THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XIII, NO. 370.] SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1829. [PRICE 2d.
LALEHAM PARK:
[Illustration: The Residence of the Young Queen of Portugal.]
Circumstances, in themselves trivial, often confer celebrity upon places
hitherto of unlettered note. Thus, a beautiful villa at Laleham, a village
in Middlesex, eighteen and a half miles south west of London, has acquired
frequent passing notice from its having lately become the temporary
residence of the young "_Queen of Portugal_," whose removal to England
appears to have been a prudent measure to keep her _petite_ Majesty "out
of harm's way."
Laleham is delightfully situate on the banks of the Thames, between
Shepperton and Staines, and is famed for the entertainment it affords to
the lovers of angling. The river narrows considerably here; and about the
shallows, or gulls, the water is beautifully transparent. The above
temporary royal residence is built in an elegant villa style; and the
grounds have been very tastefully laid out under the immediate direction
of the present proprietor, the Earl of Lucan. They comprise 40 acres, with
some very fine elm timber.
The "Young Queen" is described as an interesting and lively child, and is
within a month of the same age as the Princess Victoria, and Prince George
of Cumberland, both of whom were born in May, 1819. She has not the
slightest tinge of a tropical complexion; her hair is extremely light, her
face pale, her eyes light blue and very sparkling. She is not tall of her
age, but remarkably well formed. Her Majesty arrived in London in October
last, and for some time resided at Grillon's Hotel, Albemarle Street; but
her health requiring change of air, Laleham was engaged for a short period;
although, in allusion to the situation, it was said to be very _low_--a
flat joke indeed.
In this delightful retreat, the young Queen and her suite at present
reside; and so pacific is our taste, that to enjoy the tranquil scenery
of Laleham, and the sports of the stream that waters its park, we would
willingly forego all the cares of state, and leave its plots and
counterplots to more ambitious minds. We could sit by the waters of
Laleham, and sing with the muse of Grongar:
Be full ye courts, be great who will;
Search for peace with all your skill;
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor;
In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain you search the domes of care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads.
Along with Pleasure close ally'd,
Ever by each other's side.
But great as may be our content, we hope to see her Majesty speedily
restored to the bosom of her family, provided she be secure from the
perils of her distracted country.
There are some allusions to an interesting part of ancient story connected
with Laleham, Dr. Stukely notices the remains of a Roman encampment on
Greenfield Common, within the parish of Laleham, which he supposes to have
been the camp in which Caesar halted after passing the Thames.
* * * * *
LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING THE ISLAND OF IONA.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Wild, sad, and solitary, amid the wave,
Iona mourns her pious founder's grave;
Still o'er his tomb these fretted columns pay
Their crumbling dust, a tribute to his clay.
Frail wreck of time! so crippled with the blast,
Recorder Of the present and the past,
Enough can tell. These Gothic arches show
The height of glory and of human woe;
Alas, 'tis all which occupies the brain,
The lust of power dyes the despot's chain,
Here Learning cast her magic beam around
Light of fair Science, whence our freedom's found,
Resistless spells, attractive power, for long
Brought princes here, and Minstrel's sung their song,
To pay a tribute to the holy sage
Their history told, it formed his faithful page;
Historic power Supreme! within this wall
Gave Bruce the crown, or Baliol the fall,
From proud Edward's grasp in a bark they bore
All Scotland's archives to a distant shore,
Manned by a hardy and a faithful crew,
For Gallia's coast the well skilled pilot drew,
But ere the orphan's eyes had lost the sail
Portending danger, screeching sea gulls wail,
In wild confusion left the angry wave
For distant Staffa's high basaltic cave,
Big heaved the flood, and loud the billows roar
In blackening heaps screened Morvem's distant shore;
High blew the winds, and quick the lightning's flash
And gilded hailstones fell with many a crash.
The story ran from sire to sire.
That Heaven itself was filled with living fire;
Of them no more is told, no more is known,
That widows' tears had scooped this hollow stone.
Here all is silent, save the murmuring sound
Of crystal spray which bathes this sacred ground,
In tuneful sorrow, sheds her friendly tear
To learned virtues, long forgotten here.
When conscience was the punisher of crime,
And blood stained ruffians of Ossian's line
Had taught redemption at the tear-worn shrine,
And barbarous tribes in thousands flocked around
To ask forgiveness on this holy ground.
R.
* * * * *
LIGHT AND DARK GENII.
(_For the Mirror_.)
LIGHT.
In fields of light, I ride, I ride,
Upon the gust-winds back,
And, when I mark the eventide,
Or gathering of the rack;
Like spirit of a pleasant dream,
I mount upon a sunset beam,
And hie me in a flashing stride,
The dark to dash aside,
DARK.
In caverns 'neath the vasty deep,
Where sea-snakes in the wreck may creep,
And feed upon man's bone;
Or in the ruins of the past.
Where thoughts that are not used are cast,
And whirlwind, and the earthquake groan
In pity, there, there, am I--
A withered thought--that cannot die.
LIGHT.
But I was born within a light
That kindled in the womb.
And I can never feel the night
When all around is gloom;
For joy looked pleased upon my birth,
And cast a ray e'en on the earth;
And fairies spun it in a ring,
With a feather from their wing,
And called it hope--a charm for tears,
And chained it to their silken ears.
DARK.
And I was formed within a light
That kindled in the womb of night,
Of loathsome withered weeds--
And fate looked on and fanned the flame,
But freed me from the touch of blame,
Of all my evil deeds.
Enchantress waited on my birth,
And bade the hypochondriac walk the earth.
BOTH, RECITATIVE.
Together, together, yet, O yet we dwell,
A glimpse of heaven in hell
A glimpse of heaven in hell
Which plays, which plays, like lightning on the tempest gloom,
Or life within a catacomb,
Or life within a catacomb,
Pointing the many passions' mood
To strange but universal good.
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
The correspondent who furnished you with the article on "Dr. Johnson's
Residence in Bolt Court," has fallen into several anachronisms, to which,
I beg leave to call your attention.
He says, "here the unfortunate Savage has held his intellectual _noctes_,
and enlivened the _old moralist_ with his mad philosophy." If you refer to
any biographical account of Johnson, you will find, his residence in Bolt
Court did not commence till nearly twenty years after the death of Savage.
Johnson had no settled habitation till after that event, and they were
both frequently obliged to perambulate the streets, for whole nights, for
want of money to pay for a lodging; and instead of Johnson being an old
moralist at this time, he was but thirty-three when his friend died,
Savage being about forty-four.
Your correspondent has given a graphic description of our great
lexicographer and his two associates, Savage and Boswell, all three
of whom, he says, met at Johnson's house in Bolt Court, and discussed
subjects of polite literature; whereas his acquaintance with Boswell began
only in 1763, and Savage died in Bristol, in 1742. The work Johnson wrote,
at the time of compiling the Dictionary, was the "Rambler," and not the
"Guardian," as your correspondent asserts. The latter was the joint
production of Addison and Steele.
The principal events of the Doctor's life are well known; and it is
interesting and not uninstructive to contemplate this master-spirit
struggling with the vicissitudes of fortune, and depending frequently for
his next meal, on the resources of his genius, till his merit became
known. View him and his cotemporary, Garrick, travelling to London
together, mere adventurers, with many plans in their heads, and very
little money in their pockets; we see them both rising to the pinnacle of
fame; one the majestic teacher of moral virtue, and the other delighting
by the versatility of his histrionic powers. Go one step further. They are
consigned to the tomb, and these men, whom friendship had united whilst
living, death has not divided. Near Shakspeare's monument, in Westminster
Abbey, they lie interred side by side. Of Garrick it has been said, "that
the gaiety of nations was eclipsed at his death," and of Johnson we may
truly say he has given "ardour to virtue and confidence to truth."
HEN. B.
* * * * *
ON GOOD AND EVIL DAYS.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Notwithstanding the ridicule which in later ages has been deservedly
thrown on the idea of _good and evil days_, it is certain, that from time
immemorial, the most celebrated nations of antiquity, the Chaldeans, the
Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans, adopted, and placed implicit faith
in this superstitious notion, which is still prevalent in all parts of the
east. According to Plutarch, the kings of Egypt never transacted business
on the third day of the week, and abstained even from food till the
evening; because on that day, Typhon, who was considered by them the cause
of every evil, was born. The seventeenth day of the month was also deemed
unfortunate, as on that day Osiris died. The Greeks, too, had their
unlucky days, which they denominated [Greek: apophrades]. The Thursday was
generally considered by the Athenians of so unlucky an import, that the
assemblies of the people, which happened to fall on that day, were always
deferred. Hesiod enumerated the days when it might be proper to commence
certain undertakings, and those when it was necessary to abstain from
every employment; among the latter, he mentions the fifth of every month,
when the Infernal Furies were supposed to bestride the earth. Virgil has
the same idea:--
Quintam fuge--pallidus Orcus
Eumenidesque satae: tum partu terra nefando,
Coeumque, lapetumque creat, saevumque Typhaea,
Et conjuratos coelum rescindere fratres.
1 GEOR. 279.
The Romans also demonstrated in their calendar, the implicit faith they
placed in this distinction of days. The fortunate days were marked in
white, and the unfortunate in black; of these were the days immediately
after the Calendae, the Nones, and the Ides; the reason was this: in the
363rd year from the building of Rome, the military tribunes, perceiving
the republic unsuccessful in war, directed that its cause should be
inquired into. The senate having applied to L. Aquinius, he answered,
"That when the Romans had fought against the Gauls, near the river Allia,
and had experienced so dreadful a defeat, sacrifices had been offered to
the gods the day after the ides of July, and that the Fabii having fought
on the same day at Cremera, were all destroyed." On receiving this answer,
the senate, by the advice of the pontiffs, ordered, that for the future
no military enterprise should be formed on the days of the calends, the
nones, or the ides. Vitellius having taken possession of the sovereign
authority on the 15th of August, and on the same day promulgated some
new laws, they were ill received by the people, because on that day had
happened the disastrous battles of the Allia and Cremera. There were other
days esteemed unhappy by the Romans, such as the day of sacrifices to the
dead; of the Lemuria; and of the Saturnalia, the 4th before the nones of
October; the 6th of the ides of November; the nones of July, called
Caprotinae; the 4th before the nones of August, on account of the defeat
at Cannae; and the ides of March, esteemed unlucky by the creatures of
Caesar.
In addition to these, were days which every individual considered
fortunate or unfortunate for himself. Augustus never undertook any thing
of importance on the day of the nones. Many historical observations have
contributed to favour these superstitious notions. Josephus remarks, that
the temple of Solomon was burnt by the Babylonians on the 8th of
September, and was a second time destroyed on the same day by Titus.
Emilius Protus also observes, that Timoleon, the Corinthian, gained most
of his victories on the anniversary of his birth. To these facts, drawn
from ancient history, many from more modern times may be added. It is
said, that most of the successes of Charles V. occurred on the festival
of St. Matthew. Henry III. was elected king of Poland, and became king
of France on Whitsunday, which was also his birthday. Pope Sextus V.
preferred Wednesday to every other in the week, because it was the day of
his birth, of his promotion to the cardinalate, of his election to the
papal throne, and of his coronation. Louis XIII. asserted, that Friday was
always a favourable day to him. Henry VII., of England, was partial to
Saturday, on which most of the happy events of his life had taken place.
Oliver Cromwell always considered the 3rd of September, 1650, when he
defeated the Scotch at Dunbar; on that day, in the following year, he
gained the battle of Worcester, but on the 3rd of September, 1658, he
expired. Though this distinction of good and evil days, be in reality as
absurd as it appears to be, I much doubt if it be yet entirely eradicated.
When it is considered how many things concur to keep up an error of this
kind, and that among the great as well as with the vulgar, opinions as
puerile are not only received, but even made a rule of action, it may be
inferred, that in every age and in every country, however civilized,
superstition always maintains its influence, though it may occasionally
vary in its object or name. The human mind alternately wise and weak,
indiscriminately adopts error and truth.
_Romford_.
H.B.A.
* * * * *
THE NOVELIST.
* * * * *
ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN.
[The _Literary Gazette_ of Saturday last enables us to present our
readers, (almost entire) the following Legend respecting the house and
ancestry of the heroine of Sir Walter Scott's forthcoming Novel--_Anne of
Geierstein_. The tale is entitled Donnerhugel's Narrative, and was told by
a remarkable Swiss to the English hero of the Romance.]
"I told you, (said Rudolf) that the lords of Arnheim, though from
father to son they were notoriously addicted to secret studies, were,
nevertheless, like the other German nobles, followers of war and the
chase. This was peculiarly the case with Anne's maternal grandfather,
Herman of Arnheim, who prided himself on possessing a splendid stud of
horses, and one steed in particular, the noblest ever known in these
circles in Germany. I should make wild work were I to attempt the
description of such an animal, so I will content myself with saying his
colour was jet black, without a hair of white, either on his face or feet.
For this reason, and the wildness of his disposition, his master had
termed him Apollyon; a circumstance which was secretly considered as
tending to sanction the evil reports which touched the house of Arnheim,
being, it was said, the naming of a favourite animal after a foul fiend.
"It chanced, one November day, that the baron had been hunting in the
forest, and did not reach home till night-fall. There were no guests with
him, for, as I hinted to you before, the castle of Arnheim seldom received
any other than those from whom its inhabitants hoped to gain augmentation
of knowledge. The baron was seated alone in his hall, illuminated with
cressets and torches. His one hand held a volume covered with characters
unintelligible to all save himself. The other rested on the marble table,
on which was placed a flask of Tokay wine. A page stood in respectful
attendance near the bottom of the large and dim apartment, and no sound
was heard save that of the night wind, when it sighed mournfully through
the rusty coats of mail, and waved the tattered banners which were the
tapestry of the feudal hall. At once the footstep of a person was heard
ascending the stairs in haste and trepidation; the door of the hall was
thrown violently open, and, terrified to a degree of ecstasy, Caspar, the
head of the baron's stable, or his master of horse, stumbled up almost to
the foot of the table at which his lord was seated, with the exclamation
in his mouth--'My lord, my lord, a fiend is in the stable!' 'What means
this folly?' said the baron, arising, surprised and displeased at an
interruption so unusual. 'Let me endure your displeasure,' said Caspar,
'if I speak not truth! Apollyon--' Here he paused. 'Speak out, thou
frightened fool,' said the baron; 'is my horse sick, or injured?' The
master of the stalls again gasped forth the word 'Apollyon!' 'Say on,'
said the baron; 'were Apollyon in presence personally, it were nothing to
shake a brave man's mind.' 'The devil,' answered the master of the horse,
'is in Apollyon's stall!' 'Fool!' exclaimed the nobleman, snatching a
torch from the wall; 'what is it that could have turned thy brain in such
silly fashion?'
"As he spoke, he crossed the courtyard of the castle, to visit the stately
range of stables, where fifty gallant steeds stood in rows, on each side
of the ample hall. At the side of each stall hung the weapons of offence
and defence of a man-at-arms, as bright as constant attention could make
them, together with the buff-coat which formed the trooper's under
garment. The baron, followed by one or two of the domestics, who had
assembled full of astonishment at the unusual alarm, hastened up betwixt
the rows of steeds. As he approached the stall of his favourite horse,
which was the uppermost of the right-hand row, the good steed neither
neighed, nor shook his head, nor stamped with his foot, nor gave the usual
signs of joy at his lord's approach; a faint moaning, as if he implored
assistance, was the only acknowledgment of the baron's presence. Sir
Herman held up the torch, and discovered that there was indeed a tall,
dark figure standing in the stall, resting his hand on the horse's
shoulder. 'Who art thou?' said the baron, 'and what dost thou here?' 'I
seek refuge and hospitality,' replied the stranger; 'and I conjure thee to
grant it me, by the shoulder of thy horse, and by the edge of thy sword,
and so as they may never fail thee when thy need is at the utmost.' 'Thou
art, then, a brother of the Sacred Fire,' said Baron Herman of Arnheim;
'and I may not refuse thee the refuge which thou requirest of me, after
the ritual of the Persian Magi. From whom, and for what length of time,
dost thou crave my protection?' 'From those,' replied the stranger, 'who
shall arrive in quest of me before the morning cock shall crow, and for
the full space of a year and a day from this period.' 'I may not refuse
thee,' said the baron, 'consistently with my oath and my honour. For a
year and a day I will be thy pledge, and thou shall share with me roof and
chamber, wine and food. But thou, too, must obey the law of Zoroaster,
which, as it says, Let the stronger protect the weaker brother, says also,
Let the wiser instruct the brother who hath less knowledge. I am the
stronger, and thou shalt be safe under my protection; but thou art the
wiser, and must instruct me in the more secret mysteries.' 'You mock
your servant,' said the strange visiter; 'but if aught is known to
Dannischemend which can avail Herman, his instructions shall be as those
of a father to a son.' 'Come forth, then, from thy place of refuge,' said
the Baron of Arnheim: 'I swear to thee by the sacred fire which lives
without terrestrial fuel, and by the fraternity which is betwixt us, and
by the shoulder of my horse, and the edge of my good sword, I will be thy
warrand for a year and a day, if so far my power shall extend.'
"The stranger came forth accordingly; and those who saw the singularity of
his appearance, scarce wondered at the fears of Caspar, the stall-master,
when he found such a person in the stable, by what mode of entrance he was
unable to conceive. When he reached the lighted hall to which the baron
conducted him, as he would have done a welcome and honoured guest, the
stranger appeared to be very tall, and of a dignified aspect. His dress
was Asiatic, being a long, black caftan, or gown, like that worn by
Armenians, and a lofty, square cap, covered with the wool of Astracan
lambs. Every article of the dress was black, which gave relief to the
long, white beard that flowed down over his bosom. His gown was fastened
by a sash of black silk net-work, in which, instead of a poniard, or
sword, was stuck a silver case, containing writing materials and a roll of
parchment. The only ornament of his apparel consisted in a large ruby of
uncommon brilliancy, which, when he approached the light, seemed to glow
with such liveliness, as if the gem itself had emitted the rays which it
only reflected back. To the offer of refreshment, the stranger replied,
'Baron, I may not eat, water shall not moisten my lips, until the avenger
shall have passed by the threshold.' The baron commanded the lamps to be
trimmed and fresh torches to be lighted, and sending his whole household
to rest, remained sealed in the hall along with the stranger, his
suppliant. At midnight, the gates of the castle were shaken as by a
whirlwind, and a voice, as if of a herald, was heard to demand his lawful
prisoner, Dannischemend, the son of Hali. The warder then heard a lower
window of the hall thrown open, and could distinguish his master's voice
addressing the person who had thus summoned the castle. But the night was
so dark that he might not see the speakers, and the language which they
used was either entirely foreign, or so largely interspersed with strange
words, that he could not understand a syllable which they said. Scarce
five minutes had elapsed, when he who was without, again elevated his
voice as before, and said in German, 'For a year and a day, then, I
forbear my forfeiture;--but coming for it when that time shall elapse,
I come for my right, and will no longer be withstood.'
"From that period Dannischemend, the Persian, was a constant guest at
the castle of Arnheim, and, indeed, never for any purpose crossed the
drawbridge. His amusements, or studies, seemed centred in the library of
the castle, and in the laboratory, where the baron sometimes toiled in
conjunction with him for many hours together. The inhabitants of the
castle could find no fault in the Magus, or Persian, excepting his
apparently dispensing with the ordinances of religion, since he neither
went to mass nor confession, nor attended upon other religious ceremonies.
It was observed that Dannischemend was rigid in paying his devotions,
by prostrating himself in the first rays of the rising sun, and that he
constructed a silver lamp of the most beautiful proportions, which he
placed on a pedestal representing a truncated column of marble, having
its base sculptured with hieroglyphical imagery. With what essences he
fed this flame was unknown to all, unless perhaps to the baron; but the
flame was more steady, pure, and lustrous, than any which was ever seen,
excepting the sun of heaven itself, and it was generally believed that
Dannischemend made it an object of worship in the absence of that blessed
luminary. Nothing else was observed of him, unless that his morals seemed
severe, his gravity extreme, his general mode of life very temperate, and
his fasts and vigils of frequent recurrence. Except on particular
occasions, he spoke to no one of the castle but the baron.
"Winter was succeeded by spring, summer brought her flowers, and autumn
her fruits, which ripened and were fading, when a foot-page, who sometimes
attended them in the laboratory to render manual assistance when required,
heard the Persian say to the Baron of Arnheim, 'You will do well, my son,
to mark my words; for my lessons to you are drawing to an end, and there
is no power on earth which can longer postpone my fate.' 'Alas, my
master!' said the baron, 'and must I then lose the benefit of your
direction, just when your guiding hand becomes necessary to place me on
the very pinnacle of the temple of wisdom?' 'Be not discouraged, my son,'
answered the sage; 'I will bequeath the task of perfecting you in your
studies to my daughter, who will come hither on purpose. But remember, if
you value the permanence of your family, look not upon her as aught else
than a helpmate in your studies; for if you forget the instructress in the
beauty of the maiden, you will be buried with your sword and your shield,
as the last male of your house; and farther evil, believe me, will arise;
for such alliances never come to a happy issue, of which my own is an
example.--But, hush, we are observed.' The household of the castle of
Arnheim having but few things to interest them, were the more eager
observers of those which came under their notice; and when the termination
of the period when the Persian was to receive shelter in the castle began
to approach, some of the inmates, under various pretexts, but which
resolved into every terror, absconded,--while others held themselves in
expectation of some striking and terrible catastrophe. None such, however,
took place; and, on the expected anniversary, long ere the witching hour
of midnight, Dannischemend terminated his visit in the castle of Arnheim,
by riding away from the gate in the guise of an ordinary traveller.
"The baron had meantime taken leave of his tutor with many marks of
regret, and some which amounted even to sorrow. The sage Persian comforted
him by a long whisper, of which the last part only was heard, 'By the
first beam of sunshine she will be with you. Be kind to her, but not over
kind.' He then departed, and was never again seen or heard of in the
vicinity of Arnheim. The baron was observed during all the day after the
departure of the stranger to be particularly melancholy. At dawn of the
ensuing morning, Sir Herman summoned his page; and having performed his
toilet, he waited till the sun had just appeared above the horizon, and,
taking from the table the key of the laboratory, which the page believed
must have lain there all night, he walked thither, followed by his
attendant. At the door the baron made a pause, and seemed at one time to
doubt whether he should not send away the page, at another to hesitate
whether he should open the door, as one might do who expected some strange
sight within. He pulled up resolution, however, turned the key, threw the
door open, and entered. The page followed close behind his master, and was
astonished to the point of extreme terror at what he beheld, although the
sight, however extraordinary, had in it nothing save what was agreeable
and lovely. The silver lamp was extinguished, or removed from its
pedestal, where stood in place of it a most beautiful female figure in the
Persian costume, in which the colour of pink predominated. But she wore
no turban, or head-dress of any kind, saving a blue riband drawn through
her auburn hair and secured by a gold clasp, the outer side of which was
ornamented by a superb opal, which, amid the changing lights peculiar
to that gem, displayed a slight tinge of red, like a spark of fire.
The figure of this young person was rather under the middle size, but
perfectly well formed; the eastern dress, with the wide trousers gathered
round the ankles, made visible the smallest and most beautiful feet which
had ever been seen, while hands and arms of the most perfect symmetry
were partly seen from under the folds of the robe. The little lady's
countenance was of a lively and expressive character, in which spirit and
wit seemed to predominate; and the quick, dark eye, with its beautifully
formed eyebrow, seemed to presage the arch remark, to which the rosy and
half-smiling lip appeared ready to give utterance. The pedestal on which
she stood, or rather was perched, would have appeared unsafe had any
figure heavier than her own been placed there. But, however she had been
transported thither, she seemed to rest on it as lightly and safely as a
linnet, when it has dropped from the sky on the tendril of a rose-bud. The
first beam of the rising sun, falling through a window directly opposite
to the pedestal, increased the effect of this beautiful figure, which
remained as motionless as if it had been carved in marble. She only
expressed her sense of the Baron of Arnheim's presence by something of a
quicker respiration, and a deep blush, accompanied by a slight smile.
"The Baron of Arnheim, for an instant, stood without breath or motion.
At once, however, he seemed to recollect that it was his duty to welcome
the fair stranger to his castle, and to relieve her from her precarious
situation. He stepped forward accordingly with the words of welcome on his
tongue, and was extending his arms to lift her from the pedestal, which
was nearly six feet high; but the light and active stranger merely
accepted the support of his hand, and descended on the floor as light and
as safe as if she had been formed of gossamer. It was, indeed, only by the
momentary pressure of her little hand, that the Baron of Arnheim was made
sensible that he had to do with a being of flesh and blood. 'I am come as
I have been commanded,' she said, looking around her: 'you must expect a
strict and diligent mistress, and I hope for the credit of an attentive
pupil.' After the arrival of this singular and interesting being in the
castle of Arnheim, various alterations took place within the interior of
the household. A lady of high rank and small fortune, the respectable
widow of a count of the empire, who was the baron's blood relation,
received and accepted an invitation to preside over her kinsman's domestic
affairs, and remove, by her countenance, any suspicions which might arise
from the presence of Hermione, as the beautiful Persian was generally
called. The countess Waldstetten carried her complaisance so far, as to
be present on almost all occasions, whether in the laboratory or library,
when the Baron of Arnheim received lessons from, or pursued studies with,
the young and lovely tutor, who had been thus strangely substituted for
the aged Magus. If this lady's report was to be trusted, their pursuits
were of a most extraordinary nature, and the results which she sometimes
witnessed were such as to create fear as well as surprise. But she
accordingly vindicated them from practising unlawful arts, or overstepping
the boundaries of natural science. A better judge of such matters, the
Bishop of Bamberg himself, made a visit to Arnheim, on purpose to witness
the wisdom of which so much was reported through the whole Rhine country.
He conversed with Hermione, and found her deeply impressed with the truths
of religion, and so perfectly acquainted with its doctrines, that he
compared her to a doctor of theology in the dress of an Eastern
dancing-girl. When asked regarding her knowledge of languages and science,
he answered that he had been attracted to Arnheim by the most extravagant
reports on these points, but that he must return confessing 'the half
thereof had not been told unto him.'
"Meantime a marked alteration began to take place in the interviews
between the lovely tutor and her pupil. These were conducted with the same
caution as before, and never, so far as could be observed, took place
without the presence of the countess of Waldstetten, or some other third
person of respectability. But the scenes of these meetings were no longer
the scholar's library, or the chemist's laboratory;--the gardens, the
groves, were resorted to for amusement, and parties of hunting and
fishing, with evenings spent in the dance, seemed to announce that the
studies of wisdom were for a time abandoned for the pursuits of pleasure.
It was not difficult to guess the meaning of this; the Baron of Arnheim
and his fair guest, speaking a language different from all others, could
enjoy their private conversation, even amid all the tumult of gaiety
around them; and no one was surprised to hear it formally announced, after
a few weeks of gaiety, that the fair Persian was to be wedded to the Baron
of Arnheim.
"The manners of this fascinating young person were so pleasing, her
conversation so animated, her wit so keen, yet so well tempered with good
nature and modesty, that, notwithstanding her unknown origin, her high
fortune attracted less envy than might have been expected in a case so
singular. Above all, her generosity amazed and won the hearts of all the
young persons who approached her. These good qualities, her liberality
above all, together with a simplicity of thought and character, which
formed a beautiful contrast to the depth of acquired knowledge which she
was well-known to possess,--these, and her total want of ostentation, made
her superiority be pardoned among her companions. Still there was notice
taken of some peculiarities, exaggerated perhaps by envy, which seemed to
draw a mystical distinction between the beautiful Hermione and the mere
mortals with whom she lived and conversed. In the merry dance she was so
unrivalled in lightness and agility, that her performance seemed that of
an aerial being. She could, without suffering from her exertion, continue
the pleasure till she had tired out the most active revellers; and even
the young Duke of Hochspringen, who was reckoned the most indefatigable at
that exercise in Germany, having been her partner for half an hour, was
compelled to break off the dance and throw himself, totally exhausted,
on a couch, exclaiming he had been dancing not with a woman, but with an
_ignis fatuus_. Other whispers averred, that while she played with her
young companions in the labyrinth and mazes of the castle gardens at
hide-and-seek, or similar games of activity, she became animated with the
same supernatural alertness which was supposed to inspire her in the
dance. She appeared amongst her companions, and vanished from them with
a degree of rapidity which was inconceivable; and hedges, treillage, or
such like obstructions, were surmounted by her in a manner which the most
vigilant eye could not detect; for, after being observed on the other side
of the barrier at one instant, in another she was beheld close beside the
spectator. In such moments, when her eyes sparkled, her cheeks reddened,
and her whole frame became animated, it was pretended that the opal clasp
amid her tresses, the ornament which she never laid aside, shot forth the
little spark, or tongue of flame, which it always displayed, with an
increased vivacity. In the same manner, if in the twilight hall the
conversation of Hermione became unusually animated, it was believed that
the jewel became brilliant, and even displayed a twinkling and flashing
gleam which seemed to be emitted by the gem itself, and not produced in
the usual manner, by the reflection of some external light. Her maidens
were also heard to surmise, that when their mistress was agitated by any
hasty or brief resentment (the only weakness of temper which she was ever
observed to display,) they could observe dark-red sparks flash from the
mystic brooch, as if it sympathized with the wearer's emotions. The women
who attended on her toilette farther reported, that this gem was never
removed but for a few minutes, when the baroness' hair was combed out;
that she was unusually pensive and silent during the time it was laid
aside, and particularly apprehensive when any liquid was brought near it.
Even in the use of holy water at the door of the church, she was observed
to omit the sign of the cross on the forehead, for fear, it was supposed,
of the water touching the valued jewel.
"These singular reports did not prevent the marriage of the Baron of
Arnheim from proceeding as had been arranged. In the course of twelve
months the lovely baroness presented her husband with a daughter, which
was to be christened Sibylla, after the count's mother. As the health of
the child was excellent, the ceremony was postponed till the recovery of
the mother from her confinement; many were invited to be present on the
occasion, and the castle was thronged with company. It happened that
amongst the guests was an old lady, notorious for playing in private
society the part of a malicious fairy in a minstrel's tale. This was the
Baroness of Steinfeldt, famous in the neighbourhood for her insatiable
curiosity and overweening pride. She had not been many days in the castle,
ere, by the aid of a female attendant, who acted as an intelligencer,
she had made herself mistress of all that was heard, said, or suspected,
concerning the peculiarities of the Baroness Hermione. It was on the
morning of the day appointed for the christening, while the whole company
were assembled in the hall, and waiting till the baroness should appear,
to pass with them to the chapel, that there arose between the censorious
and haughty dame whom we have just mentioned, and the Countess
Waldstettin, a violent discussion concerning some point of disputed
precedence. It was referred to the Baron von Arnheim, who decided in
favour of the countess. Madame de Steinfeldt instantly ordered her palfrey
to be prepared, and her attendants to mount. 'I leave this place,' said
she, 'which a good Christian ought never to have entered; I leave a house
of which the master is a sorcerer, the mistress a demon who dares not
cross her brow with holy water, and their trencher companion one who for
a wretched pittance is willing to act as match-maker between a wizard and
an incarnate fiend!' She then departed, with rage in her countenance,
and spite in her heart. The Baron of Arnheim then stepped forward, and
demanded of the knights and gentlemen around, if there were any among them
who would dare to make good with his sword the infamous falsehoods thrown
upon himself, his spouse, and his kinswoman. There was a general answer,
utterly refusing to defend the Baroness of Steinfeldt's words in so bad a
cause, and universally testifying the belief of the company that she spoke
in the spirit of calumny and falsehood. 'Then let that lie fall to the
ground which no man of courage will hold up,' said the Baron of Arnheim;
'only, all who are here this morning shall be satisfied whether the
Baroness Hermione doth or doth not share the rites of Christianity.'
The Countess of Waldstetten made anxious signs to him while he spoke
thus; and when the crowd permitted her to approach near him, she was
heard to whisper,--'O, be not rash! try no experiment! there is something
mysterious about that opal talisman; be prudent, and let the matter pass
by.' The baron, who was in a more towering passion than well became the
wisdom to which he made pretence, said, 'Are you, too, such a fool?' and
retained his purpose.
"The Baroness of Arnheim at this moment entered the hall, looking just so
pale from her late confinement as to render her lovely countenance more
interesting, if less animated, than usual. Having paid her compliments
to the assembled company, she was beginning to inquire why Madame de
Steinfeldt was not present, when her husband made the signal for the
company to move forward to the chapel, and lent the baroness his arm to
bring up the rear. The chapel was nearly filled by the splendid company,
and all eyes were bent on their host and hostess as they entered the place
of devotion immediately after four young ladies, who supported the infant
babe in a light and beautiful litter. As they passed the threshold, the
baron dipt his finger in the font-stone and offered holy-water to his
lady, who accepted it, as usual, by touching his finger with her own. But
then, as if to confute the calumnies of the malevolent lady of Steinfeldt,
with an air of sportive familiarity which was rather unwarranted by the
time and place, he flirted on her beautiful forehead a drop or two of the
moisture which remained on his own hand. The opal, on which one of these
drops had lighted, shot out a brilliant spark like a falling star, and
became the instant afterwards lightless and colourless as a common pebble,
while the beautiful baroness sunk on the floor of the chapel with a deep
sigh of pain. All crowded around her in dismay. The unfortunate Hermione
was raised from the ground and conveyed to her chamber; and so much did
her countenance and pulse alter within the short time necessary to do
this, that those who looked upon her pronounced her a dying woman. She was
no sooner in her own apartment than she requested to be left alone with
her husband. He remained an hour in the room, and when he came out he
locked and double locked the door behind him. He then betook himself to
the chapel, and remained there for an hour or more, prostrated before the
altar. In the meantime most of the guests had dispersed in dismay; though
some abode out of courtesy or curiosity. There was a general sense of
impropriety in suffering the door of the sick lady's apartment to remain
locked; but, alarmed at the whole circumstances of her illness, it was
some time ere any one dared disturb the devotions of the baron. At length
medical aid arrived, and the Countess of Waldstetten took upon her to
demand the key. She spoke more than once to a man who seemed incapable of
hearing, at least of understanding, what she said. At length he gave her
the key, and added sternly, as he did so, that all aid was unavailing, and
that it was his pleasure that all strangers should leave the castle. There
were few who were inclined to stay; when upon opening the door of the
chamber in which the baroness had been deposited little more than two
hours before, no traces of her could be discovered, unless that there was
about a handful of light grey ashes, like such as might have been produced
by burning fine paper, found on the bed where she had been laid. A solemn
funeral was nevertheless performed, with masses and all other spiritual
rites, for the soul of the high and noble Lady Hermione of Arnheim; and it
was exactly on that same day three years that the baron himself was laid
in the grave of the same chapel of Arnheim, with sword, shield, and
helmet, as the last male of his family."
* * * * *
THE TOPOGRAPHER.
SAWSTON HALL.[1]
[Footnote 1: The above brief account of a veritable old English Manor
House, transcribed from a few rough notes, taken at the period of personal
observation, is now supplied by the writer as an article entitled "The
Siege of Sawston," appears this month, in that clever and amusing work
_The United Service Journal_.]
Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers join'd
By no quite lawful marriage of the arts,
Might shock a connoisseur; but when combin'd
Form'd a whole, which, irregular in parts,
Yet left a grand impression on the mind
At least, of those whose eyes are in their hearts.
We gaze upon a giant for his stature,
Nor judge at first, if all be true to nature.
BYRON.
Quoting from the same poem, we may truly say of Sawston Hall,
Cambridgeshire--"The mansion's self is vast and venerable,"--for it is
one of the most pleasing architectural relics of the "elder time," which
at present exists in England. The house, a large, old, substantial
mansion, built partly, as says the tradition, from the walls of Cambridge
Castle, has been the property of the Roman Catholic family of Huddleston,
for some centuries; and assuming its present appearance early in the reign
of Queen Mary, has, with only the trifling alterations incidental to
necessary repairs, retained it; for the Huddlestons, inhabiting Sawston
Hall, and residing there in each generation, highly respected as country
gentlemen, either from the extravagance of some of the family, or from a
taste for old associations, have been prevented from altering it. As the
manor house, it stands near the church; the baronial chiefs who were
always lords of the manor, frequently building, if seldom patronizing,
their village churches.
The mansion is a large, square building, situated in a garden, wherein may
be observed the remains of _aggera_, a moat, terrace, &c.; a river so
shallow that it might be easily forded, flows at the back of the house,
and serves as one boundary to this garden. In the very small inner court,
stands a tower, enclosing a spiral staircase, which leads to the top of
the house; the whole length of the southern front of it is occupied by a
gallery, and the dormitories upon this floor, which communicate with each
other, are hung with old tapestry. The principal entrance is through a
porch and door, which opens immediately into the baronial hall, a curious
place certainly, but slightly differing in arrangement and appearance from
what we had previously seen at Arundel Castle, Haddon Hall, and several
colleges. The oriel window, instead of its usual place at the upper end of
the hall, was situated on one side, very near the corner; in the recess
formed by it, stood the baron's table, not as we had anticipated upon a
dais, but at least so veiled from the vulgar gaze of the retainers who
feasted at a separate board in the apartment, that it answered the purpose
of distinguishing ranks equally well. The hall is paved with red brick,
and has a large, open fire-place, intimating well the hospitable spirit of
former days; its panels, curiously carved, are painted white and brown;
the latter in imitation of walnut wood, is probably a mere coating of
paint drawn over the original panels of that material, to ensure their
preservation. Here too are the arms of the family emblazoned, in which
may be observed the lion of Britain and Fleur-de-lis of France, the
Huddlestons being descended from, or united to, the royal line of each
nation.
There is, near the hall, an ancient refectory, or dining-room, shut up,
and in so dangerous a state as to require to be filled with props to
support its ceiling. The grand staircase, which is of oak, and coeval with
the building, leads to the gallery, in which are situated the principal
sleeping-rooms, distinguished as the green, blue, red chambers, &c.,
according to the predominant colours of the ancient and faded tapestry
with which they are hung; nor would the old manor-house deserve the name
of such, was there not in one of these a concealed door behind the arras,
and in another, the report at least of a ghost. A narrow door, near the
end of the gallery, opens immediately upon an old and narrow staircase,
the ascent to that chapel in the very roof of the building, which at the
period of the Reformation, was contrived and fitted up for the secret
advantage of the Roman Catholic proprietors of Sawston; this chamber, for
it is nothing more, is certainly little calculated to impress the mind
of the spectator with an idea of the splendour of Catholic worship; we
approached it by a narrow decaying staircase, stepped over bare rafters,
and were scarcely able to pilot ourselves securely by the faint
glimmerings of day-light, streaming through the chinks in the tiling
overhead. Upon the opening of the chapel door, however, a full tide of
light greeted us, admitted by a dormer window, and this displayed an
apartment, known by its altar and benches to be appropriated to sacred
purposes, the sole decorations of whose plain white-washed walls were some
few engravings of madonnas, saints, and holy families, &c., chiefly
French, and not particularly beautiful or valuable.