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Few modern publications have obtained a greater degree of celebrity than the tales of M. Marmontel. We are happy [171] to announce a work, which, while it possesses the quickness of narration, and the vivacity of dialogue, is not disgraced by the profligate principles of what the French writer, or rather his English translator, has thought proper to call his moral tales.

In the Introduction, miss Lee [sic] describes herself as a travelling author, in search of subjects 'to make his [sic] journeys pay for themselves.' On the way from Dover to London, a fall of snow detains the stage at Canterbury. Here the author proposes that each of the company shall relate a story; and, as the innkeeper's stock of books, - consisting of the army list, the whole art of farriery, and some magazines - formed an inadequate 'supply of mental food for seven hungry people,' her proposal is agreed to. The narratives of four of the company compose this first volume of Canterbury Tales.

There is so much spirit in this Introduction, that we cannot wish it had been omitted; and yet we think miss Lee would have acted more prudently in publishing the tales unconnectedly, than in adopting the title and imitating the plan of Chaucer's admirable work. Her stories want the characteristic excellence of those of Chaucer. We meet with the Traveller's Tale, the Poet's Tale, the Frenchman's Tale, and the Old Woman's Tale; but each of these might, with equal propriety, have been related by any other individual of the company. The traveller, indeed, recounts adventures which occurred in Spain; the Frenchman lays the scene of his story in France; and the old woman introduces a spectre: but the style and the sentiments are alike in all.

The subject of the first tale is that Spanish jealousy, so long proverbial, which has now given place to an indifference and a laxity of manners, perhaps more criminal. There is an obvious improbability in one part of this tale. Velasquez suspects a cavalier, who is clandestinely the husband of his sister, of an intrigue with his wife: he therefore assassinates him; and discovery of this murder robs him 'of his sister, almost at the very moment, in the pangs of child-birth.' Velasquez is represented as burying them both at night in a grove of lime-trees. But her death was natural, though chiefly occasioned by him; and it is not probable that he would have risqued [sic] the danger of inquiry, by secretly interring her body.

We extract, from the second tale, a specimen of the lively manner in which the work was written.

'Will nobody teach these fellows that they are miserable?' said Lindsey smiling, as they passed through the beautiful grounds of the duc de T---, where the peasants, collected under the trees, were capering to the indefatigable violin of an old man, who performed the double character, of fiddler and dancing-master, by [172] incessantly bawling out, every change in the cotillon, with an exertion of lungs that seemed to console him for the quiescent state of his heels, 'Will nobody, I say, persuade these people they are miserable?'

'It is more than probable,' said Arundel, 'that they will soon need but little persuasion to think so. They want every thing towards happiness, but good-humour and good spirits.'

'And those some generous misanthrope or other - some speculative reasoner, who seeks in his head for what he ought to ask of his heart, will one day deprive them of. Dear Arundel, I am inclined to think we are often strangely deceived as to modes of felicity, and, while calculating too nicely that we are to make for ourselves, we often overlook what heaven has made for us.'

'You would infer then, that the enjoyment of an innocent pleasure is more conducive to happiness than the satisfying a want. In this, at least, our lively neighbours excel us. The intenseness with which an Englishman applies himself to the latter idea, damps his animal spirits, and often brings on the strange necessity of reasoning himself into gaiety.'

'While the Frenchman, au contraire, will be taught to reason himself out of it!'

'But liberty - ' cried Arundel with enthusiasm,

'Is a goddess, I grant. But pr'ythee [sic], dear Henry, lift thine eyes to one of the prettiest mortal rustics that ever yet greeted them.' P. 63.

The chief incident in the Frenchman's Tale is the imprisonment of a person supposed to be dead; an incident which is rather trite, but which miss Lee has judiciously varied by the derangement of the sufferer. This decline of intellect is finely conceived: it is the probable effect of long and solitary confinement.

'It is now near a century that I have been confined in this miserable dungeon.' - Constance started, and saw at once the affecting truth - 'My cousin,' continued he, not noticing her emotion, 'is doubtless long since dead - the family honours, and estates, have passed, probably, into the hands of strangers, to whom my person as well as my misfortunes are unknown. It has indeed pleased the Almighty to extend my life in a miraculous manner: but I have no longer any relatives for whom I could wish to live. My reason, cleared and purified from its former wanderings, teaches me to desire nothing beyond these melancholy walls. They at least present me one consolation - one sweet, though painful consolation, which I perhaps should not enjoy elsewhere - It is the hour of visitation! - Swear to me an eternal secrecy,' continued he, lowering his voice, 'and you shall be a witness of it.'

'Alas! the terrified Constance, before whose imagination fearful images of horror began to float, was in no condition to swear, [173] had he waited the performance of his request: but it vanished from his mind the moment it was made. His countenance grew suddenly animated - his eyes sparkled - he breathed quick, and, bending forward in the attitude of a person who listens, he advanced towards the coffin, and threw himself on his knees by the side of it; where, clasping his hands together, he seemed to lose all recollection in one visionary idea.' P. 262.

There is some originality in the idea of the spectre that awakens Lothaire; 'a phantom, of which he could ascertain no form, no line, no distinct idea,' passing across his senses. p. 368.

The narrative is conducted with dramatic rapidity; but the sudden change of place and person renders it sometimes perplexing: this is particularly the case in p. 95.

We expect the second volume with impatience, as we have seldom been able to notice any work with more unqualified approbation.

[complete] Provided by Julie Shaffer, August 1999.