Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Volume 62, No. 384, October 1847

In Short

This volume is a quintessential example of nineteenth-century magazine culture, offering a dense mixture of reviews, short fiction, and social commentary. It acts as a curated gateway into the literary preoccupations of 1847, ranging from the burgeoning international reputation of Hans Christian Andersen to the moral dangers of European travel and the complexities of artistic ambition. By preserving the sharp, opinionated voice of the era, the collection remains a vital historical document, capturing the anxieties, prejudices, and artistic fervor that defined the cultural landscape of mid-century Britain.

The Story

The volume opens with a critical assessment of the Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen, whose work is framed as a curious, sometimes flawed, foreign import. The magazine expresses a characteristic Victorian skepticism toward "continental" sensibilities, contrasting them with the more grounded, if insular, values of English readers. This skepticism sets the stage for a series of narratives that explore the human capacity for self-delusion, vanity, and ultimate redemption.

The fiction within is marked by a fascination with the supernatural and the psychological. In "The Vision of Cagliostro," the protagonist is visited by an ethereal voice that rebukes his cynical ambition and worldly vanity, forcing him to confront the limits of his own perception. This theme of moral reckoning recurs in the story of an artist, Tchartkoff, who finds a hoard of gold within an old portrait. The money enables him to live in luxury, but it also corrupts his creative spirit, leading him to abandon his true talent for the sake of shallow acclaim. The portrait itself acts as a malevolent catalyst, haunting the artist until he is driven to a state of bitter, envious insanity. His life stands as a grim warning against the dangers of prioritizing material success over artistic integrity.

The narrative arc of the volume shifts toward the personal and the redemptive in "My Friend the Dutchman." Here, a man recounts his descent into debt, despair, and an attempted suicide that is thwarted only by a mechanical failure of his pistol. His story is one of profound transformation: after hitting rock bottom, he experiences a slow, difficult period of reflection and eventual moral recalibration. He abandons his profligate ways, returns to his family, and finds stability in both marriage and a respectable banking career. Unlike the doomed artist, the Dutchman successfully navigates the transition from recklessness to responsibility.

Interspersed throughout are sketches of Roman life—focusing on the plight of stray dogs—and a dry, biting portrait of an aristocratic dowager whose vanity and pomposity render her an object of ridicule even on her deathbed. The volume concludes not with a singular climax, but with a thematic resolution regarding the "wholesome discipline of adversity." Whether through the lens of art, religion, or social conduct, the magazine argues that true character is forged only when one rejects the temptations of vanity and embraces the sobering reality of duty.

How It Unfolds

The critical introduction The magazine establishes its authoritative tone by evaluating foreign literary imports, specifically those of Hans Christian Andersen, with a mixture of praise and condescending skepticism. It sets a standard for the reader, encouraging a wary approach to the "novelty" of non-English authors.

The moral parables The volume moves into short fiction, primarily focusing on the consequences of hubris and greed. These stories track the rapid rise and inevitable psychological collapse of characters who forsake their personal values for gold or social status.

The sociological sketches The narrative pauses to offer observational essays on life in Rome, specifically detailing the miserable existence of unowned dogs. This serves as a pivot, shifting the focus from individual morality to the broader observation of social order and human cruelty.

The journey of the Dutchman The final substantial narrative arc follows a man’s journey from the brink of self-destruction to a quiet, prosperous life. This provides the volume with its most hopeful resolution, suggesting that change is possible through reflection and the rejection of past failures.

The historical reflection The volume concludes by examining early Christian iconography and symbols, grounding the preceding moral discussions in a deeper historical and spiritual context. It reinforces the idea that human symbols—and the lives they represent—are often misunderstood by those who do not share the faith or the perspective of the original creators.

The People

The volume features a diverse cast, though they are often types rather than fully realized psychological portraits. Hans Christian Andersen appears as a figure of curiosity; the magazine treats him with a mix of genuine interest in his "odd ways" and a judgmental eye toward his supposed lack of self-respect. Tchartkoff, the artist, is the most tragic figure. His desire for comfort and recognition leads him to sacrifice his genius, and he ultimately ends as a man consumed by the very envy he once despised.

The Dutchman stands in contrast to Tchartkoff. He is a man defined by his initial lack of direction and his reckless pursuit of pleasure, but he possesses the capacity for "penitent" reflection. His journey is enabled by the "disinterested affection" of his wife, Emilie, who remains loyal through his years of debt and instability. Finally, the aristocratic dowager serves as a cautionary caricature. Her life is a "caricature of royalty," a woman who values the appearance of status over human connection, eventually dying in a state of absurd, performative vanity. These figures collectively illustrate the magazine’s preoccupation with the necessity of self-discipline in a world prone to folly.

In Its Own Voice

"The popular prejudice deals very differently with foreign oxen and foreign books; for, whereas an Englishman has great difficulty in believing that good beef can possibly be produced from any pastures but his own... he has, on the contrary, a highly liberal prejudice in favour of the book from foreign parts."

The editor reflects on the peculiar, often hypocritical, way Victorian readers consume international literature.

"He examined them attentively, and the conviction forced itself upon him with irresistible strength, that he had sacrificed genius at the altar of Mammon."

The narrator describes the moment of realization for the artist Tchartkoff, who recognizes the spiritual cost of his commercial success.

"The life of a Campagna sheep-dog, kept half starved in the sight of mutton which he dare not touch, is hard enough, but that of the members of this large, unowned republic more so."

This observation highlights the plight of Rome’s stray dogs, serving as a metaphor for the harshness of life without a master.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this volume is an argument for the stabilizing power of tradition, duty, and self-restraint. It is deeply suspicious of the "modern" impulse toward rapid travel, fleeting fashions, and the pursuit of unearned status. The underlying question is how one maintains a moral core in a world increasingly driven by commerce and public performance. Whether discussing the symbolism of early Christian art or the tragedy of a failed painter, the magazine consistently posits that happiness is not found in the "glow of the warm South" or the accumulation of wealth, but in the quiet, often difficult, adherence to one's own character and the decencies of established social life.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of nineteenth-century prose will find this volume a rewarding, if challenging, experience. It provides a rare, unfiltered look at the Victorian worldview, complete with its characteristic mix of intellectual rigor and stubborn cultural prejudice. Modern readers should be prepared for the magazine’s overtly judgmental stance—particularly its harsh critiques of "foreign" habits and its rigid views on class and gender roles, which are presented as objective truths.

The dialect in the anecdotes and the archaic phrasing of the essays may initially present a barrier, but they also contribute to the book's immersive, period-specific atmosphere. What sticks with you is the magazine's unwavering belief in the "wholesome discipline of adversity." Despite its age, the volume captures the timeless anxiety of the creative soul struggling against the pull of commercialism, a conflict that remains strikingly relevant today. It is a book for those who want to understand the intellectual climate of 1847 from the inside out, rather than through the lens of modern retrospective. You read this not for a unified plot, but for the pleasure of encountering a living, breathing, and occasionally irritable voice from the past.