E. W. LANDOR'S LOFODEN. * Iv is probable that the dramatic
and narrative power, that essential mode in which the novelist presents his matter, is more common than the paucity of good novels might lead one to suppose. Once in possession of the mate- 6,11, many seem to have the knack of agreeably recounting a series of events, and even the gift of imparting some appropriate character and vivacity' to conduct and discourse. bTheir failure arises from want of matter and want of truth. They do not know enough of life to depict it with general truth, and even what they do know is not exhibited to the best advantage, from a deficiency of imagination to render what they in- vent consistent with what they copy. Except in the case of original genius or original observation, perhaps geography is now the sole de- pendence for novelty. A new district, still more a new country, per- force exhibits freshness in the landscapes, the manners, and the incidents. However inferior the writer may be in powers of observation or of descrip- tion, he cannot fail to exhibit something with the gloss of newness if he observes at all. Besides this advantage of attraction in the subject, his pictures escape the test of the reader's experience. Exaggeration may be suspected, but it cannot be proved.
It is the freshness of the field that gives an attraction to Lofoden, or the Exiles of Norway, beyond fictions that display a genius in their authors better adapted to romance. Mr. E. W. Landor's composition, though vigorous and sometimes picturesque, is too laboured and ponderous for a novel : the author has the habit of introducing too much disquisition into dialogue, and substituting himself for the speakers; and he is defi- cient in dramatic power : the feelings and speeches of his persons are sometimes forced and flat. The wild and rugged character of the scenery, the curiosity attendant upon Norwegian manners and the novelty of the characters and incidents, give an interest to Lofoden beyond that of many books which have in them much more of the true elements of fic- titious composition. How far these manners are true, we do not profess to determine ; but the book resembles in its general character such Northern novels as we have fallen in with, both as regards feeling and moral tone. So much is this the case, that we should have thought the work a translation ; but the reverse is intimated in the writer's preface.
The hero, Lofoden, is a Polish patriot, hunted to his arrest in Norway by the influence of Russia at the Swedish court, and, after capture, con- demned to the deepest recesses of the silver mines : a source of interest at one time much used, though latterly it has rather gone out of fashion. Connected with Lofoden above ground, is the family of a Scotch pastor, who has emigrated to Norway to superintend a flock of his country- men engaged in iron-works ; and in the depths of the earth there is a Swedish noble with his son, doomed to the mines for Liberal opi- nions. When to these are added the usual subordinate persons of a novel, who of necessity partake of the characteristics of the country in which the scene is laid, the contrivances to discover Lofoden's place of imprisonment to communicate with him and to facilitate his escape, it will be seen that there are enough materials for a romance : but it would not have been difficult to produce a better work with the elements at the author's disposal.
A defect in Mr. E. W. Landor is a love of the extreme in incident, or rather in accidents, since it appears in the shape of shipwrecks' &c. that have no necessary connexion with the conduct of the story. He pleads as a justification, that more extraordinary things have happened : yet a monstrous birth, though a fact, is not a specimen of humanity. One of the hairbreadth escapes of the hero and some of his friends is from the celebrated whirlpool Moskoestrom ; whose real characteristics Mr. E. W. Landor exaggerates into those of fable, without producing a greater effect than the truth would have done in more skilful hands. The nar- rative is so much impeded by a rhetorical description of collateral cir- cumstances, that we must greatly abridge the incident. "As the morning mist rolled back into the distance, several small islands were perceivul far ahead. And now the breeze, which had been long flagging, lulled into a calm; and soon a low continual humming, like that of an army of bees, which seemed to rise out of the stilled ocean, became audible to every ear. "The mate, who was giving orders for the erection of a jury-mast, paused as he caught the sound, and bent forward his head in an attitude of strained at- tention. The boatswain stood still, with one hand half up-raised, while his ragged features grew darker with dismay. Not a word was spoken; every one held his breath, whilst he listened with an intensity of eagerness that betokened the awe which was fast filling his heart. The sailors looked on one another, and then on the forlorn and helpless state of their ship; and a flash of wildness seemed to ran from face to face.
"'My God!' at length cried the old boatswain, at the same time making two strides towards the spot where stood Mr. Braceyard, 'it is the Moskoestrom.'" "The charm was broken. 'The Moskoestrom ! the Moskoestrom !' cried Ellinor and Grace.
"'The Moskoestrom !' echoed all the crew.
"'Away, men !' shouted Braceyard, in a voice like a thunderclap; 'down to the hold ! Bring up the spare sails, clear the deck, set up a spar for a mast— away !' "Away jumped the men in every direction: some fetched the sail, some pre- pared to rig the spar; and the carpenter laboured more strenuously than he had ever laboured before, to prepare a hole in the deck to receive it. * • * "The din of preparation drowned the stern hum of the distant whirlpool, and an hour passed away before the apparent confusion on deck once more died into Silence. There was an anxious pause when the new sail fell from the yard-arm, and wooed the light breeze to daily with its snowy folds; even the experienced sailors suffered themselves to be cheated into the hope that there was wind enough to make the good ship answer to her helm. Bat, alas! the broad canvass drooped heavily to the deck, and not a breath of air ruffled the dull surface of the sullen water& They had not another hope; both the boats had been washed overboard during the gale. The sailors looked on one another in blank dismay. And now they could hear with terrible distinctness the roar of the awful Moskoestrorn. • • "The vessel was now within the influence of the whirlpool, and glided along to her destiny. Some of the sailors lay rolling upon the deck, gasping with despair; some ran raging about in delirious fear, begging and entreating their comrades to
* Lofoden; or The EaRes of Norway. By E. W. Landor, Author of " The Bash- roan." In two volumes. Published by Smith and Elder.
assist them inelestroying themselves; at wholly.unable to bear this ex- tended death, went raving mad. This unhappy wretch jumped overboard, and was immediately followed by two of his companions, eager to meet the death they had not courage to await. Their example would perhaps have been imitated by others had they not been deterred by witnessing the struggles_of these devotees to prolong the life they had seemed so anxious to terminate. They strove wildly to reach again the ship they had forsaken, and called to their comrades in piercing accents of despair to throw them a rope or a plank; and prayed them, by Him into whose presence they were summoned, to render assistance and have pity. They were listened to with horror; but no effort was made to aid them, and one
after another they sank. s
"And now there arose at some distance ahead of the vessel a horrible and dis- mal bellowing, or howling, as of some leviathan in his agony; and when those on deck who still had ears for exterior sounds looked forward to ascertain its cause, they beheld a huge black monster upon the surface of theses, struggling against the irresistible stream, and with his immense tail lashing the waters into foam as he vainly strove to escape from destruction. They beheld him borne away by the might of his furious enemy; and they heard his last roar above the noise of the whirlpool as he was sucked down into the never-satisfied abyss, and disappeared from their eyes, to be torn into fragments. Such is the fate of everything that seeks the depths of the Moskoestrom."
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