I was just about to lay down my pen, when Prince Pückler Muskau’s new book, Semilasso’s Weltgang, was put into my hands ; and as his highness was always an especial favourite of mine, I hope I shall be excused for adding a few remarks respecting him and his work to this already long article. Prince Pückler Muskau is a very amusing person ; his very name is amusing, and his vanity and affectation are still more so. He is, as an author, what Romeo Coates was some years ago as an actor; he exposes his folly to public gaze from mere love of public notice. But as Coates could not act an entire tragedy by himself, requiring, of course, the aid of lights, decorations, and assistant actors to fill the different parts of the drama,, so is Prince Pückler Muskau, in like manner, obliged to bring in dresses, decorations, and assistant actors, in order to fill up the scenes in which he always acts the principal part. And as he is a man of a certain rank, constantly moving about in search of objects in connexion with which he can bring himself before the world ; as he has seen a good deal of society, read a few commonplace French and German books, and is, though not a clever man, yet not an absolute dunce, his works always contain something diverting, and his present work is, perhaps, the most diverting, as it is certainly the least objectionable of those yet published. He feels that he has already acquired a sort of footing in the literary world, and can not only stand but exhihit himself on his own ground. His book on England was evidently written under the effects of mortified vanity. He was not so great a man here as he wished to be ; and, finding himself unable to rise to dictatorial power in English society, he attempted to write that society down to his own level. He was, as a man, far below Brummel, who, without rank or title, acquired regal sway over the empire of fashion by the mere force of individual genius. The success of Pückler Muskau’s book is easily accounted for : any work abusing England is well received on the Continent, and any work which libels our aristocracy is most liberally praised by the Liberals of our own country. But the book, it seems, contains many truths. No doubt it does so; for there are few books, however dull or false in spirit, that do not contain commonplace and self-evident truths. Bulwer’s book on England and Bulwer’s book on France both contained truths; but these truths redeem the mass of wretched foolery just as little as Pückler Muskau’s truths redeem his silly and ignorant misrepresentations. They naturally please the low in intellect, who are always delighted to find some commonplace trifles within the reach of their comprehension. The English, for instance, read newspapers, eat breakfasts, often travel in stage-coaches, pull off their boots at night; and the servant who at the inn brings the boot’ jack is called “boots.” Important information of this kind may, no doubt, be found in the Prince’s book; but if you look for information respecting the character and genius of our people, their manners, hahits, and institutions,, if you look for any philosophical elucidation of the causes of our greatness and virtues, or of our vices and follies, you will search in vain. Neither Muskau nor Bulwer could even explain the cause of that excess of affectation for which nearly all ranks of British society are now distinguished; objects so self-evident were yet above the reach of these men, who could, nevertheless, write truths in abundance.

Prince Pückler Muskau married, when a count, the daughter of the late Prince of Hardenberg, then the all influential minister of Prussia. He expected a large portion with his wife, a lady of the highest merit; but his father-in-law dying very poor, his elevation to the rank of prince was the only portion which she brought him. When divorced from the princess, he came to England on a matrimonial expedition, in the hopes of marrying a lady of great fortune who was supposed to be on the look-out for a high title. He failed in this laudable undertaking, owing, it is said, to the unguarded manner in which he spoke of his intended bride at some convivial meeting. It is positively asserted that he next turned his thoughts towards the sable widow of the Emperor of Hayti, who was believed to be immensely rich. What prevented this union from taking place we pretend not to know; but as his highness is now at Algiers, we hope in our next to announce his happy marriage with the queen dowager of Timbuctoo. En attendant, we must take a look at Semilasso’s Pilgrimage.
The work consists of a series of letters, written during the author’s journey from Carlsbad, in Bohemia, to Tarbes, in France. As the first of the letters is dated from Carlsbad, on the 30th of May, 1834, and the preface of the book from Algiers, on the 1st of January, 1835, it is evident that the writer can give only a running account of the countries which he traverses; still it is rather an entertaining account, and would have been better had the author said less of himself and more of the places which he visits.

The book begins, as might have been expected, with a description of his highness’s own person. He is lounging on the box of an elegant vis-a-vis, the inside of which is only occupied by a parrot and an Italian greyhound. We could willingly have forgiven the prince a terrier, Newfoundland dog, or greyhound, for they are fine, clever, and respectable animals; but an Italian greyhound, the image of sickness, misery, and starvation, is our utter abhorrence, aud more detestable even than pugs, poodles, or French lapdogs. Let me, once for all, tell the women, young and old, that we lords of the creation deem all fondling of dogs uncleanly and unpleasant, and hold not much of the good taste of the ladies who indulge in such fancies. And now let the prince paint himself:

“He was a man of middle age, of high stature, and elegant figure ; but in person rather delicate than strong, and more active than robust. The formation of the pericranium shews, at once, that his intellectual faculties predominate over the mere physical ones ; and a phrenologist would conclude that this mortal had been endowed with more head than heart, more imagination than feeling, and that he was altogether more rational than enthusiastic. No person, in the least acquainted with the world, could fail to perceive that the stranger belonged to the higher classes of society. His features, without being handsome or regular, are, nevertheless, fine, intellectual, and striking ; so that, once seen, they are not easily forgotten. If they possess any charm, it is in their extreme pliability. With few men did the eyes offer a more perfect reflection of the transient mood and mind within : at one moment they were dull, dead, and colourless, and the next they might be seen sparkling with star-like brilliancy. The most permanent expression of his features was, however, an appearance of mental depression , a curious medium between habitual melancholy and ironical bitterness, that might well have become Dr. Faustus himself. And yet we do not believe that there was any great resemblance between him and our friend, for there was much of feminine nature mixed up in the composition of the latter, who was soft and vain, though capable of great exertion and endurance. His principal pleasures lay in the imagination and in the trifles of life , the road, not the destination, was his object; and it was when occupied in putting childish pictures together, and when playing with many-coloured air-bubbles, that he appeared to the greatest advantage in the eyes of others, and felt most happy and satisfied himself.

“While we have thus been describing the object of our attention, he has thrown himself gracefully back in the seat, and is looking through his glass into the forest, as if he there expected to discover us. His dark hair (ill-natured persons say that it is dyed) projects from under a red Fez cap, the long blue tassel of which plays freely in the wind. A coloured Cashmere shawl is wound tound his neck, and the high forehead and pale face accord well with this half-Turkish dress. A black, richly laced, military frock-coat, nankeen trousers, and highly polished boots, complete the not unpretending toilet. And it is not now our fault, if our charming female reader fails to picture to herself a just representation of the pilgrim who looks forward to the pleasure of her company.”

Well, reader, what think you of Pückler Muskau ? Is he not as pretty a Cockney dandy as you could wish to see on a Sunday morning ? A black coat , a military coat, too , with a coloured shawl-cravat, and nankeens !

Of Bohemia and its watering-places the prince gives us too little, for the country, at least, is wild, picturesque, and highly interesting, and is well deserving the attention of tourists. The pilgrim makes a short stay at Bamberg, and describes at some length that fine old town and the Franconian Swiss. These old German towns, more particularly the old free-towns, the real cradles of European freedom and civilisation, are all deserving of more attention than is bestowed upon them by modern travellers. We want, indeed, a good guide-book for Germany. Where, for instance, is the line of the Danube from Passau to Vienna described? Above the first-named place, the river is comparatively a small and uninteresting stream, running through a flat and sandy country; but at Passau it becomes very fine indeed, and though it is navigated only on rafts that come down from Swahia, in order to be broken up at Vienna, it is beautiful to float down that beautiful river. The banks are high-wooded and variegated ; the most prominent hills are crowned with ruined towers or castles, but less frequently so than those on the banks of the Rhine. From the intermediate glens and valleys, convents, hamlets, or small towns, gradually emerge as you advance, or burst upon the eye as you turn some sharp und sudden angle of the river. At times you drift along under the dark shade of high, bleak, and barren rocks; at others, under the foliage of the woods that overhang the stream. A wonderful and almost death-like stillness often reigns around, and you sometimes float along for hours without perceiving a vestige of man’s doing or undoing: you can almost fancy yourself navigating the distant Niger itself. Every turn of the winding river varies the scene: now it opens; the hills recede, and islands adorn the surface of the water: again it closes ; the high opposing banks approach so near as to give to the smooth current the fall and velocity of the rapid. The very colour of the scenery is affected by its different exposure to sun and wind : the sounds of the evening breeze change with the constantly changing surface of the landscape over which it passes. But pleasant as this navigation is, the night-quarters are precarious, and sometimes indifferent; the cabin of the rait itself offers nothing but shelter.

Where shall we find any good account of the fine country situated between Vienna and Trieste? The distance may be about two hundred and sixty miles, and, except a few stages of level and uninteresting ground after leaving Vienna, and just before reaching Trieste, the entire line of country traversed is a constant succession of the most beautiful rock, mountain, glen, and woodland scenery, that it is possible to behold. Romantic ruins of towers and castles , remains of earlier, fiercer, and more warlike times , are not wanting. But, seen with a British eye, the landscape strikes us as deficient in water of sufficient expanse to correspond with the general boldness of the scenery ; for the Murr, the Save, and the Drave, though respectable streams, produce neither opening nor effect enough among such masses of mountains. The towns and villages are remarkably clean, neat, and pretty. Gratz, built at the foot of a castellated hill, in the midst of a large and fertile plain, is just the sort of place in which you feel disposed to fall in love with every woman you see. Leybach is similarly situated, but much less in size, and not so pretty. A few miles beyond this town, you come to the celebrated caves of Adlersberg: they are absolutely wonderful. You almost fancy yourself in some mighty museum, formed by the hand of nature out of the petrified fragments of a ruined world. As you advance, you pass through what seem vast halls, Gothic arches, covered with the most fantastic fret-work. There are groves of trees and arcades; there are broken columns, statues, and ruins of every description, all formed of the most beautiful white and transparent stalactites. These caves extend for a mile underground.

On issuing from the mountains of Illyria, you traverse some three or four leagues of stony wilderness, that, in barrenness at least, would do honour even to Dunskey. But when, on the sudden turning of the road round the projecting angle of a hill, the Adriatic, with all its recollections, Trieste, Capo d’lstria, Fium, its bays and harbours, burst at once upon the eye, the sight is absolutely splendid.

To return, however, to our prince. From Bamberg his highness proceeds, by the way of Frankfort and Mayence, to Paris; where he visits Louis-Philippe, with whom he is highly delighted. We give his introduction, and subsequent dinner at the Tuileries :

“There was hardly any appearance of etiquette at the presentation, though all surrounding objects bore the impress of royal splendour. Mourier de Brassier and myself had no sooner entered the saloon, after passing through a superb gallery and several splendid lighted apartments, than the king came forward to meet us: he received me, on my name being mentioned, with the greatest condescension. The queen, with several members of the royal family, sat working at a round table, which was covered with a green cloth, and on which several lamps were burning. A few gentlemen only were grouped round the table, or in the saloon : they were all in coloured clothes , even the aids de camp on duty. After I had had the honour of being presented to her majesty and the princesses, the conversation became general, unconstrained, cheerful, and extremely lively. The queen belongs to the number of those women who, in any situation, are sure to command respect and attachment. Madame Adelaide, the king’s sister, is full of animation and vivacity ; and the young princes and princesses, educated in the most exemplary manner, are not only simple and natural, but possess, at the same time, all the dignity belonging to their exalted rank.

“The king honoured me with a good deal of private conversation. He spoke much and well about England ; and almost shamed me by the flattering terms in which he mentioned my account of that country. He had afterwards the condescension to give me some very useful advice for my intended journey to America, adding, at the same time, several interesting particulars of his stay in that part of the globe. It is impossible to speak better, or to command in a higher degree the attention of all who hear him than does his majesty ; the greatest attachment to his person is indeed evinced by all who have the honour to approach him.

“Some days afterwards I was invited to dinner. According to my old, incorrigible fault, I was rather late ; I fear I was the last, for the queen immediately took my arm in order to be conducted into the dinner-saloon. The party was rather large, and consisted of some forty persons. As I had read a great deal in the Carlist journals about the extreme economy with which the royal establishment was supposed to be conducted, I paid more attention to subjects bearing on that point than I should otherwise have done. Every thing was, however, in direct opposition to the fables of the press; and, except the court establishment of George IV, I have never before or since beheld one so well organised as this of the Tuileries. There were, indeed, no court dignitaries in uniform, there was no court marshal with his stick; but there was a servant, in splendid livery, behind every guest, there was a brilliant and magnificent service of plate ; a thing which, for absolute want of cleaning, looks, at many German courts, like a mere service of tin. Wine and viands were of the best kind, and in great profusion. The attendance was quick and orderly, and altogether in the English style, which has now become the style in all the best houses in Paris. The king and queen carved several of the dishes themselves, and joined the conversation with all the animation of real and polite hospitality.

“After dinner, the company adjourned to the open terrace which overlooks the garden of the Tuileries; and which the evening air, loaded with the fragrance of orange bloom, rendered altogether charming. I took the liberty of explaining to Madame Adelaide how much better a conservatory, the windows of which could he removed in summer, would suit here, particularly as there was no such thing in the palace.

“The king, who asked me a number of questions, spoke with great frankness of past times. He gave us clearly enough to understand that he had only undertaken the heavy responsibility of his present station for the good of France, to which he had alone sacrificed the happy and contented lot that he previously enjoyed. ‘If this closet could speak,’ said he, pointing to an adjoining door, ‘and relate what I often represented to Charles X., things would have happened very differently. When I was in England,’ continued he, ‘George IV. commissioned me to tell the king, that unless be destroyed the French press, the press would destroy him. I replied that I should deliver the message, though I could not share in the opinion ; and with that impression I reported it to the king: for the liberty of the press is the palladium of France.’ With great animation his majesty added : ‘Réprimer sévérement la license de la presse, par les loix; oui, mais l’abolir ? jamais ! Au reste,’ said he, smiling, ‘on dit qu’elle me maltraite quelquefois, mais je me garde de la lire.’”

This last passage we deem altogether admirable; it shews how very easy it is for Liberals to talk about liberty, as long as it suits their purpose : it further shows how much better Louis-Philippe could follow good advice than give it, and how well George IV. understood France and the French.

Fraser’s magazine for town and country. Dezember 1835, Vol. 12, Nr. 72.