TO THE TATLER.

Sir,, The more we read of the work of Puckler Muskau, the more we are struck with the universality of his genius, and the extensive knowledge he has acquired, together with his power of judgment, and facility in selecting the grain and throwing away the chaff, from the mass of things,, many of them altogether new to him , which are brought in review before him. Much as we admire all this, and are at a loss to comprehend how one born a prince could accomplish it, we grieve to think how much of his better nature has been impeded by the shackles which his station has thrown around him, and we exclaim, in the words which Scott puts in the mouth of the Maid of Perth, while speaking to her weapon-forging lover, ‘ Thy faults are the faults of thy station; thy virtues are all thy own.’ It is remarkable, that whenever Scott paints after Nature, he excels; when he deals with human passions amongst the lowly, the likeness is recognised; but when he describes a human being clad in the pomp of artificial aristocracy, all becomes theatrical. A blight seems then to pass across his mental vision, and to obscure it to all real excellence. Rebecca we can worship, but Rowena we despise. Gurth is a living being, but Ivanhoe is a piece of a Lord Mayor’s pageant, and in spite of the attempt to throw an air of bonhommie around Richard, we cannot forget that he is a coarse brutal-minded gladiator, of whom the old rhyming chronicle tells, that he seized and knawed the head of a slain Saracen, as a wild beast might have done, by way of instructing his soldiers how to procure food in a time of scarcity. Even Balfour of Burley rises into respectability, when compared with the cold-blooded aristocratic ruffian, Grahame of Claverhouse. The one fights with earnest enthusiasm, in the resistance of oppression, and savage though he be, our hearts are with him ; the other is a callous tyrant, impenetrable to human emotions, who seeks to uphold the degradation of his race, for the selfish gratification of his caste, and we abhor him, even as the better nature of Puckler Muskau shrank from the reptiles of the same tribe, whom he has so well described as composing some of the English aristocracy. Curiously enough, he entirely overlooks the factitious distinctions of Whigs and Tories;, he recognizes them only as the aristocracy who are, with their dependants, jointly and severally devoid of love for their species, and are constantly occupied in bowing before the throne of heart-hardening, demoralizing, selfishness, utterly destroying all the finer human emotions, and becoming the worst of all human beings, worse than the worst of wild savages, , the moral cannibals of civilization.

Humanity owes a moral crown to Puckler Muskau. Amongst the old Romans, he who saved the life of a single citizen, or fellow soldier, was deemed worthy of a crown;, what then does not he deserve, who, born an aristocrat and bred a soldier, has by mental courage rescued himself from the degradation which was his birth-right, and has not only aspired, but raised himself to the dignity of a man, worthy to become the teacher of his species , who has fearlessly separated himself from his caste to speak the language of truth, and become the impartial denouncer of the unholy tribe, who, were their power equal to their wishes, would turn earth into a hell, by reducing all her children to two distinct and unchangeable tribes, the oppressing few, and the oppressed many! This cannot be, for the fiat has gone forth against them, and the example of one great country beyond the Atlantic, has shewn that freedom is not merely a beautiful theory but a practicable good, which as ignorance vanishes, may extend over the whole earth, and which in England is silently but surely working its way, more thought of than talked of, till in some moment of general excitement, the voices of all but the oppressors’ will simultaneously break forth, and each man will discover with surprise, that his own secret thoughts were but the thoughts of his neighbour. Ignorance alone, ignorance which has been earnestly, but most unskilfully fostered by the aristocracy, ignorance alone can retard, and that for no long period, this desirable result. All this will happen, would have happened, even though Puckler Muskau had never existed, but we do not the less revere the kindly feelings which bind him to the great family of human beings, and we recognise the advantage of possessing a new apostle of truth, whose native goodness not even long training in the ranks of falsehood and oppression has been able to extinguish. He could not amalgamate with sordid selfishness; his nature revolted from it, and he stripped himself of his factitious dignity, to mingle his spirit with those of kindred feelings amongst his human brethren, for whose affections he yearned. He has earned their love, and he, possesses it. They hold out to him the hand of fellowship, and not even the gilded toys covering his breast, nor the shoulder-badge on the garment of military livery, which are emblems of servitude to the warring rulers who have so long held Europe in tears and, blood, and are not the glorious tokens of a warrior of Freedom’s fight, even these things cannot restrain his gladdened brethren from expressing to him their warm feelings of delighted recognition. Not as a prince, but as a man, they welcome him to the league of Liberty.

(To be continued.)

From: The Tatler: a daily journal of literature and the stage. March 23, 1832. No. 486.