Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 58, No. 359, September 1845

In Short

This volume serves as a time capsule of Victorian critical thought, gathering diverse contributions from a premier literary magazine of 1845. It blends biographical profiles of figures like the painter John Constable and the statesman Baron von Stein with sharp, analytical reviews of historical novels and legal treatises. By grounding its commentary in a deep respect for human character and moral agency, the work provides a vivid sense of the intellectual tensions—between professional obligation and creative freedom, and between individual sentiment and the march of history—that defined its age.

The Story

The narrative arc of the volume is not a single plot, but a progression of distinct engagements with the "spirit of the times." It opens by grounding the reader in the aesthetic life, celebrating John Constable as an artist of "pictorial truth" whose work resists the fleeting fashions of his peers. The text argues that Constable’s greatness lies in his singular focus, much like a man "driving a nail" into a board—once he has chosen his path, he pursues it to completion rather than scattering his energy on trivial variations.

From the quiet focus of the artist, the volume shifts to the grand, often violent theater of European power. It turns a sharp eye toward the rise of Napoleon, portraying the French state not merely as a political entity but as a moral arena where the "spell of the sword" replaced the chaos of revolution. The discussion of Baron von Stein provides the counter-narrative to Napoleon’s ambition. Stein emerges as a "German Luther" of politics—a man whose intense, righteous hatred for French encroachment drives him into exile in Prague, where he waits in a "secret-burning focus" of anti-Napoleonic sentiment. His struggle is defined by a clash between the "book-learned" bureaucrats, who see the world through the hollow machinery of red tape, and the authentic, landed spirit of a patriot who trusts in Providence.

The arc continues through an exploration of the "historical romance," a genre the contributors treat with both affection and suspicion. They argue that while such novels can distill the essence of history more effectively than dry chronicles, they often fall into the trap of "pictorial phantasmagoria"—overloading the reader with descriptions of mail, armor, and scenery while neglecting the true "soul" of literature: the human heart.

The collection then pivots to the personal and the eccentric. Through the lens of Charles Waterton’s essays, the reader encounters a naturalist who breathes hostility toward "jaw-breaking" modern nomenclature and income taxes alike. Waterton’s stubborn commitment to his personal asylum for owls and hawks serves as a charming, if crotchety, testament to the value of individual character against the encroachment of modern systems.

Finally, the volume concludes with a reflective look at the nature of satire itself. By examining the work of Charles Churchill, it distinguishes between the "personal" malice of minor satirists and the transcendent, humanizing power of a Shakespeare, who creates villains like Iago not to settle scores, but to mirror the universal devilry inherent in every human breast. It ends not with a resolution, but with a lingering insistence that history and literature must be judged by their capacity to illuminate the depths of the human condition.

How It Unfolds

The aesthetic defense The volume begins by positioning John Constable as the quintessential English painter, arguing that his value lies in his refusal to chase novelty. His journals reveal a man who views his life as a consistent, singular project, dismissing the pressure to constantly alter his subject matter for the public's amusement.

The political transformation The focus moves to the changing face of France, where the brutal rule of the mob gives way to the disciplined, military aesthetic of the First Consul. This shift is analyzed as a transition from "false glitter" to a "stern" but substantial reality, setting the stage for a broader inquiry into European retribution.

The moral crusade Baron von Stein is introduced as a figure of "moral indignation," whose opposition to Napoleon is framed as a struggle between divine justice and imperial guilt. His frustration with the "writing-machines" of the Prussian bureaucracy highlights the central conflict between living, purposeful action and the sterile, paper-filled world of professional governance.

The literary critique The argument shifts to the mechanics of the historical novel, warning against the seduction of external detail. It asserts that descriptions of "dancing plumes and glancing mail" are merely the "body" of romance, whereas true genius must reside in the "divine ray" of human passion.

The individualist’s retreat The final beats focus on the eccentric naturalist Charles Waterton and the broader history of satire. The text celebrates the defiant independence of the individual who rejects modern jargon and professional artifice, concluding that the most enduring literature is that which speaks to the human heart rather than the vanity of the critic.

The People

John Constable appears as a man of patient endurance, resisting the "plausible argument" that an artist must constantly reinvent himself. He is defined by his stubborn, nail-driving work ethic and his loyalty to the truth of his craft.

Baron von Stein is portrayed as a fiery, "open and reckless" opponent of tyranny. He is a man of grand, almost prophetic convictions, whose hatred of Napoleon is rooted in four distinct moral principles, ranging from national pride to religious duty.

The "foreign" king, Henry, is presented as a complex figure of compromise—a Huguenot who converts to Catholicism to stabilize his kingdom. He is depicted with a touch of irony, described as a "king without a kingdom" whose familiarity with his subjects borders on the unroyal.

Charles Waterton stands out as an unapologetic original, a naturalist who views the "jaw-breaking" names of modern science as a form of intellectual decay. He is a man who finds more wisdom in his toes—which he keeps free of tight shoes—than in the edicts of high-ranking officials.

Finally, the Duke of Alencon and his brothers appear in a dramatic, almost tragic light during a hunting accident, representing the precariousness of power where a single misfired shot can shift the destiny of a nation.

In Its Own Voice

"No one who can do any one thing well, will be able to do any other different thing equally well; and this is true even of Shakspeare, the greatest master of variety."

Constable defends his singular focus on landscape painting against the advice of critics who urge him to diversify his subjects.

"In the one, the spirit revels as a mountain stream that leaps in the face of heaven from crag to crag; in the other, it is the same stream, lower down, confined in narrow channel, and half-buried by the ponderous wheel-work of that ever-clacking mill which it has to turn."

The text contrasts the "free aristocratic life" of literature with the "fettered existence" of a professional career.

What It's Really About

The volume is fundamentally an inquiry into the nature of "purpose" in a changing world. It explores whether an individual’s life—whether that of an artist like Constable, a statesman like Stein, or a naturalist like Waterton—is best spent in the service of a singular, deep-rooted passion or in the "fettered" machinery of professional duty. It questions the legitimacy of historical progress, weighing the "substantive" reality of military order against the "dead letter" of bureaucratic administration. Underlying these discussions is a consistent demand for authenticity: a rejection of the superficial, the decorative, and the jargon-laden in favor of that which touches the "soul" of human experience.

Why Read It Today

Reading this volume feels like entering a vigorous, high-stakes conversation in a nineteenth-century study. It is not a gentle read; the prose is dense, occasionally prickly with nationalistic pride, and deeply entrenched in the political preoccupations of 1845. The reader must navigate lengthy, complex sentences and occasional untranslated German phrases, which demand a high level of patience. However, there is a rare, bracing pleasure in encountering such unvarnished, confident criticism. You will find that these essays do not merely report on their subjects; they argue with them.

For those interested in the history of ideas or the evolution of literary taste, this is a treasure. It offers a window into a period where the "professional" was still being defined in opposition to the "literary," and where history was read as a moral drama rather than a sequence of data points. What stays with you is the editor’s insistence on "moral indignation" and the dignity of the individual. Despite its dated attitudes, the text's core commitment—to look past the "pictorial phantasmagoria" of life to the enduring passions of the heart—remains a compelling, if demanding, invitation for any modern reader.