he said, 'I would willingly kiss your lips, but cannot get at them for your nose.' Had Sterne been acquainted with the anecdote, it would certainly have figured in his Chapter on Noses.

Lord Clinton, in writing to a friend, describes his dinner with Soworoff, and compares him to Garrick and Rembrandt, a comparison which, by the bye, does not seem to us remarkably judicious; however, it serves to display the high opinion which he entertained of the Russian General. It is amusing to notice how accessible all minds are to flattery, provided the dose is administered in palatable ingredients. Suworoff was fond of displaying his knowledge-talked of Euripides as if he understood Greek, although we guess that he remained Greek to him all his life (by the bye, our counsellor does not seem more at home than his master), and descants, with great complacency, on subjects on Which he knows not a tittle. C'est partout comme chez nous. But to return. After having astonished our countryman with a display of his acquirements, the wily Russian modestly concluded-'I know nothing, I have learned nothing, am without education, and justly called a Vandal.' Lord C., who knew how to translate this language, replied that if he had so completely succeeded in deceiving his cotemporaries, posterity would likewise be equally deceived; and he would remain a hieroglyphic to after times. Suworoff was

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silent, began to jump about, cut faces, &c. Lord C. is, of course, a man of distinguished understanding.'

'A painter had been sent by the Elector of Saxony to take Suworoff's picture. He at first refused, but after some conversation with our author, took some leaps, placed a chair in the middle of the room, and commanded the painter to be introduced. As soon as the latter, a venerable grey-headed old man, appeared, he embraced him, and covered him with kisses. He then sprang back a little, and delivered the following speech :

• His Electoral Highness wishes to possess my picture. Your pencil will convey the features of my face. These are visible, but my inward man is concealed. Therefore, my dear Mr. Müller, I must tell you, that I have shed streams of blood- I tremble—but I love my neighbour. I have made no one unhappy, I have never signed a sentence of death; no insect has fallen by my hand; I was little, I was great (here he jumped upon the chair). In the ebb and flow of fortune, relying on God, I was immoveable as now.'-p. 24.

It is impossible to withhold our admiration of the man who could speak thus, although we may smile at his eccentricities. He addressed the painter in German, which accounts for some quaintness of expression. The picture was finished, but Suworoff had never seen himself in a mirror, or, as the German artist, who was a good tactician, expressed, he would not see a second Suwcroff in a copy.' Müller, therefore, at first hesitated to show it, but he was graciously received

* Have you derived much benefit from my psychological remarks (!) on myself? They have been of great service to me, replied the painter; details are necessary to represent a character in a picture. Many features which pass unobserved by the multitude are of great consequence to the artist, who as it were incorporates the soul. If they are happily transferred to the canvass, they give to the portrait its peculiar physiognomy. The uninspired artist never attains this. Rubens, who is justly named the King of the Netherland School, once painted a laughing child. A stroke of his magic pencil—and to the astonishment of all the bystanders—the child wept. I am not Rubens. But, for the first time, he would envy my good fortune. The Count kissed him heartily, and commanded me to write—“Rubens, Müller !-Honour to the creative genius of painting." “ These words,” exclaimed Müller, as if inspired from Suworoff's lips, “confer immortality.” —p. 25.

Bravo! the prince, the painter, and the author, are all equally excellent. We must not forget that Suworoff knew that Fuchs intended to write his life, and therefore played his part accordingly.

We have been accustomed by our German friends to very warm display of feeling on common occasions, but we were not prepared to receive it in its full extent from the Russians; and yet it appears, if two Russians, unacquainted with each other, meet at a table

d'hole," they read one another whole romances of delight upon hills and snows, and the Neva, and Moscow, and Petersburgh, with all the requisite et cetera of superlatives. This may be all very true, but it reads very ugly in print. This eternal kissing, and embracing, and sentimental nonsense on paper, particularly between rough beards and mustachios, is the most ridiculous stuff that was ever penned.

The author has collected all the anecdotes that he has heard, good, bad, or indifferent, nothing comes amiss to him,-and perhaps he is right. Yet we cannot perceive that we learn anything of Suworoff, or any body else, from such anecdotes as the following :- Somebody named Suworoff a poet. “ No,” said he, “inspiration is necessary to poetry ; I only make verses.”'

Some of the anecdotes are related with a naiveté that makes us smile, and the learned comments that are made upon them are sometimes as amusing as the text. Thus, after a victory, Suworoff had a large morning party at Warsaw, and among the company was a beautiful Polish lady. The General no sooner saw her than 'he sprang towards her, exclaiming, “What do I see. Oh! wonder of wonders ! two suns in a bright heaven!” He pointed, with his finger, to her eyes, and covered them with kisses. From this time the lady sang his praises in all balls and parades. Suworoff hereby proved that he knew the female heart, aud how to engage the affections of all.'-p. 33.

The affectation of learning by the old Russian is the most amusing assumption in nature; he took a pride in displaying it before his wondering biographer in futuro. His constant assertion, that he was an unlicked cub, and his frequent displays of erudition, are entertaining ebullitions of vanity. He wished to be thought a great linguist, wrote postscripts in Turkish, quotes Addison's Brutus, and delivers sentimental addresses to his soldiers or officers, in which his classical treasures are cunningly and incidentally introduced. The following is an amusing specimen :-

• The well-known Cavalry General Derfelden, Suworoff's companion in arms for thirty-five years, once described to him in lively colours, the charms and luxury of Italian nature. Yes, my friend, replied the Count, the climate is excellent, but the dissipation terrible! Thereupon he dictated the following remarks: In every other temperate climate moderation is a virtue, but here, where we breathe hot air, between the fire-breathing Etna and its burning, glowing environs, which Sithax, in Addison's " Brutus,” so truly describes, it is the greatest of all wonders—here in this scorching zone, where the rays of the sun change the rocks into chalk, and where no blood but vitriol, but burning brimstone runs quick as an arrow through the veins, where nature in her enchanting garden invites to effeminacy, here, sons of the North, beware! be men, subdue the climate, and think fo Hannibal's army at Capua.'—p. 51.

We really do think this a very respectable piece of nonsense,

and recommend it to the attention of the Minerva novel-writers and Ossianic ranting travellers; and as to the misquotations and defiance of orthography, it is not a whit more bold than the citations of our German and Italian travellers. We cannot help suspecting that the pen of our secretary has occasionally indulged in a few flourishes, the more especially as we, every now and then, are reminded of old Plutarch, and the nature of the good Counsellor Fuchs appears to have inclined a little to the sentimental. Thus, if Suworoff sends for him at night, he excuses himself for taking him from the arms of Morpheus; if he communicates a speech of his General's, he gives it as it was written on his tablets and his heart, &c. &c.

Suworoff acquired and deserved the enthusiastic affection of his soldiers by acts of parental kindness. When he was colonel of the Astrachan regiment in Novaja Ladoga, he established a school for the children of the soldiers, and built a house at his own expence, where he himself taught arithmetic, and prepared elementary books for their use; among these last were a prayer-book, a short catechism, and the rudiments of arithmetic.

• When General Melas informed him that the allied army murmured at the introduction of some new orders, he replied, “ We must not notice it.” When Philip of Spain wished to cleanse Madrid from the filth which had nearly caused the plague, the whole capital complained of the measure, but the king replied—“ They are children, who cry when they are washed, they sleep afterwards the more quietly.”—p. 57.

The sister of Admiral Cruse was married to Captain Walrand, who had been degraded for life to the ranks. Suworoff always danced with her, and paid her particular attention. On his departure from Cherson, he took leave of her, and recommended her to pray to God, and He would hear her prayer ! After the capture of Warsaw, he wrote to Petersburgh-'I know that the Matuschka Zariza will reward me. My greatest reward would be the pardon of Walrand.' He was pardoned accordingly, and afterwards promoted to the rank of major-general.

These anecdotes will be sufficient to show our readers the nature of this little volume; and we must own, that with many excellent qualities, we could hardly close the book without voting Suworoff a bore. With respect to his biographer we have less doubts, particularly when he ventures upon the classics, and complacently institutes a comparison between a nameless biographer and the ancients. We suspect that he could only read Virgil with a translation, and that all his philosophizing about the spirit of Plutarch

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